Mates, Dates and Diamond Destiny

by Cathy Hopkins

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I might do that.’

  Lucy went out to the small kitchen to be shown tea duties while Izzie and I took a bag each and began sorting. I looked for something I could change into while I worked. It made sense to get out of my normal clothes.

  Mrs Owen had been right – the bags had been there for ages and some at the back were covered in dust. ‘Poo-eeee,’ said Izzie, holding her nose after she’d opened the first bag. ‘This one stinks.’ She pulled out the clothes in it and they were filthy. Whoever had donated them clearly hadn’t washed them before handing them in, and the room began to smell of stale sweat. Ucky. No way was I going to wear any of these clothes, not even for doing the sorting.

  Lucy took tea through to the shop and then brought us a mug each. ‘The girls have arrived,’ said Lucy indicating the shop where there were now three white-haired old ladies behind the counter. ‘They’re discussing Lilian’s recent varicose vein operation so I didn’t hang around. Oh, and she said we should take lunch at twelve-thirty.’

  Izzie pulled her mobile out of her back pocket. ‘I’ll let TJ know. She said she’d come and meet us on our break.’

  I scraped my hair back into a scrunchie so that it didn’t get in my way and started to sift through the clothes. First we threw the contents of a few of bags into the middle of the floor and began to look through. Not a clean T-shirt in sight, only old shirts and horrible looking jumpers. Then Lucy opened a new bag and pulled out a piece of fabric and held it up.

  ‘Here,’ she said with an evil grin. ‘This will do for you to wear.’

  It was an old-fashioned-looking orange sundress with purple polka dots and a sailor collar. The sort of dress that normally I wouldn’t be seen dead in, but at least it was clean and with no sleeves, it was the lightest thing we’d seen so far. No one was going to see us; it would do fine. So I took my clothes off and wriggled into it while Lucy and Izzie cracked up laughing.

  ‘Well, it’s different,’ said Lucy as I modelled the dress for them and did a twirl. ‘Sort of Minnie Mouse style.’

  ‘Oh, who cares,’ I said. ‘It’s like an oven in here. I’d have died if I’d kept my fleece on.’

  I did feel better in just the dress and we got stuck into the task at hand with gusto. It was really hard work sorting everything into boxes to be taken away for the jumble sale, and by twelve o’clock my back was beginning to ache. Plus it got hotter and hotter until it was like a sauna in there. I felt like I was dripping sweat. None of us could believe some of the stuff that people had handed in. Paint-stained, mud-marked, worn through, with holes in, reeking of stale cigarette smoke. Only occasionally was there a bag with pristine clean clothes and they of course went straight on to the ‘shop’ pile.

  ‘I think I’m going to pass out,’ said Lucy after one particularly stinky bag. ‘This is bin bag hell. Why don’t people just chuck this stuff instead of bringing it here and wasting people’s time?’

  ‘Yeah, whose mad idea was this?’ asked Izzie as she leaned back and stretched her arms above her head. ‘Maybe donating your pocket money isn’t such a bad idea after all, Nesta. I think I’d rather have given someone a couple of quid if only I could have stayed in bed this morning.’

  ‘I know, I know. Sorry,’ I said as I wiped my forehead with the back of my arm. ‘God, it’s so hot in here. Good job there’s no one to see us looking such a sweaty mess.’

  I piled what seemed like the hundredth bag on to the floor and we began to sift through a treasure trove of stuff from the Sixties and Seventies. There were some hideous white plastic hoop earrings, lime green and yellow striped tights, an orange mini skirt, a pink Afro wig and a pair of turquoise and maroon platform boots.

  ‘Be great for a fancy-dress party,’ said Lucy.

  I shook my head. ‘Anyone would look like a complete eejit in that get up,’ I said. ‘I mean, a party is a party and whatever the theme, you still want to look halfway decent. In that outfit, you’d never pull anyone.’

  ‘It’s twelve-thirty,’ Mrs Owen called from the shop. ‘Take half an hour, girls.’

  ‘Phew,’ said Izzie as she headed for the door. ‘Let’s get out of here!’

  Lucy didn’t need much prompting either and followed her straight out. I was about to change back into my jeans and fleece but I felt so sweaty that I didn’t want to wear anything so warm until I’d cooled down a bit. It would be OK to pop out in the dress for a short time. It looked like the day had turned into lovely sunshine outside.

  TJ was waiting for us by the flower bed outside Ryman’s. She looked so cool in her jeans and a white tank top.

  ‘Hey, guys,’ she said, then burst out laughing when she saw me. ‘Hmm, a new look, I see.’

  ‘Yeah. Like it?’ I asked as I gave her a twirl. ‘Polka dot and orange is the new black.’

  ‘How’s it going in there?’ she asked.

  Lucy pulled a grim face. ‘Not great. Like a prison sentence in fact. Not a lot of fun.’

  ‘We all got hard labour,’ said Izzie, ‘but we’re hoping to get time off for good behaviour.’

  I felt bad since they wouldn’t have been there if it hadn’t been for me making them feel guilty. And, if I was honest, I wasn’t exactly enjoying myself either, even though I kept telling myself that it was all for a worthy cause.

  ‘What have you been up to?’ asked Izzie. ‘Magazine stuff?’

  ‘Yeah. Actually, I’ve had a great morning,’ TJ replied. ‘I had a long hard think about all this charity lark last night. I’d felt confused after . . . well . . . you know . . .’

  ‘After I’d made you all feel guilty,’ I said.

  TJ smiled. ‘I’m sure you didn’t mean to. But anyway I decided, I can write. Maybe I can write something that will get people thinking or raise awareness or something. I talked it over with Emma and she agreed. A series of articles on various aspects of charity would be great for the magazine, plus it will give the different causes some exposure.’

  ‘What a brilliant idea,’ said Lucy. ‘So what are you going to do first?’

  ‘Something to draw the readers in. I reckon if we went in with a heavy article about the state of the world – you know, all gloom and doom and making people feel bad – it might turn people off,’ she said. I swear Izzie gave me a meaningful look at this point. I smiled back at her like I didn’t know what she was on about (though I knew exactly).

  ‘I suggested we start with a guide to the charity shops in North London,’ TJ continued. ‘That’s where I’ve just been. Some of them are amazing. The ones in St John’s Wood are mega! Five-star stuff. The people who live there are so rich, their throw outs have to be seen to be believed. Prada. Chanel. Dolce and Gabbana. Honest. In a charity shop! You’d have loved it, Nesta. And you too, Lucy. All those great designer clothes going so cheap. And I got a couple of books and CDs that I wanted for almost nothing.’

  ‘Sounds like you’ve had a better morning than us. Need anyone to do any more research?’ asked Izzie.

  ‘Sure,’ said TJ. ‘We need someone to do North Finchley and Hampstead to see what’s there. So far, seems St John’s Wood is the biz for fashion, Muswell Hill for books, East Finchley for bric-à-brac.’

  I couldn’t help feeling a stab of envy. She’s a clever girl, is TJ, and sometimes I feel a bit jealous of her. Looks and brains. She has the whole package. I wished I’d thought of something like that instead of breaking my back sorting through smelly clothes and making my friends suffer with me. Suddenly I had an idea. I didn’t want TJ to think we’d had a bad time when she’d been having a great time so I decided to pop back into the shop for a minute.

  Once in there, I grabbed the pair of striped yellow and lime green tights and pulled them on. I looked around for some more mad things to wear and spotted the Afro wig, a pink ostrich feather boa and a pair of swimming goggles. I quickly put them on, then made a quick dash to the little toilet area to see what I looked like. I couldn’t help but laugh when I saw my reflection in the mir
ror above the tiny sink. I looked truly awful. Like someone with the worse possible taste ever.

  A moment later, I stepped back out into the street and my outfit had exactly the right effect. Lucy, TJ and Izzie creased up laughing when they saw me.

  ‘You’re a closet Nancy No-taste,’ said Lucy. ‘I always knew you would come out one day.’

  I went into a dance routine like Mike Myers in the movie, Austin Powers, and the girls continued laughing and a few passers-by looked at me as if I was bonkers. See TJ, I thought, you’re not the only one having fun doing charity work. After a few moments, Izzie began to shake her head and twitch her mouth. Cool, I thought, she’s getting into it as well, and I began to shake my head and twitch as well as I revved up the manic dancing.

  ‘No, noooo,’ grimaced Izzie, twitching her mouth more than ever.

  I began to strut up and down the pavement like a model who’s had too much caffeine. ‘Yeah, baby, yeah. Hey, Izzie. Love and peace. Like yeah, baby, yeaaah . . .’

  Lucy had joined in the twitching with Izzie by now and was also making strange faces.

  ‘St John’s Wood may be good for the more expensive designs,’ I said in a high pitched squeaky voice, ‘but we all know that Muswell Hill is the most brilliant place for those individual little fashions that you won’t find anywhere else.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ drawled a familiar voice behind me.

  I spun around and almost knocked William Lewis over.

  ‘I was trying to warn you,’ said Izzie as William looked me up and down with that infuriatingly amused look of his.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said with a wicked grin. ‘Individual is the word but not so much Coco Chanel as Coco the Clown. Ever thought of getting some fashion advice from an expert?’

  Fashion advice? Me? Queen of style? Hurumph. Luckily Izzie, TJ and Lucy pulled me back towards the shop before I could sock him in the mouth.

  If you think you’re too small to have an impact, try going to bed with a mosquito.

  Anita Roddick

  ‘The cheek of him! Who does he think he is?’ I asked after I’d changed back into my normal clothes in the tiny cloakroom in the shop. ‘And anyway, he looks like he could do with some fashion advice. Those jeans are so yesterday. And a Busted T shirt. Give me a break. Positively prehistoric.’

  ‘You really do fancy him, don’t you?’ said Lucy with a smirk.

  ‘For the millionth time I DO NOT fancy William Lewis.’

  Izzie began smirking as well. Both of them were standing in front of me smirking like smirky things competing in a smirking contest. It was sooooooo annoying.

  ‘Oh,’ continued Lucy. ‘So you won’t want to know that it was him who came to collect the jumble.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ added Izzie. ‘He’s gone. He took it while you were in the Ladies changing out of your wig. He said to see he hoped to see you there.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘At the jumble sale,’ said Lucy. ‘Keep up!’

  ‘And did he say that he wanted to see me or us there?’

  ‘What does it matter if you don’t fancy him?’ asked Izzie.

  ‘It doesn’t. I’m just asking.’

  ‘He said he hoped he’d see you,’ said Lucy. ‘I reckon you’re in with a chance there.’

  ‘Like I care,’ I said.

  ‘What is it with him?’ asked Izzie. ‘Usually you’d be right in there. Cute boy to be conquered. He’s sooooo your type, so what’s the problem?’

  ‘No problem. Just he’s not my type. Honest, I really, really, really don’t fancy him,’ I said. ‘He thinks he’s so cool. And with that look of his, like he’s always laughing at some private joke.’

  ‘I like him,’ said Lucy. ‘He seems on the level to me.’

  ‘Like as in fancy?’

  Lucy shook her head. ‘Like as in like.’

  ‘She’s still too wrapped up in your brother to fancy anyone else,’ said Izzie.

  ‘Pfff. Him,’ I said, then sighed. ‘One day you’ll come to your senses. At least we can only hope that you will. What do you think of William, Izzie?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s OK . . .’ she started.

  ‘Actually, I don’t care. I think he thinks a lot of himself. He’s a smart-arse.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ said Lucy with a grin. ‘That’s what he said about you too.’

  ‘He did?’

  ‘Yeah. Just now when you were changing,’ said Izzie.

  ‘What a cheek!’

  ‘He said it in a nice way. Like it was a good thing,’ said Lucy.

  ‘How did he say it? Say it exactly how he said it,’ I insisted.

  ‘He said, she’s a bit of a smart-arse your mate isn’t she?’ said Lucy. ‘And he said it with a knowing smirk, like he knew your type and found you entertaining. I think he thought your manic dancing was quite funny too.’

  ‘God, he annoys me. I really hate him.’

  Lucy and Izzie exchanged knowing looks.

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ said Izzie. ‘You hate him.’

  Lucy started laughing as though Izzie had said something really funny. Both of them are clearly demented. They exchanged glances and Izzie raised an eyebrow

  ‘So are you going to go?’ asked Lucy.

  ‘Might,’ I said. ‘In fact, Mrs Owen did mention that they need volunteers tomorrow as well so yeah, I might go along to the jumble sale just to show him how I can look when I want to make an effort. When I’m not dressed as a cartoon character. Not because I fancy him or anything, because I don’t, but because I don’t like people telling me I need fashion advice when they don’t really know me.’

  Lucy and Izzie exchanged dubious glances as if to say that they didn’t believe a word of it.

  On Sunday morning, I spent a good hour trying to find the perfect outfit to wear to the jumble sale. It was a difficult decision and I was glad that Mum had made me keep some of the clothes I was about to chuck out or else I’d have had nothing to choose from. Usually I’m so good at those ‘what to wear to where?’ type quizzes in magazines. The ones that show you five outfits and five occasions and you have to match the outfit to the occasion. I get it right every time but a jumble sale wasn’t an occasion that had ever come up. What should one wear? I didn’t want to look too scruffy because I wanted to show William that I could look good, but then I didn’t want to look like I’d tried too hard either. He might think I was trying to impress him. Casual but stylish, that’s what I need, I decided. Something that looked like I’d thrown it on without thinking, but actually showed off all my best features to their best advantage.

  I know, I thought as I scanned the shelves in my wardrobe. My retro lilac cardi, my scuffed bootleg jeans and my lilac Converse Allstar sneakers. A pink tie-dye camisole underneath and the zipper on my cardi pulled just low enough to see the lace on it and that should do the trick. Bit of make up. Not too much. Squirt of Mum’s Ô de Lancome as it’s light but feminine and he should be falling at my feet any time soon. Not that I want him to, that is, or, I do want him to, but only so that I can tell him that I don’t want him to. Hmm, I thought. Sometimes I sound mixed up. But I’m not.

  I met the girls at the church hall in Kilburn where the jumble sale was taking place and it seemed a shame that we were going to be indoors again as already it was warm and looked like it was going to be a lovely clear spring day. TJ was with us this time as she wanted to be a volunteer as well. She was looking very good with her hair loose and a bit of make-up on which is unusual for TJ, who often doesn’t bother.

  ‘If there are cute boys like William getting involved, I want to be a part of it,’ she said after we’d been let in and Mrs Owen had given us instructions about how to lay out the stuff to be sold on the long tables lining the sides of the hall.

  ‘Why? Do you fancy him?’ I asked as casually as I could, as I began to pull bags out from under our allotted table on the right-hand side of the hall.

  ‘Oh God no,’ she said putting her hand on her heart. ‘Scout’s honour. On the
Holy Bible. Truly, I’d say if I did. No. He’s all yours, Nesta. There’s no spark there between us. Honest. Not like . . .’

  ‘Oh not you too, TJ. I don’t fancy him.’

  ‘Izzie and Lucy said you did.’

  Lucy gave me a big smile from the front of the table from where she had begun arranging all the clothes by colour. I glared back at her.

  ‘Well, I don’t,’ I insisted. ‘I was just asking if you fancied him.’

  ‘Well, I don’t either.’

  ‘Neither do I.’

  ‘Yeah, but I’m telling the truth,’ she said, smirking. She had obviously been taking smirking lessons from the current champions, Izzie and Lucy.

  ‘Oh for heaven’s sake. I DO NOT FANCY WILLIAM LEWIS!’

  Izzie’s face registered horror and Lucy began the twitching thing that she was doing yesterday. I spun round to see that William had just walked in the door. He was carrying an enormous box of junk and he looked straight over to where we were and gave us a brief nod. He wasn’t smiling as much as usual and I wasn’t sure if he had heard what I’d said or not.

  Huh, be like that, I thought as I watched him put down his box then head out again without even coming over to say hi. I know his type exactly. Charming when they want something then cool as ice when they don’t. Not that I care either way.

  The next few hours flew by. From the moment the doors opened to the public at ten o’clock, we were kept really busy. Lucy was in her element and set herself up as a style guru giving fashion advice to loads of the people who came to our table.

  ‘Oh no,’ she said to one grey haired lady who had picked up a burgundy coloured cardigan. ‘Not your colour. I’ve got one just perfect for you tucked away, let me get it.’

  Soon there were more people round our table than anyone’s, all asking Lucy for advice. Not to be left out, Izzie began auctioning some stuff off. It was a riot as she held up a skirt.