“So?”
“So, we’ll ask the questions, if you don’t mind.”
Rose’s heart was racing from embarrassment and indignation. “Well, actually, I do mind.”
“OK. That’s enough,” the man said. He turned to look at the woman with the clipboard, who was staring at Rose, mortified. “Next, please, Constance.”
Rose felt outraged. She hadn’t wanted to come to this stupid thing in the first place. There was no way she was going to leave feeling even worse than when she’d arrived. “What’s wrong with my attitude?” she snapped.
Pointy-Face let out a fake laugh. “That question is what’s wrong with your attitude, young lady. Please leave; we have a lot of other people to see today. People who actually take their job seriously.”
Rose’s entire body flushed with anger. “You mean they do exactly what you tell them? Well, if being a brain-dead sheep is what you want, then I’m glad I’ve got a bad attitude.”
“OK, let’s go,” said Constance, placing her hand on Rose’s elbow. Rose shook it off.
“Don’t worry – I’m going.”
It wasn’t until she was back outside and walking down the windswept street that Rose’s anger began to fade. And, surprisingly, in its place came something very close to relief. For what felt like her entire life, her mom had been guiding her towards following in her modelling footsteps. And Rose had blindly obeyed because she hadn’t really known what else she could do. She still didn’t know, but what she did know with a dazzling clarity was that she definitely did not want to be a model.
Chapter Eight
Amber rummaged through the tray of vintage brooches with a sigh. Her Moonlight Dreamers recruitment campaign wasn’t going according to plan. She’d handed out three cards since she started work and something had gone wrong each time. The first girl she’d given one to had seemed really promising. She’d bought a 1920s bangle and a walking cane with a brass handle in the shape of an owl. This was Moonlight Dreamer behaviour if ever Amber saw it, but when she’d given her the card with her change, the girl had looked at it quickly and then returned it, with a swift, “no, thanks”.
The next girl had taken the card but as soon as she left the shop, Amber saw her throw it in the bin. Then, just before lunch, a Japanese girl had come in. She’d spent ages looking through the tray of brooches and she and Amber had had a great conversation about Victorian fashion. Amber had given her a card feeling totally confident that this would be a perfect fit. But then the girl had told her that she was only in London on holiday and she was flying back to Japan the next day. Amber was back to square one. She very much doubted the Indian girl would want anything to do with being a Moonlight Dreamer – and even if she did, would she be allowed? What do Muslim girls do in their spare time? Amber wondered. She shoved the question to the back of her mind. All she wanted was a couple of friends, a couple of kindred spirits to help her live the life of her dreams. Was it really so hard to find them? She took out her pocket watch and flicked it open. Four-thirty. In about fifteen minutes Gracie would be back from the market and it would be harder for Amber to approach anyone else. Gracie was the owner of Retro-a-go-go – a flamboyant woman who’d moved to Brick Lane back when it had been a Jewish neighbourhood. “I’ve seen ’em all come and go,” was her favourite phrase, followed closely by, “Blimey, darl, it comes to something when the kind of frock I used to wear dancing gets called vintage!”
Amber was just about to tidy up the back room when the bell above the door jangled and a girl walked in. She had long, curly blonde hair and was wearing harem pants, with a pair of floral Doc Marten boots and a scuffed biker’s jacket. It was a fashion fusion Amber instantly approved of. The girl looked about the right age too.
“Oh, hello,” she said, noticing Amber’s gaze.
“Hello.” Amber mustered up her most welcoming smile. This might be her last chance of the day. She mustn’t blow it. “Are you here on holiday?”
The girl looked at her questioningly. “What, on Brick Lane?”
Amber blushed. “No. I mean in London.”
“Oh. No. I live here. Well, on the canal, down by Victoria Park.”
“That’s great!” Amber could barely contain her glee. She took a deep breath and told herself to play it cool.
But all of a sudden the girl looked really sad. “Well, I do at the moment. But I think I’m going to be moving soon.”
If the girl said she was about to emigrate to Japan, Amber thought she might scream. “Where to?” she asked.
“Hampstead,” the girl muttered.
“But that’s great!” Amber exclaimed. “I mean, Hampstead’s lovely and – so near.”
The girl looked at her curiously, as if suddenly realizing how weird this conversation was becoming.
Amber cleared her throat. “Is there anything you’re looking for in particular?”
The girl nodded. “I’m looking for a comfort-buy,” she said.
“Ah, I see.” Amber nodded thoughtfully. She knew all about comfort-buys. She reached down under the counter and pulled out a battered shoebox. “How about one of these?”
The girl came over and looked into the box. Her curly hair cascaded over her shoulders.
“I love reading these vintage postcards when I’m feeling down,” Amber explained. “It’s like eavesdropping on a historical conversation. Or one side of the conversation, anyway. Listen.” She pulled a card from the box and began to read. “Dearest Florence, I trust that this card finds you in the pink. Things are becoming quite trying here. The Hun certainly seem intent on causing maximum damage. But I got the smokes you sent me and they have put a spring in my step. Thank you. With all my love, Ernie.” Amber handed it to the girl. “It was sent during the First World War – from the trenches. Isn’t it amazing to hold it and to think of where it’s been?” Amber felt a sudden pang of alarm as she watched the girl. What if she didn’t get it? What if she thought she was a freak like everyone at school did? But the girl carried on studying the card.
“What do you think ‘in the pink’ means?” she finally asked.
Amber gave an internal sigh of relief. “It means to be healthy. Pink skin rather than pale, I guess.”
“That’s so cool.” The girl looked at Amber. “Do you think he made it back from the trenches?”
“I hope so.”
The girl nodded. “Me too. Can I buy it?”
“Of course.” Amber reached under the counter for a paper bag.
“I think I’ll get a couple of others too,” the girl said, rifling through the box.
Amber smiled. “Sure.” And as she put the postcard into the paper bag she slipped her last Moonlight Dreamers card in with it.
Chapter Nine
Maali added some condensed milk to the pan. She could hear her mum chatting and laughing with a customer in the shop. She loved the sound of her mum laughing – it was like birdsong. Her dad called her his hummingbird. Maali sighed. How cool must it be to have someone call you their hummingbird? A vision of Ash popped into her head. “You are my hummingbird, Maali,” he whispered, before leading the unicorn away. Then he stopped and looked back over his shoulder at her. “I was thinking, maybe you and I could go on a date sometime.” Maali closed her eyes and pictured his twinkly smile. “A date?” she whispered. “Yes,” he replied. “We could go to Highgate Cemetery and take photos of all the graves.” Maali sighed. “That would be great.”
“What would be great, pet?”
Maali jumped. Her mum was standing in the doorway of the shop kitchen, smiling at her.
“Oh, I was just…” Maali broke off, embarrassed.
“Daydreaming again?” Her mum came over and looked into the pan. “Hmm, I can see that.”
“I’m sorry.” Maali quickly added some more condensed milk and a creamy sweet smell filled the air.
“What were you dreaming about this time?” Her mum took some cardamom from the shelf and sprinkled it into the pan.
“Oh, just about som
ewhere I can go to take some photos.” Maali bowed her head to avoid her mum’s gaze. There was absolutely no way she could tell her the whole story – that she was dreaming about a boy, and a non-Hindu boy at that!
“You and your photos!” Her mum gave her a hug. “How about you go do your noon prayers and do some daydreaming about God?”
Maali laughed. She passed the wooden spoon to her mum and went out into the narrow hallway and up the steep stairs that led to their flat above the shop. Maali went past the shut door of her parents’ bedroom and the open door of Namir’s room, with his latest Lego construction taking up most of the floor. Finally, she reached the narrow stairs at the very end of the hall. Her bedroom was her favourite place in the whole building. Tucked right up in the attic, away from the hustle and bustle of Brick Lane, it was also the perfect place to come to pray. There was something about being up so high and the tranquillity of the room that made her feel somehow closer to the gods and goddesses.
Maali knelt beneath the skylight, in front of her shrine. Although they had a family shrine in the living room, Maali had created her own, more personal one here, on top of an old mango crate. She’d covered the crate with a cornflower-blue scarf and placed a figurine of the goddess Lakshmi in the centre. Lakshmi was the goddess of love, prosperity and beauty, and Maali’s favourite of all the Hindu gods. In front of Lakshmi she’d placed an apple as an offering, with a small silver bell on one side of it and a wooden elephant incense holder on the other. She’d also strung some fairy lights around the edge of the box. She didn’t need to turn them on, though: the autumn sunshine streaming through the skylight was casting a pale golden glow.
Maali tipped her head back and felt the gentle warmth on her face. Then she lit the incense and rang the bell. She began her prayers as she always did, saying thank you to all the gods and goddesses. “Thank you for my family and our home and my mum’s sweets. Thank you for the fact that I don’t have any science homework this weekend – although obviously I’m not thankful that Mrs Cooper has the flu – well, only for the no-homework part. Please help her recover soon.” Maali paused before turning her attention to the statue of Lakshmi.
“Thank you for all the beauty in the world, Lakshmi. And thank you for helping me to capture it in my photos. And thank you for the magical things that happen in my life and – thank you for my daydreams.” Maali frowned at the statue. “Is it wrong to be a daydreamer, Lakshmi? I know some people would say that it is, but I’m not sure.”
Maali waited for a moment. Sometimes, Lakshmi would whisper an answer inside her head. At least it felt as though it was Lakshmi. She always said something way wiser than anything Maali could ever come up with. But this time all she could think about was the card she’d been given that morning by the girl with the cool hair. Are you a Moonlight Dreamer? The words echoed in her mind. Maali finished her prayers and flipped open her laptop. Then she dug the postcard from her pocket and clicked open her email.
Rose walked into the pub and did a quick scan. As was usual for a Saturday afternoon in Camden, it was full of tourists and day-trippers, the wooden floor beneath their stools and tables cluttered with shopping bags. She breathed in the warm smell of alcohol and relaxed a little. In her jacket pocket her phone vibrated with a text message. Rose ignored it. It was bound to be her mom again, wanting to know how the casting had gone. Rose was nowhere near ready for that particular showdown. She pulled her lipstick from her bag and gave her lips a quick slick of Ruby Tuesday. Although she’d been drinking for months now and had never been ID’d, she still felt a frisson of fear every time she walked into a bar. She liked it, though – it added to the thrill, and lately she’d been craving thrills.
“Yo, Rosie!”
Rose instantly cringed. OK, this wasn’t good. She was pretty sure she’d never read in Cosmo that cringing at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice was a sign of true love.
“Over here.”
Matt was standing at the bar, waving and holding a twenty-pound note in his hand. He was one of those guys who would be more aptly described as beautiful rather than handsome; with high cheekbones tapering into a perfectly chiselled chin and huge dark-grey eyes fringed with long lashes. As usual, he was wearing coloured chinos (today they were a deep plum), and as usual, half of his Calvin Klein boxers were on display. Rose never could get her head around that particular trend. Whenever she saw a guy with his boxers on show she felt the overwhelming urge to give him a wedgie.
“Hey!” She made herself smile as she walked over.
“He-ey!” Matt looked her up and down, his eyes lingering on her skin-tight dress. “You look great.”
Rose pulled her jacket around her. She didn’t feel great. She felt ridiculous. If she hadn’t been avoiding her mom she would have gone straight home after the casting and got changed.
“What do you want to drink, babe?” Matt nodded to the array of drinks behind the bar.
Rose cringed again. Matt had the really annoying habit of talking just like the East End gangsters in the movies he loved to watch – even though he was a chino-wearing public school boy from Chelsea whose parents owned a huge chunk of Cumbria.
“JD and coke,” Rose muttered. “Where are we sitting?”
“Through there.” Matt nodded towards the back of the pub.
“Cool. I’ll go through and say hi to the others.”
“Hold on.” Matt grabbed hold of her arm. “How about saying hi to me first?”
“I did say hi to you…” Rose looked at him blankly for a second. “Oh.” She cringed yet again. This was definitely not a good sign. She could just imagine the advice columnists at Cosmo yelling, “Girlfriend, you’re so not into him!” She stood on tiptoes and kissed Matt quickly on the cheek. “There you go,” she said in a singsong voice as if she was talking to a toddler.
“Come here,” he said, pulling her towards him. He smelled of aftershave and beer. Before Rose could back away, his mouth was pressing down on hers, hard, and as she felt his tongue trying to part her lips she wanted to retch. She shouldn’t have come here, straight from the casting; she wasn’t in the right frame of mind. In the eighteen months since her dad had left she’d been cocooned in a weird kind of numbness. But what had happened at the casting had ripped part of her cocoon away, leaving her feeling raw and exposed. Rose pulled away from Matt and bumped into a man behind her.
“Here, watch what you’re doing, love,” the man slurred. His face was red and shiny.
“What’s wrong with you?” Matt muttered.
“Nothing. I – I’m not feeling so good.”
“What? Again?”
Rose felt dangerously close to tears. This was crazy. What the hell was wrong with her?
“You know what, I’m gonna go get some fresh air.” She looked at him. He looked back at her blankly. The Cosmo columnist in her head fired a quiz question at her: When you tell your boyfriend you aren’t feeling well and need some fresh air, does he (a) Look concerned and come with you, or (b) Look pissed off and turn away?
“OK.” Matt sighed, turning back to the bar.
Rose made her way outside, her eyes filling with hot tears. Damn. Damn. Damn. Why did she have to go to that dumb casting? She had to get a grip. She hated feeling this weak. Rose marched off in the direction of the canal. She needed to go for a good long walk and get her head straight. But when she got to the bridge and looked down at the row of colourful houseboats lining the bank, she was filled with dread. Next week Liam and his dumb-ass daughter would be moving in, and what little peace and privacy she had would be totally wrecked.
Rose looked around frantically. Her nerves were jangling now like she’d downed ten espressos. She marched over the bridge, past the tattoo shop and the T-shirt shop and the Gothic jewellery store. Every one had a different rock song blaring out. A car drove past with hip-hop pounding from the stereo. Stay calm, she told herself. Just keep your head down and keep on walking. Then she heard a soft and gentle voice, with a foreign lilt.
“Excusez-moi… Excusez-moi.”
Rose stopped and turned round. A young woman was standing in a shop doorway. Her shiny raven hair was piled on top of her head and her brown almond-shaped eyes twinkled. She wore a fifties-style floral dress with a pink polka-dot apron. She had the most beautiful, welcoming smile Rose had ever seen.
“Would you like to try?” the woman asked, holding out a plate.
“Who, me?” Rose felt so disoriented that she needed to check.
“Yes. If you like?”
Rose focused on the plate. It contained bite-sized chunks of what appeared to be cake. But it was like no cake Rose had ever seen before. The sponge was a beautiful shade of lilac and the icing was a delicate pale pink. Rose’s stomach grumbled. The only thing she’d eaten all day were the couple of squares of chocolate at the casting. She was suddenly starving. “Yes. Please.”
The young woman smiled and held the plate towards her. Rose took a piece of cake and put it in her mouth. “Oh – my – God!” she mumbled, as the flavour melted onto her tongue. “What is that?”
“You like?” the woman asked hopefully.
Rose nodded as the last sugary traces of frosting dissolved in her mouth. “I love!” she exclaimed. “But what flavour is it? I’ve never tasted anything like that before.”
“It is lavender and plum,” the woman replied. “My new invention.”
“You invented it?” Rose looked at her in surprise. What a cool thing to do.
“Oui – yes – I am a patissier. I invent new recipes all the time.” The woman smiled shyly, the tips of her cheeks flushing pink. “You want to come in and try some more?”
Rose nodded and followed the woman into the shop.
“Wow,” Rose whispered as she looked around.
She seemed to have stepped from grungy Camden High Street into a Disney film set. The shop was a palette of pastel colours, from the primrose-yellow walls to the eggshell-blue floorboards. Although it was tiny, every inch of space was used to full effect. A row of small, round tables covered in pink gingham lined the wall to Rose’s right. On the left was a glass cabinet containing trays of cupcakes in every colour of the rainbow.
The Moonlight Dreamers Page 4
