Whereas, apart from her tee-shirt, Edie wouldn’t know a fashion moment if it hit her over the head with a stiletto. This is the girl who wore beige culottes to school last summer. Luckily, she’s sitting next to Jenny, who’s been on a fashion rollercoaster. Jenny’s been the one all the fashion editors make fun of in the ‘what not to wear’ pages, and the girl who gets to choose a Chanel dress for the red carpet, so maybe she and Sam can chat about all of that.
What Sam will make of me, I can’t imagine. I don’t really care what’s in fashion, although I can’t help knowing every designer’s latest look. I just love finding unusual stuff, and the daily challenge of coming up with something new and original and just this side of ‘go home and change, young lady’. Today, for example, it’s crushed velvet leggings, a vintage ra-ra skirt, an old school blazer (not my school) and a fedora. My fashion nightmare is walking into a room and finding someone else dressed exactly like me. It’s probably Edie’s dream, come to think of it. She’d be great in a job with a uniform, like a policewoman or something. I’d go insane.
‘Crow,’ Sam says, kicking things off while we fiddle nervously with various bits of our outfits. ‘Tell me how it all began. Take Edie, for example. How did she come into your life?’
Crow looks up and grins her broadest grin. As always when Crow smiles, the room suddenly lights up, as if someone’s opened a curtain.
‘Like an angel,’ she says, quietly. There’s a pause. Sam waits for more, but Crow seems to think she’s covered it.
Jenny decides to fill in the details. ‘Crow needed help with reading practice. Edie volunteered.’
But Sam isn’t looking at Jenny, or Edie. She’s still watching Crow.
‘She saw me,’ Crow says eventually, looking down at her lap, trying to explain. ‘Lots of people didn’t. See me, I mean. Not good people, anyway. Until Edie came. Oh, and she found Henry.’ She sits on her hands at this point and clams up completely. But Sam’s scribbling as if she’s just dictated a novel.
The room’s gone fuzzy and I realise my eyes are welling up. So are Jenny’s. Sometimes you need a Sunday Times journalist to remind you how great your friends are. And when it comes to noticing people, and helping them, Edie can be super-amazing, despite the whole beige culottes thing.
I sneak a look at her. She’s white as a sheet and biting her lip. This is turning into an emotional day for her. We all sort of assumed that Crow just took us for granted really, which was fine. She never said anything. But then, we never asked.
‘And how about Jenny?’
Crow thinks for a minute. ‘Jenny’s my favourite girl to dress,’ she says with another grin. Again, this is news to the rest of us. We thought Crow just made dresses for Jenny out of friendship. But she makes it sound like it’s a real treat.
‘She has a beautiful shape,’ Crow continues. ‘Perfect for couture. And I love her skin. It always glows against the right fabric. And her hair. Look! Ten different colours.’
So are Jenny’s cheeks, right now. Her hair may be copper/auburn/whatever, but her cheeks are red, red, red. She’s grinning fit to bust, though. She can’t help herself.
‘I didn’t know dresses even existed to fit me before Crow came along,’ she bubbles happily. ‘I spent most of my life in changing rooms not being able to do the zips up. Putting one of Crow’s red-carpet dresses on sort of changes you. It makes you look the way you think you look. You know, in your head. Before you see yourself in a mirror.’
Sam Reed nods and scribbles. ‘Not a fan of mirrors, then?’ she asks lightly.
Jenny flushes again and goes quiet. It all comes back to me. Her misery at her boobs and spots, her red-carpet disasters. Sam can tap into these moments without seeming to try. I dread to think what she got out of Britney Spears.
‘And Nonie?’
I jump. But Sam isn’t talking to me. She’s asking Crow about me. This is embarrassing. We’ve known each other for a year and a half. We see each other every day. Crow practically lives in my house, which is where she makes her stuff when she isn’t doing a couture collection. She knows how fast I can eat popcorn while watching Project Runway – and what the sofa looks like after I’ve finished. What on earth is she going to say?
She draws breath. I’m on the edge of my seat, but in the end she just shrugs. She looks around at all of us, and out of the window at the grey, wintry sky. Then she holds up her hands and shrugs again.
I’m used to this. If your business partner is a natural shrugger, you learn to expect it. But after ‘Edie is wonderful’ and ‘Jenny has nice hair’, I was expecting a little bit more. I’m not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved.
Jenny jumps in again. Unlike Crow, she’s not the strong and silent type.
‘I think what Crow means is that Nonie takes care of everything. Nonie’s brilliant with details and organising stuff.’
Crow nods, which is good. I’m glad that’s what she meant.
‘Tell me about it,’ Sam says, with a smile in my direction. So for the next five minutes I describe the total, total pleasure of organising Crow’s first catwalk show, even though it was the most difficult, complicated, stressful thing I’ve done in my life. And the fun of seeing the Jewels collection come to life and learning all about how you make high-street fashion and how amazing it is to be behind the scenes when it’s happening.
‘So it looks as if you’ve changed everyone’s life for the better,’ Sam concludes.
I assume she’s talking to Edie, but when I check, she’s smiling at Crow. Who’s smiling back, in an embarrassed sort of way. Sam is scary the way she notices things. We all think of ourselves as looking after Crow on a daily basis. After all, she’s younger than us, she’s hopeless at school and we’re her best friends. But it’s totally true. We all find ourselves nodding, and then Jenny has to go even further and say, ‘Oh yes. I absolutely wouldn’t be here today without Crow.’
Which is so unbelievably obvious on the day of the Miss Teen launch that we all find ourselves giggling, while Jenny goes, ‘What? What?’ Even Sam Reed can’t resist a smile.
We can hear movement outside. Sam checks her watch. ‘One more question, girls. OK?’ We nod.
She leans forward, and the look in her eye changes slightly. ‘Edie, I was looking at your website this morning and I noticed there were some rather serious claims about the making of the new collection. How do you all feel about that?’
Oh, dear. Not good.
Crow and Jenny look totally mystified, because we haven’t had a chance to tell them about it yet. Edie instantly goes white and tearful again. I feel as if it’s my job to say something – after all, I’m the one who agreed that Sam could talk to us today – but my mind has gone blank.
At this moment, the door opens and Andy Elat is framed in the doorway, beaming confidently, with Amanda hovering nervously behind him.
‘How’s it going, kids?’ he asks.
Does he have magical powers? Is the room bugged? A part of me is really confused by his perfect, perfect timing, but mostly I’m just relieved.
‘I was just talking about Edie’s website,’ Sam says. ‘And the No Kidding thing. I assume you’ve seen it?’
‘All sorted now,’ Andy smiles. ‘Good work, Edie, love. But I’ve just been shown what they were saying a couple of hours ago. Terrible, unjustified accusations. Against a schoolgirl, too. I’m horrified. We all are.’
He grabs a spare chair and sits beside me. Sam Reed gives him a long, hard look, which is supposed to hint that Andy is not part of this interview, and would he please leave us in peace? However, Andy simply smiles back and ignores the look, and the rest of us are clearly grateful that he’s here. Sam gives in.
‘So, Andy, what’s your reaction to No Kidding’s claim that some of the clothes in this collection were made by children working up to sixteen hours a day without a break in Indian sweatshops?’ she asks. She sounds less ‘kindly analyst’ now and more ‘hard-bitten journalist’.
�
��I can categorically deny them,’ he says confidently. ‘Categorically. You can quote me on that. They’re rubbish from start to finish.’
I take a breath to say something, but Andy wiggles his fingers subtly in my direction. It’s his version of the Look that we give each other when we want someone to SHUT UP. You learn it pretty quickly when you work with Andy.
I shut up.
‘Were the girls aware that this was an issue?’ Sam continues, looking across at all of us. We madly shake our heads, except for Crow, who looks too shocked to even move.
Sam notices Crow’s stillness even more than our head-shaking. She obviously believes her and takes pity on us.
‘That’s it then, everyone. I think I’ve got enough. Thanks. I’ll give you a call, Nonie, if I’ve got any follow-up questions. Great collection, Crow. Good luck!’
The way she says ‘Good luck’ makes me more nervous than if she’d just said goodbye.
Do we need luck? And what is her article going to be about? The fabulousness of the sold-out petal skirts? Or the rumours about how they were made?
After Sam leaves the room, Andy’s aides rush in to brief him on his next meeting. But Edie leaps out of her seat and grabs him first.
‘Are you sure?’ she asks.
‘About the children in India?’ he says. ‘Absolutely.’ He reaches out to put a friendly hand on her shoulder, then realises she’s now taller than him, even in her ballet flats, and turns it into a pat on the arm.
‘How can you know?’
‘Regular checks. You can’t be in my business and not be certain about this stuff. We monitor it all the time. Trust me.’
He looks at her expression. It’s obviously not trusting enough.
‘Look, my reputation would be in the dirt if I used child labour. And besides, I like children. Look at you lot. If Crow insists on working into the night to finish something, I can’t stop her. But I don’t make her do it. And I pay her.’ He sighs. ‘No children were harmed in the making of this collection, OK?’
‘OK,’ we agree, in slightly wobbly voices.
But Andy didn’t get to be such a successful businessman by always believing people when they pretend to agree with him. Despite the fact that his minions are standing behind him, jiggling with frustration that he’s late for his next appointment, he doesn’t move. He looks straight at Edie.
‘I’ve got a report,’ he says. ‘Several. From the people who go out to the factories and check this stuff for me. Get one off Simon here. Read it. Put it on your website if you like. Good grief, girls. You should be thanking me for providing so much employment for people in Third World countries. I thought that was your sort of thing.’
Finally, he moves on. Edie touches ‘Simon here’ on the shoulder and gives him her email address so he can send her the report.
Crow didn’t wait while we had our chat with Andy. She dashed straight out of the room to find Henry, who was waiting outside, admiring the crowds on Oxford Street from a safe distance of about six storeys up.
She looks at us now from under the crook of Henry’s arm, her eyes still wide with shock.
‘What did he say?’
Edie describes our conversation.
‘Is he right?’ Crow whispers.
‘Well, he should know,’ Edie says uncertainly. ‘He seemed very sure. Don’t worry. He’s sending me a report. Hopefully it’ll explain everything.’
Crow’s shoulders relax and she switches off. She trusts Edie totally and if Edie says, ‘Don’t worry,’ she doesn’t. I really wish I could be that way. It would make my life so much easier. The thing is, Crow needs all her brain space for creative ideas and new designs. The bits that are normally assigned to ‘maths’, or ‘shopping’, or ‘what they did on Gossip Girl last night’ in other people’s heads are assigned to ‘what exactly is that shade of blue?’ in Crow’s head. And the bit that was starting to worry about No Kidding instantly reassigns itself to thinking about jacket collars, or armholes, or whatever it is she’s working on right now. If Edie tells her to worry, she’ll worry. But until then, she won’t.
Jenny is made differently. Jenny has lots of spare space for worrying. She can even use the Gossip Girl bits for worrying, if necessary. She wants EVERY DETAIL about what No Kidding said, and how they made it look, and how Edie felt when she first saw what they’d done, and what we think, and whether we should trust Andy, and whether we should start boycotting Miss Teen RIGHT NOW, just in case.
I’m in the middle of pointing out that Andy Elat is effectively my boss, because he pays for Crow to do her design thing, and for me to help her, so boycotting him might be rather rude, when Jenny starts patting the hip of her prom dress. Is this a new code for something, like the Andy hand-wiggle? She has also stopped listening to me.
After a minute of fumbling in a hidden pocket, she pulls out her phone and checks the screen.
‘Text from Mum,’ she says. ‘I’ve been waiting for this. YES!’ Then she reads it a bit more carefully. ‘Oh no.’ She turns to Crow. ‘I’m really sorry. It’s tomorrow. I’m going to have to miss Paris.’
‘What’s tomorrow?’ we ask.
‘Oh, a thing,’ she says vaguely. ‘I don’t want to jinx it. Tell you later. Oh, look!’
We look. Three women are bearing down on us. Amanda Elat, Edie’s mum and mine. They’re all tapping their watches, to remind us that we have a strict schedule to stick to, and we’re running late.
I think back through the schedule. Launch at Miss Teen, tick. Interview for The Sunday Times, tick. That leaves party, MAJOR Shakespeare essay and packing for a funeral. All in the next six hours.
Welcome to my life.
I can’t believe it. I’m sitting in a first class carriage on the Eurostar. I’m on my way to PARIS, the night after a party for the FASHION LABEL that I help to run. And all I’m feeling is tired and sad.
Edie and Crow are opposite me, looking how I feel. Edie’s thinking about her website and Crow’s thinking about the funeral tomorrow, like me.
Crow’s friend Yvette, who taught her to sew, died last week. She was ninety-four, so fair enough, but it’ll still be awful. Yvette was the coolest grown-up I’ve met and she pretty much saved Crow’s life when she came to England by teaching her to cut patterns and knit warm jumpers. She worked for Christian Dior. Yes, the real one, in Paris. And she came to London to live with a GIRLFRIEND. How cool is that? We’re going to miss her loads.
Until Edie came along, Yvette was the only person Crow knew in London who actually talked to her, apart from her aunt. Not only that, but Yvette completely understood what was going on in Crow’s incredible head, and how talented she was, and she taught her how to turn her ideas into beautiful, beautiful clothes. Yvette was Crow’s link to the great days of couture. As the lights of the Kent countryside rush by, I can see them reflected in Crow’s over-shiny eyes, and I know she’s wondering how she’ll ever fill the gap. So am I.
Only Jenny is remotely happy and now she’s not even here. She finally explained that the text from her mum was about a playwright friend of theirs called Bill something. He’s asked if he can meet up with her tomorrow and apparently he’s a big cheese and you kind of say yes, unless it’s your own funeral you were supposed to be going to.
‘Ooh, Nonie, I can’t imagine what he wants to say to me,’ she bubbles over the phone. Someone at Miss Teen gave me two new batteries for my mobile, and a spare recharger, so I can always stay in contact for those crucial calls. It’s the kind of thing that happens when you help run a fashion label, along with stress and free clothes.
Jenny spends the next ten minutes imagining what Bill wants to say to her.
‘He mentioned to Mum that he was really upset for me when Dad talked about me to that paper.’
Her dad used her two minutes of fame last year to talk about himself to a Sunday paper and embarrass Jenny in every other sentence by mentioning all her hang-ups and calling her a ‘troubled, talented teen’. She’s hardly spoken
to him since.
‘Bill saw me in Kid Code and he admitted that I was hopeless, so it can’t be about acting. I wondered if it was something to do with Dad, but Bill’s one of Mum’s best friends and he knows she hates Dad’s guts now, so it can’t be that.’
‘Maybe he wants you to introduce him to someone from Hollywood,’ I suggest. Jenny is New Best Friends with half the Hollywood A-list since she made her film. Or at least, she knows people who know their phone numbers.
‘Oh no. It can’t be that. Bill hates Hollywood. Everything about it. That’s one of his big things. He’s into live theatre, small venues, the smell of the crowd . . .’
And on and on and on until finally the Eurostar enters the Channel Tunnel and cuts her off. I’m going to need both of those new batteries by the time we get to Paris at this rate.
I put the phone away and wait for Edie or Crow to ask me what that was all about, but they don’t. Not even a flicker of interest. Edie’s started doing Brain Teaser on her DS. If there’s a super-mega level, she’ll be on that.
Crow’s got her notebook out and is sketching something. I look over her shoulder and see that it’s a series of black cloaks teamed with high boots and floppy hats. Chic funeral attire, I’m guessing. Not what we’ll be wearing tomorrow, but what we would be wearing if we were the sort of It-girls and movie stars who wear Crow’s expensive stuff on a regular basis.
‘That was Jenny,’ I say eventually.
‘Oh,’ Edie manages. Crow just shrugs.
‘She’s fine, by the way.’
I give up and get out the French Vogue that I bought with most of my spare cash at the train station. Why I did that, when I’ll be able to buy it for half the amount in Paris in a couple of hours, I’m not entirely sure, but there’s something about French Vogue. See it. Get it. Plus I speak the language because my dad’s French, and it’s the only thing I can do in Edie’s company that makes me look vaguely intelligent.
I savour the moment. Me reading in a foreign language (OK, looking at the photos in a foreign language, but it still counts) and Edie doing a boring DS game. YES! Suddenly, despite everything, I don’t feel quite so miserable any more.
Beads, Boys and Bangles Page 2
