The Shoestring Club (29 page)

Pandora blushes deeply. ‘Sorry, Declan, Iris gets a little carried away sometimes.’

But Declan doesn’t look bothered. In fact, he’s beaming at Iris. ‘And Rach has always wanted a little sister. You could say it’s a match made in heaven. And yes, of course you can meet her. How about next weekend? If that’s OK with your mum.’ He looks at Pandora.

She nods silently. But for some reason her eyes are flicking around the room and she looks upset.

‘Do you mind if I borrow Pandora for just a second?’ I ask Declan. ‘I need to fix her belt.’

‘Sure. I’ll tell the taxi to wait.’ As Declan walks back outside, I ask Iris to go upstairs and pick a bedtime story for me to read to her. As soon as we’re alone, I drag Pandora into the kitchen by the arm.

‘What’s wrong?’ I say in a low voice.

She bites her lip, her eyes filling up. ‘Things like this don’t happen to me. Declan’s too perfect. He must be hiding something. Maybe he has a criminal record.’

I snort. ‘A criminal record? With Hester as a mum? I highly doubt it – she’d kill him. Look, stop worrying. I know neither of us have had the best luck with men so far, but maybe Declan is one of the good guys. Give him a chance.’

‘You’re right. I’m being ridiculous.’ She takes another deep breath and presses her fingers against the bottom of her eye sockets to mop up the stray tears that are threatening to smudge her mascara. ‘I’m ready.’

We walk back out into the hall, where Iris is chattering away to Declan about her trip to the zoo, a well-loved copy of
The Cat in the Hat
in one hand (it used to be Pandora’s, then mine), a plastic tiara in the other.

‘Does Rachel like the zoo?’ she asks.

‘She loves the zoo,’ he says firmly. ‘She’s mad about animals.’

‘Does she have a pet?’

‘Yes. Sammy. He’s a Labrador.’

‘What colour?’

‘Light brown.’

Iris looks like she’s died and gone to heaven. ‘Mummy, Rachel has a dog! Oh, and here.’ She passes Pandora the tiara.

Pandora places it carefully on her head. ‘Thank you, pet. My outfit is now complete.’

Iris looks ecstatic. She claps her hands together and squeals, ‘Mummy, now you’re Princess Pandora.’

Declan chuckles. ‘Are you ready now, Princess Pandora?’ He offers her his arm.

She nods. ‘Yes. I do believe, I am.’ She looks at me and mouths, ‘Thank you.’

I kiss my fingers and blow them at her, feeling a little teary myself, like a proud mum waving her daughter off to a gradu-ation ball.

As they walk out the door, arm in arm, Iris leans in towards me. ‘Do you think they’ll get married, Auntie Jules? Me and Rachel could be bridesmaids. I could wear my tiara.’

I laugh a little. No point in throwing cold water over her Disney-coloured dreams. ‘You could. Now, bed young lady. You heard your mum. I’ll come up and read you that story in a minute.’

She pouts. ‘You always let me stay up late. You promised I could play my Wii, remember?’

‘All right. You can have twenty minutes and then it’s bed with no moaning, understand?’ I’m such a pushover.

She grins. ‘Cool! Thanks, Auntie Jules.’

She runs into the living room and I follow her in. By the time I get there, she’s already waving her white Wii wand at the television screen.

‘It’s not working Auntie Jules. Can you fix it?’

I chew my lip. When it comes to electronics, I’m a hopeless case. Pandora is Inspector Gadget in our house, always knows how to unfreeze the Sky box or fix the Wii. I take the wand off Iris, take the batteries out, put them back in again and try once more to get the ball to roll down the bowling lane. No joy.

‘Sorry, pet. You could watch some telly,’ I suggest, but from the wobble of her lips, she’s not impressed.

She flops down on the sofa, her head bowed. ‘I really wanted to beat you.’

‘I know, but your mum can fix it in the morning. We can have a game tomorrow.’

‘You don’t get up before lunch, Auntie Jules, and I have a party in the afternoon. And Mum’s always too tired to play with me.’

Sadly she’s right on all counts. I blow out all my breath and sit down beside her on the sofa. Then I have a sudden brainwave. Jamie! Surely fixing a Wii console would be a walk in the park for a computer guru? I pull out my mobile and punch in his number.

‘Are you ringing Mum?’ Iris asks hopefully.

I shake my head and press my finger against my lips. ‘Hey, Jamie. We have a bowling emergency.’ I explain the situation and he promises to come straight over. When I tell Iris she jumps on my knee and gives me a big bath-fresh hug.

‘You’re the best, Auntie Jules.’ She stays there and looks up at me. ‘Is Jamie your boyfriend?’

I laugh. ‘Not likely. He’s my friend.’

She looks puzzled. ‘Can boys and girls be friends? When they’re big I mean?’

‘Of course.’

‘Mummy doesn’t have any. Friends who are boys I mean. She just has Rowie. And you.’

‘We’re not friends, we’re sisters.’

‘Sisters can be friends too. I’m going to be friends with Rachel. Declan said.’

I stroke her hair. She hasn’t even met the girl and already she’s making plans. Her face drops a little and her eyes widen. ‘But what if she doesn’t like me? Rachel I mean.’

I kiss the top of her head. ‘What are you talking about? What’s not to like? You’re my niece, and I’m fabulous. So that makes you fabulous too. It’s genetic.’

She grins. ‘Mummy doesn’t say you’re fabulous, she says you’re a mess. I heard her talking to Bird in the kitchen earlier.’

‘Did you now?’ I look at Iris, and she gazes back at me innocently. I try to keep my irritation in check, it’s not her fault that Pandora has such a big mouth. She shouldn’t be discussing me in front of Iris, in fact she shouldn’t be discussing me at all. I thought we were getting on OK for a change, but she’s clearly been sniping behind my back. Thanks a lot, Pandora. Next time you can bloody well style yourself and mind your own daughter for a change.

Iris is looking at me. ‘Are you cross with me, Auntie Jules? You look cross.’

‘No, pet, not with you.’

The doorbell rings and I lift Iris off my knee to answer it, grateful for the distraction. I pull open the door and Jamie gives me a warm smile.

‘Hey, Jules. Looking good.’

I’m wearing cut-off denim shorts, red tights, an ancient Blondie T-shirt and one of Bird’s old cashmere cardigans that has a hole in the left elbow.

‘Are you deranged?’ I ask him.

He just chuckles. ‘Where’s this misbehaving Wii then?’

‘Follow me.’ I lead him into the living room and point at the offending machine.

‘I’ll leave you to it. Fancy a drink?’

‘Sure, I’ll have a coffee if it’s going.’

‘Coffee?’ I look at him. ‘It’s Saturday night. I’ll get you a beer.’

‘Honestly, I’m fine.’ There’s a strange expression on his face and I can’t quite read it.

‘What’s going on?’ I ask. ‘Why do you look so guilty?’

‘I don’t.’

‘I’m not going to argue with you. I’ll be in the kitchen if you’re looking for me. Fixing you a beer.’ I can feel his eyes follow me out of the room, but I just keep walking. He’s behaving very oddly. I’m grateful for the excuse to have a drink. I need one to calm my jittery nerves. I can’t let go of the fact that Pandora and Bird think I’m a mess. I’m doing my best. What do they bloody expect? An overnight transformation? I may as well prove them right.

A few minutes later, I’m trying to open a bottle of white plonk. The pantry where the drink is kept has a shiny new padlock on the door, Bird’s idea no doubt, which is completely laughable. I’m too amused to be insulted. There’s no beer in the fridge but luckily I’d spotted a bottle right at the back of the kitchen cupboard a few days ago. From the dull sheen on the glass and the ripped label it looks like it’s been there forever, but it will do. It’s lodged between my thighs, and I’m attempting to pull the stubborn cork out with a useless corkscrew when Jamie walks in.

‘Did you get the Wii working?’ I ask him.

He nods. ‘Just had to reload the game. Iris is happily bowling away now.’

‘Thanks.’ I hand him the wine bottle. ‘Here, you try. Bloody thing’s stuck. Sorry, we’re out of beer.’

He takes the bottle off me and plonks it down on the table, the opener sticking out of the top like a flag on Mount Everest.

‘I don’t want a drink,’ he says. ‘A coffee will do me grand.’

‘But it’s Saturday night.’

‘So you said.’ He looks at me, his eyebrows raised.

‘OK, what’s going on here, have I missed something? You’re being really weird.’

He points at the table. ‘Sit down.’

‘No. I’m perfectly happy standing. Spit it out.’ I park my bum against the kitchen counter and cross my arms.

He sighs and runs his hands through his hair. ‘I was checking the computer at the till the other night and I overheard Bird talking to you about your drinking.’

I snort and then start to laugh. ‘Not you as well. Jamie, I’m twenty-four, not fifty. I’m entitled to a few drinks every now and then. And I’m not listening to a lecture on drinking from you of all people.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Hello, beer boy. Entered any drinking competitions lately? Oh, and sorry, what about that Mr Iron Stomach thing? I seem to remember you managed to down a pint of cooking oil plus a whole bottle of ketchup before you brought it all back up again. No, hang on, it was the goo from the inside of a cow’s eye that made you vomit, wasn’t it? Daphne told Bird the whole sordid story.’

‘That was a college thing. Look, I’ve been thinking about it and Bird has a point. You do drink a lot.’

‘That’s nonsense and you know it, Jamie. And right now I’m going to have some evil alcohol. If you’re not going to join me, you can get out.’

I go to pick up the wine bottle but he gets there first. He reefs the cork out, flings the opener onto the table with a clatter, strides past me and starts to pour the whole bottle down the sink.

‘Jamie, stop!’ I try to grab it off him but it’s no use, he holds me away with one arm.

I thump his back, hard.

‘Jesus, Jules, that hurt.’

‘It was meant to. What are you doing? That’s such a waste.’

‘Why are you so upset? It’s only cheap supermarket plonk. And from the smell of it, I think it’s corked.’

‘You have no right—’

‘To look after you? I have every right. Don’t you get it? I care about you, Jules. And Bird’s right about your drinking. You need to stop.’

‘What is it with you people? I like the odd drink, well big deal. I wish the lot of you would just leave me alone, Jamie. In fact, I’d like you to go now.’

‘What?’

‘You heard me. Get out.’

‘You’re not being rational. I’m not going anywhere until you calm down.’

‘Calm down?’ I say, my voice sounding a little hysterical even to my ears. ‘I was perfectly calm until you barged your way in here and poured good wine down the sink. Most visitors bring drink, they don’t get rid of it. Ed brought vodka—’As soon as it’s out I regret it, but too late now.

Jamie’s eyes flicker. ‘When? Recently?’

Yikes, now I’ve done it. But I’m too angry to care.

‘The night he appeared in my tree house,’ I say. ‘Grey Goose and a bottle of cranberry. He even thought to bring plastic cups.’

Jamie stares at me for a moment, then his face hardens. ‘He was still there when you went back home from my place, wasn’t he?’

I jut out my chin. ‘Yes. And we drank ourselves stupid. Perfectly normal weekend behaviour. When did
you
get so boring?’

He picks up the empty bottle and shoves it roughly into the swing bin. ‘Needing to get wasted all the time isn’t normal, Jules. That night we went to Finnegan’s with Arietty, you threw all your drinks down like it was some sort of race, then when we left the pub you nearly got knocked down. You walked straight out into the road, remember? Luckily that jeep saw you and swerved away in time.’

I have no idea what he’s talking about so I keep my mouth shut.

‘And then I had to practically carry you the whole way up the hill,’ he continues. ‘I’m sorry, Jules, it’s gone too far. I’m going to ask Bird to find you an addiction counsellor.’

My eyes prick with tears. How dare he? ‘You do that and I will never speak to you again. Do you understand me? Never!’

He sighs. ‘I can’t talk to you any more. I have to go. And for God’s sake, please don’t drink while you’re minding Iris.’

‘Get out,’ I say coldly.

He looks at me, his eyes dark. ‘Jules—’

‘Just go.’

‘I’m going.’ He turns his back to me and marches out the door. As soon as I’m sure he’s left, I start to cry hot, angry tears. I wipe them away with the back of my hand and walk into the living room.

‘Bed, Iris. Right this second, no complaints.’

‘But Auntie Jules. I’m in the middle of bowling.’

‘Don’t argue with me, Iris, I’m not in the mood.’