The Shoestring Club (31 page)

‘Ed is on shop phone for you. Says is urgent. He have nerve, yes? Will I tell him go to hell?’

I nod. ‘Please do, thanks, Lenka.’ She’s clearly up to date on my Ed woes. Must have been Bird or Pandora. Probably Bird. She loves telling anyone who will listen what an idiot he is.

Lenka comes back a few minutes later. ‘He say unless you speak to him, he arrive at shop. He say if you not talk to him then, he camp in shop until you do.’

‘For Feck’s sake.’ I stand up, practically spitting with anger, and follow Lenka to the door.

‘Sorry, Lenka,’ I say as I march towards the phone. ‘I didn’t mean to snap at you.’

She shrugs. ‘Men. Drive you crazy, yes?’

‘Too right,’ I say.

She lingers for a second, clearly interested in what I’m about to say to Ed, but I stand there, looking at her and eventually she takes the hint and bounces off towards the coffee shop, her white-blonde ponytail swinging behind her.

‘What do you want?’ I hiss into the mouthpiece.

Annoyingly Ed just chuckles. ‘Is that any way to speak to your old buddy?’

‘Buddy my ass. Why didn’t you answer any of my calls?’

‘Lainey made me promise never to speak to you again.’

‘She threatened me too. Told me to keep away from you or else.’

He laughs again. ‘Threatened you? Lainey? I highly doubt it. Cried you into submission more like. She told me she visited the shop. Brave for Lainey.’

‘Brave? Your darling fiancée slapped me, Ed. Did she tell you that?’

There’s silence for a second. ‘No,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry, OK. I should never have put you in that position and I really want to make it up to you. What are you doing tonight?’

I snort. ‘Has Lainey finally called off the private detective who she’s had stalking you then? Or has she had some sort of tracking device implanted under your skin? Look, I’ve had enough of this. You’re marrying Lainey in just over a week; until then, keep away from me, understand? As I told Lainey, I’ll make a brief appearance at your wedding, but after that I want nothing to do with either of you, get it?’

‘Please, Jules,’ he says. ‘I just want to say goodbye properly.’

‘No. I mean it. I’m sorry, but I have to go. There’s a customer waiting for me. I’ll see you at the wedding.’

I put down the phone and blow out my breath. That’s it, I managed to stand my ground and it’s finally over. I thought I’d feel pleased, but instead I feel empty and desperately lonely.

After I’ve managed to get the last stragglers out of the shop, I lock up and flop down on the sofa facing the door to wait for Arietty. At twenty past six I’m starting to get worried, but then I see someone through the glass, waving in at me. For a second I almost don’t recognize her, it’s the first time I’ve seen Arietty wearing any kind of make up, and her hair is pulled back off her face in a simple top bun, decorated with tiny white flowers. She looks amazing. I unlock the door.

‘About time,’ she says, scowling at me.

I ignore the tone, knowing she’s a bundle of nerves, and hold the door open for her. She walks in, staggering a little in her gold strappy sandals, and stands in the middle of the shop floor, fuming, battered red rucksack on her back. She’s wearing jeans and her sensible navy jacket with her heels.

I lock the door behind us and then ask, ‘What’s wrong?’

‘That stupid hairdresser and make-up girl. I said simple, not this.’ She stars her hands around her face and waves them a little frantically. Her nails are a lush dark red.

‘What are you talking about? You look gorgeous. OK, maybe the white flowers around your bun are a bit too much, but the rest is spot on.’

She blinks several times in quick succession and I realize why her eyes look so flirty – fake corner lashes.

‘And I love the eyelashes,’ I add. ‘Très va va voom. I can’t wait to get you into the Farenze and see the final effect.’

Arietty’s eyes begin to water. ‘That’s just it. I look like I’ve made too much effort. It’s not what I’d planned, Jules, I just wanted to look pretty, show the girls in my year that I’ve made something of myself. I didn’t want to go in the first place, and I certainly don’t now. This isn’t me, everyone’s going to laugh.’

I take her hands, lead her to the sofa and make her sit down. ‘Arietty,’ I say, after giving her a few seconds to collect herself and blink away the tears. I hope her lash glue is waterproof. ‘No one’s going to laugh at you. Listen to me – we can tone it down a little if you like, banish the flowers and the smoky eye make up, take off the nail polish, give you a pair of flatties instead of heels. I’d planned to pop a leather jacket over your shoulders to make the Farenze look less dressy anyway. Does that sound all right?’

‘Yes, but what about the lashes? They feel really weird.’ She screws her eyes shut and then opens them again.

‘You won’t notice them after a while. I had a full spider set glued on once, yours are only babies. And they suit you.’ I pat her on the hand. ‘Let’s get cracking. We don’t have long to lick you into shape. I ordered you a taxi for seven.’

She sighs and then nods. ‘I guess I’ve shelled out enough money already for this damn reunion. And I do want to give the dress an outing. OK, do your worst.’

I tackle the nails first. Luckily Bird keeps a full nail kit in the staffroom. She’s very particular about her nails. As I hold Arietty’s fingers and dab a cotton-wool ball soaked in remover over the blood red polish, I notice her hand is shaking.

‘How are the nerves holding up?’ I ask gently.

She sighs. ‘I won’t be able to eat a thing. I have a frog in my throat and butterflies in my stomach. But if I can get through the dinner and the speeches I’ll be happy.’

‘Why are you putting yourself through this, Arietty? I don’t understand. It’s just a school reunion.’

‘Where did you go to school?’

‘St John’s in Blackrock,’ I tell her.

‘Mixed, yes? And big. Lots of different kids, yeah?’

I shrug. ‘I guess so.’

‘And did you like it?’

‘I didn’t hate it. It was OK. The other kids were pretty nice. And the art teacher was lovely.’

‘Well, I went to Loreto Monkstown and I hated it. Really hated it. I was practically the only black girl in the whole school. And I started midway through second year which was a disaster. Everyone had their own friends by then. In third year we did this play with some of the boys from CBC Monkstown and one of them asked me out – a guy called Martin Craig, Craiger they used to call him – and I made the mistake of saying yes. From then on some of the girls made my life hell.’

‘Why?’ I stop dabbing at her nails and look up. Arietty’s eyes are dark and sad.

‘There was this one girl, Sasha Davenport, really fancied herself.’

‘She’s the one organizing the reunion isn’t she?’ I ask. ‘The one who slagged you about mucking out the elephants.’

‘That’s right.’

‘She sounds awful.’

‘She’s a nightmare. Beautiful though. Long blonde hair, big blue eyes, skinny, huge boobs. A real D4. All fake tan, UGG boots, and ironed hair. Anyway, Sasha had her eye on Craiger. So when she found out we were together, she started telling everyone I was a slut. Then I started getting all these anonym-ous text messages calling me names and saying I was dead. I broke up with him after that, couldn’t take it any more, but the texts didn’t stop. And they started to get pretty nasty, telling me to go back to Africa, stuff like that.’

I suck in my breath. Teenage girls can be evil. ‘You told someone, right?’

She nods. ‘Mum. Who told my stepdad, Jeremy. He was raging and stormed into the school, demanding to see the head, saying he’d sue them for racism. Jeremy’s white but he’s a lot more sensitive about things like that than me or Mum are. The head managed to calm him down, said he’d implement an anti-bullying policy immediately and come down hard on whoever was behind the messages. The texts stopped, but nothing ever happened to Sasha, even though they were all sent from her mobile. She claimed it wasn’t her, that someone must have stolen her mobile and sent them.

Then her dad got involved, said he’d pull all his funding from the new gym extension if the head didn’t stop harassing his darling daughter. Mum had to physically stop Jeremy from going over to Mr Davenport’s house and confronting him. It was horrible.’

‘That’s unbelievable,’ I say. ‘Why didn’t they move you to a different school or something?’

She shrugs. ‘That’s a good question. I don’t really know. I guess Lucie and Amanda were really happy there and they didn’t want to pull us all out or split us up.’

I sigh. ‘And I guess if she’s organizing it, Sasha will be taking centre stage tonight.’

Arietty nods solemnly. ‘Yes. I want to look her in the eye, stand my ground, show her she hasn’t won. If I can eyeball down mad elephants, I can sure as hell deal with Sasha Davenport.’ Her eyes are flinty and I can tell she’s serious.

‘That’s the spirit.’ I give her a gentle smile. ‘Arietty, would you like me to go with you? I could sit in the hotel lobby if you like, give you some moral support.’

She shakes her head. ‘That’s very kind, Jules, but I’ll be fine, honestly. Thanks for the offer, I appreciate it.’ She stops for a second. ‘Are we friends now? I mean proper friends, not just Shoestring Club friends?’

Man, is she direct. ‘Yes,’ I say, meaning it. ‘I could do with a friend right now, someone I can trust.’

She nods and gives a shy smile. ‘Me too,’ she says. ‘That Lainey is one stupid girl.’

‘Thanks.’ Then I hold both her hands in mine. ‘Now if we’re going to make you belle of the ball, we’d better get cracking.’

Half an hour later I make Arietty pose while I take photos with the shop camera. She’s in good spirits, nervous, but excited too. I think she secretly knows how stunning she looks, even if she refuses to admit it. She was right about toning down the make up, with her perfect bone structure and dramatic eyes, less is definitely more. I’ve taken the flowers out of her bun, which makes it look a lot more contemporary, and her nails are now a delicate shade of coral pink. I’ve thrown the dove-grey Rick Owens jacket over her shoulders – it only came in two weeks ago, but as soon as I spotted it, I knew it would be perfect – and I’ve knotted a soft black leather belt around her waist, and borrowed some Pretty Ballerina zebra-print pumps from the shop to replace the sandals. Even in the low heels, she’ll still tower over most women at the reunion. She looks unbelievable.

‘Head up a little, Arietty,’ I say, looking through the viewfinder. ‘Twist your body away from me a bit, throw your hand on your hip, that’s it, perfecto.’ I snap away. Then I drop to one knee. ‘Now arch your back and look down at me. Give me a kind of haughty, proud look. Excellent.’ I keep shooting, capturing Arietty in lots of different poses. Surprisingly she seems to quite like the attention, and I’ve always enjoyed being behind the camera, so we mess around until we hear Arietty’s taxi pull up outside.

‘I’ll leave your rucksack in the staffroom and you can collect it tomorrow,’ I say, giving her hug. ‘Have a brilliant time. Remember to keep your head up. No stooping, OK?’

‘Yes, yes, stop nagging me,’ she says. But she’s smiling. Then the smile drops off her face. ‘I hope I’m not overdressed.’ She bites her lip.

‘Now you’re just fishing for compliments, Miss Supermodel.’ I unlock the shop door and the ruddy-faced driver steps out of his cab and bustles around to the passenger door to open it. I asked for their smartest taxi and the sleek black Mercedes certainly does the trick. As soon as the driver sees Arietty he gives a low whistle.

I squeeze her shoulder. ‘Told you. Now knock them all dead. You’re worth millions of a Sasha Davenport, remember that.’

Cycling home my heart feels light. It was fun styling Arietty and my life is starting to look a little more positive now that I have a friend to replace Jamie. I’ve never found it easy to make friends and I only realize now how adrift I’ve felt having no one to confide in. The whole business with Jamie is niggling at me and I’m still livid with him for treating me like a full-blown alcho. But at least he had the decency not to say anything to Bird.

As it’s a clear evening I take the longer route, turning left towards Sandycove beach, past the James Joyce Tower. I stop for a second at the 40 Foot Bathing Place, watching the sea, still sitting on my bike, my hand resting on the wall. It’s white with sea horses, waves crashing against the rocks. I wince as I spot two men walking gingerly down the concrete steps into the sea, their big bellies hanging over their flappy swimming shorts. They’re brave. There’s a nip in the air and I shiver and then start cycling home.

By the time I cycle through the gates, it’s already dark. Bird’s car isn’t in the driveway and neither is Dad’s van, they must both be out. But Pandora’s Golf is there all right.

I open the door, wheel my bike inside and rest it against the wall.

‘You can’t leave it there.’ Pandora is standing in front of me, frowning. ‘I’m not painting over the scuffs and oil marks yet again, Jules. You never think, do you?’

I look at her. ‘What has you in such a grump?’

‘I’m not in a grump.’

I rest my tongue on my upper lip and give a laugh. ‘Yeah, right. Declan stand you up, did he?’