The Shoestring Club (12 page)

I hear a noise in the background, and a voice, and he’s gone.

‘Ed!’ I yell, slightly hysterically. ‘Don’t leave me! Ed!’

‘I’m here, all right. Calm down.’

‘Who’s with you?’ I ask when he comes back on the line.

‘Lainey. We’re in Paris.’

‘But I need you, Ed,’ I wail. ‘Can you come and get me?’

‘Didn’t you hear me? I’m in Paris, Jules,
Paris
. You’ll have to ring your dad or Pandora.’

‘Noooo! They’ll kill me. And I’ve lost my jacket.’

‘You’re not making much sense. And rewind, what happened with Noel?’

‘I was outside in the beer garden with Noel and Mickey, and Mickey went inside and Noel pulled up my skirt and called me a slut and tried to . . .’ I stop and start to cry. ‘He was pinning me up against the wall and everything. Then I kneed him in the balls and Paddy rang me a taxi. But the stupid man made me get out. I’m on the side of the road and it’s freezing.’ I sniff and rub my tears away with my hand.

There’s a deathly silence. I hear Ed say, ‘Shit,’ under his breath.

‘Do you believe me?’ I ask him in a small voice. ‘About Noel. Ed? Are you there?’

‘Yeah, yeah, I’m here. Are you sure about all this, Jules?’

‘Yes! I’ve had a few drinks, but I’m not that out of it.’

‘But nothing actually happened in the end? He didn’t – you know?’

‘No. But he wasn’t messing, Ed, I swear. I was so scared—’ I break off and start sobbing again.

‘The fecker. His poor wife. Jules, calm down, I’ll talk to him, OK? Tell him to keep the hell away from you. Did you call the guards? Jules, can you hear me?’

‘Sorry.’ I take a deep breath, and try to speak. ‘No. I told you, Paddy got me a taxi and now I’m in the middle of nowhere.’

‘You’ll have to ring your dad or Pandora, understand? Will you do that? Jules, say something.’

‘OK,’ I manage. ‘I’ll ring Pandora.’

‘Good. And from now on, don’t go near Dicey’s or any of the team, understand? I’ll sort it out when I get back. And don’t tell anyone what you told me.’

‘When are you back, Ed? I need to talk to you. Will you call in? And why can’t I tell anyone?’

‘Monday, and yeah, I’ll try. But swear to me you won’t say a word. If you do, it might only make things worse. Last thing you need is someone like that idiot Jamie or your dad taking Noel on and getting an assault charge for their trouble. Noel’s a tricky one, but I know how to deal with him. Now ring Pandora. We’ll talk when I get back, Jules, OK.’ And with that he’s gone.

I click off the phone, feeling a bit better. I don’t know what’s going to happen exactly, but I trust Ed, I know he’ll do the right thing. And he’s right, although Jamie wouldn’t care what had happened to me, Dad might just punch Noel’s lights out. I must admit the thought is very tempting, but I don’t want Dad landing in jail over me.

I sit on the edge of the pavement for a few more minutes, taking deep breaths and trying to calm down before I ring Pandora. She’s not exactly thrilled to hear from me but after I beg for several minutes she agrees to come and collect me.

It seems like forever but eventually I hear her Golf spluttering down the street. I stand up and start waving at her. She pulls up beside me and waits as I open the passenger door and climb in.

The first thing she says is, ‘What is that disgusting smell? Have you been sick again? And is that my Erdem skirt? Ah, no, you haven’t. That skirt is new, I haven’t even worn it yet.’

‘I’m sorry, Pandora. I’ll replace it, OK? And I’m sorry for dragging you out. Like I told you, the taxi driver dumped me on the side of the road. And I don’t know where I am, so I couldn’t ring another one.’

‘
I
managed to find you,’ she says grimly.

‘Only because you recognized the names of some of the clothing warehouses.’

She sighs dramatically. ‘I don’t want to hear your excuses, Jules. And not a word while I’m driving, understand? It’s late, let’s just get home.’ She pulls out and we drive back to Dalkey in icy silence.

Once she’s marched up the path and opened the front door, she stops and rounds on me. ‘You need to sort yourself out, Jules. What were you doing in the middle of an industrial estate like that? It’s dangerous. You could have been raped or even murdered. And you have some sort of love bite on the front of your neck.’

When I start laughing manically, which quickly turns into gulping sobs, she groans and says, ‘Just go to bed, Jules. It’ll all be fine in the morning. You probably won’t remember a thing.’ With that she leaves me, standing on the doorstep on my own, still crying my heart out.

I still haven’t heard from Ed a week and a half later. I’ve rung him every day, and first thing every morning I’ve grabbed my iPhone from my bedside table and checked for messages, but . . . nothing. Until today.

I push myself up in bed, suddenly very awake. I click into my gmail account, which takes longer than usual as my hands are shaking so much, and check through my messages. There it is: From Ed Powers.

I stare down at the screen, disgusted.
Lainey’s
under a lot of stress? Bully for her. What about
me
? He continues:

Tears pour down my cheeks. That’s it? Ed has made Noel apologize? That’s what he calls sorting it out? Noel probably won’t even bother going to counselling; he probably just agreed to get Ed off his back. And even though Ed says he believes me, he obviously thinks I was too drunk to remember things clearly.

Well, Ed Powers, how about this for remembering – I haven’t had a full night’s sleep since it happened. I keep feeling a heavy weight on my neck and wake up gulping for air. I can’t get Noel’s leer out of my mind. Sometimes I think I can feel his spit on my cheek. How are you supposed to forget about something like that? I even woke up one night in a panic, with the horrible sensation that some kind of slimy animal was crawling down my face, to find I’d been crying in my sleep. And the nightmares – I don’t even want to go there. Move on, you say?

I want to delete Noel’s message without reading it, but I know I must look. I have to try and get some sort of closure, stop imagining Noel’s still out to attack me, stop jumping every time I hear a branch rubbing against my window, birds in the bushes, or a twig snapping behind me. So I force my eyes back to the screen.

That’s it? Five bloody lines, basically asking me to keep my mouth shut. I feel like screaming.

That’s it. I’ve had enough. I have to keep busy, I have to get out of the house, right now, I have to find some sort of job that will stop me going over and over what happened in my head on a loop, even if it’s sorting out garbage, or gutting chickens – at this stage I’ll do anything.

Over the last two weeks I’ve dropped my CV into pretty much every boutique and shoe shop in Dublin city and county with no joy. Some of them refused to take a copy, said I’d be wasting my time. I decide to try one final place before I call it a day – a designer shoe shop in Malahide called Sole Sisters. I’ve read about it a couple of times in magazines and it’s my last hope.

After my shower – I skip breakfast, I don’t have any appetite this morning – I try ringing them, but they aren’t answering their phone, so I decide to show a bit of initiative and travel over there on the train. Malahide is miles away from Dalkey, but it’s on the DART line. And at the very least it will get me out of the house and give me something to do. Bird has already caught me in the hallway and suggested if I wasn’t busy this afternoon I might take Iris out to the park after school. Don’t get me wrong, I love Iris, but I’m not sure I can deal with her today.

When I walk in the door of Sole Sisters, the assistant doesn’t even raise her head from her knitting. I stand in front of the desk for a second before she finally notices me.

‘Excuse me,’ I say politely. ‘I was wondering if I could drop in my CV?’

‘Hello, deary. Sorry, didn’t see you there.’ She puts her knitting down on the messy desk and smiles though coral-pink lips. There’s a fleck of lipstick on one of her top teeth. ‘CV you say? Of course, if you want to. Not much point though. Sales are so slow I doubt if the shop will be open much longer.’ She holds out her hand. ‘But I’ll give it to the owner, you never know. She’s my daughter. I just do the odd afternoon for her so she can pop to the bank.’

‘Thanks. I’d appreciate that.’

‘Have a browse while you’re here. Everything is marked down.’

I have a quick look around and frankly I’m not surprised sales are slow. The black shelving is chipped, the mirrors dusty and smeared, and the stock is appalling – from the outdated styles and colours, the shoes and boots look at least two seasons old. There’s a small rail of random clothes – badly cut wrap dresses, ripped, grunge-style T-shirts, multi-coloured beach throws – and a shelf of fake-leather clutch bags.

They are even offering a free manicure with every pair of shoes bought, which smacks of desperation. Even I know it’s no way to succeed in retail. Customers want to feel pampered and special the moment they enter a shop. Appropriate music (and not seagulls or whale song, no matter what Rowie thinks); a fresh, clean smell; and brand new, just out of the wrapper stock. Some even like colour co-ordinated rails to make browsing easier. Most of the customers are snatching a few precious minutes for themselves before going back to work or collecting the kids from school. Shopping should be a treat. Whoever owns Sole Sisters doesn’t have a clue.

After a few minutes I murmur, ‘Thanks’ and I leave, happy to get out of the place.

After trying all the other clothes and shoe shops in Malahide, I give it one final push – getting the train back to Dun Laoghaire, and dropping my CV into some of the local bookshops (Dad’s idea – he’s a huge reader). Then I go home and ring some of the bigger book stores in town – Waterstone’s, Eason’s, Hodges Figgis, and Dubray. They’re all very nice, but not one is hiring until Christmas. Then I try both delis in Dalkey, all the restaur-ants, and all the pubs – but again, nothing.

And then finally I give up, drained and exhausted.

That evening Dad is out at one of his book clubs (he’s in two, plus a theatre club), Bird and Pandora are at choir practice, and I’m on Iris duty. We sit down on the sofa together to watch an old episode of
Glee
. Pandora doesn’t let her watch it, says it’s too teenage, so she’s delighted with herself.

Just before it starts I turn to Iris, who is playing her Nintendo while the ads are on. ‘Iris?’

She doesn’t look up but she does say, ‘Yeah?’

‘I’ll watch it with you on two conditions. One, you turn down the sound on that thing. And two, no questions. In fact, no talking at all, understand?’

She lifts her head and gives me a smile. ‘No problem, Auntie Jules.’

‘Just Jules, remember? Auntie makes me sound ancient.’

‘But Mum says—’

‘Your mum’s not here this evening, is she? Otherwise you wouldn’t be watching
Glee
or staying up so late.’

‘OK,
Jules
.’ She giggles a little, like she’s done something naughty. The opening music rings out and she dumps her Nintendo and snuggles in beside me.

‘Who’s that boy?’ she asks as soon as Finn Hudson, the quarterback, comes on the screen. ‘Is he a rugby player?’

‘American football. They don’t play much rugby in America.’

‘What about her?’ She points at one of the cheerleaders, Quinn Fabray. ‘Why is she wearing her gym gear in class?’

I press my head against the back of the sofa. ‘Iris! You promised, no questions.’