The Shoestring Club (19 page)

I hesitate. Pandora is making it all sound a bit serious, and a bit too much like hard work. I was only offering to help Hester out because she was so nice. Imagine if I got stuck for hours with some old stick, or even worse, someone like Sissy Arbuckle.

I say quickly, ‘I’d better get on with the refit first, Pandora.’

She nods. ‘Probably best. But that customer mentioned photos. And I saw you taking pictures of the dummy. What was all that about?’

I explain what I’d offered to do for Hester.

Pandora cocks her head, considering this for a moment. ‘Where did you get that idea? You really are on fire today. Must be all the healthy living.’

I roll my eyes at her. ‘Stop with all the healthy-living digs, OK? It’s already getting boring.’

She smiles. ‘Sorry, couldn’t resist.’

‘Anyway the photo thing just came to me,’ I say. ‘People do it for shoes, don’t they? Put a photo of the shoes on the box so they can find them quickly. Hester asked me to write down the styling suggestions for her new clothes, and taking photos just seemed quicker and easier.’

‘It’s a fantastic idea, and very original. Personalized styling, complete with bespoke photos. We could call it Shoestring Style Snap.’ Pandora jumps behind the desk, grabs the queries book and a pen and starts scribbling down some notes.

My stomach rumbles loudly. I couldn’t find my watch this morning so I have no idea what time it is. ‘Pandora?’

She looks up and smiles. ‘Yep, you should have gone on lunch twenty minutes ago. But don’t worry, you can take your full half-hour. You’re in my good books today. In fact, take an extra ten minutes if you like.’

‘Thanks, Pandora.’ Ten minutes may not sound like much, but it’s a big deal for Pandora the control freak who has our breaks practically stopwatched.

‘Enjoy.’ She waves her fingers at me and gets back to scribbling.

When I walk into the staffroom, Jamie is sitting on the sofa, his feet up on a chair, drawing some odd-looking diagrams of boxes linked with lines on a foolscap pad. What is it with everyone and notebooks today?

Our eyes connect and it’s like a rain cloud has drifted over his face. His eyes darken and his jaw hardens.

‘Julia,’ he says a little stiffly. ‘Seen Bird?’

‘She’s not due in until three.’

He puts his Converse on the floor. ‘Thought she said two. I’ll come back.’

I look at the kitchen clock. ‘She’ll be here in ten minutes. You may as well wait. I’ll make you some tea if you like.’ I’m feeling in a generous mood after my success with Hester.

He seems unsure for a second, then says, ‘OK.’

I click on the kettle, thinking. I feel bad about yesterday. He did stop Iris careering into the road and I may have been a bit sharp with him. I turn around.

‘About yesterday—’

But simultaneously he says, ‘About last night—’

We both stop and I smile a little and say, ‘You go first, Jamie.’

He shrugs. ‘Just wanted to apologize I guess. I should have rung you back.’ He puts his pad down on the sofa and runs his hands through his hair, making it stick up a bit. ‘I’m all over the place at the moment, Jules. Losing my job was . . . well, it was shit to be honest. A real kick in the teeth.’

‘Losing your job? Daphne said you left.’

‘Yeah, before I was pushed. They let five of us go. There just isn’t the work at the moment and I was only on a short-term contract. Once the last Pot of Gold cartoon was finished, the work dried up.’

‘But Bird told me one of your animations won an Irish Film Award.’

‘I know. But no one wanted to invest in our new project, so the lads have gone back to making ads until they can find some funding. But it could take a couple of years. And besides, I want to work on my own ideas.’

‘For animated films?’

‘Just one, singular.
Bold Tales for Wee Ones
. Irish legends told by this incredibly obnoxious, Father Jack-type character called Sean O’Ti.
Children of Lir
,
The Salmon of Knowledge
, all those kind of stories, but with a really nasty, dark twist.’

‘For children?’

‘Sure. And adults. Have you heard of
Granny O’Grimm
?’

‘Irish cartoon, won an Oscar, right?’

‘Yep. Best short animated.
Bold Tales
will be along those lines, but with even darker, almost Gothic animation, using some Celtic,
The Book of Kells
-type styling and motifs.’

‘Sounds amazing. How far along are you?’

‘I’ve almost finished
How Cúchulainn Got His Name
. The giant hound is kind of cool. Getting his fur right was a nightmare . . . ’ Talking about his work, the dark cloud lifts and he looks almost happy.

‘I’d love to see it,’ I say when he’s finished.

He shrugs again. ‘Hopefully it’ll be in the cinema one day.’

I expect him to add, ‘Call over later and I’ll show you what I’ve done so far.’ He used to get a real buzz out of showing me his work. But – nothing, he just looks away. I’m lost for words for a moment, so I busy myself making tea.

‘Milk and sugar?’ I ask, hoping my voice sounds normal, and not as hurt and confused as I feel.

He nods. ‘Both. Two sugars, thanks.’

I hand over his mug, put my own on the table, twist a chair around to face him and sit down.

‘So how’s the Shoestring website coming along?’ I ask, keeping the conversation neutral and wishing I’d never offered him tea in the first place. I blow into my mug and then take a sip.

‘It’s pretty much done. Just have to add some graphics. Then I’m starting work on the loyalty cards. I’ve almost finished designing the database. Should get the prototype up and running next week and after a couple of tests it’ll be good to go. Just need to sort out the final details with Bird.’

‘Loyalty cards? For Shoestring customers?’

‘Here.’ He opens his rucksack and hands me a Tiffany-blue plastic card with Shoestring written across it in cursive dark-pink script, and our slogan ‘Designer clothes at Shoestring prices’ underneath, complete with the website details. ‘What do you think?’ he asks.

‘Looks great. How will it work?’ I hand it back to him.

‘Customers will sign up at the till for a card, you’ll take all their details – the usual, name, address, email, that kind of thing – and I’ll input all the data into the computer. It’s a pretty basic system. The customers collect points every time they buy something in the shop and you’ll have access to all their personal details so you can target your marketing more efficiently.’

I give a fake yawn.

He laughs. ‘Jules! Loyalty cards are fascinating.’

‘Really? Why?’

‘Knowing exactly what someone has bought? All their shopping patterns?’

I look at him. ‘Since when have you been interested in shopping patterns, Mr Animation Guru?’

He grins. ‘OK, you got me there.’ He lowers his voice. ‘But I was doing some research for Bird and Pandora on other cards. I hacked into some of the Irish retail databases and it was pretty interesting. The amount of stuff they collect. I’m telling you, criminal profiling has nothing on some of the big supermarkets. If you analyse the data, put it into profiling programmes, you can tell all kinds of things: what age customers are, if they have children or not, if they’re single or married, if they have a cat or a dog. Honestly, it’s amazing.’

I roll my eyes. ‘Only if you’re a stalker, Jamie. Do you know how weird that all sounds?’

He sighs. ‘I know. And don’t breathe a word to Bird or Pandora. They’d freak out if they knew how I’ve been doing my research. I told them it was all legit.’

‘I’m not sure about Pandora, but I don’t think Bird would give a hoot as long as she can save the shop.’

‘Save?’ He looks genuinely concerned. ‘That doesn’t sound good.’

‘It’s not something they’d like broadcast. Keep it to yourself but the shop’s in trouble. And unless we can get the sales up, drastically, we might lose Sorrento House too.’

‘I’m sorry, Jules. I had no idea.’

‘How would you?’ I check the wall clock. ‘Look, I’m supposed to be working on this refit for Pandora. Do you mind if I flick though a couple of interior mags while I talk to you? I need to finish my mood board before my meeting with Dad this evening.’

‘Go right ahead,’ he says.

I pull it out from behind the sofa and study it proudly. It’s looking pretty impressive. I have the colours sorted – the woodwork will stay as it is, a neutral ‘sail’ white, but I’m hoping to add eye-catching splashes of dark pink and sunny yellow to the mirror frames and the desk, and maybe some zesty green or turquoise. I’ve used the colour of a ripe watermelon, and a photograph of an Indian woman in a pink, green and yellow sari I’ve pulled out of an old copy of
National Geographic
as my colour inspirations.

I’ve pinned the pictures, along with some jewel-coloured silks to the mood board – I’m hoping Pandora will let me replace the grey changing-room curtains with something more vibrant; I’ve sourced fantastically cheap, dark-pink velvet sofas in Ikea, and I want to put them in the middle of the floor, back to back, to make a luxurious sitting area for trying on shoes, or for hubbies and boyfriends to lounge on while waiting for their other halves. I just need to add a few more finishing touches before I unleash the whole scheme on Pandora. I’ve already shown Bird my ideas, and she loves them.

Jamie is studying the board. ‘Bit pink for me, Jules, but I like the general look. Very hip. Are you really going to work during your break? It’s not like you. Usually lunch is for catching up on zeds, yeah?’

I smile at him. ‘People change, Jamie. Didn’t you know?’

‘I guess they do.’ His eyes seem softer.

Something occurs to me. ‘Jamie, do you know anything about blogs?’

‘Yeah, why? Don’t tell me you have one, Jules?’ He chuckles away to himself.

‘I do actually,’ I say, slightly miffed. ‘And I was hoping to make the background look a bit more interesting. It’s plain white at the moment.’

‘The skin.’

‘Sorry?’

‘The background’s called the skin.’

‘Oh, OK, well I’d really appreciate some help with it. If you’re free this evening . . .’ I tail off. Please say yes, I will him with my eyes.

His eyes shift away from mine and rest on the mood board. ‘Sorry, Jules, no can do. I’m working on
Bold Tales
every night, you know how it is.’

‘Sure,’ I say, feeling disappointed and embarrassed. Jamie clearly doesn’t want to spend a second more than necessary in my company. I’m obviously coming over far too manic and needy. No wonder he’s running a mile.

‘But if you give me the blog address I can have a look at home,’ he adds.

‘Don’t put yourself out, I know you’re busy.’ I grab my magazines from where I’ve left them in an overflowing heap in the corner of the table. ‘I’m busy too; in fact I’d better stop chatting and get to work. You know how it is, Jamie.’

He looks at me for a second, a strange expression on his face and then just nods. ‘Fine.’ Then he picks up his notebook and buries his head in it again. ‘That’s just fine.’

‘Is there any way we can keep the grey curtains? They cost a fortune,’ Pandora says later that day, just after the shop’s closed. We’re sitting in the staffroom, talking about my ideas for the shop revamp. Dad, Bird and Iris have all joined us.

I did have my heart set on new hot-pink ones, and normally compromise isn’t one of my strong points, but Pandora is being rather nice to me today and she does have a point.

‘What if we edge them with pink?’ I suggest. ‘It would be a nice contrast to the grey and it would brighten them up a bit. A dusky, tea-rose pink might work the best.’

Pandora smiles at me. She looks relieved. ‘Sounds like a plan. Happy with that, Bird?’

Bird shrugs. ‘Whatever you think, darling.’

‘And not much point asking me about curtains or colour schemes.’ Dad grins.

I jot it down in my notebook. Find pink silk for curtain edgings. ‘Good, I’ll start looking for the right fabric. And the gang in Mrs Stitch have already said they’ll help out with any of the soft furnishings. I rang them this morning.’

‘Excellent, Jules,’ Pandora says encouragingly. ‘Good thinking.’

I smile back at her. ‘So on to the paintwork. I’d suggest keeping the neutral off-white of the shelves and the floor, but injecting a few shots of vibrant colour to make the interior dynamic, but at the same time restful. We’ve already touched on the curtains, but I thought we could also paint the mirror frames in jewel colours, add some sweeps of voile—’

‘What’s voile, Auntie Jules?’ Iris asks.

‘A light, see-through material,’ I explain. ‘Like net. I thought we could hang some on either side of the door, in similar colours. It would move in the breeze and make the doorway more eye catching.’

Dad smiles. ‘Nice idea, Jules. But what about shelving? Do you need me to build anything?’

I point at a sketch I’ve drawn, attached to the left of the board. ‘Just one unit, Dad, to replace the rails down the middle of the floor. The new design has half rails all along the bottom, for shirts and skirts, instead of full rails.’ I point at the relevant part of the sketch. ‘Covered by a solid piece of chipboard, which will be the new area for the shoes. And then I’d like you to build an open frame of Perspex boxes on top for shoes and hats – I’ve sourced some from a shop-fitting company and I’ve put two dozen on hold just in case. As long as the boxes are see-through, we can stack them to the ceiling and it won’t block off the light. And I thought we could put hooks here and here,’ I point at either end of the stand. ‘For bags. Of course the more valuable ones could be placed in the Perspex boxes. But the main point of this unit is to clear some space for the café to expand into the area that the existing shoe and hat stand currently holds.’ I look at Dad. ‘What do you think?’