The Shoestring Club (26 page)

‘Good for you. Look, about the other night, did you get home OK? I’m so sorry I had to run off like that; babysitter hates me being too late, you know how it is.’

‘Actually, Clara, I don’t know if Ed said anything but—’ I was about to tell her about Noel, not caring what Ed thought right at that second, when I heard Noel’s voice in the background, barking an order directly at Clara. My insides tumbled and I felt sick.

‘Sorry, better run,’ Clara said in a small voice. And then the phone cut out. I considered ringing her back, but then thought against it. I didn’t want to put her in an awkward position and in retrospect it’s probably best to keep it to myself, to try and forget about the whole bloody Noel thing.

After a moment, ignoring the voice of reason in my head telling me not to, I pull my iPhone out of my pocket again and click into Ed’s Facebook page. I still haven’t de-friended him. Even though I’ve certainly meant to, something has always held me back. It just seems so final, the last nail in the coffin. Lainey doesn’t have a page, says it’s not for her, she has issues with the privacy risks, which in the circumstances is probably just as well. One less page I can stalk.

I flick through Ed’s photo albums and find recent pictures of himself and Lainey. Ed’s arm is flung easily across Lainey’s shoulders and both are beaming at the camera, in the background the Eiffel Tower is stark black against the sunny blue sky. Tears sting my eyes and I blink them back.

I reach down and look at the label on the bottle of wine. A Chablis from Burgundy. Of course it had to be bloody French, but it was one of the few screw-top bottles to hand. I open it, take a swig, then go back to torturing myself with Ed and Lainey’s smiley, happy holiday snaps.

By Thursday evening I’m exhausted. Shoestring was hopping today and we had minor press excitement when a film crew from RTÉ swooped on the shop to film Asha Bhandari standing in our window for the six o’clock news. She’d spotted the papier mâché elephants while she was walking back to the hotel from her Monkstown Book Festival reading, came in to have a look around, and ended up buying a red cashmere cardigan from Bird.

Asha adored our elephant window. Clapped her hands together and gave a shriek of delight as soon as she realized the whole tableau was based on her book cover.

‘How adorable,’ she’d said in her distinctive, rich voice. ‘I must put a photo up on my website. Sophie, would you mind?’ She waved her hand at a girl in a very short skirt who was lingering behind her, watching everything.

The girl looked at her a little blankly.

Asha smiled at her. ‘Take a photograph of the window, would you please?’

Asha leaned towards me and Bird. ‘Such posh twits, some of these PR girls. Sweet though.’

I thought it was a little unfair, Sophie seemed nice, but Bird chuckled. ‘Can I offer you some coffee? It’s nice and strong.’

‘Why thank you,’ Asha said. ‘That sounds wonderful. And won’t you join me? I’d love to hear all about Monkstown. No one seems to be able to tell me much about the area’s past.’

Bird’s face lit up. She knows a lot of local history and loves an audience.

While Bird and Asha had a good old chin wag in the coffee shop, Sophie rang RTÉ, told them about the window and set up an interview. Luckily the news crew were in the area and agreed to do a short piece. Not such a twit after all.

Forty minutes later, Bird, Pandora and I are watching the filming from the sidelines. Pandora is jumpy with excitement.

‘RTÉ,’ she keeps saying. ‘The shop’s going to be on national television. I knew that elephant window was a great idea.’

I give a cough.

‘Well done, Jules,’ she adds quickly. ‘You put a lot of work into it and this telly thing is a real coup for Shoestring. I checked the till receipts earlier; things are looking up. Maybe we’re finally turning a corner.’

The sound man from the film crew shushes us and we listen to Asha talk about the role elephants play in her book.

‘When I was a little girl in Siju,’ she says, ‘our neighbour was a mahout. Used to allow me and my sisters to visit his elephants whenever we wished. To this day, I’ve always loved the animals, so majestic. In my novel, the main character, Alisha, a widow with useless sons, knows that she is dying. She decides to make an epic journey from Calcutta to the Garo Hills on the back of her elephant, Jasmin, to visit her beloved sister and to die in the tiny village where she grew up helping her father, also a mahout like my neighbour. And to allow Jasmin to die among her own elephant family.’

Afterwards, Bird says, ‘What’s Asha’s book called again? Sounds fascinating. Must get it for your father.’ Bird will only read history and biographies, says real life is a lot more interesting than fiction.

‘
The Journey
,’ I tell her, wondering if Arietty likes novels. If she does, I’m sure she’d love Asha’s book too.

‘I’m definitely going to read it,’ Pandora says.

Bird and I exchange a look. Pandora already has a row of books as long as her arm beside her bed that she’s bought but still hasn’t got around to reading yet. She and Dad are the bookworms in the family, and it seems to have rubbed off on Iris too.

I watch the cameraman taking a few final shots of Asha and then something occurs to me. ‘We should get our own photo of Asha in the window before she climbs out, Pandora. For the website. And why don’t you get her to sign the wall behind the till? Like you see in restaurants sometimes. We can hang her photo over the signature. Our own wall of fame. I’m sure that Sissy creature would do it for you too, she’s such an attention seeker.’

Pandora looks at me. ‘Clever idea, Jules. I like it. And I appreciate everything you’ve done to make the shop look so great.’

‘Thank you.’ I smile at her. It looks like I’m on a Shoestring roll.

Pandora’s in such a good mood that even though I’m supposed to be covering the shop until eight this evening – Thursday is late night opening – she gives me the evening off. Dad has offered to mind Iris, so she’s going to cover the shop herself, with Lenka’s help if it gets busy. So I’ve called a Shoestring Club meeting with Arietty and asked Jamie to tag along to explain his new man list. It will help keep my mind off Lainey and, more critically, Ed.

I’m still livid with him, I’ve been ringing his mobile several times an hour, but still no reply. And since Lainey’s visit, I keep looking up from the till, expecting to see her glaring at me, after finding out about the kiss. I wouldn’t put it past Ed to come clean; he has an evil streak sometimes and he might use it to upset her or slap her down. And
this
is the man I’m holding a torch for? Really? I’m deranged. Dad and Iris have taken over the living room to watch
The Simpsons
(they’re both huge fans), so we convene in the kitchen.

As soon as we are sitting, Jamie pulls a plastic folder out of his bag and slaps it down on the table.

‘Right, girls,’ he says. ‘I’ve taken Jules’s list into consideration and this is the best you’re going to get. Single men in the right age bracket, who live locally, and who have downloaded music or rented movies in the last month.’

I smile at him and then at Arietty. ‘And I spoke to Pandora this afternoon. She’s agreed in theory to a mother and son night on Friday next.’

They both gawk at me.

‘A mother and son night?’ Jamie asks. ‘Are you serious?’

I chuckle. ‘I know, it’s a bit left of centre, but Pandora swallowed it, and that’s all that matters. Hester gave me the idea. She’s one of our new regulars. She was chatting to me about her son, Declan. She was in a bit of a state. Apparently he was sharing the family home with his ex-wife but she decided she wanted rid of him, so she changed the locks and the alarm code. Locked him out of his own house. So now he’s staying with his mother.’

‘God love the man,’ Jamie murmurs.

‘Anyway,’ I continue, ‘Hester said she wished he’d go out more, that his social life was terrible and what with work and taking his daughter every weekend, he’d never meet anyone. So as you can imagine, my mind went into overdrive and I told her we were thinking of having some sort of evening for customers in the shop, with things for the guys to do while the women shopped, and she was all for it and asked could we make it mothers and sons so her Declan wouldn’t feel out of place. Said she’d invite all her Mothers’ Union and bridge friends, that loads of them had sons. So that’s basically our cover.’

Jamie doesn’t look convinced. ‘And Pandora really swallowed it?’

I nod enthusiastically. ‘I got Hester to talk her round. She’s pretty persuasive.’

Jamie gulps. ‘Hope Mum doesn’t get it into her head—’

I laugh, no wonder he’s looking rather uncomfortable. ‘She’s way ahead of you. Once Bird rang her, Daphne was already picking out her dress. Irish mammies and their sons, it’s a shopping match made in heaven. Your idea, Jamie, 80s gaming night for boys, complete with free beer and food.’

He swears under his breath. ‘I don’t remember saying anything about mothers.’

Arietty grins. ‘The place is going to be crawling with single men and older ladies. I love it. It’ll be like
Cougar Town
.’

I pretend to gag. ‘Euw, please. Hester’s about sixty.’

‘And that’s my mother you’re talking about,’ Jamie reminds her.

‘It happens,’ Arietty says simply. ‘Although they shouldn’t call the women cougars. Real cougars reach sexual maturity at two, not when they’re older. And the females are far more interested in eating than mating. Most of them only live six or eight years in the wild. Using the term is nonsense, an insult to the animal kingdom.’

Jamie and I exchange an amused look.

‘Quite right, Arietty,’ I say, trying not to smile. ‘And it looks like with Hester’s help, and Jamie’s list, all systems are go. If Pandora doesn’t score, there’s something seriously wrong with her. You might find someone too, Jamie.’ I wiggle my eyebrows at him. ‘You’d make some old dear a fabulous toy boy.’

He just glares at me.

‘You too, Arietty,’ I add. ‘Once Pandora’s taken her pick, the hand-selected single men of south county Dublin are all yours. It’ll be like shooting fish in a barrel.’

She wrinkles up her nose. ‘No thanks. No offence, Jamie, but most men are complete eejits. My stepdad’s all right, but my own dad was a complete waster. Ran off with one of Mum’s friends when I was seven. Na, I’m better off on my own.’

I don’t know what to say to that and Jamie looks taken aback and a bit uncomfortable, so I keep my mouth shut and flick through Jamie’s list, focusing on some of the details. After a few seconds I look up at him.

‘This is amazing, Jamie. How on earth—’

He puts both his hands up. ‘Don’t ask. Honestly. You don’t want to know. But I’ve marked the ten most likely candidates on the final sheet with the movies they’ve rented and music they’ve bought. But for God’s sake, burn this list after you’ve studied it and not a word to Pandora or Bird, or my mum will hear about it and probably throw me out on my ear.’

Arietty flicks through the list, her eyes getting wider and wider. ‘You can pull this kind off information off the internet? That’s terrifying.’

Jamie shrugs. ‘It’s all there if you know where to look.’

Arietty is staring at Jamie. He goes to take the pages out of her hands. ‘I’ll happily take it back if you’re uncomfortable—’

‘No!’ I snatch the pages away from Arietty and hold them against my chest. ‘Don’t you dare. We really appreciate all your work, don’t we, Arietty?’

She’s still looking at him rather suspiciously. ‘I suppose. As long as we don’t all get arrested.’

‘We won’t,’ I say firmly. ‘Now let’s get down to business.’ I put the pages back down on the table and flick to the final sheet.

‘Number one in Jamie’s top ten is Simon Patterson. He’s twenty-eight and here are his most recent rentals:
Saw, The Evil Dead, House of 1,000 Corpses
.’

Arietty sits back in her chair and folds her arms stiffly. ‘Too violent.’

‘And Pandora likes action adventure films,’ I put in. ‘Not horror.’

‘What music is this Simon guy into?’ she asks.

I read out the list. ‘White Zombie, Goatsnake and Hellhammer.’

Arietty lifts her eyebrows. ‘See what I mean?’

I cross out his name. ‘Moving swiftly on to number two. Bryan McAllister, twenty-six.
The Matrix
,
The Fifth Element
, and
The Empire Strikes Back
. Sounds more like it. Also rented three
Top Gear
boxed sets last weekend.’

She wrinkles up her face. ‘Top Gear? Too boring. And three sets over one weekend? Doesn’t the man have a life?’ Arietty unclips her hair, twists it in both her hands, and then clips it up again. ‘Bet he likes Phil Collins too. Next!’

‘Lee Devaney. Thirty-one.
Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom
—’

Jamie clears his throat and we both look at him.

‘Yes?’ I say.

‘For feck’s sake, you’ll be here all night. Just throw them all in a room with the Mothers’ Union sons and let Pandora pick one for herself. What if they’re renting films for someone else? What if the card’s in their name but their sister or brother is using it?’