The Poka Dot Shop

by Laurel Remington

  ‘How about UpStreet!?’ Stevie suggests. ‘It combines two of your essential components – high street and upmarket. You could use an upwards arrow for the logo.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ I narrow my eyes. ‘When I figure out what “essential components” means, I’ll let you know.’

  ‘It’s a start.’ Thomas says. ‘But the “street” part might put off your older clientele. You need something classy.’

  ‘We need the ladies who buy the baggy sweaters,’ I say. ‘At least for now. So it will need to appeal to them too.’

  ‘What about the design bit?’ Carrie says. ‘I thought that was your USP.’

  ‘USP?’ I look around for something I can pelt her with.

  ‘It stands for “unique selling point”.’ Carrie smiles proudly. ‘There was a show on – some lady who transforms dodgy old high streets into places people want to go.’

  ‘Hey, Einstein II,’ Thomas says playfully, ‘that’s good. A unique selling point.’

  Carrie blushes at the compliment.

  ‘Well, it sounds like gibberish to me,’ I say, ‘but before we figure it out, I’d better tell you another idea I had.’ I go on to explain my new plan – getting fashion students and young designers to sell their stuff in part of the shop, and having Mum sell nice vintage stuff and consignment stuff in the other part.’

  ‘That’s interesting,’ Thomas says, looking slightly puzzled. ‘When did you come up with that?’

  ‘Um . . . just now. I mean, earlier today. I came to find you, but you weren’t at the chippie. Instead, I . . .’

  He’s staring at me now, and I can feel the familiar itch of guilt at the fact that I’m always keeping things back. I take a breath. He’s going to find out soon enough, so I may as well tell him.

  ‘. . . I talked to your uncle,’ I say.

  One by one, mouths that were about to speak close up. ‘Oh,’ Stevie squeaks. She puts a hand over her lips.

  Thomas stands up like he owes it to himself to storm out. Then he sits back down, arms folded. ‘And?’ he says.

  ‘And we had a nice chat,’ I say. ‘As you told me, your Aunt Hélène wanted to use the theatre as a school – a place to teach young up-and-coming designers. Mr LeBoeff agreed a school wasn’t very practical. But we can still bring Hélène’s vision to life. We can create something amazing.’

  Thomas glares at me but says nothing. Luckily my friends bridge the silence.

  ‘So the USP is designer fashion,’ Stevie says.

  ‘Classic and modern,’ Carrie adds.

  I wait. For Thomas to digest what I’ve said. For him to decide he’s mad at me – or not. If he’s still in – or not. Mr LeBoeff was very clear that what happens next is between Thomas and me to sort out. I definitely haven’t handled everything right, and he’s so strong-willed that I know he won’t let me get away with anything. I watch the emotions move across his face like dark clouds on the horizon.

  ‘What do you think, Thomas?’ Stevie takes the plunge.

  Thomas looks at her and seems to soften. ‘I have no idea what to think,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘No idea whether it will work or not.’ He turns back to me. ‘But I can see, Andy, that no matter what I say, you’re going to give it a go.’

  But I’m barely listening to him. An image has popped into my head. An image of me – the older, more sophisticated me – twirling in front of the mirror in the polka-dot dress. Classy and timeless, modern and fun.

  ‘The Polka Dot Shop,’ I say.

  ‘What?’ Carrie says.

  ‘The Polka Dot Shop. We’ll have a logo in black with big white polka dots like the Chanel dress. It’s such a classic design, but it’s fun too – it will be perfect. What do you think?’ I look around to each of my friends in turn. Everyone nods their heads.

  ‘I love it,’ Stevie says.

  ‘Me too!’ Carrie echoes.

  Thomas gives me a long, unreadable look. ‘It just might work.’

  THE POLKA DOT SHOP

  Time flies by – I can’t remember ever being so busy. At lunchtime over the next few days, Stevie, Carrie and I make endless to-do lists. After school, it’s up to me to get on with things. A few days after meeting Jolanta at the theatre, I get on a bus and go to visit her at the fashion college. It takes me over an hour to get there because the bus makes about a thousand stops. By the time I get there I’m frustrated and second-guessing everything again. But when she meets me at the door and takes me inside, all of a sudden I feel a new jolt of energy.

  The corridor looks like a normal school, but the classrooms are totally different. There’s a huge space – almost as big as the theatre – which is flooded with light from windows on one side. It’s filled with mannequins, work tables, sewing machines, computer tablets, mood boards, and pinned-up sketches. A whole wall is covered with rolls of beautiful fabrics in all different colours and textures, and there are trays full of buttons, and rolls of trims and ribbons.

  Three students – two women and a man – are working on projects. The man is making some kind of elaborate dress out of cut-up beer cans and wool on a dress form, one woman is cutting out luxurious silk fabric from a hand-drawn pattern, and the other woman is hemming a drapey satin dress on a mannequin. It looks like something a Greek goddess might wear. I experience a strange pull of longing in my chest. I wish I knew how to sew and design clothes. I’ve always been pretty good at drawing – and most importantly, I know what kind of clothes I like. Maybe it’s something I could think about for the future.

  The next hour is a blur. Jolanta introduces me to some of her student friends and I tell them about my idea – studio space at the back of the theatre for a small rent, and the right to sell their designs in the shop. We’d take a commission (I haven’t worked out actual numbers yet, but Thomas says I should get at least forty per cent) on any sales. ‘We’re going to call it The Polka Dot Shop,’ I tell them. ‘The name was inspired by a beautiful Chanel dress. It’s going to be classic, and modern, and retro and fun. That’s our vision.’

  Surprisingly, no one seems too bothered that I’m only thirteen, and five people show a definite interest. I take their names and email addresses, and agree to get in touch with final details.

  Before I leave, Jolanta introduces me to one of her professors – a woman who once ran a consignment shop in London. She tells me some of the tricks of the trade as far as getting good stock, and also tells me a few home truths. I’m not expecting it to be easy, but she definitely gives me a lot of things to think about.

  ‘You need the shop to become a destination,’ she says. ‘And that won’t be easy. You’ll need money, and publicity – and most importantly, the best stock. You’ll need to give people a reason to come, a reason to browse, and a reason to buy.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I want to do.’ I tell her my ideas about eventually opening a café and fashion bookshop alongside the fashion shop. ‘It will be a place for people who love fashion,’ I say. ‘That’s our USP.’ I’ve practised saying the letters until they roll off my tongue. ‘Whether you’re into vintage, or cutting-edge new designs, you can find it at The Polka Dot Shop.’

  ‘I love the name,’ she says. But then, the next thing I know, she’s asking me The Question.

  ‘How old are you, Andy?’

  ‘Thirteen.’

  ‘I’ll give you this – you’ve definitely got guts.’ She smiles at me. ‘And in this business, that’s a good thing. You might just succeed.’

  With this vote of confidence from someone knowledgeable, I feel like I’m floating on air.

  When I’m finished talking to the professor, Jolanta walks with me to the bus stop. ‘I’m really sorry, Jolanta,’ I say. ‘About how I treated you before. I guess I was just jealous because you were so close to Mum.’ I purse my lips. ‘And by the way, I did take that white bag.’ Her blue eyes narrow as I tell her about how I found the bag, and sold the polka-dot dress on eBay. I tell her that I used the money on paint for the shop, and the rest
of the stuff in the bag I gave back to Thomas.’

  ‘I knew it,’ she says when I’ve finished. ‘It was awkward for me telling your mum, but when I found that bag on the doorstep I was very excited. I really thought those things might have been able to save the shop.’ She cocks her head. ‘But I suppose it was too good to be true. I thought I recognized some of the things Thomas showed me.’

  ‘Do you think Mum could have sold them for anything like what they’re worth?’

  ‘No.’ She shakes her head. ‘I really like your mum, but she’s not very good at business, is she?’

  ‘No.’ I smile. ‘That’s where I come in.’

  By the time I get back on the bus, I’m tired, and my brain is ready to burst. It feels good to have made up with Jolanta, and to have found a few more allies. As the bus rumbles on, I can feel something bubbling up inside my chest. Excitement about what I’m doing. And something else too – confidence. More than I’ve ever felt before.

  A BLANK CANVAS

  My new-found confidence waxes and wanes over the next week as I try to get on with the checklist. Stevie helps me crunch the numbers on the consignment operation, and the professor at Jolanta’s fashion college confirms that a forty–sixty split, while generous (we’re the ones who get the forty per cent) should attract better stock. She agrees to help put out the word, and Jolanta’s boyfriend – who happens to be some kind of IT whizz – helps out too. He shows us how to add a cool background in black-and-white polka dots to our eBay shop. (We’ve set up a new account now for The Polka Dot Shop, that Jolanta is looking after since she’s over eighteen.) He also helps us set up social media accounts on Facebook and Twitter and a shop portal on Etsy. He also works with us on a design for our business cards and the bags for the shop – I want to have nice paper bags with cord handles like at the Galeries Lafayette, with our polka-dot logo on the sides.

  I put Stevie in charge of social media, stock sorting and pricing, while Carrie and I get on with clearing out Mum’s shop. Thomas helps us with the biggest and dirtiest job – getting rid of the nasty old carpet and sanding down the wood floor with a huge round sander from a tool rental place. It takes hours – the sandpaper band keeps breaking – and by the time we’re done, there’s fine wooden sawdust in every pore of my body. Then it takes another whole evening to varnish the floor to a high gloss. Doing the floor makes all of us – even Stevie – dirty, tired and irritable. But when I go into the shop the next day, I’m amazed by how beautiful the wooden parquet is – just like in the theatre. The varnish is smooth and glossy, practically like a mirror. We cover the whole floor with a cloth, and then get on with painting the walls. It’s a lot easier than the theatre, and we get both coats done in a single evening. We also paint the front door – I get a particular glow of satisfaction when I smear over the ‘New to U’ logo with a wide swathe of black paint!

  The next night, Thomas helps us refit the racks and rails for hanging the clothes. He also builds some fitting room cubicles out of plywood that we found in the basement of the old theatre, and the four of us hang giant full-length mirrors inside. Thomas lets us have some of the old black velvet curtains from the theatre, and Jolanta and Carrie cut them down so that they fit over the dressing room doors, tied back with fancy-looking ropes of pearls that we salvage from Mum’s stock.

  Most satisfying of all is filling the skip behind the chippie with all of the old, worn-out things – carpet, rubble, and the worst of the old clothes from Eliza’s Emporium. In going through the clothing on the over-crowded racks, we’ve actually found quite a few hidden gems. There are tops and skirts from high-street shops, suits from department stores and some elegant little black dresses.

  I have to confess that some of the things we find, I actually want to try on and wear. I offer Stevie and Carrie the chance to pick out one or two things as ‘payment’ for their help. Stevie takes a skirt and a pair of trousers (‘these will look good for walking’) and Carrie finds a nice T-shirt from Ted Baker and a pair of pink Converse. (Who knew that all along she was liking my ‘pre-loved’ Converse?) I take a few things too – a denim (yes, denim!) skirt, and a couple of tops. It’s not exactly a shopping spree at Westfield, but it’s OK.

  We arrange everything we’re keeping for the shop by size and colour. I also keep an eye out for anything that might suit Ms Cartwright – like I said I would. The rest of the stuff – anything that looks stained, worn or too tatty – we put in bin bags. (We make a separate rack of ‘fancy dress’ clothing that we can hire out if people want it. I put the seventies velvet suit on the rack, along with the gold prom dress. The Hawaiian outfit, though, went to the skip.)

  In the end, I chicken out and don’t toss the bin bags of cast-offs – just in case Mum gets sentimental over the old stuff. Instead, we take them to the very back of the theatre basement. If Mum wants something, she’ll have to go and find it!

  At the end of the second week, when we’ve finished painting, Stevie bars me from the shop for Sunday evening – Thomas is working at the chippie, Carrie isn’t home yet from boot camp, and Stevie wants to talk numbers. Not hardcore quantum physics or calculus or whatever it is she does – but about the shop.

  We sit in her bedroom and go through the facts and figures that Stevie has come up with for the business plan, and the names of people who have responded to my advert in the local paper and on our new Facebook page for designer clothing wanted on consignment. I also check my eBay auctions – which I’ve set up to raise money for the paint and the floor sander, not to mention the endless pizza and Diet Cokes we seem to be going through. I’ve listed more of Thomas’s aunt’s clothing, shoes and handbags, which Jolanta’s helped me sort through. We’re selling the things that are nice but not one-of-a-kind – those we’re keeping to use for publicity at the grand opening. Before I list anything, I’m making sure to check with Thomas or his uncle. (Mr LeBoeff has cried over one or two things we’ve found, and I felt really sad for him. But I think what we’re doing truly is helping him come to terms with the fact that Hélène is gone.)

  All in all, I’ve managed to make over £1200 – which to me seems like a fortune – but we’re nearly through it already. Everything seems to cost so much. Stevie’s making sure I keep records of every penny we spend and every penny we make – to keep the taxman happy, she says. I don’t know anything about that, but I try to do what she says.

  I’m just about to shut down the computer and get ready for bed when the phone in Stevie’s room rings. ‘Can you get it?’ she says, waving in my direction.

  ‘Sure.’

  I answer it, my heart doing a little flip when I hear Thomas’s voice. ‘Andy, is that you?’

  ‘Yeah. You OK?’

  ‘Can you and Einstein come over to the shop?’

  ‘What, now?’

  ‘Yeah, now.’ An unusual hesitation in his voice makes me a little scared. ‘It’s . . . important,’ he says. Then he hangs up.

  I tell Stevie what he said. ‘We’d better sneak out the front,’ she says. ‘I don’t think my parents will like us going out so late.’

  ‘OK.’

  We put on our coats and leave the house. The night is silent except for the sound of distant traffic and an owl hooting from the rafters. Clouds wisp slowly across the moon. I don’t know what’s up – and I always seem to fear the worst – but somehow, what I feel most is a sense of anticipation. Knowing that I’m about to see Thomas has that effect on me, I guess.

  The high street is deserted by the time we reach it. At one point, Stevie stops and drafts a quick text on her phone. At the end of the parade of shops, Eliza’s Emporium is dark.

  As we pass the old theatre, Stevie stops again.

  ‘What are you—’ I say. ‘Oh!—’

  I gasp as all of a sudden a light blinds my eyes. The inside of Mum’s shop lights up – a pure white space with chrome fittings and sparkling windows. Running along the top of each wall is a black strip of paint about ten centimetres deep, with fresh w
hite-painted polka dots. Above the door, there’s a black sign, also with white polka dots. Clear white light-up lettering says: The Polka Dot Shop. Everything looks new and fresh, and expensive – a blank canvas for a whole new venture. The shop looks classic and modern, timeless and fun – all at the same time. A shop that’s going to succeed.

  ‘It’s wonderful!’ I cry.

  The door opens from inside. Thomas is there, along with Carrie, Jolanta and her boyfriend. ‘Surprise!’ they say in unison.

  I rush up to Thomas and throw my arms around his neck. Everyone’s had a hand in what’s been done, but without him – and that night when I found him in the back of Mum’s shop looking for the white bag – none of it ever would have happened. And there have been so many ups and down, twists and turns between us – at any point he could have shattered my dreams with an angry, unforgiving word. But he didn’t, and instead, I have . . . this. Someone whistles and I come to my senses. Blushing and flustered, I give Carrie, Stevie and Jolanta hugs in turn.

  ‘It looks amazing,’ I say.

  They’ve hung the leftover velvet curtain at the sides of the archway that leads to the old theatre. The theatre itself is dark, but the freshly painted white walls seem to glow from within. Mum’s shop has been fully fitted out like a high-end clothing boutique. The dressing rooms look chic, as do the chrome railings and shelves – even the old counter with the till has been painted a glossy black. In the centre is a white rectangle with black polka dots and lettering that says The Polka Dot Shop. I’d seen much of the work in progress, of course, but seeing the place cleaned up, cleared out, sparkling and ready for business is a huge surprise, as are the polka dots!

  Ready, that is, except for the fact that there’s nothing in the shop to sell.

  ‘Come and see the back,’ Stevie says. She takes my hand and propels her chair forward, pulling me along.

  We go through the curtain at the back that leads to the old stockroom. It too has been cleaned and painted, and the shelves cleared. The little kitchen area is tidy, and there are new white mugs hanging on a rack above the sink. A brand-new kettle is on the countertop. Mum’s sewing area has been moved neatly to one corner, along with two sewing mannequins, a desk lamp, and an ironing board that folds down from the wall.