by Jane Casey
‘I’m sure that’s not why Tilly recommended you for the job. In fact, I know it’s not. Hugo said she came up with the idea after Sylvia told her the shop was getting to be too much to manage on her own. Tilly thought you could help her get organized.’
‘I can’t make things much worse,’ I whispered.
Darcy snorted a laugh. ‘You could give things away for free. That wouldn’t be ideal.’
‘Oh crap.’ I had completely forgotten price tags. Maybe Mum was right; I did need experience in retail.
Darcy started to take the clothes off the rail again. ‘I can see you’re going to need me to help out. I’ll stick around.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Nothing better to do.’ She grinned. ‘Besides, I like it.’
‘Will you help with the window display? If I can get Sylvia to let us tackle it, that is?’
‘Good luck with that.’
‘I might not need luck.’ I held up a skirt, assessing it. ‘I’ve got an idea and I think I can persuade Sylvia to give me a chance. But I’m going to need your eye for fashion.’
Darcy saluted, almost putting her eye out with the end of the hanger. ‘I am on it like a bonnet.’
I assumed that meant yes.
It took almost an hour to empty the bags and sort the contents. Only one was the usual charity-shop stuff, and therefore disappointing – sagging tracksuit bottoms and ancient novelty T-shirts.
‘Bin,’ Darcy said firmly, holding up a faded yellow top with a cartoon banana on it. ‘We can’t have that sort of thing in here.’
‘Someone might like it,’ Sylvia protested.
‘No one would want it. Believe me. Even the person who bought it in the first place, who obviously has zero taste.’
‘Darcy,’ I said, trying not to laugh. ‘Don’t be rude.’
‘I’m not being rude. But Fine Feathers is not a rubbish dump. And that’s where this needs to be.’ She lowered it into the bin. ‘And good riddance.’
I had set aside a pile of clothes for the window display, having coaxed Sylvia into letting me change it. She didn’t seem convinced that a fresh look was required but I pointed out that we had all these new clothes and no way to show people they were there unless we changed the window. And since she was so busy . . .
‘You’re amazing.’ Darcy was wrestling with the mannequin from the back room, trying to force her into a navy chiffon dress with a plunging front and a full skirt. ‘Remind me never to let you persuade me to do anything.’
‘I didn’t do anything.’
‘We never, ever got permission to touch the window display last year. It “sets the tone”, apparently.’ Darcy’s impersonation of Sylvia’s quavery voice was spot on. ‘It drove Freya mad, but she still couldn’t persuade Sylvia to let her have a go.’
‘Well, she doesn’t want me to leave on my first day. And since she’s said yes once, she’ll probably agree next time.’ I shrugged. ‘Simple, really.’
‘Scary,’ Darcy declared.
I had found the model’s missing hands in the back room. Now the challenge was to make them stay on the poor thing, who was at least sitting properly on her dingy chair. She wasn’t getting a new outfit – yet. But I was planning to brush her hair. I wedged one hand on but the other was too difficult, so I arranged her arms to hide the stump. It was a problem for another day.
On closer investigation, the two handbags in the window were Mulberry and Gucci. Stuffing them with some paper and giving them a good dust made them look more like what they were – very expensive designer accessories. One went on the blonde mannequin’s arm. The other dangled from her outstretched hand as she offered it to her unfashionable counterpart. I had found a pair of sunglasses on a shelf beside a tangle of costume jewellery and now I handed them to Darcy.
‘Here. Put these on Blondie.’
Darcy slid them on. ‘Perfect. You can’t see she’s only got one eye now.’
‘That’s what I was hoping.’ I was far too hot. I pushed back my hair, forgetting that my hands were filthy until after I’d done it. ‘Do I have a dirty mark on my face?’
Darcy glanced up. ‘Just a bit.’
I rubbed at it.
‘That’s making it worse.’
I sighed. ‘Look, remind me to wipe it before I leave.’
‘How are you getting on?’ Sylvia peered into the window, looking dubious. ‘Goodness. What’s going on?’
‘The idea is that this one gets a makeover.’ I patted the brunette on the head. ‘Her name is Brenda, by the way. I’m going to change her outfit gradually, with something new every day so she gets more and more glamorous.’
‘It’s sheer genius,’ Darcy told me.
‘Don’t be stupid.’ I turned away, embarrassed by her open admiration, especially since I didn’t truly think the idea was all that amazing.
‘Keep up the good work,’ Sylvia quavered, and she retreated to her chair and a fat romantic novel. Delegating her responsibilities was working out quite well as far as she was concerned.
Without asking for permission, since I didn’t think I’d get it, I started to peel the owl posters off the window. Not wanting a row, I decided to compromise and leave the ones at the edges, where they didn’t prevent potential customers from seeing what was in the shop. I squinted out at Fore Street as I tried to scrape away ancient sellotape that had baked onto the glass. The sun had come out for the first time since I’d arrived in Port Sentinel, and everything looked a hundred times better because of it. Even the people.
Even Ryan Denton, who had looked pretty good before. He was standing on the other side of the street talking to one of his friends – Alfie? Dan? I couldn’t remember – in jeans and a tight grey T-shirt that clung to the muscles of his torso. The short sleeves showed off his tanned arms. As I watched – OK, stared – he slid his sunglasses up to sit on top of his head. His eyes were narrowed against the sun but I could still see that they were a brilliant shade of dark blue.
And then they focused on me.
I whipped round and busied myself with Brenda’s wig, feeling the heat rise up from the neckline of my top. Being caught staring was bad. Being caught staring while reorganizing the window display in a frankly weird charity shop was worse. Actually working in the charity shop, even if it was for money, was so beyond acceptable that I should probably start packing to leave town straight away.
I was still hoping he hadn’t noticed me when the shop door opened and set the bell going again.
‘I wondered when I’d see you again.’ Ryan smelled of fresh air and clean clothes, and I turned to face him wishing I’d spent more than a couple of minutes on getting dressed. I thought I’d brushed my hair, but I couldn’t be sure. He grinned. ‘You don’t look all that pleased to see me.’
‘I am. I mean, I’m not not pleased.’ It was as if I’d set out to make a bad situation worse. I tried desperately to salvage something. Anything. ‘I just wasn’t expecting to see anyone I knew, that’s all.’
‘Maybe you should try not standing in the window, then.’
‘You might be right.’ I blinked up at him. He was taller than I had realized, and more handsome now that I had time to look at him, and he was one of those people who seem to bring the sunshine with them; I was dazzled, pretty much. Say something. It doesn’t have to be intelligent. ‘Were you looking for anything in particular in here? Men’s clothes are over there.’
He threw a quick glance over his shoulder. ‘Yeah. Not my style, if you know what I mean.’
‘There’s amazing stuff over there. Designer labels.’
‘I’m not into that kind of thing.’
‘What are you into?’ It sounded impossibly flirty when I’d said it and I fought the urge to apologize, or put my hand over my mouth and laugh. ‘I mean, what sort of clothes are you into?’
‘Don’t know. Ordinary, I suppose.’ He looked down at himself. ‘This, basically.’
‘If it works, why change it?’
&
nbsp; ‘Do you think it works?’ He raised one eyebrow.
In that your stomach is a handy visual reminder of how to count to six, yeah, sure . . .
‘Hi, Ryan,’ Darcy said breathily, saving me from having to answer.
‘Hi.’ He gave her a quick smile, then switched his focus back to me. ‘So you’re working here?’
‘Helping out.’
‘Good for you.’
‘Good for my bank balance,’ I said tartly, not wanting to give the impression I was a volunteer. An owl-sex-obsessed volunteer.
‘What time do you finish work?’
‘In about half an hour,’ Darcy said. She came to stand beside me, almost tripping over Brenda’s right foot. She nudged me extremely hard in the ribs as she regained her balance.
‘Ow. Watch it.’
‘Sorry.’ She made a big play of rearranging her hair, patting her face fussily. I stared at her, not understanding what was going on. If she was competing with me for Ryan’s attention, it was sort of working. He was staring too, and he looked as baffled as I felt.
‘Anyway,’ he said slowly, turning back to me, ‘I was wondering if you’d like to come for a walk. I could show you around town.’
It was too good an opportunity for me to say no. Please don’t say you’ve already given me the tour, Darcy.
‘I’ve already given her the tour.’
‘I haven’t seen everything,’ I said quickly. ‘The harbour, for starters.’
‘Do you like boats?’ Ryan asked.
‘I don’t mind them,’ I said carefully. I knew precisely nothing about boats except that I could get seasick while stepping over a large puddle. The one thing I didn’t want was to find myself out at sea, impressing Ryan with the volume and velocity of what I was throwing up.
‘Well, let’s start at the harbour and go on from there.’
‘Great.’
Darcy nudged me again, fanning her face. ‘It’s so hot in here. You should probably give Jess time to go home and shower before you meet up.’
He shrugged. ‘OK.’
‘Thanks, Darcy.’ If he hadn’t thought it before, Ryan was certainly now convinced that I was a sweaty mess, probably with BO, though the smell of mothballs was masking it nicely.
‘My pleasure.’ She swiped at her forehead a couple of times and then glared at me meaningfully. I frowned, then froze.
Ryan checked his watch. ‘In ninety minutes, then. At the harbour.’
‘Great,’ I managed. ‘See you there.’
He nodded to me and Darcy, waved at Sylvia, and swaggered out of the shop. I sat down on the floor where I couldn’t be seen, burying my face in my arms. Darcy crouched beside me and patted my shoulder.
‘Are you OK?’
‘I forgot about the smudge on my forehead,’ I said in a tiny voice. ‘You tried to remind me and I thought you’d gone mad. But it was the smudge.’
‘Smudge? Yeah, you could call it that.’ She laughed. ‘Never mind. It didn’t put him off.’
I sat up. ‘No, it didn’t. And I find that weird.’
‘Really?’ Darcy looked amused. ‘From what I know of Ryan, he likes dirty girls.’
‘Oh, very funny.’
She waved a hand dismissively. ‘Never mind that now. We’re wasting valuable time. We’ve got far more important things to talk about.’
‘Such as?’
Darcy rolled her eyes. ‘Such as what you’re going to wear.’
7
IN THE END, I was actually glad that I’d had Darcy there to negotiate an extra hour for cleaning up. I had to have an epic shower to get rid of the worst of the charity-shop grime. While I was in the bathroom Darcy occupied herself with searching my wardrobe for a suitable outfit. I came back from the bathroom wrapped in a towel to find her in despair.
‘Do you have a grudge against your figure or something?’ She was looking at the jeans I had left on the bed. ‘Seriously, Jess. You can’t tell me these are the best you can do.’
‘They’re fine.’
‘Fine for what? DIY? I suppose it wouldn’t matter if you got paint on them. Or set fire to them.’ She clasped her hands together. ‘Please let me go and get something for you to wear. I have tons of stuff that would look incredible on you. Ple-e-e-e-ease.’
I was shaking my head. ‘This is what I wear. I wouldn’t be comfortable in your clothes.’
‘Oh my God, you are so stubborn.’ She sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘At least let me do your make-up.’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘Come on. A little eyeliner and mascara would go a long way.’
‘I’m already wearing mascara,’ I pointed out. ‘Just not so much that I can’t open my eyes properly.’
‘Is that a dig? That’s a dig, isn’t it.’ She gasped in outrage. ‘How dare you.’
I was searching for the top I’d planned to wear – a delicate pin-tucked shirt that was almost sheer, with short sleeves and tiny mother-of-pearl buttons down the front.
Darcy brightened when she saw it. ‘That’s better.’
‘I’m glad you think so. It’s all part of the plan.’
‘What plan?’
‘I’m just going to get dressed,’ I said casually.
‘Don’t leave me like this! Tell me about the plan first. Jess . . .’
By the time I got back to my room, Darcy was bouncing up and down with frustration.
‘What plan?’
‘Playing up to Mr Denton by making him think I’m interested in him.’
Darcy pulled a face. ‘If you’re trying to pull Ryan, Natasha will kill you.’
‘Who said anything about pulling him?’ I bent to look in the mirror, which was small and in the darkest corner of the room. I could barely see myself in it. I’d have to take Darcy’s word for whether I looked OK or not, and her version of OK probably wasn’t the same as mine. ‘I’ve met guys like Ryan before. I have to show a certain amount of – let’s call it appreciation – or he’ll lose interest and I won’t get as far as finding out what he thinks about what happened to Freya. But I don’t want to go too far either, or that hell-witch will make my life a misery for the rest of the summer.’
Darcy nodded. ‘So nice top and make-up with skanky jeans and – please tell me you’re going to dry your hair before you leave the house.’
I had pulled it back into a loose knot at the nape of my neck. ‘I was just going to leave it like this.’
‘No.’ Darcy shook her head so violently her plaits flew into her face. ‘I absolutely refuse to let you do that. You look as if you’ve just been swimming.’
‘It’ll be fine when it’s dried a bit more.’
Darcy slid off the bed and went to stand with her back to the door. ‘Hairdryer. Now.’
‘I don’t want to be late.’
‘You won’t be.’ She checked her watch. ‘OK. Maybe just a few minutes late. But that makes it look as if you spent ages trying to decide what to wear and primping. Wet hair means you couldn’t care less what he thinks of you.’
‘Which is pretty much true.’
‘Don’t dismiss him too quickly,’ she warned. ‘You’re underestimating him if you think he’s just about the looks and the girls.’
‘Does somebody have a little crush?’
‘No. Not at all.’ But she was blushing. ‘It’s just too easy to make assumptions about him because he’s cute. He’s not stupid.’
‘I didn’t say he was.’
‘He can’t help how people react to him either. He’s not in charge of Natasha.’
‘I didn’t get the impression he minded, though.’
‘Maybe he’s flattered by it.’
‘Oh, probably. You don’t wear a T-shirt that tight without having a fairly well-nourished ego.’ I unravelled my hair and shook it out. ‘Do I really have to dry this?’
‘That hair is a privilege.’ Darcy sounded stern. ‘You need to make the most of it.’
Thirty minutes later I was hurrying to
wards the harbour, hoping Ryan had been patient enough to wait for me. It was unfortunate but typical that the harbour was on the other side of a fairly steep hill; making up the time wasn’t easy. My arms ached and my cheeks were still red from the heat of the hairdryer, but my hair hung down my back in perfect curls. Even I had to admit Darcy had been right to make me dry it properly.
I slowed down a little when the harbour was in sight, not wanting to look hot and bothered when I arrived. I’d had enough of being at a disadvantage in front of Ryan Denton, if I could possibly avoid it. It didn’t seem likely that I could actually impress him, given my previous track record, but I thought I’d get more out of him if he wasn’t quietly laughing at me most of the time.
He was there before me, which wasn’t a surprise given how late I was. He was leaning against some railings, his hands in his pockets, and his sunglasses were hiding his eyes.
‘Sorry. It took me longer than I expected to get changed.’
‘You’re forgiven.’ A big smile with lots of very white teeth. ‘I don’t mind waiting when it’s something worth waiting for.’
‘Too kind.’ I glanced at him, trying to work out if he was flirting with me or just practising for when he really wanted to charm someone. With the shades, I really couldn’t tell. ‘Thanks for showing me around.’
‘No problem. We can’t have you missing out on the best Port Sentinel has to offer.’
Like your good self, maybe?
I scanned the small harbour. ‘Wow. Look at all the boats.’ It was full of sailboats at anchor, dipping and bobbing as the water moved under them.
‘That’s why we’re here. So you can look at the boats.’
‘You have to admit, they’re quite impressive.’
‘They’re OK.’
‘You don’t sail?’
‘I used to. I don’t have time for it these days. Too busy playing football at weekends.’ Ryan shrugged. ‘I prefer surfing anyway. Less kit. More fun.’
‘I wouldn’t know.’