Chapter 5
5
‘Does my bum look big in this?’ Jess wondered how many conversations she’d started over the years with that sentence whilst trying on clothes with Brianna or Nora – too many to be counted on one hand, that was for sure! It was ten thirty on a Tuesday morning, and she and Brianna were holed up in the changing room of the third exclusive boutique clothing shop they’d happened upon in the labyrinth of streets surrounding the city’s main shopping hub of Grafton Street.
She’d come to the conclusion that the less a shop had in it, the more hideously expensive the little it did have dangling from its rails was likely to be, and the more hoity-toity the shop assistant was likely to be. Another reason she preferred charity shops – the people who worked in them were genuine, kind-hearted souls who quite often volunteered their time, not like Shop Girl No. Three.
When Jess had audibly gasped at the price tag hanging off the dress she was currently wearing, the little madam had told her, ‘Well, it is Italian.’ She’d left the what did you expect, you South Pacific commoner? to hang in the air unsaid.
‘No, not at all.’ Brianna answered her friend’s question in a pitch just high enough to both bring her back to the present and let her know she was telling a little white lie. She smiled to herself – if it had been Nora with her, she’d have said something along the lines of, ‘Good God, yes! Get it off before you split the arse out of it!’
As she wriggled her way out of the fitted green dress that had looked absolutely perfect on the hanger, she couldn’t help but sigh – it was bloody hard work, all this getting dressed and undressed business. She wished she hadn’t opted to wear her old Levi’s because it would have been much easier had she donned a sack suitable for whipping on and off.
‘Was the garment to madam’s liking?’ the angular redhead standing behind the counter studying her blood-red talons sniffed when she emerged from the cubicle, clutching the dress.
She tapped her own unmanicured nails on the counter until the woman finally looked up, her bored expression firmly in place.
‘Nah, it wasn’t,’ Jess drawled in her best put-on Aussie accent, ‘’cos it made madam’s arse look humongous.’ She tossed the dress down on the counter and stalked out the door.
Brianna hurried after her, sniggering. ‘Did you see her face?’ She linked her arm through Jess’s.
‘Snooty so-and-so. I reckon that plummy English accent was a put-on. I’m ninety-nine per cent sure I could detect Liverpool undertones creeping in! Anyway, it was probably a good thing the dress didn’t look right, otherwise I’d have to have taken out a second mortgage to pay for it.’
‘Mmm, you’re right; it was on the pricey side. Why don’t we try good old Debenhams instead?’ Brianna suggested as they turned the corner back onto Grafton Street.
‘OK. I usually have far more luck at the goodwill thrift shop on Capel Street, though, but if you recommend Debenhams, then Debenhams it is. Although I don’t know why I’m going to all this bother of trying to find a new dress anyway because I bet you this friend of Ewan Reid’s will probably be the Beast to his Beauty.’
‘So what if he is? At least you’ll get to go out on a Friday night looking gorgeous – I can’t remember the last time I got dolled up for a night out.’
Jess was about to make a mental note to offer her babysitting services when she was distracted by the strains of a Coldplay tune.
‘I love that song,’ she said, elbowing her way through the semicircle of people gathered round the busker who’d set himself up outside Marks and Spencer’s. He had a mouth organ and a guitar and was doing a surprisingly good rendition of ‘Clocks’ despite the lack of a piano.
The girls clapped along with the rest of his audience when the song came to an end and flicked him a couple of coins before making their way down to Debenhams’ Henry Street shop.
It was on the second floor of the department store that Jess spotted ‘the Dress’. It was like a beacon in a sea of nondescript change-of-season fashions, beckoning to her from the Jacques Vert designer collection. She raced across the shop floor, whipped the brick-red cowl neck off the rack and held it out in front of her, admiring how the thousands of tiny beads stitched onto it shimmered under the bright lights. The dress had a 1920s feel to it – very Mary from Downton Abbey , she decided, calling out to Brianna to come and have a look. ‘What do you think of this one then?’
‘Wow, it’s gorgeous, so it is, and it’s definitely your colour. Go and try it on.’
Two minutes later, Jess stepped out of the changing rooms and did a pirouette for her friend.
‘Oh yes, that’s definitely the one! It looks amazing! You remind me of your woman out of Downton Abbey . You know, the one who was supposed to marry the chap in the wheelchair – go on, do a curtsey!’
‘Lavinia?’
‘Yes, that’s her; she’s got the same colouring as you.’
Jess was pleased with the verdict, even if she’d rather have been likened to the elegant and austere Mary because from what she could recall of the television series, Lavinia hadn’t got her happy ever after. Still, she wasn’t superstitious, and the dress – even if it was brand-new – had felt right the moment she’d slipped it over her head. It helped that it was on sale, too! When she’d taken a step back to look at her reflection in the dressing-room mirror, she’d realised it was definitely a Cinderella dress. So who knew? Maybe this friend of Ewan’s would turn out to be a bit of a Prince Charming, after all. Stranger things had happened, and she was due a bit of luck on the man front.
‘Best of all, it’s under a hundred euro! So shall we head to the cafe for a spot of lunch – my treat?’
‘Great – I’m starving.’
‘Shopping is surprisingly hard work, isn’t it?’ Brianna said as she flopped down into her chair.
Jess nodded, laying out their well-earned sandwiches and coffees. ‘It is when you’re looking for something in particular. That’s what I like about charity-shopping – I just happen across really cool stuff.’
Brianna picked up her delicious-looking gourmet sandwich and took a greedy chomp out of it. ‘Do you have that Cajun cooking class tonight?’ she mumbled through her full mouth.
‘I do. I’m looking forward to it. Apparently we’ll be making jambalaya, which sounds vaguely familiar and very exotic. Next week, I’m doing a cod fish casserole, which doesn’t have quite the same ring to it. It’s a Portuguese class, and I know nothing about Portuguese cuisine apart from the fact they eat a lot of fish.’
‘Well, I can’t help you there. We’re having Gran’s bangers and mash for dinner because I’ve got a PTA meeting tonight – good old plain, hearty tucker; you can’t beat it. My gran says all men need a good serving of potatoes on their plate each night to fill them up.’
Jess smiled. ‘So that’s what you do to keep your Pete happy, is it? Serve him up loads of spuds?’
‘Absolutely!’
They both laughed.
‘Have you had any more thoughts on your column?’ Brianna asked. ‘What you’re going to write about once you’ve finished the cooking-school series and had enough of stuffing yourself silly on jumbaywotsit and Portuguese catfish casserole?’
‘ Cod fish, not cat, and I have had a couple of ideas, as it happens. I thought I could write about the celebrity lifestyle in Dublin now that one of my best friends is dating a Hollywood hottie. Actually, it was you who gave me the inspiration.’
Brianna looked pleased. ‘When I told you to write about the blind date you were doubling on?’
‘Yeah, except we didn’t know then that the other half of the double date was a major celebrity, did we?’
‘I know, and I still can’t get my head round the fact Nora kept it quiet and our best friend is actually dating Ewan Reid.’ She pulled a face. ‘It’s not fair you get to meet him first.’
‘Yes, but we don’t know at what cost yet, do we? I may have to suffer through an evening with a Gollum clone. I had another idea as well I wanted to run past you. It’s to do with a name in a book.’
‘You’ve lost me. What name in what book?’
‘Well, remember the Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs book I bought for my collection?’
‘Yes. That reminds me – Harry’s right into all those traditional fairy stories at the moment. I made the mistake of reading him Hansel and Gretel the other night and managed to give myself nightmares. I hate to think what my poor son made of it. Though, to be honest, I don’t know what disturbed me more about the story: abandoning children in the forest, the wicked witch putting Hansel in a cage in order to fatten him up or the fact that Harry didn’t seem at all fazed by it! I’d forgotten how horrible some of those old tales actually are.’
‘Yeah, you have to wonder what was going through the mind of the Brothers Grimm when they penned that one. They wrote Little Red Riding Hood , too. Please don’t read that to Harry just yet. I had a phobia about wolves for years thanks to that little minx.’
‘Don’t worry – we’re sticking with good old Hop on Pop – Dr Seuss – for the foreseeable future. But come on then, spill – what’s this idea of yours?’
‘OK, you know how one of the things I find intriguing about second-hand things is the thought of the life they’ve lived before they come to me?’
Brianna nodded. ‘That and the thrill of a good bargain.’
‘Yeah, well there is that, too. But books, especially children’s ones, are really special.’
‘Because of the illustrations, right?’
‘Definitely that yes, but it’s more than just the pictures. Children love to mark their territory, and every book in my collection has its original owner’s name scrawled inside the cover.’
‘I don’t get it – you told me once that decreases the book’s value.’
‘It does, but I don’t collect them for their monetary value. It’s hard to explain it properly, but there’s just something about the idea of another child having loved that book the same way I loved it, and I often wonder who they were or are now. Does that sound weird?’
Brianna grinned. ‘If I was Nora, I would say it definitely sounds weird, but since it’s me you’re talking to, I think I get it. You’d like to know the story behind the name in the book, is that it?’
‘That’s it exactly! Who was that child? Did they pore over the stories and the pictures like I did? Were they daydreamers, too? Who did they grow up to be?’
‘Jaysus, you’re such a romantic, Jessica Baré. Where are you going with this?’
‘I’m going to find her.’
‘You’ve lost me again – who exactly are you off to find? And please don’t say yourself because you’re far too young for a mid-life crisis.’
Jess laughed. ‘Don’t worry; I’m not going to do an Eat, Pray, Love and frolic round Bali. I’m going to find out what became of Amy Aherne from Ballymcguinness. She was six years old when her brother, Owen, gave her Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs for Christmas in 1973. So I’m going to write about my journey to find the forty-six-year old Amy. I’ll do the detective work to find out who she is now, what she went on to do with her life and what that book meant to her. What do you think?’
‘Wow, it’s a bit out there, but at the same time, I think it’s a brilliant idea!’ Brianna was wide-eyed, obviously imagining Amy Aherne, wherever she might be now. ‘Gosh, she could have grown up to be anything; how fascinating to find out.’ Brianna’s eyes became saucer-like. ‘Oh my God, what would you do if you found out she was a prostitute or a drug addict?’ Before Jess could reply, another thought occurred to her. ‘What if she doesn’t want you to write about her?’
‘Whoa, slow down. Who’s the writer – me or you? If she doesn’t want me to write about her, I guess I’ll just have to come up with another brilliant idea. So what have you got on for the week then?’
‘I’ve a PTA meeting Thursday night; it’s full-on at the moment because we’re organising the school fair in October – tonight’s topic is the cake stall. I expect you to contribute, you know.’
‘But I can’t bake.’
‘I meant buy something from the stall, you eejit. We can’t all hang out with the rich and famous. Some of us have responsibilities.’ She grinned. ‘Pete and I might try to get out for a meal down the pub on Friday night, if Mammy’s free, and Saturday morning I’m meeting up with a group of mams to discuss saving our local playgroup.’
‘Harry doesn’t go to playgroup anymore, though.’
‘I know, but I have fond memories of when he did.’
Jess laughed. ‘You call me a romantic! Well, you’re the queen of the community minded. Bray would grind to a halt without you.’ She frowned, glancing at her watch. ‘It’s two fifteen already, Brie. What time do you have to leave to pick Harry up?’
‘CRAP! I’d forgotten about Harry. Come on – I’ve got to get a move on!’