Page 19 of Secrets at the Little Music Shop

‘Can’t Jemima help?’ Saskia flicked her hair. ‘I mean, she’s at a loose end now, isn’t she?’

‘Actually no, I’m supplying another shop in York. Busy, busy, you know.’ Carefully not mentioning that the shop owner had panicked me into thoughts of leaving altogether. Saskia would have offered to help me pack.

Saskia’s reaction to my statement was startling. She whirled around and stared into my face. ‘What? Which shop? Where? They’re not a member of the Board of Trade are they?’

Having for once gained an upper hand I wasn’t about to let it go, and just smiled. She turned back to Rosie.

‘Well, you’ll have to make your choice, Rosie. A hundred cards by Monday or I’ll have to rethink using you as a supplier.’ Saskia did the clicky-finger thing again at Alex. ‘Fetch Oscar, darling, will you? He really mustn’t hang around with Jason quite so much.’

But there was no need for Alex to go trotting off because Jason was heading our way, with Oscar holding his hand, pulling and tugging on his fingers like a Labrador. ‘Mum! Dad! Jason’s got this huge picture of David Beckham and there’s nearly a whole train in his barn, with all the controls and everything. He says I can come and see next time he goes and buys one and maybe get to drive it!’ Oscar’s eyes were shining with hero-worship. Jason’s were glazed, probably with dope. ‘Can I?’

‘You mustn’t disturb Jason, darling.’ Saskia motioned to Alex to take their son back to the car. ‘He’s a very famous artist. But it will be nice for your friends, when you start at Blandford, if you tell them that your family is on such good terms with Jason Finch-Beaumont. Talking of which, Jason, may I have a quick word with you? Rosie, could you carry the box to the Hummer for me? My doctor says that I mustn’t try to lift large things.’

‘She didn’t have a problem lifting Alex’s wallet,’ I whispered to Rosie as I helped her to lift the carton of cards into the back of the vehicle.

‘She’s not allowed to lift lower-class things,’ Rosie whispered back. ‘I bet if this box was made of diamonds she’d be hefting it around like a wrestler.’

We sniggered at this image of Saskia until the car’s exhaust filled our faces. ‘So. What are you going to do? Make her some more cards?’

Rosie sighed and went to pick up Harry. ‘Well, I have to, don’t I? I mean, she’s my biggest sales point and — forgive me, Jem, but I don’t want her to do to me what she’s done to you.’

‘She wouldn’t drop you, would she?’

‘You’ve seen her new style. How long do you think my cards will last in that place if she decides on another refit? Anyway—’ Rosie wiggled her bundle of cash under my nose, Harry tried to grab it. ‘How about we use this to go shopping for the ingredients for Thursday night’s little get-together?’

‘Saskia wants me to open her shop.’ Jason’s voice sounded a little strained. It also sounded a lot slurred.

‘She never gave you a set of keys, did she? You’ll have the place full of one of your crankcase installations and dubious friends before she can blink.’ Rosie cradled Harry and began putting a nappy on him, one-handed.

‘On Monday. She’s asked me to be her celebrity.’ Jason sat down. ‘Me! I know nuffin’ about opening things. ’Cept for bottles.’

Rosie and I looked at one another. ‘God, she must be desperate.’

‘Well he is a celebrity.’ I looked down at the bewildered and befuddled celebrity in question. ‘I don’t think there’s much to it, Jase, you just have to cut a ribbon and socialise. It’s only Saskia showing you off.’

‘I don’t want to be shown off!’ Jason nearly wailed.

‘Tough, sunshine.’ I hauled him to his feet by one pathetic elbow. ‘Fame is a bitch. Well, no, Saskia is a bitch, you’re just the approachable face of fame as far as she’s concerned. Now, can I borrow your car keys? Rosie and I are going shopping.’

We left Jason flopping back onto the lawn and went to town in style.

Chapter Eight

Thursday evening arrived and I was still trying to decide what to wear. Because of the stupendous coincidence of both Rosie and me getting paid in the same week (spending two days paying each other back the money we owed and then finding it about equalled out anyway) we were actually planning quite a posh do. Well, as posh as any do could be which had Jason as a guest.

I’d bought a lovely dress in a curious frosty green colour which made my hair look blonder than normal, but in a good way. So many colours made me look as though I’d gone prematurely grey, but this one made me look all Viking.

I tried the dress on in front of the mirror and couldn’t believe it was me I was looking at. Where was that skinny, scared girl now, the one with the bruise-stained cheeks and the gaze that could never quite meet anyone’s eye? The quiet say-nothing girl from the prison, head down and flinching as she walked? She’d been overlaid by the new me; Jemima. Poised, strong, confident. I squared my shoulders at my reflection. I could do this. I could stay living here, selling my stuff through eBay and Ben’s shop. I was doing it. I was making a life.

But then I went to straighten the hem, caught my own eye and saw straight through the mirror image to the horror beneath. The veneer peeled away and I was left staring at the real me, feeling sick. How could I possibly think I was coping? Had I forgotten so quickly what my life consisted of? And how dare I even relish the thought of talking to Ben Davies like a real woman might talk to a man, honest to God ‘flicky dress and glass of wine’ talk, lowered eyes and secretive smiles — didn’t I know what would happen?

I took the dress off and put my jeans on. But then of course Rosie would want to know why I wasn’t wearing my party dress so I was forced to put it on again. How could I tell Rosie that I didn’t want Ben to think I’d even considered the possibility of dressing up for him without her asking awkward questions about why I hadn’t? Or, even worse, after a couple of drinks asking him why he didn’t ask me out — oh God. I took the dress off again.

My tiny bedroom was full of clothes. My one nice trouser suit lay across the bed and it looked as though someone had skinned a corporate lawyer. There were skirts and tops everywhere else, but nothing suitable. I gave up and put the green dress back on.

‘Phwoooarrr! Top totty! Oh, it’s you, Jem.’ Jason was sprawled along the sofa, Harry perched on his stomach. ‘Nearly din’t recognise you.’

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘You look very nice too actually. Did it need surgery to remove those overalls?’

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