Shopping with the Enemy Read online

  First of all she was just watching vaguely. But then details began to spring out more clearly. There was a blonde girl with long bright hair in a shiny black leather jacket. Her black ankle-length trousers set off a pair of purple suede pumps and Annie admired her purple tote bag and the white, black and purple silk scarf tied loosely around her neck.

  Mmmm … a thoughtful outfit all very nicely put together. Only blondes or black-haired people looked truly brilliant in black. She’d suspected that for years.

  Now here was an extremely well-dressed Italian man: white chinos, blue and white striped shirt, then a thick tan belt with a silver buckle around his hips and tan loafers on his feet. That was another great outfit.

  Mmmm … matching bag and shoes … matching shoes and belts. These careful little details got a bad rap for being too matchy-matchy, but really, in the right kind of way, they pulled an outfit together.

  She sipped at her third espresso, loaded with a teaspoon of brown sugar, and watched more closely.

  Look at those two lovely girls, strolling arm in arm, laughing. One wore a floaty white tunic printed with bright pink flowers, with white leggings and silver gladiator sandals. The other was in the acid shade of yellow that totally complements tanned skin and dark hair. Oooh and she had a miniature bright blue satchel strung across her body. Now that looked good; that really did set the dress off.

  Annie smiled. This was fashion-watching and she was enjoying it. She couldn’t think when she’d last just sat still, watched people go by and soaked up their inspiration.

  A pair of elderly ladies began to cross the square, arm in arm, just like the girls. They were elegantly turned out for their evening stroll, one in a beige linen suit with cream-coloured trim, holding a crocodile clutch, her hair up in a fierce beehive showing off a huge pair of pearl and gold earrings.

  Let’s hear it for dressed-up old ladies, Annie thought to herself and immediately wondered how her mum was doing.

  Annie’s mother wasn’t quite 70 yet, but she was struggling with a fading memory. That was how Annie liked to think of it. The term ‘early-onset dementia’ was too poignant. Dementia was too irreversible a word and ‘early-onset’ sounded as if they had been cheated out of years of Fern’s life, which of course they had. So Annie consoled herself with the term ‘fading memory’ because her mum’s memory often came back in fits and starts.

  There were flashes of perfect clarity. Annie could visit and find herself talking to her mum just like before, just totally normally. But sometimes when she arrived Fern would be clouded over, still recognizing her of course, but fretting in a circle of concern about all kinds of strange things: snails escaping from the garden … tins going out of date in the cupboards … the possibility of moss growing in the bathroom.

  Annie looked down at her phone but knew a quick call wouldn’t work. Because Fern found phone calls confusing.

  Instead, Annie sent a text to Stefano, the student nurse who rented a room very cheaply in her mother’s house on the understanding that he kept a watchful eye on Fern along with the home help.

  ‘How’s Mum tonight? Thinking of her, just wondered what she was doing. Annie xx’

  As she waited for the reply, she watched a family walk past and felt a sharp pang of longing for her own.

  ‘How football and where hv u put laundry?!’ she fired over to Owen.

  He was the first to reply: ‘Washing in machine. Better believe it baby.’

  Then came: ‘It’s Strictly Come Dancing then bed for your Mum before I sneak out later’, from Fern’s Stefano.

  ‘Good plan’, she replied.

  For a moment she considered contacting Lana. But Svetlana’s instruction had been clear: she was to wait for Lana to come running back to her. She just hoped it would happen soon.

  Annie paid the bill, then through the wine and sugar fog tried to decide what to do next. One thing was for sure: she was not going back to Villa Enema. But should she go to the airport? Try and get home?

  But she was in Milan on a bright and sunny Saturday. Milano, fashion capital: beyond this exquisite square there had to be all kinds of interesting shops and little boutiques, selling unique things.

  She could stay here, get a hotel room for the night, have the Villa Verdina send her things. Sooner or later she would have to face Svetlana, though. The thought of that made her want to order another glass of wine.

  ‘I am weak,’ she whispered to herself: ‘the toxins won.’

  Just then, someone she recognized walked into the piazza, not far from her table. It took Annie a moment or two to place the face and recall the name, but then she called out: ‘Inge! Hello!’

  The chambermaid who had been so helpful turned and looked at her, eyes widening in surprised recognition.

  ‘Hello, have you got an afternoon off?’ Annie asked as Inge approached her table.

  ‘Miss Valentine? What you do here?’ Inge gestured to the empty bowls, coffee cups and wine bottle with astonishment.

  ‘I ran away,’ Annie explained with a grin.

  ‘You run away? Oh no! You can’t talk to me. They will think I help you!’

  Chapter Fifteen

  New York

  Potential stoop sale customer:

  Purple maxi-dress (Haute Hippie)

  Flip-flops (Fitflops)

  Sunglasses (vintage Gucci)

  Handbag (this season’s Coach Hobo)

  Bead, pearl and turquoise necklace (vintage costume jewellery)

  Total est. cost: $430

  ‘I FEEL DUMB,’ Gracie admitted.

  ‘Why?!’ Lana exclaimed.

  She looked admiringly over the set of stone stairs which led to the tiny apartment that Gracie shared with two other girls in this groovy part of not-so-eyewateringly-expensive Manhattan.

  It had taken almost an hour to set everything out on the steps for the stoop sale. On each of the steps were treasures the girls had taken from their own personal collections: unwanted belts, headbands, hair decorations, homemade flower corsages and a large collection of second-hand shop jewellery finds. Bead necklaces, paste brooches, jangly bracelets all vied for attention from passers-by.

  Cleverly, the girls had made each step a different price: just $1 per piece on the bottom step, rising to $10 per item on the top step. They needed to make $500 and if they could sell everything on the steps, they estimated they would be at least halfway to their total.

  But as they perched on the top step expectantly, people were just walking past without so much as a glance in their direction.

  ‘I feel dumb,’ Gracie whispered again. ‘We’ve set all this stuff out but people are just walking past. No one’s going to stop and buy anything. We’re just going to sit here looking like losers.’

  ‘So … we’ll just have to get up and sell it,’ Lana said, as if it was simple.

  She knew it wasn’t entirely simple, but she was at a huge advantage. Her mother was a born saleswoman and Lana had seen her in action ever since she was small. Selling outfits in The Store, selling to private clients in the small office she used to run from her home; even on TV to her rapt audience.

  Annie was just nice to people, she simply offered, made suggestions, pushed in a happy, enthusiastic way. And that’s what Lana and Gracie had to do right now, even if they both felt a little shy and weird about it.

  ‘OK, you pick up the box of $1 items, I’ll get the $2 box and we’ll get down there and start offering them to the people passing.’

  Gracie didn’t look thrilled at the thought.

  ‘C’mon, we’ve gone to all this trouble. We have to make it work now.’

  ‘Suppose—’

  Lana took the jug and a small stack of cups and moved down to the sidewalk.

  ‘Hi, we have some great bargains here,’ she said to the first person who passed. ‘We’re raising money to start our own business …’

  He just shrugged and carried on.

  ‘How about a $1 lapel pin. A very cheap birthday gift
,’ Gracie offered two teen boys.

  They stopped and looked at her: ‘How much?’

  ‘You can have three for $2. Half price.’

  They paused but finally one shrugged and agreed: ‘OK.’

  And the first sale was made. Somehow, once those first two badges had been bought, everything got much easier. The boys came to the steps to look through the other things for sale. Then, because they were at the stoop, other people stopped and looked too.

  ‘Wow, these are pretty. I’ll give you $2 for both, if that’s OK.’

  ‘Do you have change of $5? I want to take this one – oh, you know what, I’ll take that one too, if you’ll give me them both for $5.’

  Within a few minutes, it was busy. As soon as a small knot of people had stopped, other people stopped too, curious to see what the fuss was about.

  Soon the $1 step was almost empty and the Tupperware box already had a thin layer of green bills across the bottom.

  Lana’s phone, in the back pocket of her jeans, began to buzz. When she saw that Elena was calling, she thought, despite the hustle on the step, she should answer.

  ‘Lana, a change has been made to the company bank account,’ Elena began briskly.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘You don’t know anything about it? Svetlana didn’t phone in or email or anything like that?’

  ‘No, not that I know of. What kind of change?’ Lana wondered.

  ‘I can no longer move money on my own. I’ve just tried to make a payment and they’re telling me everything needs two signatures: hers and mine or hers and yours. This is infuriating. It’s going to slow day-to-day transactions right down, and you know why she’s done it?’

  That struck Lana as slightly obvious.

  ‘She thinks we’re up to something,’ Elena answered her own question. ‘She knows we might do something without her permission; so she’s doing all she can to stop us. We go ahead with our own dresses, with our own money and we don’t speak to the Mothers unless we have to. OK?’

  ‘OK,’ Lana agreed. Well, she and her mum weren’t exactly in regular contact anyway. Ever since the day Lana had left London, they hadn’t spoken: the odd text just to confirm a safe landing and other details, but no actual conversation.

  ‘Have you made that extra $500 yet? If we’re printing up fabric, we’re going to need it – it costs a lot,’ Elena added.

  ‘We’re trying,’ Lana said, watching an expensively dressed woman with a beautiful beaded necklace pick something up from the top step and scrutinize it.

  ‘I’ll give you $2,’ the woman said to Gracie, holding up an elaborate brooch in the shape of a peacock.

  ‘I have to go,’ Lana said and quickly shut down the call from Elena.

  ‘No!’ Lana interrupted the too cheap sale Gracie looked as if she was about to make: ‘that’s a really nice piece – we couldn’t take anything less than the full $10. In fact, $10 is a steal.’

  Without hesitation, the woman opened her bag, brought out her wallet and paid the $10 without a murmur of protest.

  ‘Good going!’ Gracie told Lana once the woman had begun to walk away from them.

  ‘I don’t know if it was – I think she might clean it up and sell it on uptown for $50.’

  ‘Maybe that’s what we should do, if it doesn’t work out in the dress business,’ Gracie said, eyes widening.

  ‘Who said anything about it not working out in the dress business? Hi!’ Lana called out across the sidewalk: ‘we’ve got all sorts of amazing stuff going really cheap over here!’

  Several new potential customers began to head over. Once they had been seen to, Gracie caught Lana by surprise by asking out of the blue: ‘So, you’re still coming tonight, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, well, I mean … it sounds like a pretty cool party.’

  ‘Yeah! This is one of the hottest tickets in town tonight. And our names are on the guest list. So – do you like Parker?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know him at all, but he seems like a pretty interesting guy …’

  ‘You know what I mean. Do you like like Parker?’

  Lana shrugged. ‘I dunno.’

  For some reason, she didn’t want to talk to Gracie about this. Usually Gracie shared every little twist and turn of Lana’s love life. But she just didn’t want to discuss her big crush on Parker with Gracie. It didn’t feel comfortable.

  Lana looked at her friend and suddenly understood: Gracie liked Parker. That was the problem, right there. Gracie liked him too.

  But that wasn’t really fair – Gracie already had a boyfriend.

  Was Gracie going to get in Lana’s way?

  Was Gracie going to stamp on any chance of Lana and Parker getting together because she liked him too?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Milan

  Inge off duty:

  Pink vest top (Benetton)

  White jeans (H&M)

  Pink and white messenger canvas bag (market stall)

  Pink leather sandals (same)

  Total est. cost: €68

  ‘HONESTLY, NO ONE is going to think you’ve helped me. I promise!’ Annie insisted, jumping up from her café table to catch up with the chambermaid, who was hurrying away from her.

  ‘But if they see us together!’ Inge insisted.

  ‘There’s no one to see us and anyway, I’ve run away from a hotel, not a prison. C’mon, it’s OK. This is a beautiful part of town, do you live near here?’

  Inge shook her head: ‘No … I’ve come here to visit a special shop.’

  ‘Really?’

  Through the coffee, wine and profiterole haze, Annie could feel a burst of enthusiasm surfacing.

  ‘What kind of shop?’

  Inge frowned. ‘It sells … I think it is called ribbons.’

  ‘A ribbon shop?’

  ‘Yes, but beautiful, every kind, every imagining of ribbon,’ Inge tried to explain, ‘and an old shop. It has been here for many, many years.’

  ‘Can I come and look with you?’

  For a moment, Inge hesitated.

  ‘I left the hotel without your help: I will make sure everyone knows that. Please?’

  Inge smiled. ‘OK.’

  So Annie and Inge fell into step as they crossed the elegant piazza, Annie asking where Inge lived and what she was doing this weekend and why she was crossing town to visit a ribbon shop.

  It turned out that Inge’s daughter was graduating from college and for the ceremony Inge wanted to spruce up a trusty linen sundress and jacket.

  ‘I have them in my bag,’ Inge explained. ‘I cannot afford a new dress, but I would like to make the old things a little new.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Annie agreed.

  They walked from the piazza into a narrow street full of the boutiques Annie had been hoping to find in Milan. There was a shop devoted to perfume, one filled just with candles, one with stationery and fountain pens. Once she’d been to the ribbon shop with Inge, she would come back and browse to her heart’s content.

  Oh! There was a tiny shop which sold only plaited leather handbags: she really would have to come back. It was just as Dinah had promised – she was in Italy, breathing in colours, cuts and shapes and rekindling her passion for fashion.

  For the first time in months, she suddenly did feel open to beautiful things, well made, designed to be worn over and over again with love.

  ‘What’s your daughter like?’ Annie asked her new friend.

  ‘Oh!’ Inge turned and gave a beaming smile, ‘she’s wonderful; a very pretty girl, clever, kind and generous too. I love her. I’m so proud of her, she will be a very good nurse.’

  ‘That’s fantastic. And never a cross word?’

  Inge frowned at this, as if she did not understand.

  ‘You don’t have many arguments?’

  Inge shook her head. ‘No we are both peaceful people and we agree on most things. It is just the two of us at home now and she only has one serious boyfriend and I like him very much. Do
you have a daughter?’

  ‘Yes … we’ve had a very big argument and we haven’t really said sorry,’ Annie admitted. ‘She lives in New York now and we used to be very close. This is our first big disagreement.’

  Annie felt a lump building up in her throat.

  ‘She lives in New York?’ Inge asked. ‘That is far away.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What was the argument about?’

  That was a good question. What were they really arguing about? Annie considered what had most upset her about the row. Lana had made her feel out of touch, unwanted, unnecessary and, most definitely, unappreciated.

  ‘She thinks she doesn’t need me,’ Annie sighed. ‘And that’s hard … she’s only nineteen. Every mother needs to feel needed.’

  Inge slowed her pace as she considered these words: ‘Yes, it’s a difficult time because when you are nineteen, you want to be free. You don’t want to need your mother.’

  Inge patted Annie’s arm and for a moment. Annie had to blink back tears.

  ‘But she will grow,’ Inge added, ‘she will come to understand how important you are. Be patient … Here is the shop with the ribbons.’

  Inge opened the door and led Annie into a small wood-panelled space that smelled of dust and lemon peel. Inge was right: the rails along the walls were packed with spools of ribbons of every kind.

  There were velvet ribbons: from narrow as shoelaces to broad as chokers, in all colours in the spectrum. There were gingham ribbons, conjuring up picnics and plaited hair; gold chiffon ribbons, spotty ribbons, embroidered daisy-chain ribbons …

  Laid out on small mahogany tables were bunches of silk flowers, silk trims, multi-coloured netting and feathers. Everywhere Annie looked, creative ideas were bursting out at her, desperate to be used.

  ‘What’s your plan?’ she asked Inge as they browsed carefully through the treasure trove. ‘Do you have one? Or are you looking for inspiration?’

  ‘I know what I am looking for,’ Inge replied. A moment or two later, she said: ‘This one.’

  She took one of the spools down from the wall and pulled out a length. It was pink ric rac ribbon; the tightly woven braid which bobbed up and down in miniature waves, crisp and smart.