Mini Shopaholic
Page 64
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
‘C’mon,’ he’s muttering to himself. ‘C’mon, Daryl.’
‘Stop it!’ I shout in horror. ‘You’ll hurt yourself! Look, you can have the Luella clutch, OK? You can have it! Just don’t burn your face!’
‘Really?’ Daryl lowers the stick, looking a bit white and trembly, then suddenly jumps as the flame licks his hand. ‘Ow! Fuck!’ He drops it to the ground, shaking his hand, and we watch it slowly burn itself out.
‘You’re not a fire-eater at all, are you?’ I say at last.
‘Nah.’ He scuffs his foot. ‘Just wanted the clutch. Can I really still have it?’
I can’t blame him. To be honest, if I saw an ad offering a designer bag in return for fire-eating skills, I’d probably pretend I could fire-eat, too. But still, I can’t help feeling deflated. What am I going to do about Luke’s party now?
‘OK.’ I sigh. ‘You can have it.’
I look at Nicole, her face all hopeful, her arm still wrapped round the grey Marc Jacobs bag. The truth is, I never use either of those bags any more. And something tells me I’m never going to get a marquee for them.
‘And Nicole, you can keep the Marc Jacobs bags if you like.’
‘Legend!’ She nearly explodes with joy. ‘For real? Do you want me to … wash your car or anything?’
‘No thanks!’ I can’t help laughing.
Nicole’s face is glowing. ‘This is awesome. Oh look, there’s Julie.’
‘Don’t tell me,’ I say. ‘Another friend of yours.’
A blonde teenage girl is coming up the drive, holding three coloured balls.
‘Hi!’ She smiles hesitantly. ‘I’m the juggler? For the Gina sandals?’
‘Can you juggle?’ I say bluntly.
‘Well …’ She looks anxiously at Nicole, who grimaces back and shakes her head. ‘Um … I’m a quick learner?’
As Daryl, Nicole and Julie head back down the drive, I sink on to the front step and stare out, hugging my knees. I can’t help feeling gloomy. Some bartering that was. I mean, it’s not that I begrudge giving away stuff. In fact, it was a pleasure to see my things going to good homes. And all three of them were really grateful.
But still, it wasn’t exactly a successful transaction, was it? If you ask me, bartering’s crap and I don’t know why I ever believed Jess. I’m down three designer bags and a pair of sandals and I haven’t got anything to show for it. The party isn’t any further forward … and we haven’t got a house … and we’ve got to move out … My head is sinking further and further forward, and it’s a few moments before I hear a gentle voice saying, ‘Rebecca?’
I look up to see a woman in a neat jacket and skirt holding out a tray of food.
‘It’s Erica,’ she says. ‘From Oxshottmarketplace.com? With the canapés for the Missoni coat? I thought I’d bring a selection and you could make your choice.’
I struggle to my feet and stare at her suspiciously for a moment. ‘Can you actually cook?’
Erica laughs. ‘Take a bite,’ she gestures at the tray, ‘and you tell me.’
Silently I reach forward, take a canapé and bite into it. It’s prawn and chilli on shortcrust pastry and it’s delicious. And so is the avocado and mozzarella roll.
By the time I’ve finished them all, I feel a million times better. It turns out Erica’s a proper caterer! She’s going to do a whole selection and serve them herself. And the Missoni coat looks fabulous on her, especially when I throw in a patent belt and some knee-high shiny Prada boots (which always cut into my shins and I never wore anyway) and re-do her hair.
And she said if I want to expand to catering the whole party, she’s willing to barter some more!
I’m glowing all over with pride. It worked! Here I am, bartering in my local community, being totally green and worthy, using the world’s resources the way we were meant to. Without money, without credit cards, without waste. Wait till I tell Jess!
Happily I drift inside and check on Minnie. Then I turn on my laptop, and just out of interest, summon up Erica’s catering website. Wow. It’s really impressive. There she is, looking all smart and professional in her apron. And there’s a page of testimonials … and here’s a list of party menus … and …
What?
I stare at the web-page in shock. I don’t believe this.
The Missoni coat, Prada boots and belt that I bartered were worth a total of sixteen hundred quid at least – and it says here I could get exactly the same lot of canapés for twelve hundred in her ‘Special Nibbles Deal’.
‘Stop it!’ I shout in horror. ‘You’ll hurt yourself! Look, you can have the Luella clutch, OK? You can have it! Just don’t burn your face!’
‘Really?’ Daryl lowers the stick, looking a bit white and trembly, then suddenly jumps as the flame licks his hand. ‘Ow! Fuck!’ He drops it to the ground, shaking his hand, and we watch it slowly burn itself out.
‘You’re not a fire-eater at all, are you?’ I say at last.
‘Nah.’ He scuffs his foot. ‘Just wanted the clutch. Can I really still have it?’
I can’t blame him. To be honest, if I saw an ad offering a designer bag in return for fire-eating skills, I’d probably pretend I could fire-eat, too. But still, I can’t help feeling deflated. What am I going to do about Luke’s party now?
‘OK.’ I sigh. ‘You can have it.’
I look at Nicole, her face all hopeful, her arm still wrapped round the grey Marc Jacobs bag. The truth is, I never use either of those bags any more. And something tells me I’m never going to get a marquee for them.
‘And Nicole, you can keep the Marc Jacobs bags if you like.’
‘Legend!’ She nearly explodes with joy. ‘For real? Do you want me to … wash your car or anything?’
‘No thanks!’ I can’t help laughing.
Nicole’s face is glowing. ‘This is awesome. Oh look, there’s Julie.’
‘Don’t tell me,’ I say. ‘Another friend of yours.’
A blonde teenage girl is coming up the drive, holding three coloured balls.
‘Hi!’ She smiles hesitantly. ‘I’m the juggler? For the Gina sandals?’
‘Can you juggle?’ I say bluntly.
‘Well …’ She looks anxiously at Nicole, who grimaces back and shakes her head. ‘Um … I’m a quick learner?’
As Daryl, Nicole and Julie head back down the drive, I sink on to the front step and stare out, hugging my knees. I can’t help feeling gloomy. Some bartering that was. I mean, it’s not that I begrudge giving away stuff. In fact, it was a pleasure to see my things going to good homes. And all three of them were really grateful.
But still, it wasn’t exactly a successful transaction, was it? If you ask me, bartering’s crap and I don’t know why I ever believed Jess. I’m down three designer bags and a pair of sandals and I haven’t got anything to show for it. The party isn’t any further forward … and we haven’t got a house … and we’ve got to move out … My head is sinking further and further forward, and it’s a few moments before I hear a gentle voice saying, ‘Rebecca?’
I look up to see a woman in a neat jacket and skirt holding out a tray of food.
‘It’s Erica,’ she says. ‘From Oxshottmarketplace.com? With the canapés for the Missoni coat? I thought I’d bring a selection and you could make your choice.’
I struggle to my feet and stare at her suspiciously for a moment. ‘Can you actually cook?’
Erica laughs. ‘Take a bite,’ she gestures at the tray, ‘and you tell me.’
Silently I reach forward, take a canapé and bite into it. It’s prawn and chilli on shortcrust pastry and it’s delicious. And so is the avocado and mozzarella roll.
By the time I’ve finished them all, I feel a million times better. It turns out Erica’s a proper caterer! She’s going to do a whole selection and serve them herself. And the Missoni coat looks fabulous on her, especially when I throw in a patent belt and some knee-high shiny Prada boots (which always cut into my shins and I never wore anyway) and re-do her hair.
And she said if I want to expand to catering the whole party, she’s willing to barter some more!
I’m glowing all over with pride. It worked! Here I am, bartering in my local community, being totally green and worthy, using the world’s resources the way we were meant to. Without money, without credit cards, without waste. Wait till I tell Jess!
Happily I drift inside and check on Minnie. Then I turn on my laptop, and just out of interest, summon up Erica’s catering website. Wow. It’s really impressive. There she is, looking all smart and professional in her apron. And there’s a page of testimonials … and here’s a list of party menus … and …
What?
I stare at the web-page in shock. I don’t believe this.
The Missoni coat, Prada boots and belt that I bartered were worth a total of sixteen hundred quid at least – and it says here I could get exactly the same lot of canapés for twelve hundred in her ‘Special Nibbles Deal’.
