No one can think of anyone who can sew, apart from Leanne.
‘Please, no,’ says Charlotte. ‘Anything but that.’
‘We don’t really have any other choice,’ says Julie.
‘Maybe I can learn,’ Charlotte suggests. ‘We’ve got all day today and most of tomorrow.’
It’s Friday now. The plan is to leave as soon as possible after it’s dark on Saturday night.
‘We need a sewing machine anyway,’ Julie points out. ‘And Leanne’s got one. We’re going to have to ask her. There’s no other way.’
‘Can’t we just buy one?’ Charlotte suggests.
Chantel shakes her head. ‘No one would know how to use it, would they?’
Charlotte, Julie and Chantel are in Julie’s bedroom. David, who’s been on a silver-foil-gathering mission since just before midnight last night, is still missing in action. His plan involved breaking into The Edge, stealing all the silver foil and then pissing in Owen’s office. No one knows if he succeeded but Julie’s hoping for the best because the foil is going to be one of the main parts of Luke’s space-suit. David was supposed to be here an hour ago. This is the first official meeting of the Going Out Committee.
Charlotte’s flicking through Auto Express. ‘There are loads of camper vans in here,’ she says. ‘So that bit shouldn’t be too difficult.’ She looks at her watch. ‘We should think about going to see some of them before too long.’
‘So who’s going? What’s the plan?’ Julie asks.
‘Well, you’re the only one who can drive apart from David and he’s not here. I think he’s banned anyway, so you’ll have to go look at the camper vans and test-drive them,’ Charlotte says. ‘And I’m not staying here on my own sewing with Leanne, so I’ll come with you . . .’
‘Hang on,’ says Chantel. ‘If we all go and get the van, who’s going to make the space-suit?’
‘Leanne, apparently,’ Charlotte says. ‘And Luke, when he wakes up.’
‘We’ll have to help, though. And we’ve still got to go and ask her if she’ll do it.’
‘Well, how long will it take to get a camper van?’ Charlotte asks.
Chantel and Julie both look blank.
‘It can’t take that long, can it?’ Charlotte says. ‘Leanne and Luke can start off the suit and we can all help tonight. And David, if he ever shows up again. I’ll start ringing these numbers while you two go and ask Leanne. Can I use your phone, Jules?’
‘Sure,’ says Julie.
Leanne isn’t at home. She’s at work.
‘I hope David’s all right,’ Julie says, as she drives into the retail park.
The Edge looks funny now, a place Julie knows she’ll never go to again.
‘I’m sure he’s fine,’ says Chantel.
Blockbuster has changed. The usual carpet now has a piece of yellow brick-effect linoleum looping across it, joining the ‘Manager’s Choice’ section to the popcorn and then around to the tills, where there’s a backlit display of Wizard of Oz-inspired films, including Wild at Heart, ET, My Own Private Idaho and the Back to the Future series.
‘Hi, Chantel, hi, Julie,’ Leanne says. ‘Do you like our yellow brick road?’
‘It’s nice,’ says Chantel uncertainly. ‘Why are you dressed like that?’
As well as her usual Blockbuster uniform, Leanne’s wearing bright-red shoes, blue ankle socks and has her hair tied in two bunches. She is also wearing blue eyeshadow, and has painted several freckles across her nose with what looks like brown eyeliner.
‘I’m Dorothy,’ she explains.
Chantel looks her up and down again. ‘Dorothy . . .?’
‘It’s Wizard of Oz week, dummy.’
Julie tries not to laugh. ‘We wanted a favour,’ she says.
‘I did wonder what you were doing here,’ Leanne says. ‘Owen’s not happy with you. I’m surprised you’d even show your face on the retail park now . . .’ Julie makes a face and Leanne pauses. ‘So anyway, what’s this favour?’ she asks suspiciously.
‘You can sew, can’t you?’ Chantel says.
‘Yeah, course I can. You know I can. Why?’
‘We’ve got a sewing project,’ Julie says. ‘We need your help.’
A customer comes up to the counter with three children’s videos and a PlayStation game. Leanne glares at Julie and Chantel and they move away from the counter. The man cheerfully places his choices on the counter and hands over his blue-and-yellow laminated membership card, smiling. Leanne scans the card and sort of tuts.
‘Oh dear,’ she says. ‘We’ve got some outstanding fines here.’
‘That’s OK,’ the man says, still smiling. ‘I think I dropped a couple of late ones in the box the other night . . . The kids always want to watch their films at least three times. I can’t understand it. I’ll be glad when these floods are over and they can get back to school. It’s driving me nuts . . .’
‘The fine is £12,’ Leanne says.
The man looks shocked. ‘Twelve quid? Wow. Are you sure?’
‘Yes. Lolita. It was four days late.’
‘Lolita?’ Now the man looks really confused. ‘Are you sure?’
‘What would you like to do, sir? You can pay by credit card, cheque or cash. I’m afraid I can’t let you have these videos until you’ve cleared the fine.’
‘Look,’ he says, nicely. ‘The fine isn’t the problem, I just . . .’
‘If you can’t pay the fine, sir, I’m afraid I can’t allow you to take any more videos out until it is cleared,’ Leanne says. She picks up the man’s videos and his game and places them out of his reach behind the counter, as if he’s about to run off with them.
The man looks pissed off now. ‘I didn’t say I couldn’t pay the fine,’ he says slowly. ‘I am just saying that I don’t understand how it got there. Sure, I’ll pay it, if it’s mine, but I’m not sure it is, that’s all. And I don’t particularly like being spoken to as if I’m a . . .’
‘I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll have to clear the fine before you can take . . .’
‘I can pay the bloody fine,’ he says loudly, as if Leanne can’t hear him. ‘That’s not the issue. I’ve just never taken out – what was it? – Lolita. I only ever use this place to get stuff for the kids. My kids are six years old, eight years old and ten years old. Why would they want to watch Lolita?’
‘I’m sorry, sir, but the computer clearly says . . .’
‘Are you suggesting your computer knows more about what I do than . . . I do?’
Leanne doesn’t answer. ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ she repeats, ‘but you’re going to have to . . .’
He takes his wallet out, frustrated now. ‘Are you a robot?’ he asks.
‘The computer says that . . .’
‘Here.’ He throws a selection of credit cards at her. ‘Take your fucking pick.’
‘I’m sorry, sir, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.’
The man takes a deep breath. He seems like the kind of person who’s never been ejected from any establishment in his life. ‘OK, look. I am going to pay this fine and then – rest assured – you won’t ever see me in here again. I’ll be using Videos Videos Videos on the High Street from now on. And you’ll be hearing from my solicitor about this.’
Leanne sighs. ‘I’ll clear this fine,’ she says. ‘But I’m afraid I can’t allow your membership here to continue. And I won’t be able to give you back your card.’
‘Can you not even lip-read?’ the man says. ‘I just said I’m never coming in here again. You can stick my membership card up your . . .’
‘Which credit card would you like me to use?’ Leanne asks.
‘Take your pick,’ the man says again.
‘I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll have to choose one. I’m not authorised to . . .’
The man holds out his hand and Leanne gives him back his cards.
‘Forget it,’ he says. ‘Fucking sue me for the twelve quid. I can’t stand any more of this.’ He puts his cards back in his wallet and leaves the shop, his face red, looking like he might cry with frustration.
‘Nice customer service,’ Julie says.
‘Firm but fair,’ says Leanne.
‘Where’s Lloyd?’ Julie asks. ‘Don’t you have to ask him before you can cancel a membership?’
‘Strictly, yes. But he’s out buying bunting.’
‘Bunting?’
Leanne shrugs. ‘More promotions,’ she explains. ‘Lloyd’s promotion-mad.’
‘I’m surprised you’ve got any customers left to promote anything to,’ Chantel says. ‘Is this Lloyd as heavy-handed as you are?’
Leanne laughs. ‘Lloyd? He’s a pussycat. He would’ve wiped that fine and probably given the guy a free rental to make up for the “mistake”. But you can’t be too soft on these people. You get customers clocking up ridiculous fines, then they tell you that their mother died, or they left the tape in their car and it was stolen, or the car was stolen with the tape in it, or they accidentally put it in their wedding-video case and packed it in a suitcase and it went to Barbados or something – they’re really inventive sometimes but it’s all lies, and it’s all to get out of paying a fine. It’s just theft, and it has to be stamped out. We’re running a video shop here, not a charity.’
Julie and Chantel look at each other but say nothing.
‘Anyway, what’s this thing you’re sewing?’ Leanne asks.
‘It’s a . . .’ Chantel begins.
Julie nudges her. ‘We’ll tell you later,’ she says to Leanne.
‘I’ll need a pattern,’ Leanne says. ‘That’s if I decide to help.’
Chantel sighs. ‘I think we’re going to have to invent the pattern. It’s a bit unusual.’
‘I might not be able to do it without a pattern,’ Leanne says.
‘Didn’t you do fashion at college?’ Julie says.
‘Yes. You know I did. Until I left.’
‘Well surely you know how to design your own patterns?’
‘A bit. But they always went wrong. That’s why I left.’
‘I’m sure you’ll be fine at this,’ Julie says.
‘I don’t know.’ She sighs. ‘When does it have to be done by?’
‘Tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Tomorrow?’ Leanne shakes her head. ‘No. I’m working tomorrow.’
‘We were planning to work on it tonight,’ Chantel says. ‘At Luke’s.’
‘Definitely not, then. I’m trying to avoid him. I think we need time apart at the moment. You know we definitely split up? I told him that . . .’
‘Come on, Leanne,’ Julie says. ‘We really need your help.’
‘You’re the only person we can ask,’ Chantel says. ‘Please?’
‘I don’t know. Have you got fabric?’
‘A lot of it’s going to be tin f –’ starts Chantel.
Julie cuts in. ‘No, not yet.’
‘You’ll need to buy the fabric.’
‘Of course,’ Julie says. ‘How much should we get?’
‘How am I supposed to know? You haven’t even told me what it’s for.’
‘It’s kind of a body-suit,’ Julie says.
‘Maybe a bit like a wetsuit,’ Chantel adds.
‘I can’t make a wetsuit. The fabric’s too thick to fit in the machine.’
‘Not with wetsuit fabric,’ Chantel says. ‘Just that shape.’
‘Just get loads, then.’
‘What’s loads?’
‘Ten metres? I dunno. Whatever you think.’
‘Is ten metres a lot?’
‘Yes. Probably too much, but we’ll need to leave room for error.’
‘Why?’
‘I might be a bit rusty,’ says Leanne. ‘And I’ve only ever made skirts.’
‘You’ve only ever made skirts?’ Julie says.
‘Yes. I could never work out how to do sleeves.’
‘Oh God,’ says Chantel.
‘That’s fine,’ Julie says quickly. ‘It’ll be fine. We’ll all help.’
‘Try to get some sort of pattern if you can,’ Leanne says as they leave. ‘And thread for the sewing machine, and pins – I’m almost out of pins – oh, and Julie, I need to speak to you as well, later. I need a favour in return for this.’
‘I felt really sorry for that guy,’ Chantel says in the car, on the way into town.
‘What, the Lolita guy?’
‘Yeah. I hate the way shop assistants speak to you – like you’re insane – just because you’ve got a fine on your video membership or something.’
‘I know,’ Julie says. ‘Leanne’s like Hitler dressed up as Dorothy. It’s disturbing.’
Chantel laughs. ‘She’s not the only one, though. One time, just after I won the Lottery, I’d been on this big shopping spree, mainly getting surprises for Mum, and a few bits for Michelle and Leanne, and some treats for Billy. Anyway, I stopped off at Tesco on the way home, because I was going to do a big shop for Mum – she always had to buy the economy brands, and never had any luxuries, so I thought I’d surprise her with strawberries and champagne and chocolates and bubble-bath and whatever. So I had my basket piled up with all this stuff, and I went through the checkout and put it all in bags – I remember I chose those recycled “bags for life” which are 10p each, because I thought they were such a good idea – and when it came to paying I just handed over my debit card that I’d been using all day and kind of daydreamed as the girl put it through the swiper. Anyway, I could hardly believe it when she asked me if I had another form of payment because the card was being rejected. I asked her to try it again – assuring her that I had plenty of money in my account – and I sort of laughed and made a joke about how I always used to worry about my card being rejected, because I was always so close to my overdraft limit, but that this time I wasn’t worried because I had loads of money in my account. So she tried it about three more times, and said it was still being rejected. She suggested that I should go and draw out cash from the cash-point machine, because I didn’t have any cash . . .’
‘Why didn’t you have any cash?’ Julie asks.
‘Oh, I’m scared of carrying cash. I’ve always been scared I’ll lose it. I think it’s because once when I was a kid we went shopping, and I had twenty quid that I’d been saving for about a year or something, and I lost it – it must have dropped out of my pocket or something – and Mum couldn’t afford to replace it and I had to start saving again. I think I spent that whole day crying, searching the pavements in Basildon and just crying, I suppose. If ever I do carry cash nowadays, I check every five minutes or so to see if it’s still there. It’s almost obsessive.’
Julie smiles. ‘Presumably you didn’t explain this to the Tesco girl?’
Chantel laughs. ‘No, I just said I didn’t have any. But I don’t have a cash-point number for my debit card – there’s no point, is there, because you can pay for everything by card, and get cash-back if you really need cash, and anyway, I can never remember those numbers – so I was totally screwed. I made another joke to the girl about how I’d just won the Lottery recently and how ridiculous this was, considering I had about two hundred thousand pounds in this particular account, but she just looked at me like I was mad and said there was nothing she could do. I asked if I could speak to the supervisor so she sort of sighed and called her over – and all the other people in the queue were getting so pissed off. The supervisor did that whole Leanne routine on me, not listening when I tried to explain anything, just repeating this phrase over and over: “I’m sorry, madam, but I’m afraid if you can’t find another method of payment there’s nothing we can do. It’s not our problem, it’s the bank. If their computer says you don’t have the funds, we’re not authorised to override it . . .” Blah, blah, blah. I tried being nice to her – even though by this point I knew I was going to have to leave my shopping behind – because I was feeling so humiliated, and I just wanted her to sympathise with me, but every time I started saying something friendly, like, “Oh, well, I suppose this must happen all the time”, or, “Silly me, I should have brought more cards with me”, she just repeated the same phrase, as if I was trying to con her into letting me steal all this shopping.
‘It upset me so much, I just ended up leaving in tears. It was that brutal brick-wall attitude that got me. It completely spoilt my whole day. And the bank said there was no problem with my card, and that it was probably the Tesco machine that was at fault and that the girl could have just typed the number in instead, but she didn’t, she just kept trying to swipe it. When I rang up Tesco Customer Services to complain, they did explain that they get people trying to rip them off all the time, sometimes with real sob-stories, and that’s why they adopted the brick-wall strategy, but I told them I thought that was stupid. If that manager hadn’t been so blinkered and so into thinking I was just out to con them, maybe she’d have tried punching in the number. But she just didn’t bother. The Customer Services people were quite good about it, actually, but I haven’t been in Tesco since.’
Julie turns the windscreen wipers up a notch because it’s suddenly raining a lot harder. She’s got to find somewhere in town to park the car, then they’ve got to go and buy all this fabric.
There are no spaces to park on the High Street, so Julie drives around to the carpark behind The Rising Sun.