Lucy called a couple of hours after I got home.

‘Is that Saint Nesta?’ she asked when I picked up the phone. ‘Feeder of the hungry, healer of the sick, benefactor of the poor?’

Phew, I thought. She can’t be that mad at me if she’s making jokes.

‘It is,’ I said. ‘And pray, what dost thou want, oh sinner?’

‘I may have the solution.’

‘Solution to what?’

‘Your sudden need to get involved in charity. I was telling Mum and Dad about what happened in Muswell Hill and Dad had an idea. You know his shop is next door to one of the charity shops?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well, he says that they’re often looking for volunteers there. Mrs Owen, the lady that runs it, was looking for people to help tomorrow as she’s been let down by a couple of her usuals.’

‘Tomorrow? Wow. That would be cool. Working in a shop.’

‘No. Not working in the shop. You’re not old enough to work out the front. She wants people in the back to sort through the donations for a jumble sale in Kilburn on Sunday. She said that they’re desperate for people to go through the bags and see what’s there, what’s to be chucked and what can go to jumble.’

‘I could do that,’ I said. ‘You do mean tomorrow?’

‘Yeah.’

‘All day?’

‘Yeah. Until four. I was telling Mum and Dad about you wanting to do something and giving away your pocket money and they both said that at our age, we’re probably better off giving our time and energy. What shall I tell Dad, so he can let Mrs Owen know?’

‘That I’ll be there,’ I said. ‘What time?’

‘Nine-thirty.’

‘Right.’ Nine-thirty on a Saturday. Bummer. I’d have to get up early but I’d do it. Lucy’s parents were right. Using my time did seem like a better idea than giving away all my pocket money and losing my friends over it.

‘And Nesta . . .’

‘Yeah?’

‘I’ll do it with you, because even though you were an almighty pain before, laying such a guilt trip on us all, I would actually like to do something as well.’

‘Top. It will be a laugh.’

‘And Izzie wants to come too.’

‘Izzie? Is she still mad with me?’

‘Nah,’ said Lucy. ‘She looked up your horoscope. Some planet’s square with another one or something. You’ll have to ask her but she said the stars explained why you’ve been a bit over the top lately.’

‘Good. Thank you stars. I hate it when you’re all cross with me. How’s TJ?’ I asked. I knew that they’d all have been texting or e-mailing about me behind my back.

‘TJ has footie practice in the afternoon and has to work on the school mag with Emma in the morning. But she’s cool about you, although she said she did still feel a bit confused and not sure what’s she’s supposed to do to help the world. Said she’s going to think about it, and on the one hand, she feels guilty that she has so much, like a home and a bed and food and clothes, but on the other hand, really glad she does. I guess we all have to find our way round this – although my mum came out with one of her quotes that kind of made sense.’

‘What was that?’ I asked. Lucy’s mum works as a counsellor and collects great quotes and sayings that she can use in her work to make a point or cheer someone up. Some of them are really inspiring.

‘I was telling her that in the face of all the trouble in the world I feel helpless. Like I’m too small to do anything and I don’t mean my height.’

‘Yeah. I know what you mean. It’s like, where do you start?’

‘Anyway,’ Lucy continued. ‘Mum said that there’s a saying that goes something like, anyone who thinks that they’re too small to make a difference should try sharing a bed with a mosquito.’

‘Hah right! Cool. Yeah. Let’s bzzz, baby.’

Lucy, Izzie and I were at the charity shop on the dot of nine-thirty the next day. A little old lady with white hair who was wearing bright pink lipstick let us in and introduced herself as Mrs Owen. She led us through to the back where there was a small room, stuffed wall to wall and floor to ceiling with black bin bags.

‘Some of this has been here for months without anyone looking at it,’ she said as she indicated the bags. ‘We haven’t enough volunteers, so it’s just been left. Anyway, see what you can find. Put it into piles of books, games, toys, bric-à-brac and clothes and so on, then box them. Someone’s coming to collect some of it later on. Keep the really good or designer clothes for the shop, medium good clothes for the jumble, and the rubbish can be chucked out.’

‘Right, will do,’ said Izzie.

‘And one of you can make some tea for the shop workers,’ said Mrs Owen. ‘Doris and Lilian will be in shortly.’

‘Is it possible to open a window somewhere?’ I asked. ‘It’s very hot in here.’ I had put a fleece on when I got dressed as it was chilly then, but already the day was warming up. I hadn’t thought to wear anything underneath so that I could strip off later. Of course, Izzie and Lucy both had brains and had thin crop tops on underneath their jackets.

‘Sorry, love,’ said Mrs Owen. ‘It’s because of the boiler next door and it’s always on for the water. It does tend to heat up in here and there’s no window or door to let any air in. Nothing we can do, I’m afraid. See if you can find an old T-shirt you can put on in one of the bags. In fact, you don’t want to ruin your nice jeans either so if you find an old pair of trousers or shorts, just slip them on as well.’

‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I might do that.’

Lucy went out to the small kitchen to be shown tea duties while Izzie and I took a bag each and began sorting. I looked for something I could change into while I worked. It made sense to get out of my normal clothes.

Mrs Owen had been right – the bags had been there for ages and some at the back were covered in dust. ‘Poo-eeee,’ said Izzie, holding her nose after she’d opened the first bag. ‘This one stinks.’ She pulled out the clothes in it and they were filthy. Whoever had donated them clearly hadn’t washed them before handing them in, and the room began to smell of stale sweat. Ucky. No way was I going to wear any of these clothes, not even for doing the sorting.

Lucy took tea through to the shop and then brought us a mug each. ‘The girls have arrived,’ said Lucy indicating the shop where there were now three white-haired old ladies behind the counter. ‘They’re discussing Lilian’s recent varicose vein operation so I didn’t hang around. Oh, and she said we should take lunch at twelve-thirty.’

Izzie pulled her mobile out of her back pocket. ‘I’ll let TJ know. She said she’d come and meet us on our break.’

I scraped my hair back into a scrunchie so that it didn’t get in my way and started to sift through the clothes. First we threw the contents of a few of bags into the middle of the floor and began to look through. Not a clean T-shirt in sight, only old shirts and horrible looking jumpers. Then Lucy opened a new bag and pulled out a piece of fabric and held it up.

‘Here,’ she said with an evil grin. ‘This will do for you to wear.’

It was an old-fashioned-looking orange sundress with purple polka dots and a sailor collar. The sort of dress that normally I wouldn’t be seen dead in, but at least it was clean and with no sleeves, it was the lightest thing we’d seen so far. No one was going to see us; it would do fine. So I took my clothes off and wriggled into it while Lucy and Izzie cracked up laughing.

‘Well, it’s different,’ said Lucy as I modelled the dress for them and did a twirl. ‘Sort of Minnie Mouse style.’

‘Oh, who cares,’ I said. ‘It’s like an oven in here. I’d have died if I’d kept my fleece on.’

I did feel better in just the dress and we got stuck into the task at hand with gusto. It was really hard work sorting everything into boxes to be taken away for the jumble sale, and by twelve o’clock my back was beginning to ache. Plus it got hotter and hotter until it was like a sauna in there. I felt like I was dripping sweat. None of us could believe some of the stuff that people had handed in. Paint-stained, mud-marked, worn through, with holes in, reeking of stale cigarette smoke. Only occasionally was there a bag with pristine clean clothes and they of course went straight on to the ‘shop’ pile.

‘I think I’m going to pass out,’ said Lucy after one particularly stinky bag. ‘This is bin bag hell. Why don’t people just chuck this stuff instead of bringing it here and wasting people’s time?’

‘Yeah, whose mad idea was this?’ asked Izzie as she leaned back and stretched her arms above her head. ‘Maybe donating your pocket money isn’t such a bad idea after all, Nesta. I think I’d rather have given someone a couple of quid if only I could have stayed in bed this morning.’

‘I know, I know. Sorry,’ I said as I wiped my forehead with the back of my arm. ‘God, it’s so hot in here. Good job there’s no one to see us looking such a sweaty mess.’

I piled what seemed like the hundredth bag on to the floor and we began to sift through a treasure trove of stuff from the Sixties and Seventies. There were some hideous white plastic hoop earrings, lime green and yellow striped tights, an orange mini skirt, a pink Afro wig and a pair of turquoise and maroon platform boots.

‘Be great for a fancy-dress party,’ said Lucy.

I shook my head. ‘Anyone would look like a complete eejit in that get up,’ I said. ‘I mean, a party is a party and whatever the theme, you still want to look halfway decent. In that outfit, you’d never pull anyone.’

‘It’s twelve-thirty,’ Mrs Owen called from the shop. ‘Take half an hour, girls.’

‘Phew,’ said Izzie as she headed for the door. ‘Let’s get out of here!’

Lucy didn’t need much prompting either and followed her straight out. I was about to change back into my jeans and fleece but I felt so sweaty that I didn’t want to wear anything so warm until I’d cooled down a bit. It would be OK to pop out in the dress for a short time. It looked like the day had turned into lovely sunshine outside.

TJ was waiting for us by the flower bed outside Ryman’s. She looked so cool in her jeans and a white tank top.

‘Hey, guys,’ she said, then burst out laughing when she saw me. ‘Hmm, a new look, I see.’

‘Yeah. Like it?’ I asked as I gave her a twirl. ‘Polka dot and orange is the new black.’

‘How’s it going in there?’ she asked.

Lucy pulled a grim face. ‘Not great. Like a prison sentence in fact. Not a lot of fun.’

‘We all got hard labour,’ said Izzie, ‘but we’re hoping to get time off for good behaviour.’

I felt bad since they wouldn’t have been there if it hadn’t been for me making them feel guilty. And, if I was honest, I wasn’t exactly enjoying myself either, even though I kept telling myself that it was all for a worthy cause.

‘What have you been up to?’ asked Izzie. ‘Magazine stuff?’

‘Yeah. Actually, I’ve had a great morning,’ TJ replied. ‘I had a long hard think about all this charity lark last night. I’d felt confused after . . . well . . . you know . . .’

‘After I’d made you all feel guilty,’ I said.

TJ smiled. ‘I’m sure you didn’t mean to. But anyway I decided, I can write. Maybe I can write something that will get people thinking or raise awareness or something. I talked it over with Emma and she agreed. A series of articles on various aspects of charity would be great for the magazine, plus it will give the different causes some exposure.’

‘What a brilliant idea,’ said Lucy. ‘So what are you going to do first?’

‘Something to draw the readers in. I reckon if we went in with a heavy article about the state of the world – you know, all gloom and doom and making people feel bad – it might turn people off,’ she said. I swear Izzie gave me a meaningful look at this point. I smiled back at her like I didn’t know what she was on about (though I knew exactly).

‘I suggested we start with a guide to the charity shops in North London,’ TJ continued. ‘That’s where I’ve just been. Some of them are amazing. The ones in St John’s Wood are mega! Five-star stuff. The people who live there are so rich, their throw outs have to be seen to be believed. Prada. Chanel. Dolce and Gabbana. Honest. In a charity shop! You’d have loved it, Nesta. And you too, Lucy. All those great designer clothes going so cheap. And I got a couple of books and CDs that I wanted for almost nothing.’

‘Sounds like you’ve had a better morning than us. Need anyone to do any more research?’ asked Izzie.

‘Sure,’ said TJ. ‘We need someone to do North Finchley and Hampstead to see what’s there. So far, seems St John’s Wood is the biz for fashion, Muswell Hill for books, East Finchley for bric-à-brac.’

I couldn’t help feeling a stab of envy. She’s a clever girl, is TJ, and sometimes I feel a bit jealous of her. Looks and brains. She has the whole package. I wished I’d thought of something like that instead of breaking my back sorting through smelly clothes and making my friends suffer with me. Suddenly I had an idea. I didn’t want TJ to think we’d had a bad time when she’d been having a great time so I decided to pop back into the shop for a minute.

Once in there, I grabbed the pair of striped yellow and lime green tights and pulled them on. I looked around for some more mad things to wear and spotted the Afro wig, a pink ostrich feather boa and a pair of swimming goggles. I quickly put them on, then made a quick dash to the little toilet area to see what I looked like. I couldn’t help but laugh when I saw my reflection in the mirror above the tiny sink. I looked truly awful. Like someone with the worse possible taste ever.

A moment later, I stepped back out into the street and my outfit had exactly the right effect. Lucy, TJ and Izzie creased up laughing when they saw me.

‘You’re a closet Nancy No-taste,’ said Lucy. ‘I always knew you would come out one day.’

I went into a dance routine like Mike Myers in the movie, Austin Powers, and the girls continued laughing and a few passers-by looked at me as if I was bonkers. See TJ, I thought, you’re not the only one having fun doing charity work. After a few moments, Izzie began to shake her head and twitch her mouth. Cool, I thought, she’s getting into it as well, and I began to shake my head and twitch as well as I revved up the manic dancing.

‘No, noooo,’ grimaced Izzie, twitching her mouth more than ever.

I began to strut up and down the pavement like a model who’s had too much caffeine. ‘Yeah, baby, yeah. Hey, Izzie. Love and peace. Like yeah, baby, yeaaah . . .’

Lucy had joined in the twitching with Izzie by now and was also making strange faces.

‘St John’s Wood may be good for the more expensive designs,’ I said in a high pitched squeaky voice, ‘but we all know that Muswell Hill is the most brilliant place for those individual little fashions that you won’t find anywhere else.’

‘Yeah, right,’ drawled a familiar voice behind me.

I spun around and almost knocked William Lewis over.

‘I was trying to warn you,’ said Izzie as William looked me up and down with that infuriatingly amused look of his.

‘Yeah,’ he said with a wicked grin. ‘Individual is the word but not so much Coco Chanel as Coco the Clown. Ever thought of getting some fashion advice from an expert?’

Fashion advice? Me? Queen of style? Hurumph. Luckily Izzie, TJ and Lucy pulled me back towards the shop before I could sock him in the mouth.