Beads, Boys and Bangles (3 page)

‘And Nonie?’

I jump. But Sam isn’t talking to me. She’s asking Crow
about
me. This is embarrassing. We’ve known each other for a year and a half. We see each other every day. Crow practically lives in my house, which is where she makes her stuff when she isn’t doing a couture collection. She knows how fast I can eat popcorn while watching
Project Runway
– and what the sofa looks like after I’ve finished. What on earth is she going to say?

She draws breath. I’m on the edge of my seat, but in the end she just shrugs. She looks around at all of us, and out of the window at the grey, wintry sky. Then she holds up her hands and shrugs again.

I’m used to this. If your business partner is a natural shrugger, you learn to expect it. But after ‘Edie is wonderful’ and ‘Jenny has nice hair’, I was expecting a little bit more. I’m not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved.

Jenny jumps in again. Unlike Crow, she’s not the strong and silent type.

‘I think what Crow means is that Nonie takes care of everything. Nonie’s brilliant with details and organising stuff.’

Crow nods, which is good. I’m glad that’s what she meant.

‘Tell me about it,’ Sam says, with a smile in my direction. So for the next five minutes I describe the total, total pleasure of organising Crow’s first catwalk show, even though it was the most difficult, complicated, stressful thing I’ve done in my life. And the fun of seeing the Jewels collection come to life and learning all about how you make high-street fashion and how amazing it is to be behind the scenes when it’s happening.

‘So it looks as if you’ve changed everyone’s life for the better,’ Sam concludes.

I assume she’s talking to Edie, but when I check, she’s smiling at Crow. Who’s smiling back, in an embarrassed sort of way. Sam is scary the way she notices things. We all think of ourselves as looking after Crow on a daily basis. After all, she’s younger than us, she’s hopeless at school and we’re her best friends. But it’s totally true. We all find ourselves nodding, and then Jenny has to go even further and say, ‘Oh yes. I
absolutely
wouldn’t be here today without Crow.’

Which is so unbelievably obvious on the day of the Miss Teen launch that we all find ourselves giggling, while Jenny goes, ‘What?
What?
’ Even Sam Reed can’t resist a smile.

We can hear movement outside. Sam checks her watch. ‘One more question, girls. OK?’ We nod.

She leans forward, and the look in her eye changes slightly. ‘Edie, I was looking at your website this morning and I noticed there were some rather serious claims
about the making of the new collection. How do you all feel about that?’

Oh, dear. Not good.

Crow and Jenny look totally mystified, because we haven’t had a chance to tell them about it yet. Edie instantly goes white and tearful again. I feel as if it’s my job to say something – after all, I’m the one who agreed that Sam could talk to us today – but my mind has gone blank.

At this moment, the door opens and Andy Elat is framed in the doorway, beaming confidently, with Amanda hovering nervously behind him.

‘How’s it going, kids?’ he asks.

Does he have magical powers? Is the room bugged? A part of me is really confused by his perfect, perfect timing, but mostly I’m just relieved.

‘I was just talking about Edie’s website,’ Sam says. ‘And the No Kidding thing. I assume you’ve seen it?’

‘All sorted now,’ Andy smiles. ‘Good work, Edie, love. But I’ve just been shown what they were saying a couple of hours ago. Terrible, unjustified accusations. Against a schoolgirl, too. I’m horrified. We all are.’

He grabs a spare chair and sits beside me. Sam Reed gives him a long, hard look, which is supposed to hint that Andy is not part of this interview, and would he please leave us in peace? However, Andy simply smiles back and ignores the look, and the rest of us are clearly grateful that he’s here. Sam gives in.

‘So, Andy, what’s your reaction to No Kidding’s claim
that some of the clothes in this collection were made by children working up to sixteen hours a day without a break in Indian sweatshops?’ she asks. She sounds less ‘kindly analyst’ now and more ‘hard-bitten journalist’.

‘I can categorically deny them,’ he says confidently. ‘Categorically. You can quote me on that. They’re rubbish from start to finish.’

I take a breath to say something, but Andy wiggles his fingers subtly in my direction. It’s his version of the Look that we give each other when we want someone to SHUT UP. You learn it pretty quickly when you work with Andy.

I shut up.

‘Were the girls aware that this was an issue?’ Sam continues, looking across at all of us. We madly shake our heads, except for Crow, who looks too shocked to even move.

Sam notices Crow’s stillness even more than our head-shaking. She obviously believes her and takes pity on us.

‘That’s it then, everyone. I think I’ve got enough. Thanks. I’ll give you a call, Nonie, if I’ve got any follow-up questions. Great collection, Crow. Good luck!’

The way she says ‘Good luck’ makes me more nervous than if she’d just said goodbye.

Do we need luck? And what is her article going to be about? The fabulousness of the sold-out petal skirts? Or the rumours about how they were made?

A
fter Sam leaves the room, Andy’s aides rush in to brief him on his next meeting. But Edie leaps out of her seat and grabs him first.

‘Are you sure?’ she asks.

‘About the children in India?’ he says. ‘Absolutely.’ He reaches out to put a friendly hand on her shoulder, then realises she’s now taller than him, even in her ballet flats, and turns it into a pat on the arm.

‘How can you know?’

‘Regular checks. You can’t be in my business and not be certain about this stuff. We monitor it all the time. Trust me.’

He looks at her expression. It’s obviously not trusting enough.

‘Look, my reputation would be in the dirt if I used child labour. And besides, I like children. Look at you lot. If Crow insists on working into the night to finish something, I can’t stop her. But I don’t make her do it. And I
pay her.’ He sighs. ‘No children were harmed in the making of this collection, OK?’

‘OK,’ we agree, in slightly wobbly voices.

But Andy didn’t get to be such a successful businessman by always believing people when they pretend to agree with him. Despite the fact that his minions are standing behind him, jiggling with frustration that he’s late for his next appointment, he doesn’t move. He looks straight at Edie.

‘I’ve got a report,’ he says. ‘Several. From the people who go out to the factories and check this stuff for me. Get one off Simon here. Read it. Put it on your website if you like. Good grief, girls. You should be thanking me for providing so much employment for people in Third World countries. I thought that was your sort of thing.’

Finally, he moves on. Edie touches ‘Simon here’ on the shoulder and gives him her email address so he can send her the report.

Crow didn’t wait while we had our chat with Andy. She dashed straight out of the room to find Henry, who was waiting outside, admiring the crowds on Oxford Street from a safe distance of about six storeys up.

She looks at us now from under the crook of Henry’s arm, her eyes still wide with shock.

‘What did he say?’

Edie describes our conversation.

‘Is he right?’ Crow whispers.

‘Well, he should know,’ Edie says uncertainly. ‘He seemed very sure. Don’t worry. He’s sending me a report. Hopefully it’ll explain everything.’

Crow’s shoulders relax and she switches off. She trusts Edie totally and if Edie says, ‘Don’t worry,’ she doesn’t. I really wish I could be that way. It would make my life so much easier. The thing is, Crow needs all her brain space for creative ideas and new designs. The bits that are normally assigned to ‘maths’, or ‘shopping’, or ‘what they did on
Gossip Girl
last night’ in other people’s heads are assigned to ‘what
exactly
is that shade of blue?’ in Crow’s head. And the bit that was starting to worry about No Kidding instantly reassigns itself to thinking about jacket collars, or armholes, or whatever it is she’s working on right now. If Edie tells her to worry, she’ll worry. But until then, she won’t.

Jenny is made differently. Jenny has lots of spare space for worrying. She can even use the
Gossip Girl
bits for worrying, if necessary. She wants EVERY DETAIL about what No Kidding said, and how they made it look, and how Edie felt when she first saw what they’d done, and what we think, and whether we should trust Andy, and whether we should start boycotting Miss Teen RIGHT NOW, just in case.

I’m in the middle of pointing out that Andy Elat is effectively my boss, because he pays for Crow to do her design thing, and for me to help her, so boycotting him might be rather rude, when Jenny starts patting the hip of
her prom dress. Is this a new code for something, like the Andy hand-wiggle? She has also stopped listening to me.

After a minute of fumbling in a hidden pocket, she pulls out her phone and checks the screen.

‘Text from Mum,’ she says. ‘I’ve been waiting for this. YES!’ Then she reads it a bit more carefully. ‘Oh no.’ She turns to Crow. ‘I’m really sorry. It’s tomorrow. I’m going to have to miss Paris.’

‘
What’s
tomorrow?’ we ask.

‘Oh, a thing,’ she says vaguely. ‘I don’t want to jinx it. Tell you later. Oh, look!’

We look. Three women are bearing down on us. Amanda Elat, Edie’s mum and mine. They’re all tapping their watches, to remind us that we have a strict schedule to stick to, and we’re running late.

I think back through the schedule. Launch at Miss Teen, tick. Interview for
The Sunday Times
, tick. That leaves party, MAJOR Shakespeare essay and packing for a funeral. All in the next six hours.

Welcome to my life.

I
can’t believe it. I’m sitting in a first class carriage on the Eurostar. I’m on my way to PARIS, the night after a party for the FASHION LABEL that I help to run. And all I’m feeling is tired and sad.

Edie and Crow are opposite me, looking how I feel. Edie’s thinking about her website and Crow’s thinking about the funeral tomorrow, like me.

Crow’s friend Yvette, who taught her to sew, died last week. She was ninety-four, so fair enough, but it’ll still be awful. Yvette was the coolest grown-up I’ve met and she pretty much saved Crow’s life when she came to England by teaching her to cut patterns and knit warm jumpers. She worked for Christian Dior. Yes, the real one, in Paris. And she came to London to live with a GIRLFRIEND. How cool is that? We’re going to miss her loads.

Until Edie came along, Yvette was the only person Crow knew in London who actually talked to her, apart from her aunt. Not only that, but Yvette completely
understood what was going on in Crow’s incredible head, and how talented she was, and she taught her how to turn her ideas into beautiful, beautiful clothes. Yvette was Crow’s link to the great days of couture. As the lights of the Kent countryside rush by, I can see them reflected in Crow’s over-shiny eyes, and I know she’s wondering how she’ll ever fill the gap. So am I.

Only Jenny is remotely happy and now she’s not even here. She finally explained that the text from her mum was about a playwright friend of theirs called Bill something. He’s asked if he can meet up with her tomorrow and apparently he’s a big cheese and you kind of say yes, unless it’s your own funeral you were supposed to be going to.

‘Ooh, Nonie, I can’t imagine what he wants to say to me,’ she bubbles over the phone. Someone at Miss Teen gave me two new batteries for my mobile, and a spare recharger, so I can always stay in contact for those crucial calls. It’s the kind of thing that happens when you help run a fashion label, along with stress and free clothes.

Jenny spends the next ten minutes imagining what Bill wants to say to her.

‘He mentioned to Mum that he was really upset for me when Dad talked about me to that paper.’

Her dad used her two minutes of fame last year to talk about himself to a Sunday paper and embarrass Jenny in every other sentence by mentioning all her hang-ups and
calling her a ‘troubled, talented teen’. She’s hardly spoken to him since.