The Retail Therapist Page 8

  We sat there in the kitchen, in silence, and I also started to stare at my cup of coffee, mulling over the meaning of the news.

  “Six months, you said?”

  “Yes, six damn’ long months,” he said, still looking into his mug. “It isn’t the time that bothers me – I can wait six months, no problem. It’s that I fear I’ll spend every day of those six months worrying that he might be in danger, that something might happen to him. And then I’ll spend the night doing the same.”

  “Is there a way of staying in touch? I mean by phone or text?”

  “Apparently there is this company Skype, which allows making calls through the computer; that could be a way. I have to look into that.”

  “But … do they have broadband in Afghanistan? How will it work?”

  “They have computers at the base camp and they should be able to send emails and perhaps use this Skype too.”

  “That’s not so bad then. A bit of a long-distance relationship.”

  “I suppose so. So who do we have to save from fashion disaster today?” he asked. I was glad we were going back into work mode, as I really didn’t know what more I could have said about the whole military situation.

  “Well, we have Julian and his stage outfits; we have the lady from Sunningdale, whose husband has agreed to foot the bill; and then there’s that divorcee from Bray.” Enough to keep us busy for a while.

  “And your pet project with Nala, the footballer.”

  “That one as well, but it won’t pay the rent. I’m particularly struggling with Julian: I’ve got the style and the budget, but although it’s going to be OK it won’t be fabulous,” I said.

  “And that bothers you why? The guy asked you to buy clothes, not to change his style.”

  “I know, but it’s like a leaking tap; I can’t stop thinking I should be doing something more.” Ritchie, as usual, was right: I should have stuck to the plan.

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “I was thinking, you have a few friends who are fashion designers, don’t you?”

  He mulled it over and then answered, “Of course, but the question remains, what do you have in mind?”

  “Maybe – and this is just a maybe – we could have someone create his outfits; it might be an opportunity.”

  “Hmm …” Ritchie was pondering, started biting his nails again and then changed his mind. Instead, he went for another cup of tea. When he came back I knew something was going on in his mind.

  “Do you remember my cousin Lucas?” he asked.

  “The one that works for Rocco Barocco?”

  “That very one. Why don’t you give him a call? I remember a few months back he said he was bored stiff designing shirts. Maybe he can help, or knows somebody that could.”

  That was actually a great idea, having a real designer doing costumes. From what Julian had said, they had to last for a few shows only; he didn’t need to wear them all the time, so perhaps that could be a viable option. “Where do I find his number?”

  “It’s on the computer, under Cousin Lucas; the chap never had a surname.”

  We both laughed; I had some relatives like that, Auntie Anna and Uncle James, for example. I knew everything about them, we got in touch often by phone, but if someone asked me for their surnames I’d have been lost.

  “I’ll give him a call right away. You’ll take care of the lady in Sunningdale?”

  “Sure, I’m working on some ideas; I’ll show you later.”

  And so I went and called Cousin Lucas. As a matter of fact, he said he did hate being stuck just designing shirts and he would welcome the opportunity for a new “adventure”, as he called it. He giggled a bit when he heard about how my new client, the council worker, rounded up his salary, but it took only a few words to bring him in line.

  “So I have carte blanche to do what I like with his style, as long as it’s in keeping?” he asked, surprised.

  “I’ve just sent you a couple of links to his Youtube videos. Have a good look and, as long as you understand what his job is and how magnificent he has to appear, you should be OK.”

  “That would be brilliant, GiGi. I was thinking, quite often companies send me samples of their fabrics, just in case we want to use them in our models. In reality we don’t, as we just produce our own things, but nonetheless I get all these leftovers and fabric. I haven’t the heart to throw them away, so I keep storing them at my place. I could use some of those …”

  “As I said, you’re free to follow your inspiration; just don’t go mad. I guess a couple of designs would be more than enough to start, just to see his reaction. If he likes them, then we’re in business.”

  “I will. Thank you, GiGi; you’ve made my day.”

  “A pleasure, Cousin Lucas; see you soon.”

  I was on the verge of asking his surname, but then I thought otherwise. Some things are better when they remain unknown.

  It was late in the afternoon when I received a text from Nala.

  – Fashion emergency! Help!!!

  Nala? What could be that urgent to convince her to text me? I answered back.

  – Meet me @ the pub in 1 hour.

  The reply came after a few seconds.

  – Cool. Thx.

  I was pretty much sorted out for the day, so I left Ritchie at his own research, and surely he’d like to … damn! How could I have been so stupid? Of course he’d like to spend time with Johnny, so before I went out I said, “Ritchie, for this week take as much time off as you need, especially if you need to see Johnny. Don’t worry about the lady in Sunningdale – I can pick it up where you’ve left it.”

  “Are you sure? I mean …”

  “Yeah, of course I’m OK with that. Spend as much time with him as you need. Those are the important things: work can wait.”

  “Thanks, GiGi; I really appreciate that.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  Ritchie had also let me in on a secret, that he had found a new hobby and not one involving his vast collection of various items, still boxed away neatly in his bedroom, the ones I was still yet to see. “I have to say, I might have found a pastime that shall take my mind off things, whilst Johnny is away” he said, bold as brass. He was beaming from ear to ear and just could not get his words out fast enough.

  “Oh dear, what now?”

  “I’m brewing my own beer,” he said proudly.

  “How come? The ones you can buy in the supermarkets aren’t any good anymore?” I asked.

  “Oh, come on! Of course. It is just that I wanted to experiment, see if I could make something special. You know, you can have your own aroma added to it.”

  “Like a beer that taste of coffee so you can drink it at breakfast? That sounds like an idea.”

  “GiGi, you are a genius. I could sell that in the airports, you know, nobody has to drive, so a coffee-beer with a full English would be perfect.”

  “I was just kidding, Ritchie.”

  “I know, I know.”

  I already knew that he was indeed missing his beloved Johnny (though he hadn’t even been deployed yet), due to how often the subject matter came up in conversation, even during the weekends when we occasionally met up to “shoot the breeze”, as some might say. A diversion, something like brewing, would keep his mind busy.

  CHAPTER 16

  I reached the pub and Nala seemed somehow prettier. It took me a full minute to realise she wasn’t in full Goth mode: I saw less tatty clothes, an attempt to sort out her hair and less make-up. I was glad she’d dumped the dark lipstick, which made her look like a witch. They would have burned her at the stake a few centuries ago, just for looking the way she had previously.

  “Hi there. What’s the emergency?”

  She was embarrassed for sure; I could spot that a mile away.

  “Well, how should I say …? Do you remember the place we went to together in Windsor?”

  Duh? The holy grail of affordable fashion? The Ali Baba cave? “Yes, of course I
remember.”

  “Well, I was in Windsor with my mum and you know, I really liked that dress we saw together.”

  “The expensive one?”

  “Yeah, that one. So I said to my mum there was this dress I liked. At first she thought I was going after some other Goth stuff, but then eventually I convinced her to go and have a look.”

  Hmmm … maybe I was seeing, in front of my very eyes, the symptoms of a conversion. Was I detecting a radical change in her approach to her looks? Who knew that the road to Damascus was through Windsor?

  She continued, “So, we went downstairs and I showed her the dress. You should have seen the look on her face. At first her jaw dropped as if she’d just seen an alien in front of her. Then she almost cried, sobbing, ‘Oh, my little baby’ as if I was a lost sheep finally returning home. It was pathetic. But she bought me the dress.”

  Still I was missing the point, so I invited her to carry on.

  “Oh, yes,” she answered, “the other day I went to this party that Bridge was having for her birthday, and Bradley was there.”

  “Who’s Bradley?” Blimey, this was going to be a long story, I feared. If Dan Brown should run out of inspiration for one of his novels, I could present Nala to him. Fifty–fifty split in revenue.

  “Oh, Bradley is a guy who goes to my school.”

  “And you fancy him?”

  “Yeah, but he’s never given me a second glance. I mean, I’ve tried to talk to him a few times; he’s polite and all but …”

  “But he doesn’t fancy you back.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Sorry, Nala – today I’m a bit on the dumb side. Why has this anything to do with a fashion emergency?” I was starting to get confused; I had my iron in too many fires at once and barely time to sort out all the things I needed to take care of. Clients, friendships, fashion disasters …

  “Oh, yes, sure. Well, I went to the party wearing that dress and Bradley was all over me. I mean, he was chatty, funny, and he approached ME, not the other way round. Bottom line is, we have a date lined up.”

  OK, now we were getting to the fashion-emergency issue. She liked the guy, but she couldn’t go out again with him for a date wearing the same dress, and if things were to go any further she needed a change of style. Oh, the things we do for love …

  “And you need some new outfits, so he won’t be scared away.”

  “That’s right. Can you help me, GiGi? Pleeease?”

  “Of course I can, but first we have to do ‘the ritual’,” I said.

  “The WHAT?”

  “The ritual. It’s serious. Shalt thou, Nala, repent and abandon the evil path of Goth?” I said solemnly.

  She looked at me as if I was out of my mind, but then she answered “Hmmm …I … shall?”

  “Good. Wilt thou, Nala, embrace the world of fashion and abide by the sacred rule of colour matching?”

  “I … will?” she said tentatively.

  “Shalt thou reject the old saying, ‘Blue and green should never be seen’?” I continued. That was a favourite saying of my mother.

  “GiGi, are you taking the mickey?”

  “I ammmmm,” I said, chanting, and then we burst out laughing.

  “You are a character.”

  “Sometimes, but when it’s a matter of fashion, I’m very serious. So what did you have in mind?”

  “Well, Mum gave me a prepaid card. And that’s where I stopped in my planning. Oh, she had some ruling attached to this,” Nala said, showing me the brand-new card. “For every item of clothing that I buy and bring into the house, a Goth one has to leave.”

  “Wise woman. Are you happy with that?”

  “I don’t mind, as long as it lands me more dates with Bradley.”

  “Well then, we have a deal. We’ll start tomorrow afternoon after you’ve finished school. I’ll have to ponder where to take you and what style might suit you.”

  The day had come for Johnny to depart. I hadn’t seen Ritchie in a week and when he turned up, bleary-eyed, his face was a picture. His eyes were sullen and sunken. He’d obviously been crying, having seen Johnny off at some unearthly hour of the morning. I made a quick decision to try and take his mind off the heart-wrenching fact that, unless he could get the new Skype thing working, he wouldn’t be seeing Johnny for six months or so. My plan was to find out how their week together had been, given that Johnny had had to spend a good deal of that time preparing to leave.

  It was time for me to plug him for information on Johnny.

  “Here, take these,” I said, slipping the pastries on the table in his direction and pouring fresh coffee under his nose.

  “Thanks, GiGi.”

  “So, did you manage to sort out that Skype account?”

  “Yeah, I sorted it out,” he paused for a second and then added, “I can’t believe he’s going!”

  “Not for long, Ritchie; he’ll be back. How was the week?” I enquired.

  “Fabulous. The first night we stayed at home, dinner by candlelight, followed by a soppy film and accessories …”

  “Accessories?!”

  “Relax, darling: it was just chocolate and champagne.”

  “OK, I thought you were going commando.”

  “That came later; want to know the details?” he prodded me.

  “Hmmm, no, you can spare me that. So, champagne and chocolate – then what?” I said.

  “The usual stuff grown-up people do; we learned every inch of our bodies, we …”

  “Enough said! I was looking for the romantic bit, to be honest, not a lesson in anatomy.”

  “Can’t have one without the other, darling,” he laughed. Ritchie had such a smirk on his face while recounting that night that it obviously had had some effect.

  “OK, then what? Don’t tell me you stayed in bed the whole week; that sounds too much like Barefoot in the Park.” I said

  “Darling, we’re not cavemen; we went to a music festival. Johnny had bought the tickets just after we met. I love the guy. Well, I suppose it was an investment; they were hard to find, you know?”

  “I bet they were; only the best for a catch like you,” I teased him.

  “Yeah, sure; say what you want, but Johnny is a true gentleman. We were still buzzing at two in the morning that night. We had to walk home because we couldn’t find a taxi. But I like to remember it as a long meander along the Thames by moonlight.”

  “That sounds exciting.”

  “Not like the day after. We were both exhausted, so we stayed in bed. There it is; that could be classified as an attempt to do our own Barefoot in the Park. The first part of the movie, at least.”

  “I love that.”

  “It was, although then he went to his parents’ place. He made a point of wanting to remember all the tastes of home before going off to such a faraway country.”

  The more I heard the story from Ritchie, the more I grew fond of Johnny. He was indeed a good guy, despite his menacing appearance.

  “One thing made an impression on me,” said Ritchie.

  “What’s that?”

  “He said than when he was at his parents, he made them repeat all the family stories they could remember – the things they did when he was a child, about the grandparents and so on. He wanted that to help him to keep a connection alive between them during the six months that he’s going to be away,” he said.

  “I can’t even imagine what it would be like spending six months in Afghanistan,” I said, “especially under these conditions, with the war and all.”

  “Indeed.”

  “At least you have a chance to talk to him, which is absolutely brilliant,” I said.

  “I do hope it isn’t going to be too hard. I mean, once you’re there, you’re at war.”

  Ritchie then went through the details of the following days, and how on the Monday Johnny had had to return to base to begin his preparations.

  I saw that the more Ritchie talked, and as their week together had dr
awn to a close, the more his sense of loss returned.

  “All I could think about was that if this is what it’s like now, and Johnny hadn’t even set off yet, how I was going to feel when he went away for six months,” said Ritchie.

  They saw each other on and off during the week and on the Saturday morning Ritchie had awoken to breakfast in bed, red rose and all. Johnny had gone the whole hog and made eggs benedict, completely from scratch, including the hollandaise sauce. He had coupled that with crispy bacon, toast and Buck’s Fizz (not the plain old boring one, though – this one he’d made with apricot juice). They had then spent the morning at the gym, had lunch at one of those little bistros with tables on the pavement, and returned to Ritchie’s just in time to prepare dinner.

  Ritchie said, “We were both so solemn, you’d have thought we’d each lost a close friend or relative.”

  They had then spent the rest of the time in bed, until the following early-morning start, which had been tearful, especially as they had to do it secretly. The Army was still not all that enamoured with its officers being gay.

  CHAPTER 17

  Sorting out Nala was an easy task and the results were astonishing. Not only did she look really pretty in her new attire, but the dates with Bradley were going well and at some point she texted me, letting me know they were together.

  From time to time Nala popped round, to bring me up to date with her love life.

  “Hey gorgeous, how are you today?” I asked.

  “I’m grand. You know, today Bradley got me a bunch of flowers, can you believe it?”

  “Sure, I can believe it. You are fond of him aren’t you?”

  “I didn’t know what I had in mind when I started being a goth. I mean, all the stuff I missed. I found it embarrassing though.”