Second Hand Jane (6 page)

It was on the second floor of the
department store that Jess spotted “the Dress.” It was like a
beacon in a sea of nondescript change of season fashions as it
beckoned to her from the Jacques Vert designer collection. Racing
across the shop floor, she whipped the brick red cowl neck off the
rack and holding it out in front of her, admired the way the
thousands of tiny beads stitched onto it shimmered under the bright
lights. The dress had a 1920s feel to it—very Mary from
Downton
Abbey
, she decided,
calling out to Brianna to come and have a look. “What do you think
of this one then?”

“Wow, it’s
gorgeous, so it is, and it’s definitely your colour. Go and try it
on.”

Two minutes
later, Jess stepped out of the changing rooms and did a pirouette
for her friend.

“
Oh yes, that’s definitely the one! It
looks amazing! You remind me of your woman out of
Downton
Abbey
. You know, the one
who was supposed to marry the chap in the wheelchair—go on, do a
curtsey!”

“Lavinia?”

“Yes, that’s
her; she’s got the same colouring as you.”

Jess was
pleased with the verdict, even if she would rather have been
likened to the elegant and austere Mary because from what she could
recall of the television series, Lavinia had not gotten her happy
ever after. Still, she wasn’t superstitious and the dress—even if
it was brand new—had felt right the moment she’d slipped it over
her head. It helped that it was on sale, too! When she’d taken a
step back to look at her reflection in the dressing room mirror,
she’d realised that it was definitely a Cinderella dress. So who
knew? Maybe this friend of Ewan’s would turn out to be a bit of a
Prince Charming after all. Stranger things had happened and she was
due a bit of luck on the man front.

“Best of all,
it’s under a hundred euro! So shall we head to the café for a spot
of lunch—my treat?”

“Great—I’m
starving.”

***

“Shopping is
surprisingly hard work, isn’t it?” Brianna said, not really
expecting an answer as she flopped down into her chair.

Jess nodded,
laying out their well-earned sandwiches and coffee. “It is when you
are looking for something in particular. That’s what I like about
op-shopping—I just happen across really cool stuff. Do you know
what I was thinking earlier when I was busy getting dressed and
undressed?”

“What?”

“That I wish to
God someone would open a shop with fitting rooms that are dimly
lit. I hate those horrible fluorescent lights that show every lump
and bump. It’s not good for one’s psyche.”

“What lumps and
bumps?” Brianna was indignant. “You wait until you have a baby—then
you’ll know all about lumps and bumps, my girl! You want to see the
muffins Harry’s left me with?” She reached around the back of her
jeans and squeezed two imaginary pockets of fat. “It doesn’t matter
what size I get down to; the only way I’ll get rid of these
blueberry babies is by lipo.” Picking up her rather
delicious-looking gourmet sandwich, she took a greedy chomp out of
it.

Jess looked
glumly down at her own meagre low-fat bean sprout veggie sarnie and
silently cursed all dressing room mirrors.

“Don’t you have
that Cajun cooking class tonight?” Brianna mumbled through her full
mouth.

“I do. I’m
looking forward to it. Apparently we will be making jambalaya,
which sounds vaguely familiar and very exotic.” She frowned. “It
also sounds calorific, which is why I am on the bean sprout sanger.
Next week, I’m doing a cod fish casserole, which doesn’t have quite
the same ring to it. It’s a Portuguese class and I know nothing
about Portuguese cuisine apart from the fact they eat a lot of
fish.”

“Well, I can’t
help you there. We’re having Gran’s bangers and mash for dinner
because I’ve got a PTA meeting tonight—good old plain, hearty
tucker; you can’t beat it. My Gran says all men need a good serving
of potatoes on their plate each night in order to fill them
up.”

“So that’s what
you do to keep your Pete happy, is it? Serve him up loads of spuds.
Anyway, it’s alright for you and Granny Dierdre to advocate bangers
and mash because you’re both built like whippets. It sucks—I so
much as sniff mash spud and it goes to my waistline, whereas you
eat what you like and never put a pound on.”

“It’s running
around after Harry. Have a baby, Jess, and you’ll never have to
worry about your figure again except for the post-birth muffin
overhang, of course, and the sagging boobs and stretched stomach
skin,” she lamented.

Jess
subconsciously crossed her legs under the table. She was fairly
sure Brianna wouldn’t be getting a job as a Weight Watchers
advocate in the near future if that was the best dietary advice she
could dole out.

“Have you had
any more thoughts on your column? What you’re going to write about
once you have finished the cooking school series and had enough of
stuffing yourself silly on jumbaywotsit and Portuguese cat fish
casserole?”

“
Cod
fish, not cat, and I have had a couple of ideas,
as it happens. I thought I could write about the celebrity
lifestyle in Dublin now that one of my best friends is dating a
Hollywood Hottie. Actually, it was you who gave me the
inspiration.”

Brianna looked
pleased. “When I told you to write about the blind date you were
doubling on?”

“Yeah, except
we didn’t know then that the other half of the double date was a
major celebrity, did we?”

“I know and I
still can’t get my head around the fact Nora kept it quiet and that
our best friend is actually dating Ewan Reid.” She pulled a face.
“It’s not fair you get to meet him first.”

“Yes, but we
don’t know at what cost yet, do we? I may have to suffer through an
evening with a Gollom clone.”

“Or—ha-ha,”
Brianna snorted, “he could be one of those weird Trekkie guys in a
giant nylon baby-gro.” She giggled, giving Jess a Vulcan
two-fingered salute.

Jess gave her a
two-fingered salute of a different kind back. “Yeah, thanks, that’s
not helping. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I had
another idea as well I wanted to run past you. It’s to do with a
name in a book.”

“You’ve lost
me. What name in what book?”

“
Well, remember the
Snow White and the Seven
Dwarfs
book I bought for my collection not long ago?”

“Yes. That
reminds me—Harry’s right into all those traditional fairy stories
at the moment. I made the mistake of reading him
Hansel and Gretel
the other
night and managed to give myself nightmares. I’d hate to think what
my poor son made of it. Though, to be honest, I don’t know what
disturbed me more about the story: the abandoning of children in
the forest, the wicked witch putting Hansel in a cage in order to
fatten him up, or the fact that Harry didn’t seem at all fazed by
it! I’d forgotten how horrible some of those old tales actually
are.”

“Yeah, you’d
have to wonder what was going through the mind of the Brothers
Grimm when they penned that one. They wrote
Little Red Riding Hood,
too. Please
don’t read that to Harry just yet. I had a phobia about wolves for
years thanks to that little minx.”

“Don’t
worry—we’re sticking with good old
Hop on Pop
, Dr Seuss for the foreseeable future. But, come on then,
spill—what’s this idea of yours?”

“Okay, you know
how one of the things I find intriguing about second-hand things is
the thought of the life they have lived before they come to
me?”

Brianna nodded.
“That and the thrill of a good bargain.”

“Yeah, well
there is that too. But books, especially children’s ones, are
really special.”

“Because of the
illustrations, right?”

“Definitely
that yes but it is more than just the pictures. Children love to
mark their territory and every book in my collection has its
original owner’s name scrawled inside the cover.”

“I don’t get
it—you told me once that decreases the book’s value.”

“It does but I
don’t collect them for their monetary value. It’s hard to explain
it properly but there’s just something about the idea of another
child having loved that book the same way I loved it and I often
wonder who they were or are now. Does that sound weird?”

Brianna
grinned. “If I was Nora, I would say it definitely sounds weird but
since it’s me you are talking to, I think I get it. You’d like to
know the story behind the name in the book, is that it?”

“That’s it
exactly! Who was that child? Did he or she pore over the stories
and the pictures like I did? Were they daydreamers too? Who did
they grow up to be?”

“Jaysus, you
are such a romantic, Jessica Baré. Where are you going with
this?”

“I am going to
find her.”

“You’ve lost me
again—who exactly are you off to find? And please don’t say
yourself because you’re far too young for a mid-life crisis.”

Jess laughed. “Don’t worry; I’m not going
to do an
Eat,
Pray, Love
and frolic
round Bali. I am going to find out what became of Amy Aherne from
Ballymcguinness. She was six years old when her brother Owen gave
her
Snow
White and the Seven Dwarfs
for Christmas in 1973. So I am going to write about my
journey to find the forty-six-year old Amy. I will do the detective
work to find out who she is now, what she went on to do with her
life and what that book meant to her. What do you
think?”

“Wow, it’s a
bit out there but at the same time I think it’s a brilliant idea!”
Brianna was wide-eyed, imagining Amy Aherne, wherever she might be
now. “Gosh, she could have grown up to be anything; how fascinating
to find out. She could be an airhostess or an actress or a writer
like you.” Brianna’s eyes became saucer-like. “Oh my God, what
would you do if you found out she was a prostitute?” Before Jess
could reply, another thought occurred to her. “What if she doesn’t
want you to write about her?”

“Whoa, slow
down. Who’s the writer—me or you? If she doesn’t want me to write
about her, I guess I will just have to come up with another
brilliant idea. So what have you got on for the week then?”

“I’ve a PTA
meeting Thursday night; it’s full-on at the moment because we’re
organising the school fair in October—tonight’s topic is the cake
stall. I expect you to contribute, you know.”

“But I can’t
bake.”

“I meant buy
something from the stall, you eejit. We can’t all hang out with the
rich and famous, you know. Some of us have responsibilities.” She
grinned. “Pete and I might try to get out for a meal down at the
pub on Friday night, if Mammy’s free, and Saturday afternoon I am
meeting up with a group of mams to discuss saving our local
playgroup.”

“Harry doesn’t
go to playgroup anymore, though.”

“I know but I
have fond memories of when he did.”

Jessica
laughed. “You call me a romantic! Well, you’re the queen of the
community-minded. Bray would grind to a halt without you.” She
frowned, glancing at her watch. “It’s two fifteen already, Brie.
What time do you have to leave to pick Harry up?”

“CRAP! I’d
forgotten about Harry. Come on, I’ve got to get a move on!”

***

“
You look fabulous. I love that dress. The
colour is great on you—very Lavinia from
Downton Abbey
.”

“You look
lovely, too—very Naomi Watts in
King Kong
.” Nora had gone for old-time glamour, too, and it suited
her.

“Thanks. It’s
silly, isn’t it? But I think I’m more nervous going on this second
date than I was on the first.”

“You should be
nervous because I’ll murder you if this friend of his turns out to
be a big hairy gorilla.”

“At least
you’ll get a column out of it.”

There was no
time for further discussion as Nora’s intercom buzzed, signalling
Ewan and his mystery mate had arrived.

The two women
looked at each other and giggled with Nora announcing, “God, I feel
like I’m sixteen and off to my school ball!”

They tottered
down the stairs of Nora’s Georgian two-storey manor house. Its
bricks were laid firmly in the heart of fashionable Rathmines,
where she paid a premium rent to live in the house’s converted
second-storey apartment. On the quiet street outside, Ewan
Reid—looking as swarthy and gorgeous as he did on the big
screen—was lounging alongside a tall, blonde handsome stranger;
their backdrop was that of a sleek grey convertible.

Thank God the
roof was on, was Jess’s first thought, or her artfully tousled
auburn curls would have been an artfully tousled bloody fright by
the time they got to wherever it was they were going. Not to
mention it would be bloody freezing. Her second thought as the
stranger stepped forward, introducing himself as Nick before homing
in to drop a kiss on her cheek, was that he was not bad, not bad at
all. Nora might just get to live after all.

***

Juan’s was buzzing, Jess noticed, glancing
round the popular Spanish restaurant’s bar. It was standing room
only and by the harassed look of the maître de, they would probably
have to wait ages for a table. She was proved wrong and was only
halfway through her Singapore Sling—she’d thought it sounded
suitably sophisticated for the company she was keeping, even if
sangria would have been more in keeping with the restaurant’s
theme—when Manuel from
Faulty Towers
appeared in front of her.

She had to bite
back a laugh when he introduced himself in a dodgy Spanish accent
as Miguel, their waiter for the evening. It was her first taste of
a proper celebrity lifestyle, as in his next breath he began bowing
and scraping to the great Ewan Reid before whisking them away from
the minions who kept coming up to ask for his autograph.