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'Good,' I say boldly. 'Is that it?'
'For the moment. Goodbye, Ms Bloomwood.'
'Goodbye,' I say, and put the phone down.
Thank God. Got rid of him.
Brompton's Store
CUSTOMER ACCOUNTS
1 Brompton Street
London SW4 7TH
Ms Rebecca Bloomwood
Flat 2
4 Burney Rd
London SW6 8FD
10 March 2000
Dear Ms Bloomwood
Thank you for your prompt return of a signed cheque for ?43.
Unfortunately, although this cheque is signed, it appears to be dated 14 February 2200. No doubt just an oversight on your part.
Brompton's Store ca
Alternatively you can pay by cash or on the enclosed bank giro credit slip. A leaflet is enclosed for your information.
I look forward to receiving your payment.
Yours sincerely
John Hunter
Customer Accounts Manager
Nine
When I get home that night, there's a pile of post in the hall for me – but I ignore it because my package from Fine Frames has arrived! It cost me ?100 to buy, which I suppose is quite expensive, but apparently it will give you a return of ?300 in only a few hours. Inside the package there's a leaflet full of photographs of people who make fortunes from doing Fine Frames – and some of them make a hundred thousand a year! It makes me wonder what I'm doing, being a journalist. So after supper, I sit down in front of EastEnders and open the kit. Suze is out tonight, so it's nice and easy to concentrate.
'Welcome to the best-kept secret in Britain…' says the leaflet. 'The Fine Frames home-working family! Join other members and earn ??? in the comfort of your own home. Our easy-to-follow instructions will aid you as you embark on the biggest moneymaking enterprise of your life. Perhaps you will use your earnings to buy a car, or a boat – or to treat someone special. And remember – the amount you earn is completely up to you!'.
I'm utterly gripped. Why on earth haven't I done this before? This is a fantastic scheme! I'll work incredibly hard for two weeks, then pay off all my debts, go on holiday, buy loads of new clothes. God, I can't wait.
I start ripping at the packaging, and suddenly a pile of fabric strips falls onto the floor. Some are plain, and some are a flowered pattern. It's a pretty hideous pattern actually – but then, who cares? My job is just to make the frames and collect the money. I reach for the instructions and find them under a load of cardboard pieces. And sure enough, they're incredibly simple.
What you have to do is glue wadding onto the cardboard flame, put the fabric over the top for that luxury upholstered effect, then glue braid along the back to hide the join. And that's it! It's completely simple and you get ?2 a flame. There are 150 in the package – so if I do thirty a night for a week I'll have made three hundred quid just like that in my spare time!
OK, let's get started. Frame, wadding, glue, fabric, braid.
Oh God. Oh God. Who designed these bloody things? There just isn't enough fabric to fit over the frame and the wadding. Or at least you have to stretch it really hard – and it's such flimsy fabric, it rips. I've got glue on the carpet, and I've bent two of the cardboard frames from pulling them, and the only frame I've actually completed looks really wonky. And I've been doing it for…
I yawn, look at the time and feel a jolt of shock. It's 11.30, which means I've been working for three hours. And in that time I've made one dodgy-looking frame which I'm not sure they'll accept, and ruined two. I hate the sight of the bloody things. What do people want stupid upholstered photo flames for, anyway?
At that moment the door opens and Suze is back.
'Hi!' she says, coming into the sitting room. 'Nice evening?'
'Not really,' I begin disgruntledly. 'I've been making these things…'
'Well, never mind,' she says dramatically. 'Because guess what? You've got a secret admirer.'
'What?' I say, startled.
'Someone really likes you,' she says, taking off her coat. 'I heard it tonight. You'll never guess who!'
Luke Brandon pops into my mind before I can stop it. How ridiculous. And how would Suze have found that out, anyway? Stupid idea. Very stupid. Impossible.
She could have bumped into him at the cinema, whispers my brain. She does know him after all, doesn't she? And he could have said…
'It's my cousin!' she says triumphantly. 'Tarquin. He really likes you.'
Oh for God's sake.
'He's got this secret little crush on you,' she continues happily. 'In fact, he's had one ever since he met you!'
'It's not that secret…' I begin sarcastically – then, as Suze looks up in surprise, I stop. After all, I don't want to hurt her feelings.
'So you already know about it?' she says.
'Well,' I say and shrug. What can I say? I can't tell her that her beloved cousin gives me the creeps. So instead I start to pick at the fabric on the photo frame in front of me, and a delighted smile spreads over Suze's face.
'He's really keen on you!' she says. 'I said he should just ring you and ask you out. You wouldn't mind, would you?'
'Of course not,' I say feebly.
'Wouldn't that be great?' said Suze. 'If you two got married. I could be bridesmaid!'
'Yes,' I say, and force myself to smile brightly. 'Lovely.'
What I'll do, I think, is agree to a date just to be polite – and then cancel at the last moment. And hopefully Tarquin'll have to go back to Scotland or something, and we can forget all about it.
But to be honest, I could really do without it. Now I've got two reasons to dread the phone, ringing. However, to my relief, Saturday arrives and I haven't heard a word from Tarquin. Or Derek Smeath.
Everyone's finally leaving me alone to get on with my life
On the slightly more negative side, I was pla
One doesn't have enough wadding in it, one doesn't quite meet at the corner, and the third has got a smear of glue on the front, which hasn't come off. I just can't understand why I'm finding it so difficult. Some people make hundreds of these things every week, without any effort. Mrs S. of Ruislip even takes her family on a cruise every year on her earnings. How come they can do it and I can't? It's really depressing. I mean, I'm supposed to be bright, aren't I? I've got a degree, for God's sake.
Still, never mind, I tell myself. It's my new job at Ally Smith today – so at least I'll be earning some extra money there.
I'm quite excited about it. Here starts a whole new career in fashion! I spend a long time choosing a cool outfit to wear on my first day – and eventually settle on black trousers from Jigsaw, a little cashmere (well, half cashmere) T-shirt and a pink wrap-around top which actually came from Ally Smith.
I'm quite pleased with the way I look, and am expecting Danielle to make some appreciative comment when I arrive at the shop, but she doesn't even seem to notice. She just says, 'Hi. The trousers and T shirts are in the stock room. Pick out your size and change in the cubicle.'
Oh right. Now I come to think-of it, all the assistants at Ally Smith do wear the same outfits. Almost like a… well, a uniform, I suppose. Reluctantly I get changed and look at myself– and, to tell you the truth, I'm disappointed. These grey trousers don't really flatter me, and the T-shirt's just plain boring. I'm almost tempted to ask Danielle if I can pick out another outfit to wear – but she seems a bit busy, so I don't.