Free The Shoestring Club by Sarah Webb

dots), a Hermès scarf tied over her hair.
    ‘Your father’s still in Kilkenny, finishing off that playground,’ she says. ‘Said he’d see us for dinner this evening. Have you told him about Baroque?’
    ‘No, I’ll talk to him later. What’s with the Queen Mother’s head gear?’ I ask, changing the subject. She’d asked me to ring Dad on Tuesday to break the news, but I’m in no rush. I know he’ll only be disappointed and make me feel even worse about it.
    She touches the silk gently. ‘Don’t want my hair smelling of grease, do I, darling? Now how many rashers? Do you want them in a sandwich or with an egg?’
    I look at her suspiciously. A few minutes ago she was threatening to spank me. What’s with the change of heart?
    ‘In a sandwich, please.’
    She nods, slaps bacon between two slices of bread and hands me the plate. I drizzle the meat with ketchup and start eating.
    ‘I’ve been thinking,’ she begins.
    Ah, here it goes, round two.
    ‘You just need to find your vocation, and I’d like to help.’
    I swallow and wrinkle up my nose. ‘You want me to be a nun?’
    She gives a tinkling laugh, like glass breaking.
    ‘Hardly, darling. No. A
raison d’être
, a reason to live. Something you’re passionate about, something to make you bounce out of bed in the morning with a spring in your step, just itching to get back to it. For me, it’s the shop. And the news, obviously. I can’t wait to find out what’s happened in the world while I’ve been sleeping. I find the news endlessly fascinating. And the choir, the shop, and my bees, obviously.’ Bird keeps two hives at the end of the garden.
    I look at her doubtfully. Bees, news, work and choir? None of them sound appealing.
    ‘Come on, darling,’ she says to my blank face. ‘There must be something you adore.’
    I think for a minute.
    ‘I like music,’ I begin slowly. ‘And I like art, but I wouldn’t say I’m passionate about it. I know – origami! I love origami.’
    ‘Good, that’s a start. But I can’t really see there being many job opportunities in the origami field.’ She gives me a gentle smile.
    ‘And cycling,’ I say, warming to the theme. ‘I love bikes. Maybe I could design cool bike frames.’
    ‘Maybe,’ Bird says slowly. She doesn’t look convinced. ‘What about working in a bike shop; isn’t there one in Dun Laoghaire?’
    I nod. ‘Rick’s Rides. But Rick seems to spend most of his time fixing punctures. Not very creative.’
    Bird cocks her head. ‘Creative? So you’d like a job where you could be creative?’
    I consider this for a second. ‘I guess. I like making things. And don’t let on to Pandora, but I love doing the windows in Shoestring.’
    Bird smiles encouragingly. ‘That’s it, a window designer.’
    I sigh. ‘It’s a closed shop, Bird. I did try all the department stores a few years ago but they all have their own in-house teams. And there are only two window-design companies in Ireland. I approached them both but they were looking for people with Art degrees or at least five years’ experience.’ I stare down at the table glumly and roll some crumbs around under my fingers.
    Bird walks behind me and starts to massage my shoulders with her strong hands. ‘You’re very tense, darling. You should really get more exercise. I do find yoga wonderful for tension. And your posture is slipping. All those years of expensive ballet classes practically wasted.’
    She takes her hands away, and props her bum against the kitchen counter. ‘Now, back to your job hunt,’ she continues. ‘What about staying in fashion, but trying to stretch yourself a bit? You have acres of experience, Boolie. And even though some of the outfits you wear are rather odd, you are rather gifted at throwing clothes together for other people. And you spend hours studying all those French and Italian magazines you can’t even read.’
    I decide to ignore the ‘rather odd’ insult.
    I shrug. ‘I do like