Free Summer Daydreams by Carole Matthews Page B

telling me how to not only buy handbags, but also how to make handbags, where to buy handbag supplies – in fact, everything I ever needed to know about handbags but was afraid to ask.
    This morning, on eBay, I managed to find a man – only a few miles away from us – advertising a surplus of finished handbag frames for a sum that, even to me, seemed as cheap as chips. They look as if they might suit my purpose just fine. Currently there are no bids on them and there’s a mobile phone number listed. I jotted it down with a view to calling him later to see if I can buy them outright.
    As Tod waits patiently, I rummage in the depths of my voluminous bag and pull out the folder I’ve taken such care in preparing.
    He takes it from me and scans the pages carefully. ‘Looks good,’ he says, a few minutes later. ‘We’ll go through this together carefully, step by step. But it certainly seems as if you’re on the right track.’ He tosses the folder with my name on it to one side. The second time that has happened to me in a week. But this has a very different feel to it. ‘Now on to important things.’ My new mentor slides his armchair next to mine and rubs his hands together. ‘You have some designs with you?’
    ‘Just a couple.’ Nervously, I delve into my bag again and find my initial sketches. I feel sick at the thought that Tod might not like them, that he might tell me I’m rubbish, that I’m not good enough. Clearly, Amelia Fallon’s barbs have got stuck under my skin.
    I’ve sketched out a large, rigid-framed handbag with a diamanté clasp and detachable shoulder strap, something simple and something very like the ones I’ve found on the internet this morning. On the first one there’s a drawing of a juicy piece of battered cod on one side and on the other some chips in a bit of newspaper.
    Both bags are silver and have hot-pink satin lining and a Nell McNamara tag. I thought I’d finish both bags with little sparkles of diamanté. I pass the sketch to him.
    Tod laughs again when he sees them, but in a good way. ‘Fabulous,’ he says. ‘Really fabulous. This should give you a nice start.’ He holds up the designs. ‘Pop art meets commercial irony.’ He nods his approval. ‘I’m liking it.’
    I have no idea what he means but, clearly, he thinks it’s good.
    My other idea is a different design on the same basic frame – already I have an eye on the costs. This one has a pink cupcake on one side with ‘Eat Me!’ written above it and on the flip side a blue beaker with ‘Drink Me!’
    ‘Fun,’ Ted says. ‘A lot of fun.’ He puts the drawings down. ‘I certainly think you’re on the right track here.’
    ‘You really think so?’
    ‘Without doubt.’ He rubs his chin. ‘I think you’re going places, Ms McNamara. Great name by the way. Are you planning to use that?’
    ‘Yes,’ I say uncertainly. ‘I thought so.’
    ‘Excellent. I’m thinking Anya Hindmarch, Loren Taylor, Orla Kiely. Nell McNamara is a name that says “designer handbags”.’
    It is?
    His eyes rove over my outfit. ‘The image is great too.’
    I can’t help but grin. Not only does he like my name but he seems to like everything about me. Up yours, Amelia Fallon!
    ‘Now, let’s have a proper look at this business plan and see if we can’t get you some funding.’
    So from art college reject to budding entrepreneur in one fell swoop. I think I like this mentor much better than the last one.

Chapter 19
     

     
    Olly is already dressed in his punk gear ready to do his gig tonight and is wearing more eyeliner and mascara than I am. His face is pale, his lipstick red. Clearly, it’s not only Petal who likes to play with my make-up bag. I’ll be lucky if I get a look in soon. There’s a ragged black wig on his head. He currently appears to be channelling Robert Smith of The Cure and, strangely, I quite like the style.
    ‘What?’ he asks.
    I smile at him. ‘I was just wondering if I could love a man who