Read Online Weird Sister by Kate Pullinger - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kate Pullinger
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is luminescent. Jenny watches her, admiring. They move down the crowded high street and it is as though she flies along the pavement, hovering outside the window displays, darting into shops. Jenny can feel her excitement as the clouds move quickly overhead. It is one of those days when Britain shows its island nature; the weather changes every few minutes, sunshine, rain, wind, hail, warm sunshine again. ‘I can’t believe it,’ Agnes says each time they emerge from a shop and are faced with a new weather front. ‘It makes me feel like we’ve been shopping for days.’ She laughs and steps up the pace.
When they go into Harvey Nichols department store, all the women, all the painted ladies, emerge from within their cosmetic flytraps to watch Agnes float by. They beckon to her with their long dark nails, they try to get that lovely face – eyes shining, skin radiant, unmarked by worry or fatigue – to look their way. Jenny and Agnes stop at Clarins, L’Oréal, Lancôme, and MAC as Agnes, credit card flashing, equips Jenny. ‘They don’t call it a “beauty regime” for nothing,’ she says sternly.
Upstairs, they try on clothes. Wedding outfits. Jenny has never been shopping in London before; Elizabeth and Karen usually take her shopping a couple of times a year, and on those trips they go to Peterborough or Cambridge. Jenny has been to London a couple of times on school outings, but those trips were rushed and ordered and she found the city too busy, too quick. Graeme once took her to the theatre in the West End as a birthday treat, but neither of them enjoyed it, they found the play, and the actors, embarrassing. So this, shopping in Knightsbridge with Agnes – this is really something. People – shop assistants, other women – pay attention to them. It is as though they recognize Agnes, as though they know her somehow, except they can’t quite place her. It is as though when she smiles at people their hearts melt, even cold London hearts accustomed to beauty and taste and Americans with deep pockets.
‘Don’t worry about the money,’ Agnes says to Jenny, ‘don’t even think about the money.’
When Jenny finds an outfit, the perfect outfit, she and Agnes exchange a glance in the mirror, there is no need to speak. A soft green shot silk dress with matching swing coat, light with simple lines. Shoes to match, stockings – Jenny can’t get over the stockings – the right kind of underwear as well. A hat with a single feather, very chic. It is like an outfit from a dream, a young girl’s dream of what she might look like one day. As she stands at the cash desk watching while the dress is packed between careful layers of tissue paper, Jenny realizes that when she was little her Barbie doll had a similar ensemble. She knows she doesn’t look like Barbie, she doesn’t have the hard boobs or the tanned legs or the tiny swivel waist, but for once, this time, she will do. She will look all right. Jenny is unable to stop grinning.
Agnes can’t find anything for herself. She doesn’t try on much, she seems more concerned with getting Jenny set up. ‘Don’t worry,’ she says once they have finished, ‘I’ve got plenty of clothes with me in Warboys. I’ll find something. You’ll see.’
Out on the street it is dark now and raining steadily and all the taxis are taken. They go into the underground. As they are climbing down the last set of stairs to the platform a train rushes in to the station and at the same time they hear a terrible sound, an enormous crippling thud, and people already on the platform begin to shriek and scream. Jenny freezes on the stairs; she is not an experienced underground traveller, but she knows what that sound means, it doesn’t take imagination. Agnes keeps going forward, down the stairs. ‘Agnes,’ Jenny calls out, ‘wait.’
Agnes turns around, smiling. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Didn’t you hear that?’ she says. ‘Didn’t you hear that
When they go into Harvey Nichols department store, all the women, all the painted ladies, emerge from within their cosmetic flytraps to watch Agnes float by. They beckon to her with their long dark nails, they try to get that lovely face – eyes shining, skin radiant, unmarked by worry or fatigue – to look their way. Jenny and Agnes stop at Clarins, L’Oréal, Lancôme, and MAC as Agnes, credit card flashing, equips Jenny. ‘They don’t call it a “beauty regime” for nothing,’ she says sternly.
Upstairs, they try on clothes. Wedding outfits. Jenny has never been shopping in London before; Elizabeth and Karen usually take her shopping a couple of times a year, and on those trips they go to Peterborough or Cambridge. Jenny has been to London a couple of times on school outings, but those trips were rushed and ordered and she found the city too busy, too quick. Graeme once took her to the theatre in the West End as a birthday treat, but neither of them enjoyed it, they found the play, and the actors, embarrassing. So this, shopping in Knightsbridge with Agnes – this is really something. People – shop assistants, other women – pay attention to them. It is as though they recognize Agnes, as though they know her somehow, except they can’t quite place her. It is as though when she smiles at people their hearts melt, even cold London hearts accustomed to beauty and taste and Americans with deep pockets.
‘Don’t worry about the money,’ Agnes says to Jenny, ‘don’t even think about the money.’
When Jenny finds an outfit, the perfect outfit, she and Agnes exchange a glance in the mirror, there is no need to speak. A soft green shot silk dress with matching swing coat, light with simple lines. Shoes to match, stockings – Jenny can’t get over the stockings – the right kind of underwear as well. A hat with a single feather, very chic. It is like an outfit from a dream, a young girl’s dream of what she might look like one day. As she stands at the cash desk watching while the dress is packed between careful layers of tissue paper, Jenny realizes that when she was little her Barbie doll had a similar ensemble. She knows she doesn’t look like Barbie, she doesn’t have the hard boobs or the tanned legs or the tiny swivel waist, but for once, this time, she will do. She will look all right. Jenny is unable to stop grinning.
Agnes can’t find anything for herself. She doesn’t try on much, she seems more concerned with getting Jenny set up. ‘Don’t worry,’ she says once they have finished, ‘I’ve got plenty of clothes with me in Warboys. I’ll find something. You’ll see.’
Out on the street it is dark now and raining steadily and all the taxis are taken. They go into the underground. As they are climbing down the last set of stairs to the platform a train rushes in to the station and at the same time they hear a terrible sound, an enormous crippling thud, and people already on the platform begin to shriek and scream. Jenny freezes on the stairs; she is not an experienced underground traveller, but she knows what that sound means, it doesn’t take imagination. Agnes keeps going forward, down the stairs. ‘Agnes,’ Jenny calls out, ‘wait.’
Agnes turns around, smiling. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Didn’t you hear that?’ she says. ‘Didn’t you hear that
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