“There are literally teenagers who are younger than that jumper. Get yourself something new, for God’s sake! There’s a whole world of clothes out there. And don’t tell me you can’t afford it, because you can’t have bought anything new since 2003.”
Annie scowled. “I hate shopping. Those changing rooms are always so tiny, and the light is so bad, and nothing ever fits me. Anyway, I’m unemployed now. I have to save my pennies.” Polly might only have a few months left, but Annie had to somehow manage for the rest of her life, and take care of her mum, too. When she thought about it, her stomach felt like it was back on that roller coaster.
Polly was sitting on Annie’s bed, her head covered in a floppy straw hat. She sighed. “Annie, I wish I could make you understand. I’m not saying blow all your cash. Just that, maybe, some of your clothes are past their best, and maybe, replacing them might give you a little boost?” She looked pointedly at Annie’s saggy black top, the fabric all bobbled around the neck. “Anyway, won’t you need some things for interviews?”
Interviews. Of course. Annie began to nod, reluctantly. “I suppose.”
“And look, if you feel guilty spending money on yourself, get someone else a present, too. That’s what I always do. Used to drive Tom nuts. He had more pairs of socks than a millipede in winter. Anyway,” she said, nodding to the corner of the room. “I’m afraid that jumper’s a goner.”
Annie leaped to her feet, pulling her hoodie away from Buster, who had somehow sneaked into her room and chewed the pocket off, all in the past minute. “Bad boy! Don’t eat my clothes!”
“Oh, he’s not a bad boy, he’s a good boy, a good boy.” Polly took him, crooning and kissing. “Don’t listen to nasty old Annie, you’re not a bad boy.” Buster coughed, and spat out a scrap of fabric.
“Easy for you to say, Polly, he hasn’t eaten all of your shoes, has he?”
“All the more reason to buy new ones.” Polly smiled triumphantly.
“Well, okay. But I meant what I said about going to the shops.”
Polly set Buster down on the bed—Annie tried not to wince at the thought of dog hairs on her nice new sheets—and held out a thin hand. “Give me your laptop.”
“Why?”
“Just give it.”
Annie complied, passing over the dust-covered hulk. Polly winced. “We’ll talk about accessories after. But for now, let me introduce you to the delights of next-day delivery.”
DAY 53
Give a present
“So I was just getting a few things for myself and I thought I’d... Does it fit?”
Jonny was speechless, looking at the jacket she’d bought during her online shop. Fleece-lined and waterproof, it seemed like something you’d want if you were stuck outside all the time.
“Is it okay?” Annie felt wretched. Was it patronizing? Would he rather have money?
Jonny made a sudden movement, and she realized he was crying. “I’m so sorry!” she said. “I just noticed you had holes in your jacket and I—”
“I haven’t had anything new in two years,” he said in a strangled voice. “It even smells new. Not like jumble sales or old people or damp.” He stripped off the old rag he had on—Annie tried hard not to wrinkle her nose at the stink—and buttoned up the new one. “How does it look?”
The blue fabric just set off his pallor and thin face, but Annie said, “Great. Looks good.”
“Thank you, uh...”
“Annie. I’m Annie.”
“Jonny.”
“I know, yeah.”
“Thank you, Annie.”
“It’s nothing. Really, it’s nothing.” Compared with everything she had, it really was nothing. Even if she’d lost her job, she was so far away from the street. She still had friends. A mother. Polly. “Listen, I’m going away for a few days, but if you need anything, will you let me know? I mean, I know you need...lots of things, I’m sure, but...”
He waved her away from the awkwardness. “I will. Have a good time, Annie.”
DAY 54
Take a road trip
“Absolutely, categorically no way.”
“But whhhhhhy?” wailed Polly.
“Because it’s my car. We are not having ABBA on. I forbid it.”
Polly, who was of course occupying the front seat, turned around to the others. Annie, Costas and George were all squeezed in the back of Dr. Max’s Renault, padded about with Polly’s things. Polly raised her eyebrows at Annie. You ask him.
Annie shook her head. “So what music do you like, then?” she asked him. Polly mimed sticking fingers down her throat. Annie ignored her.
“Your usual dad-rock. Clapton, Fleetwood Mac. And jazz, of course.”
George groaned. “Dear God, not jazz. How about show tunes? I’ve got the Miss Saigon soundtrack on my Spotify.”
“Why not some disco?” Costas said, muffled by Polly’s ski coat. “Donna Summer! Frankie Go to Hollywood!” At his feet Buster squeaked in agreement. Dr. Max had reluctantly agreed to bring him as long as he sat on newspaper. “As if a bit of puppy wee could make that car any worse,” Polly had remarked.
George ruffled Costas’s hair. “That’s so passé. You’re cute.”
“No show tunes,” Dr. Max said firmly. “I’m sorry, George. I’d literally have to give myself a lobotomy if I listened to show tunes for the next ten hours.” He met her eyes in the mirror. “Annie, why don’t you pick? You’re sensible.”
“Um...” Annie tried very hard not to look at Polly. “To be honest, I love ABBA, too.”
“Fine, I’m overruled.” He sighed and jabbed a finger at the stereo, which began pumping out “Dancing Queen.” As everyone—even Dr. Max—lifted their voices to the chorus, the glorious rise of notes that couldn’t help but tug your heart up with it, Annie looked up to see Polly had her eyes closed, a blissful smile on her wan face.
DAY 55
Overcome a fear
Annie eyed the procession of skiers traveling slowly up the mountain on a sort of moving walkway. Dr. Max had called it a magic carpet, but it didn’t look like anything from Aladdin, creaking along as it was in the driving snow, which was already making Annie’s face feel numb and frozen like after a trip to the dentist. “It’s very high.” She should have known the trip would involve various terrifying feats. Bloody Polly.
“Not really. No’ but a hundred feet.” His Scottish accent had broadened now they were over the border, and he sounded cheerier, less gloomy. He was kitted out in sensible black ski gear, sleek as an otter. Annie, who obviously didn’t own any ski stuff, felt stupid in her walking trousers and raincoat. It was worn over so many jumpers she worried she might roll down the hill like a ball if she fell over. Which was very likely. She shifted nervously; the skis felt heavy and clunky on her feet, like hobbit paws.