Star Crazy Me

She said that she could let me have fifty pounds. “Not a penny more! What sort of thing were you thinking of getting?”

I said I didn’t know. I was going to look round and see what took my fancy.

“Maybe I ought to come with you.”

Oh God, I didn’t want Mum going with me! It makes me so embarrassed. Knowing that every single garment she picks out will look far better on her than it does on me. I told her that Indy was coming and we were going to choose together.

Mum said, “Indy? That funny little thing? She has no more sense of fashion than you do!”

This, unfortunately, is perfectly true. Indy and I are not very cool when it comes to clothes.

“OK,” I said. “I’ll ask Josh!”

“That’s more like it,” said Mum.

She knows that Josh can be relied upon. He’s going to go to art college when he leaves school and train to be a fashion designer. He’s promised me that when we are both famous he will design all my clothes for me, even if I am still a jelly. (Josh didn’t say that last bit; that was me.)

Saturday morning we met at the bus stop and took the bus into town, where Indy was waiting for us in the Arcade, outside Top Shop. Josh said, “We’ll start in here and work our way round. You’ll have to be prepared to spend the whole morning, if necessary.” He’d automatically taken charge, but that was all right; me and Indy didn’t mind. We followed meekly in his wake, with me doing my best not to let my eyes stray towards racks of gorgeous but totally unsuitable gear. Unsuitable for me, that is. Josh had said sternly that I mustn’t be a slave to fashion, and I knew what he meant. It wasn’t the least bit of use me hankering after miniskirts or crop tops, cos he wouldn’t let me have them.

“You have to create your own style! Be original.”

Indy, greatly daring, said, “What about one of those nice long floaty skirts?”

Josh said, “For a rock chick?”

Indy giggled. “Is that what she is?”

“Not in a long skirt,” said Josh.

I was glad about that cos although it would hide my legs I’d probably only go and trip over it. I can be a bit clumsy when I get nervous.

“These.” Josh suddenly lunged at a nearby rack and thrust something at me.

“Combats,” said Indy. “That’s cool!”

Somewhat nervously – I am always nervous when it comes to clothes – I said, “D’you really think so?”

“Are you daring to question me?” said Josh.

“No!” I backed down, hastily.

“So take them! Try them.”

“What about a top?” said Indy.

“I’m coming to that,” said Josh. “Don’t rush me!”

Indy and I exchanged glances. Talk about a prima donna! Humbly, we trailed round after him.

“Here! Try this.” He picked up a T-shirt and handed it to me.

“Ooh, designer!” said Indy.

“It’s just a T-shirt,” said Josh.

But it wasn’t! I looked at the price tag and nearly died. All that, for a T-shirt? Josh said, “Quality does not come cheap.” Then he gave me a little push in the direction of the changing room and said, “Well, go on, go and try them on!”

“And then come out and show us,” said Indy.

I never enjoy trying on clothes. Whatever I buy, it’s always the same: I look in the mirror and there’s this great galumphing hippopotamus staring back at me. I couldn’t see that combats and a T-shirt, no matter if the T-shirt did cost the earth, were likely to work any miracles. But oh, they did! The T-shirt didn’t just flump about in big billowing folds, the same as T-shirts usually do. It actually fitted. Properly. It was red, with a skull and crossbones motif on the front. I loved it! It almost made me look thin. Well, thinnish.

The combats, which were half the price of the T-shirt, were olive green, and wonder of wonders, I managed to get into them without any straining or heaving or sucking in of my tummy. I went prancing out of the changing room with this big, triumphant grin on my face.

Indy took one look and squealed, “Rock chick!”

“See?” Josh gave a little bow. “Apology graciously accepted.”

“So what’s she going to wear with it?” said Indy.

I said, “Yes! What am I going to wear with it?” The T-shirt by itself had eaten up a large chunk of Mum’s money. Josh said not to panic. “You don’t really need anything else.”

“What about shoes?” said Indy.

“Trainers,” said Josh.

“What about jewellery?”

Josh said so long as it wasn’t clunky.

“Let’s go and look!” Indy went dancing off up the store, to where they had a stand full of beads and bangles. “Look, look, what about this?” She came dancing back, dangling a long silver chain with a pendant. “This would go! Wouldn’t it?”

She was ever so happy when Josh agreed. It made her a bit bold. Eagerly she suggested that maybe I could buy some “dangly earrings” and “sparkly bits to put in my hair”. Josh said, “Knock it off, she’s a rock chick, not a Christmas tree!” Indy’s face fell. “Maybe something for her hair,” said Josh.

“And nail varnish?” begged Indy. “She could have nail varnish!”

Josh said he would allow me to have nail varnish, and he even let Indy pick the colour: deep, dark purple.

“Don’t ask me what I’d like,” I said.

“Got no intention,” said Josh. “I’m your fashion guru.”

“And I’m his assistant,” giggled Indy. It was really going to her head! But I didn’t mind; I know I have no clothes sense. They didn’t even let me choose the sparkly bits for my hair. Personally I rather fancied a pair of glittery butterflies, but Indy sucked in her breath and Josh, very sternly, said, “Carm, put them back.”

“But they’re pretty!”

“They’re tacky.”

“Tacky, tacky, tacky!” sang Indy. Like she knows any better than I do. “Look, stars! How about stars?”