That was rich coming from Johnno, the king of crazy ideas, but Sophy did really need a job so she decided that now wasn’t the time to point that out.
‘You know someone who’s looking for staff?’ she asked hopefully, though she was sure that whatever job it might be, it wouldn’t be a regular nine to five. One of his mates worked in the reptile house at London Zoo.
‘Me, I’ll give you a job. At the shop,’ Johnno said. He waved a stubby hand. ‘I’ll talk to Freddy. He sorts out all that stuff for me. Yeah, you can come and work for me in the old family business. How does that sound?’
Sophy didn’t want to be churlish, but the thought of working in Johnno’s shop didn’t fill her heart with gladness. On the contrary, it made her heart sink like a ship’s anchor.
Johnno’s Junk. Ugh!
She’d only been there once when she was little but Sophy could still remember the fusty, dusty smell that had caught at the back of her throat. The old, limp clothes. Yellowing paperbacks with garish covers.The stuffed fox head, its fangs bared, in a glass display case.
‘Maybe it’s not such a good idea me working for you. You shouldn’t mix business and pleasure and all that,’ Sophy said, gently, because she really did appreciate the offer but already she wasitchingat the mere thought of all that creepy old tat in Johnno’s Junk.
It was a source of much mystery to Sophy and her mother as to why Johnno had never been declared bankrupt. Or how he always managed to be flush with cash. Like now, as he opened his wallet and started thumbing through a sizeable wad of notes.
‘Let me give you some cash to help you out until you’re back on your feet,’ he said, because he was generous to a fault.
‘Oh no, you mustn’t,’ Sophy protested, holding up her hands to ward off the bundle of twenties that Johnno was trying to thrust at her. ‘I have a bit saved up.’
‘Now come on, love. Let your old man spoil you a bit.’
‘No, your money’s no good round here,’ Sophy said firmly.
‘If you won’t let me give you money, then at least let me give you a job,’ Johnno wheedled, fluttering his lashes at her, which looked ridiculous but somehow she was smiling. He was impossible. ‘Come on! You and me working together. It will be fun.’
Despite ten years’ retail experience, finding another job was proving to be very difficult. Sophy had no references, as the HR department at her old job had also been locked out of the company HQ. And she hadn’t really climbed up the career ladder either, shunning any opportunities for promotion or advancement as too much responsibility for not that much more money. Also, despite what she’d just told Johnno, she had hardly any savings left.
She would have to fumigate herself at the end of each day, but she did need a job and it would be nice, or a distraction at least, to spend some time with Johnno. ‘All right,’ she agreed. ‘But only until I find something be— I mean something else.’
‘Something better?’ Johnno asked with a grin because he knew exactly what she’d been going to say. ‘What could be better than working in my shop?’
Quite a lot of things, but by the time Sophy was on the tube heading back to her mum’s house in Hendon, she was feeling nostalgic for all the good times she’d had with Johnno. When he’d actually turned up for them, that was.
She was also feeling better about the future. That was the other thing that she always forgot about Johnno: he’d missed his true calling. He could make a fortune as a motivational speaker.
‘You’re smart, you’re funny, you’re a straight talker and, luckily, you take after your mother when it comes to looks,’ he’d said as he’d walked her back to the station. ‘There’s nothing you can’t do, Soph. I reckon you’ll be all right. Better than all right. You’re going to do wonders, kiddo, but there ain’t any wonders to be had on a flaming sheep station. Now, I’ll be in touch about the job soon.’
And that was that. It might even be the last time that Sophy ever saw him before she left for Australia, but at least she’d be able to tell Bob and Jean that their wayward son had a heart of gold.
Chapter Two
Aweek later, on a Tuesday morning, Sophy was back at Chalk Farm station. No one, not even her mum, had been more surprised than Sophy when she got a message from Johnno to say that he’d sorted out a job for her and would meet her at the station to ‘get you started. Introduce you to everyone and all that jazz.’
Sophy wasn’t sure why they were meeting in Chalk Farm again when the shop was in Holloway. But she’d learned a long time ago that it was best not to wonder too hard why Johnno did anything.
Even though it was a grotty junk shop next to a chicken shop and she was used to working in a large fashion store on Oxford Street, Sophy still had first-day nerves. She didn’t know how many staff Johnno had – though it couldn’t be very many – and whether they’d resent her for coming in and think that she meant to lord it over them. She also hadn’t known what to wear. She didn’t want to wear anything too nice. In her old job they’d worn all black, bought at a staff discount from the latest drop, but you couldn’t wear all black in a junk shop. It would show up all the dust and cobwebs and, oh God, mildew. There was bound to be mildew.
Sophy had settled for a navy blue and white polka dot jumpsuit and her second nicest trainers because she was going to be on her feet all day. Not her Vejas but her Veja dupes. As she waited for Johnno, she pulled out her pocket mirror and scrutinised her face. Her eyes were the same blue as Johnno’s but her poker-straight red hairand pale skin came from her mother’s side of the family, who all hailed from County Cork in Ireland. Sophy wiped away a smudge of mascara and was just thinking about reapplying her lipgloss when someone tapped her on the shoulder.
She whirled round. ‘Oh my God, this is twice now that you’ve actually turned up when you said you would! Is this an all-time record?’
But it wasn’t Johnno. Standing there was a tall man in jeans, a black polo shirt and Harrington jacket and with artfully messy hair. He looked like he was a member of one of the indie bands that littered this part of north London. Maybe he was lost and needed directions back to Camden?
‘Are you Sophy?’ he asked in a voice that had clearly had most of its cockney edge smoothed out.
Not a member of a minor indie band then. And also … ‘You’re not Johnno.’ Sophy pointed out the obvious.
‘I’m Freddy,’ he explained, holding out a hand for Sophy to shake. ‘Johnno asked me to meet you.’
