Summer With My Sister (28 page)

Polly couldn’t remember why Clare had stopped swimming now. Puberty maybe. Perhaps she’d started to get embarrassed about her changing body, or hadn’t wanted to be different from her friends any longer. Maybe she’d stopped because she’d got interested in boys?

She heaved herself out of the deckchair, figuring she ought to lend a hand – even
she
could make a sandwich or two without blowing the place up.

‘Anything I can do to help?’ she asked, entering the dingy kitchen and blinking after being out in the sunshine for so long.

Clare did a double-take, then gave a chuckle.

‘What?’ Polly asked. ‘What’s so funny?’

‘Nothing,’ Clare said, passing her a bowl of slippery-looking hard-boiled eggs and a dollop of mayo. ‘Some help would be great, that’s all. You can mash these. Thank you.’

After a picnic lunch in the garden, ably assisted by Fred, the sky clouded over. Clare was just suggesting that they all go out for a bike ride, now that it was cooler, when a woman with hennaed hair cut in a pixie style, loads of children and a crazed lurcher appeared, and the place basically exploded with noise. The dogs barked hysterically, the children swarmed everywhere and Polly found herself reeling in horror from the din. Clare’s life really was
noisy
, she was starting to realize. And there were always so many
people
involved in it.

‘Hello, I’m Debbie,’ the henna-haired woman said cheerfully, seeing Polly on the picnic rug. ‘I’m Clare’s interfering friend, who’s come round to nag her again about Langley’s.’

Debbie, that was it. Polly remembered her from the wedding. Chief bridesmaid, no less, when everyone knew that a
sister
had the divine right of being chief bridesmaid. Even now, the demotion rankled.

Clare had turned red and glanced across at Polly, as if Debbie had just spoken out of turn. ‘Um . . .’ she stuttered.

‘And I’ve brought some designs for you to look at,’ Debbie went on breezily, seemingly unaware of Clare’s discomfort. ‘I thought I might as well get stuck in straight away, run a few ideas past you. I ordered Will to take the kids out all morning, fired up the Mac and . . .’ She trailed off and glanced from Clare to Polly. ‘What? Why are you looking at me like that? Is this a bad time?’

‘No, no,’ Clare said quickly. ‘I just . . . Cold light of day and all that. I think we probably got a bit overexcited about the whole thing last night. I’m not so sure it’s a good idea any more.’

Debbie stared at her. ‘Not so sure? Overexcited? Oh, give over, will you? Tell her, Polly. Langley’s are going to love her!’

Polly stared at Debbie, then at Clare, wishing someone would enlighten her. The only Langley’s she’d ever heard of was the boutique hotel chain, but they obviously weren’t talking about
that
Langley’s. She doubted anyone from Elderchurch had even heard of that Langley’s. ‘I’m not following,’ she said with a polite laugh.

Debbie gave Clare a severe look. ‘You haven’t told her, have you?’ she said, as if she were scolding a child. ‘Clare Berry, what are you like! Well, I’ll tell her then.’ She sat down on the picnic blanket and turned to address Polly. ‘Your sister has got a chance to make some serious dosh with her bath products and she’s wussing out about it. That’s what this is all about.’

‘I’m not wussing out, I’m being realistic,’ Clare argued, although there was already more than a hint of defeat in her voice.

‘Um . . . I’m still not following,’ Polly said. The conversation was starting to irritate her.

Debbie, after another pointed look at Clare, filled Polly in on the whole matter. ‘You’re a businesswoman, aren’t you, Polly? You’ll back me up, and tell your sister that she’d be mad not to try the pitch, won’t you?’

Polly was taken aback. Clare – pitching for business? Had she just heard that right? It seemed incredible. Were those unlabelled bottles of goo in the bathroom something to do with this sideline of her sister’s then? Polly had assumed they were some ghastly potions the children had concocted. ‘Er . . . yes,’ she managed to say after a moment. ‘Yes, of course you should try, Clare. Langley’s are a good firm, they’re performing very strongly at the moment. I’ve stayed in one of their hotels before – in York, I think. A bit unusual; not your traditional hotel fare, to say the least, but that seems to be their strength, from what I can gather.’

Debbie grinned at Polly as if they were conspirators. ‘Well,’ she said, before Clare had a chance to speak again, ‘I think that means you’re outvoted. Now then. Designs.’ She held up an A4 envelope and pulled out a sheaf of paper. ‘I realize I’ve taken a bit of a liberty, because I know you haven’t actually decided on a name for your brand or anything, but . . . what do you think of Berry Botanicals?’

‘Berry Botanicals,’ Clare repeated, as if testing the feel of the words. Then she nodded. ‘Sounds healthy and fruity, and it’s got my name in. Perfect!’ She leafed through the sheets of designs that Debbie had brought and gave a little cry. ‘Oh wow,’ she said. ‘They’re gorgeous, Debs.’

They all peered at the papers. Debbie had created a silhouette pattern that looked like a vine, with flower shapes and different fruits appearing between the branches. She’d worked the pattern so that a horizontal oval space was empty in the centre, apart from the words ‘Berry Botanicals’ and then, in smaller letters underneath, ‘Rosehip Shampoo’. In an even smaller, handwritten font below, following the bottom curve of the oval, was written ‘Made for Langley’s, with love’. She’d run the pattern through with different colour schemes and fonts, and overall the effect was striking and very pretty.

Polly had been silent for a while. She couldn’t quite get to grips with the insane idea of her sister trying to pitch her home-made bubble bath to Langley’s. To
Langley’s
! It was, quite frankly, ridiculous. Her instinct was to pour cold water on the whole thing and tell Clare in no uncertain terms that she was making a fool of herself. But something stopped her from saying so.

‘What do you think of the designs, Polly?’ Clare asked.

Ah, they’d remembered at last that someone with a bit of business nous was actually there. She pretended to consider them. They were actually kind of attractive, she had to admit. ‘Is it slightly too girly, I wonder?’ she mused. ‘You do get a lot of businessmen staying at hotels like this. I’m not sure they’d go for pink flowers, for example.’

‘Good point,’ Debbie said. ‘Perhaps if we stick to darker blues and greens as backgrounds then, just picking out a bright red or turquoise with the lettering. That should make it more unisex.’

‘And we can zing the names up a bit,’ Clare added. ‘Rosehip Shampoo, Lime Bubble Bath – they’re not sounding all that exciting at the moment. But overall I think they’re going to look amazing. And I think
you’re
amazing too,’ she said to Debbie, sounding choked. ‘I can really imagine my toiletries as actual . . . well, you know,
proper
toiletries, like you see in the shops. And I love my brand name.’ She giggled. ‘I can’t believe I just said “my brand name”. Me, with a brand name!’

Despite her cynicism about the whole hopeless project, Polly felt her lips twitch in a smile. Her sister was being way, way too emotional about this – she’d never make a tough old businessbird like Polly – but she looked so thrilled and excited, that it was . . . well, it was rather touching actually. And kind of infectious too. At least something interesting was happening around here, for a change.

Chapter Sixteen

Clare felt as if she were on board a runaway train as Berry Botanicals began to take shape. It was all happening so fast! Over the course of the afternoon she and Debbie brain-stormed the names of sample products and came up with Ginger Ninja Bubbles, Limelight Shampoo and a soap bar called Vanilla Thriller, then later on she picked Polly’s brains about how to go about producing a costing. During the course of Sunday she made up some samples for the pitch, stirring and sniffing, trying and testing. If she was seriously going to go through with this, she wanted everything to be perfect.

On Sunday evening, when the children were in bed, Polly helped her work on her pitch. As Clare had absolutely no experience in this sort of thing, her sister’s advice and suggestions were a total godsend.

‘She’ll be looking for your bottom-line figures, how flexible you can be, how quickly you can supply her with what she wants,’ Polly coached her. ‘The costs we pulled together last night actually stack up pretty well, as you’ve got such low overheads, so try and be confident. You’re offering a decent-quality product at a reasonable price; you’re local; and you’re using ingredients you’ve grown yourself, where possible – these are all bonuses.’

Polly was speaking to her differently all of a sudden, Clare realized. Gone was the aloof scorn and patronizing air. The dynamic between them now felt more like one between colleagues, working towards the same goal. To say this was an improvement was the understatement of the century. ‘Do you think I should tell her much about myself?’ she wondered. ‘I mean, I don’t exactly have much of a business history.’

‘Just focus on the positives, put a spin on your words to make it all sound good. So rather than saying you’ve got zilch experience, phrase it that you’re a new start-up and Langley’s would be your major customer – they’ll like that sort of exclusivity. Also, let her know that you’re willing to work with the company on what they want; you’re not rigid about what you can and can’t produce.’ Polly patted her sister’s hand. ‘It’ll be fine, I promise. Let’s just put some bullet points in this document . . .’

They were sitting at the table in the kitchen with the laptop between them, and Clare was struck by a massive wash of gratitude for everything Polly was doing. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. ‘Seriously, I wouldn’t have a clue about the business side of things. Not a clue. I wouldn’t be able to do this on my own.’

Polly went on typing for a moment, then pressed the Return key with a flourish. ‘It’s the least I can do,’ she said with a self-conscious laugh. ‘You’re putting me up – or, rather, putting up with me – so until I get back on my feet financially and can pay my way, I’m happy to contribute some business ideas. More than happy.’

‘Well, I really appreciate it,’ Clare said.

There was another odd silence and then Polly changed the subject. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask: is that a tattoo I spotted on your back the other day?’

‘My bluebird? Yeah,’ Clare replied. ‘Me and the girls got matching ones when we turned thirty. I think it was Tracey’s idea – she was worried about turning into an old fart.’ She laughed. ‘Now we’re just old farts with crap tattoos, so I’m not sure it’s any better really. Still, I love it. Makes me feel like part of a team, if you know what I mean.’

She reached around and touched the bird on her back, remembering the day they’d ventured to the tattoo parlour in Andover together, giggling like schoolgirls. They’d settled on the bluebird as a symbol of happiness and freedom and had taken it in turns to be inked, yelping at the pain as the needles buzzed through the design. Afterwards they’d found a wine bar and toasted each other with glasses of cold Sauvignon Blanc, before dashing back to pick up the children, laughing about what the other mothers would think of them turning up, stinking of wine, with scabby tattoos on their backs.
Her team
, she thought with a smile, remembering the way they’d all backed her in this Langley’s idea. God, she was lucky to have friends like that.

Polly was silent, and Clare wondered if she was missing her friends in London. Perhaps it was insensitive to go on about the girls in front of her, when she must be dying to get back to her own gang.

‘Have you got a tattoo?’ she asked. ‘I bet you have. Go on, what is it? A pound sign tattooed on your bum or something?’

‘No!’ Polly spluttered. ‘I wouldn’t – I couldn’t. Far too much of a wuss.’

‘You, a wuss? I don’t believe that for a second.’ The idea made Clare snort. Polly was without doubt the most confident, headstrong person she’d ever met. She was surprised the word ‘wuss’ was even in her vocabulary.