The Ned Wood Archive

Ellie

After Hamish Hawk, Ellie takes a deep breath.  She’d just witnessed some magnificent, moody, beautiful, honest music.  She’d almost been distracted by it.  Now she turns and looks to find Joe’s friend.  He was here just now. When they spoke.  She can’t see him, but he’d said to hang around at the Oxfam stall nearby if they got separated.  

“Come on,” she tells Phoebe, “let’s see whether there’s any decent gear while we’re here.”

They’ve got a whole rack of football shirts so they hunt through them.  They’re vintage, at least what Ellie and Phoebe would call vintage: twenty, thirty years old.  And expensive.  Forty, fifty quid.  There are a pair of Holsten Spurs shirts, one white, one blue.

“Are these really worth fifty quid?” she asks.

“It’s for charity,” says Phoebe.

“You mean for the men’s team,” says Ellie.  She’s right.  Spurs men need all the help they can get.

These old football shirts aren’t worth that much.  The material’s rubbish anyway.  A vintage rugby shirt is much better.  Like Abi’s.  A proper old rugby shirt.  Red and white hoops.  And a collar.  And decent material, too.  Cotton.

“Try this on, my dear,” says a voice behind her.  It’s Joe’s mate George come back.  He’s found an old black tuxedo jacket.  She hadn’t noticed it before, so she doesn’t know exactly where it came from.  There’s a mirror further inside the tent.  It looks OK over her rugby shirt. It’s more or less the right size for her, but does it really go with the sawn off jeans?  Actually, you don’t see much of the shorts under the rugby shirt because it’s almost long enough to cover them. And the tux is long enough to cover the shirt and the shorts.

“Excellent,” says George.  “You’re ready for the ball.”  

She looks at him, unsure.  Is he buying it?  Did he bring it with him?  Is this some scam or something.  

“All yours,” he says.  

She looks over at one of the volunteers minding the stall but they don’t seem bothered.  She looks back at George.  He has that manner about him, that open look in his face that wins her confidence.  She’s growing to understand why Joe hangs about with him so much.  She asks Phoebe for her opinion and is told it isn’t that good, they are probably desperate to get rid of it.       

“But does this look too tarty?”  Ellie whispers to Phoebe.  Now she’s worried that it might be too trashy.  

“Don’t let that stop you,” says Phoebe, as she puts her arm through Ellie’s and leads her away.  “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

George has walked off a few paces.  He turns and beckons them to follow.

“We’ve got an appointment,” he says as he takes them round the mixing desk and the crowds milling about waiting for the next act and leads them down the hill.  

“Come on Ellie,” says Phoebe.  “We may as well go along.  We might even have some fun.”  Now it’s her turn to trust George.  

Fact is, Ellie has got a pretty good idea that something special is gonna happen. Not exactly what. She can’t guess the details. But the outline. Somehow, somewhere, George is going to find Joe and make everything right.

He deposits them outside Scissors.  They stand next to the mini fence that cordons off the venue.  Phoebe in her shorts, T-shirt, and trainers; Ellie in her faded blue shorts, borrowed rugby shirt, new trainers, and old tuxedo jacket.  Both of them staring down the hill, Phoebe looking out to see whether she’ll recognise anyone, Ellie desperately searching for that one particular face in the crowd.