Second Hand Jane by Michelle Vernal Read Free Book Online

they’d happened upon in the labyrinth of streets
surrounding the city’s main shopping hub of Grafton Street.
    She had come to
the conclusion that the less a shop had in it, the more hideously
expensive the little it did have dangling from its rails was likely
to be and the more skinny and hoity-toity the shop assistant was
likely to be. Another reason she preferred charity shops—the people
who worked in them were genuine, kind-hearted souls who quite often
volunteered their time, not like Shop Girl No. Three.
    When Jess had audibly gasped at the price
tag hanging off the dress she was currently wearing, the
underweight little madam had told her, “Well, it is Italian.” She’d left the what did you expect, you South
Pacific commoner? to
hang in the air unsaid between them.
    “No, not at
all.” Brianna answered her friend’s question in a pitch just high
enough to bring her back to the present and to let her know that
she was telling a little white lie. She smiled to herself, thinking
that if it had been Nora who was with her, she’d have said
something along the lines of, “Good God, yes! Get it off before you
split the arse out of it!”
    As she wriggled
her way out of the fitted green dress that had looked absolutely
perfect on the hanger, she couldn’t help but sigh—it was bloody
hard work, all this getting dressed and undressed business. She
wished she hadn’t opted to wear her old Levi’s because it would
have been much easier had she donned a sack suitable for whipping
on and off.
    “Was the
garment to madam’s liking?” The angular redhead standing behind the
counter studying her blood red talons sniffed when she emerged from
the cubicle, clutching the dress.
    She tapped her
own un-manicured nails on the counter until the woman finally
looked up with her bored expression firmly in place.
    “Nah, it
wasn’t,” Jess drawled in her best put-on Aussie accent, “’Cos it
made madam’s arse look humongous.” She tossed the dress down on the
counter and stalked out the door.
    Brianna hurried
after her, sniggering. “Did you see her face?” She linked her arm
through Jess’s.
    “Snooty
so-and-so. I reckon that plumy English accent was a put-on. I am
ninety-nine percent sure I could detect Liverpool undertones
creeping in! Anyway, it was probably a good thing the dress didn’t
look right, otherwise I’d have had to of taken out a second
mortgage to pay for it.”
    “Mmm, you’re
right; it was on the pricey side. Why don’t we try good old
Debenhams instead?” Brianna suggested as they turned the corner
back onto Grafton Street.
    “Okay. I
usually have far more luck at the Goodwill Thrift Shop on Capel
Street, though, but if you recommend Debenhams, then Debenhams it
is. Although I don’t know why I’m going to all this bother of
trying to find a new dress anyway because I bet you this friend of
Ewan Reid’s will probably be the Beast to his Beauty.”
    “So what if he
is? At least you’ll get to go out on a Friday night looking
gorgeous—I can’t remember the last time I got dolled up for a night
out.”
    Jess was about
to make a mental note to offer her babysitting services when she
was distracted by the strains of a Coldplay tune. “I love that
song,” she said, elbowing her way through the semi-circle of people
gathered round the busker who’d set himself up outside Marks and
Spencer’s. He had a mouth organ and a guitar and was doing a
surprisingly good rendition of “Clocks” despite the lack of a
piano. The girls clapped along with the rest of his audience when
the song came to an end and flicked him a couple of coins before
making their way down to Debenhams’ Henry Street shop.
    It was on the second floor of the
department store that Jess spotted “the Dress.” It was like a
beacon in a sea of nondescript change of season fashions as it
beckoned to her from the Jacques Vert designer collection. Racing
across the shop floor, she whipped the brick red cowl neck off