‘I think everything’s a pound—’ I begin, but she’s already tapping the shoulder of a salesgirl.
‘Excuse me,’ she says politely. ‘How much is this item?’
The sales girl shoots her a look of ineffable contempt. ‘Pahnd.’
‘And this?’ She gestures at a garden hose.
‘Pahnd. Everyfink’s a pahnd. Pahnd shop, innit?’
‘But … but …’ Janice seems about to expire with excitement. ‘This is incredible! Do you realize how much these would cost in John Lewis?’
There’s a gasp from the next aisle along and I look up to see Mum brandishing a load of plastic storage boxes. Her martyred air has vanished and her eyes are bright. ‘Janice! Tupperware!’
I’m about to follow them when I notice a rack of glittery snakeskin belts. This is unbelievable. I mean, a belt for a pound! It would be criminal not to. And there’s a whole load of hair extensions and wigs … God, this place is brilliant. Why have I never come here before?
I put five belts and a selection of wigs into my basket, and throw in a few bits of ‘famous brands’ make-up (even though I haven’t heard of any of the brands), then wander down to find myself in front of a rack labelled ‘Second-hand supplies –catering returns, sold as seen’.
Wow. Look at this. There are loads of place cards and table confetti and stuff. Perfect for a party.
I stare at them silently for a few moments, my mind circling round and round. Obviously I can’t buy the stuff for Luke’s party at the pound shop. It would be really cheapskate and stingy.
But they only cost a pound. And they’re proper catering supplies. And would he mind?
Put it this way: the less I spend on place cards and party poppers, the more I can spend on champagne. And everything’s a pound. A pound!
Oh God, I can’t pass this up. It’s too good an opportunity. Hastily I start shoving packets of place cards, party poppers, table confetti and napkin holders into my basket. I won’t tell anyone I got them at the pound shop. I’ll say I got them bespoke from a specialist entertainment company.
‘Do you need another basket?’ Jess appears by my side.
‘Oh, thanks.’ I take it and add some pop-up candelabra decorations, which I’ve just noticed. They look a bit manky, but no one’ll notice if the lights are dim enough.
‘Is this for Luke’s party?’ She nods at my basket with interest. ‘How are the preparations going?’
Oh bloody hell. I can’t have Jess telling everyone the decorations came from the pound shop.
‘No!’ I say quickly. ‘Of course this isn’t for Luke! I’m just … getting inspiration. Aren’t you buying anything?’ I add, noticing she doesn’t have a basket. ‘Aren’t you going to stock up on Jiffy bags or something?’
I would have thought this place would be right up Jess’s street. She’s the one always giving me lectures about spending too much and why don’t I buy in bulk and live off potato peelings?
‘No, I don’t buy things any more,’ says Jess matter-of-factly.
Did I mishear that?
‘What do you mean, you don’t buy things?’ I say, still loading up my basket. ‘You must buy things. Everyone buys things.’
‘Not me.’ She shakes her head. ‘Since living in Chile, Tom and I have taken the decision to be zero-consumers, or as near as possible. We barter instead.’
‘You barter?’ I turn and stare at her. ‘What, with beads and stuff?’
Jess gives a snort of laughter. ‘No, Becky. Everything. Food, clothing, heating. If I can’t barter for it, I don’t do it.’
‘But … who with?’ I say incredulously. ‘No one barters any more. That’s, like, the Middle Ages.’
‘You’d be surprised. There’s a lot of like-minded people out there. There are networks, websites …’ She shrugs. ‘Last week I bartered six hours of gardening for a British Rail voucher. That got me up to Scully. It cost me nothing.’
I stare at her, gobsmacked. In fact, to be honest I feel a teeny bit affronted. Here we all are, feeling really virtuous because we’re shopping in the pound shop. And Jess has to trump everyone by not shopping at all, ever. That’s so typical of her. Next she’ll probably invent some form of anti-shopping. Like anti-matter, or anti-gravity.
‘So … could I barter?’ I say, as a sudden thought hits me.
‘Of course you could,’ says Jess. ‘In fact, you should. You can get anything and everything. Clothes, food, toys … I’ll send you links to the websites I use most.’
‘Thanks!’
Yes! I resume filling my basket, full of exhilaration. This is the answer. I’ll barter for everything I need for Luke’s party. It’ll be easy. And those posh, zillion-pound party organizers can sod off. Who needs them when you have a pound shop and a bartering website?
Ooh. Star Wars fairy lights, two strings for a pound! And some Yoda shot glasses.
I pause thoughtfully. Maybe the party could have a Star Wars theme. I mean, I’m not sure Luke’s exactly into Star Wars … but I could get him into it, couldn’t I? I could rent out the DVDs and suggest we join the fan club and I expect he’d be a total enthusiast by 7 April.
Except there are also some really fab disco-ball garlands. And some jewelled pewter-effect platters reading ‘King Arthur’s Court’, with matching goblets. Oh God, now I’m torn.
Maybe it could be a Seventies-disco-Star-Wars-King-Arthur fusion themed party?