I’m supposed to give Sorcha moral support at the bank, but I didn’t know that meant, like, hitting on the bank bird?
SORCHA RANG and said she realised it was time she took her head out of the sand. With that shop of hers about to tango uniform in a ditch, she needed to do something – and, by something, she didn'tmean answering the phone in, like, an African accent, going, "No Surka Lala here," whenever the bank rang, which had been her approach to the whole current economic blahdy blah up until that point. No, she decided that she was going to front up to the problem and go and actually meet them, which was pretty brave of her, you'd have to say.
Anyway, she wanted me there withher? Presumably for moral support, not to mention – and this might come across as big-headed – but my famous big-match temperament that used to get written about quite a lot back in the day. Which, to cut a long story short, is how we end up, Friday morning, sitting in the bank with this woman – who isn't great, in case you're wondering – going through a file that's thicker than a breeze-block sandwich, waiting for her to give us the SP.
It's, like, 15 minutes before she says anything. She must look at, like, every piece of paper in the file, then she closes it and goes, "You borrowed €100,000 . . ." Sorcha's like, "Yeah, to do, like, a total refit of the store? Along the lines of, like, Kitson in LA, which is where allthe celebs go to shop – that's why there's always, like, paparazzi outside?" It doesn't seem to cut a lot of ice with the bird on the other side of the desk.
She goes, “This hundred thousand paid for what exactly?” Sorcha’s there, “Oh my God, everything! The new sound system, the pink PVC sodas, the giant plasma screens playing catwalk footage from all the major fashion shows. Then the framed prints of whales and lions and giraffes, with words like grace and pride and synchronicity underneath them – because if customers are inspired, they will buy. A girl who actually studied retail told me that.”
“What else?” the bank bird goes – she’s all business – and of course Sorcha is totally thrown. “Sorry,” she goes, “can I just say, there were none of these questions when I asked to borrow the money in the first place?” and the bird sort of, like, laughs, as if it’s some private joke. “I understand that,” she goes, “but you may have heard, credit conditions have changed somewhat in the interim.” It’s honestly like watching a tennis match, listening to the argument go back and forth between them. I look at Sorcha, wondering what her comeback’s going to be.
"Okay, what else did it pay for?" she goes. "In a word – stock. A year ago – can I just point out? – no one in Ireland was doing Jay Godfrey sheaths. I was literally the first in the country to get in the Jimmy Choo 'Idol' platform sandal. Andthe Dior by John Galliano bag . . ."
"What effect has this had?" the bird goes, totally unmoved. Sorcha's there, "Well, foot traffic is certainly up." She's like, " Foottraffic?" and Sorcha goes, "As in, numbers in the door? There's – oh my God – huge curiosity about the shop," which is an out-and-out lie, by the way. She couldn't persuade homeless people in there if it was snowing outside and she was dishing out free stew.
"Plus," she goes, " Imagemagazine might be mentioning me in their November edition . . ." She's losing her. You can see it. The bird just rolls her eyes. Luckily, though, her phone rings, and she has to step outside for a minute.
The second she’s gone, roysh, Sorcha turns dog on me. “What the hell are you doing?” she goes. I’m there, “I haven’t done anything,” and she’s like, “Exactly. You’re just sitting there. Why don’t you show some of that legendary ability with women that you’re always bragging about? Flirt with her.” I’m there, “Flirt with her? Sorcha, she has a face like two-day-old helium balloon.” She’s goes, “Improvise,” and then she does the weirdest thing. She reaches over and undoes the second button on my pink apple crumble shirt. She looks at it, roysh, then obviously thinking, “Ah, what the hell,” opens the third as well.
I’m sitting there like one of the Bee Gees, my Leinster Schools Senior Cup medal suddenly looking like a medallion, when the bank bird comes back in and apologises.
She’s straight back to business, though.
"Can I just outline one or two of our concerns," she goes, "and I'm speaking for the bank now. You haven't made any repayments for, what, six months?" Sorcha's there, "No," and at the same time she's giving methe eyes.
“Do you know who you’re an actual ringer for?” I suddenly hear myself go. “Jessica Stroup. And that’s not me being sarcastic.”
My words have literally no effect on her. She stares at me for, like, two or three seconds, then she’s straight back to business. “And you’ve ignored repeated letters from us,” she goes. Sorcha’s there, “I’ve just been busy, first with our summer line, now with our autumn line?” then she mouths the words, “Ross, go on,” to me.
"In addition," the woman goes, "you've failed to make any repayments on your pre- existing loans . . ." I suddenly clear my throat. The woman stops talking. I rub my chest, then – and this is going to soundsleazy? – give her one of my famous Come to Papa smiles.
Again, nothing. My powers are useless on this woman.
“We’re here to help you,” she suddenly goes to Sorcha. “We’re not just a lending institution. We’re also here to offer you financial advice to help you meet, head-on, the challenges of the new economic environment.”
Sorcha’s there, “So what would your advice be?”
The woman’s like, “Close the shop, sell the stock and pay us our money back.”
Sorcha suddenly stands up and tells the woman to cancel her subscription. The woman's like, "Subscription?" not a Betty Boo what she's talking about. Sorcha clicks her fingers, then – in her best Tyra Banks voice – goes, "Yeah – I'm tiredof your issues, Girl!" Then she storms out. I follow her outside and tell her, as gently as I can, that those kind of lines are alright to use on, like, Chloe or Sophie or any of her friends. You can't, I presume, go around saying them to the bank.
She looks me up and down and tells me I was, oh my God, useless in there.
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