If the Dress Fits (8 page)

Marietta’s Hairdressing Salon was busy, though, churning out hyper-trendy, celebrity-inspired haircuts to the village elders as well as the more discerning teenagers. That just left Hale’s estate agents, the bookmaker’s and the bank – those peddlers of revolving financial transactions that seemed to be immune from the vicious knives of the current recession.

Delia joined Callie in her toil and they spent the day scrubbing, dusting and reorganising the shop. ‘The high street is dying, I’m afraid. It’s not only the supermarkets’ advance that’s draining away our business to their neon-lit cathedrals of consumerism; it’s the influx of the weekenders. Those wealthy families chasing the rural idyll for a few snatched hours of calm before they return to their hamster-wheels in the city to churn out more money for their masters or their pension pots. Hannah despaired at every shop closure, every one a shining light extinguished along with the proprietor’s dreams. Our lives are wider than one, Callie.’

When the sky dimmed, signalling the end of the working day, Callie smiled her gratitude to Delia as tears brimmed and choked her vocal cords. She waved her off and, as she secured the shop door behind her and pulled down the blind, took a moment to survey the careworn contents of the shop again. The only thing she wanted to do at that moment was abandon herself to the onslaught of nostalgia. The waft of her aunt’s favourite perfume still lingered amongst the multicoloured gems of angora and mohair, silk and cotton, jutting from the stands like jewels on a Fabergé egg.

She mounted the stairs to her childhood bedroom, cloaked in a shroud of loneliness. Happiness was a mere apparition that punctuated her life with decreasing regularity. Instead, anguish and heartache stalked her daily path to sleep, the relief in its oblivion always a delayed destination.

Fear gripped her heart as she realised she would now have to live her life without the safety net of her aunt’s, or anyone else’s, love.

Chapter Eleven

Callie took a deep breath and pushed open the door of the Fox and Hounds, feeling like a seventeen-year-old about to order alcohol for the first time. The buzz of muted conversation and background music swirled through the air, producing a welcoming atmosphere. She had spent too many nights to recall drinking at the village pub and it was as familiar as an old pair of favourite boots.

‘Hey, is that you, Callie? You look like you just walked off the catwalk!’

‘Hey, erm…’

‘Juliette? We were in the same art class at school?’

‘Of course we were. How are you, Juliette?’ Callie cast her eyes over the barmaid’s fresh face, devoid of any scrap of make-up, her cheeks glowing with the flush of health and her lips a natural rosebud pink.

‘I love your top. Where did you get it? M&S?’

‘Erm, no, it’s one I designed myself…’

‘Ah, sorry, yes. I did hear you made clothes now. Callie, I’m so sorry about your aunt. She was a lovely lady and we’ll miss her in the village.’ Juliette reached over and pulled Callie into a hug. ‘Hey, you’re all skin and bone. Look at you, like a line prop, bones jutting from all angles. What you need is one of Gavin’s Yorkshire hotpots.’

‘No! Thanks. No.’ Callie hadn’t eaten meat since she moved down to London. ‘Ah, Nessa!’

Relief at seeing her old friend swarmed through her veins. Callie took in Nessa’s familiar features as she pushed her way towards her through the regulars hogging the bar, her long auburn hair flowing free from its usual clasp in honour of her escape from the strict regulations placed on gym mistresses at St Hilda’s High School.

‘Hi, Callie, great to see you. Come on – Seb and Archie are in the snug playing snooker.’

‘Is… is Theo with them?’ She prayed that the hint of hopefulness in her voice wasn’t too much of a giveaway. Sadly, her friend missed nothing.

‘No, but he might join us later. He usually does whenever he’s home. You okay with that? He said you’d thrown him out of the shop when he went to see you.’

‘A bit of an exaggeration, but that was always one of Theo’s charming quirks. I didn’t throw him out.’

‘Oh, Callie, it’s so good to hear your accent’s back when you’re hyped up over Theo!’

‘I’m not hyped up over Theo, Nessa.’

‘Okay. What’ll you have to drink?’

‘I’ll have a vodka martini.’

‘Sure.’

Callie waited whilst Nessa pushed her way to the bar and returned with their drinks.

‘What’s this?’

‘Pint of Theakston’s Best Bitter.’

‘But I asked for…’

‘We used to drink this stuff by the gallon, remember?’

‘Yes, but I… Oh, never mind.’ Callie took a sip and ran her tongue over her lips. It was delicious – golden, yeasty, fresh – and she swallowed a long draught, wiping the froth from her upper lip with the back of her hand.

‘Now we see her! The old Callie-Louise Henshaw is back with us again!’ exclaimed Seb, drawing her into a squeeze and dropping a kiss on her forehead. ‘Callie, I’m so pleased you decided to stay on for a few weeks.’

‘Hey, Callie! Great to see you.’ Archie rested his snooker cue against the table and strode round to envelop her in his arms. ‘Missed you, darling. We all do. It’s just like old times. Well, it will be when…’

‘So, Callie…’ Nessa guided her away from a trip down Archie’s Memory Lane to a bashed copper table in the corner of the snug next to a museum-standard display of Gavin’s best horse brasses and Toby jugs. ‘I hear you’ve decided to sell Gingerberry? Is it really true?’

‘Did I hear you right?’ asked Archie, who had edged round the table to take his next shot. ‘You’re selling up? You’re leaving again? Aren’t we your friends any more, Callie?’

‘Of course you are, Archie.’ But she couldn’t quite meet his accusatory stare.

Another pint arrived and Callie gulped half down in one go. The unfamiliar dose of alcohol was working very nicely at erasing the sharp edges of the local pub. Good grief, she thought, what was Archie doing here, anyway? Why wasn’t he living it up in the nightspots of London or Manchester? He was the bass guitarist in one of the most successful bands in Britain at the moment. Hell, The Razorclaws were lucky enough to be booked to perform at the wedding of the decade. If they weren’t in demand now, they certainly would be after that. Jealous? Her? Yes!

‘I’m so sorry about Hannah, Callie. I loved her, too. We didn’t get a chance to talk much at her funeral. How are you holding up?’ asked Nessa.

She saw her childhood friend study her over the rim of her pint glass, casting a worried glance over her scrawny frame. They’d been exactly the same build at school, but now Nessa possessed the taut, muscular silhouette of a sports instructor as well as the rosy glow of health and vigour achieved by spending her days on the hockey field with eleven adolescent girls. Securing her position as their old high school’s gym teacher was a dream come true for Nessa.

‘Oh, well, you know, I’m doing okay, I suppose.’

The scene was a replica of their adolescent dialogues – the welcoming atmosphere of the Fox and Hounds, a ready supply of beer and her friend’s soothing words – it was the balm to cure many a teenage heartache. But with the empty space in her heart her aunt had inhabited, Callie doubted any amount of Theakston’s Best Bitter would heal the trauma she was experiencing at that moment. The aroma of Chanel Cristal, Nessa’s favourite perfume, and the sympathy oozing from her oldest friend conjured up the pain-lashed memories of the last few weeks and caused hot tears to flow down her cheeks.

‘I miss her so much, Nessa. I was a useless niece. I’ve hardly been home in the last three years. Too engrossed in my selfish ambitions, thinking I could run with the pack of celebrity wedding gown designers. Now I’m a true orphan.’ Her grief resumed; raw and violent.

‘You are not useless, Callie.’ Nessa’s habitually jolly face, strewn with freckles, reflected the pain she herself was suffering.

Callie saw her friend sweep her eyes over her hair, usually as glossy as liquid tar, but which today hung flat and dull, her fringe skimming her spidery lashes and in need of a salon’s attention. She knew she looked a mess. Dark triangular smudges had lodged themselves beneath her eyes that no amount of foundation could disguise, not that she had tried; she sported not a scrap of make-up. What was the point?

‘I am, Nessa. Not only as a niece, but as a cousin’ – she shot a glance across to where Seb and Archie were studiously avoiding looking in their direction – ‘and as a friend. And I might as well add as a fashion designer, too. You heard, didn’t you? Delia is this village’s one-woman Twitter feed.’

Nessa nodded, her amber lashes sparkling with empathic tears, but she knew Nessa was not going to stand aside whilst she slipped into self-obsessed oblivion.

‘Yes, I heard, but it’s not the end of the world, Cal. So you didn’t make it to the pinnacle of the pile this time, but you
did
make it to the shortlist. That, my girl, is a fantastic achievement and one which two hundred and fifty others would have died to achieve. Your aunt was so proud of your talents.’

‘Oh, Ness, all I want to do now is sell the shop and slink back to my old life, hide in the familiar routine of eighteen-hour days and as little contact with the outside world as I can get away with. Is that so awful?’ Callie paused to blow her dripping nose on the tissue offered by Nessa and take a gulp of her beer. She managed to pull herself together and produce a weak smile. ‘My plan is to block out my grief in a whirlwind of crazy schedules, deadlines and prenuptial angst.’

The evening passed in a swirl of shared memories, snippets of recent gossip and several more pints of beer. After a while Callie began to relax and enjoy herself. She even managed to giggle at one of the stories Nessa told her about dating a guy from the golf club who had helped her to ‘improve her swing’.

‘Ah, I see Little Miss Dior has decided to grace us with her presence. Thought you couldn’t wait to get back down to the bright lights of the big city? What are you still doing here loitering in the dull Yorkshire backwater that you used to call home? Oh, is that beer? I thought designers of bridal couture only drank vodka martini – stirred not shaken, if you please?’

‘Theo…’ cautioned Nessa.

‘It’s okay, Ness. Hi, Theo. I’ve decided to stay up here for a few weeks to sort out some of my aunt’s things and then, yes, you’re right, I’ll be gone.’

‘So, I did hear right. You
are
selling the shop. Why are you so keen to permanently erase any memories of your past, Cal? Do I take it from your change of heart that you failed to win the coveted wedding gown competition?’

Callie felt warmth flood her face, but it was accompanied by a flash of white hot anger.

‘What business is it of yours, Theo? We’re not a couple any more. You don’t know what I’ve got going on in my life!’

‘I know you left your friends behind to pursue your dreams without so much as a backward glance. What sort of person would do that?’

‘One who was betrayed by her boyfriend!’

Theo held her eyes for a moment, his irises glinting silver with resentment. ‘You know, Callie, I’m tired of you throwing that golden nugget in my face every time we meet.’

Callie felt Nessa squeeze her arm.

‘I did not betray you, Callie, but you betrayed your friends. These wonderful people’ – Theo cast his hand around to include Seb, Archie and finally Nessa – ‘who loved you and whom you hurt badly when you left in a fit of fury to focus on your ambitions in London.’

Callie met Nessa’s moss-green eyes and a coil of guilt wound through her veins. She opened her mouth to reply but Theo was still speaking.

‘I may have made a mistake, but at least I know who my friends are. I would never treat them with the disdain you have by eradicating them from my life, only returning when I
have
to and only staying long enough to extinguish every connection I had with my childhood.’

Theo slammed down his half-finished pint on the green baize of the snooker table and strode from the pub, his long stride assisting in his speedy exit.

Nessa patted Callie’s hand as Seb and Archie wound in their necks, closed their mouths and set up another game of snooker.

‘He went crazy when you left, Cal,’ Nessa whispered.

‘I find that hard to believe. He had an army of star-struck young girls buzzing around him like bees to a honey pot. I’m sure he forgot about me straight away.’

‘He went looking for you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘To London.’

‘Theo came to London?’

‘Yes. Of course, Hannah respected your wishes and refused to divulge your address. But she loved Theo as much as she loved you and Seb and Dom. She struggled with your decision to cut Theo from your life. He didn’t know where you were, but he went anyway.’

‘I never saw him.’

‘He didn’t say much when he got back. We didn’t ask, either. He threw every last crumb of his energy into making The Razorclaws a success. As you know, they’d just signed their recording contract so they were caught up in a mad frenzy of songwriting, recording and touring. But Callie, he always loved you. Theo without Callie by his side took some getting used to for all of us. He still loves you.’

‘No, he doesn’t.’

Nessa studied her. ‘Have you been over to pay your respects to your parents since you’ve been back?’

‘Oh, Ness, you know how hard that is for me.’

‘Come on.’ Nessa drained her pint and linked her arm through Callie’s. She nodded across to Seb and Archie and guided her friend out of the pub.

The night sky was swathed in velvety blackness with scant pinpricks of scattered stars. The cool, fresh air sharpened Callie’s senses and she loved the feeling of having Nessa so close to her. For a moment she felt like she’d never left Allthorpe. They were still the two mischievous teenagers making their way to sit on the wall of Reverend Coulson’s churchyard to exchange secrets, divulge confidences, sneak sips from a bottle of cider and giggle at the childish antics of Theo, Seb, Archie and Dominic. Boys, eh?

‘I’d forgotten how beautiful it is here. Seems I forgot a lot of things, not just Theo.’

Why hadn’t she come back home more often after she’d left? Even if it was just to snatch a weekend with Nessa. Why hadn’t she insisted more firmly that Nessa come down to stay with her in the flat above her boutique in Pimlico during the school holidays more often? Suggest they take in a show or a concert or the rugby cup final – Nessa adored rugby; well, all sports really.