‘Okay! I get it. I think I know how it ends.’
‘You can’t!’ Natasha shook her head vigorously. ‘I haven’t made up the ending yet.’
‘Well, as enjoyable as it was, shall we carry on with the fitting? Leona’s babysitting for me. I don’t want to leave her for too long. It might put her off having them again.’
Rosa shuffled Marilyn in front of the mirror I’d carried downstairs. Marilyn gasped at the incredible reflection, letting go of the top of the dress to get a proper look. As she did, the dress slipped right off her to the floor. She carried on staring into the mirror, for once dumbfounded.
‘Looks like those training sessions have been making a difference.’ I grinned. ‘It almost makes four hours a week with the torture twins worth it.’
‘I thought my scales had gone doolally.’
‘How much have you lost?’
‘Nearly three stone. Look at me. I have muscles. And a waist. I look… strong!’
‘You look fabulous.’
‘But you must have seen in the mirror?’ Catherine asked. ‘Or noticed that your clothes didn’t fit?’
‘If you got four hours’ sleep a night, were covered in stretch marks, and brushed your hair once a week, you wouldn’t look in a mirror, either. I’ve spent the past year in leggings and tracksuit bottoms. I knew I’d lost something. Even if it was just the gallons of sweat Anton wrings out of me. But. I look…’ She sniffed. ‘Hooten tooten. I look almost normal.’
‘Normal?’ Rosa shook her head in indignation. ‘No such thing. From the day you walked into the Grace Chapel Choir, you were extraordinary, Size or shape has nothing to do with it.’
‘Your dress is extraordinary.’ Marilyn pulled it back up. ‘I’m just grateful that for the first time in forever, I recognise the woman staring back at me. I know outward appearances shouldn’t matter, but it’s like I’d lost myself underneath all those nappies and bibs, and this shows that I’m finding Marilyn again.’
Natasha and Catherine’s dresses were perfect fits. Both ‘dusty aqua’ as planned. On the bottom seam of Natasha’s, Rosa had embroidered tiny shells, some pointy, some curled like snails, all in a mix of palest pink, mother of pearl and coral. Catherine’s shimmered with starfish, each only a few centimetres long. Deep red, gold and copper, they swam along the bottom of her skirt and the edges of her capped sleeves.
Rosa’s creations were like nothing I’d seen before. Magnificent. Alluring and innocent at the same time.
I looked at those stunning girls, hair sleek and shiny, fresh-faced and glowing, the dress fabric flowing over every curve like water. Steeling myself, I unzipped the climate-control garment bag in one swift movement, releasing the repaired Ghost Web. Only it wasn’t the Ghost Web. Soft, light fabric spilled out of the opening, an antique cream in the sense of antique being beautiful and timeless, not your mother-in-law’s horrible old dress.
‘It is Nottingham Lace,’ Rosa said, lifting the dress out of the bag. ‘I get it cheap from a woman in the paper.’
‘Where’s the Ghost Web?’
She sniffed, jerking her head in the direction of the last carrier bag.
‘Is it repaired?’
‘Yes. And altered to fit. I took some material off the bottom and inserted it into the bodice. It is still the ugliest item of clothing I ever saw. I disinfect my hands after touching that dress. Then I had big glass of vodka and sewed many butterfliesto clean up my brain. But here, you try this dress first. Then decide.’
I tried on Rosa’s dress. The top half was covered in Nottingham Lace, the bottom plain silk. I felt like a movie star from the 1940s. Understated elegance, my curves an asset, not a liability, to be celebrated rather than hidden. I felt beautiful. And unlike in the lovely dresses from the bridal shop, I felt like me.
‘Do you see the flowers?’
It was hard to find them through my blurry vision, but I did find three rows of daisies winding along the bottom of the hem, in keeping with the embroidery on the bridesmaids’ dresses.
‘My favourite flowers.’ They always made me think of the summer days when I was a teenager and Sam came to visit.
‘Yes. I heard you telling Melody. And, see, each row is different.’
They were. On the top row, the flowers were in bud, the second row were partly open, and the third in full bloom. And in amongst the flowers were tiny butterflies, shells and starfish.
‘You open up, Faith, like a flower. I even see you smile now, sometimes. Once or twice, shoulders relaxing. This dress tell your story. Like Marilyn’s dress tell her story – change from caterpillar to butterfly. Natasha like pretty shell – nice outside protect squishy inside, to stop heart get broken again.’
‘What?’ Natasha splurted out a mouthful of coffee.
‘Catherine’s dress tell her story. You chop off starfish arm, it grow back again. Catherine had difficult things happen, take away part of her that mattered most. Still Catherine, but new Catherine. More careful now, wiser and watching what really happening. Still a star.’
