Cally shook her head. ‘Me? God no! I have ballet flats, boots and a few pairs of past-their-best trainers. Nope, I’ll need to geta new pair of heels. I need everything new! Which is why I’m panicking. It’s going to dent my savings and then some.’
‘Okay, so we’re looking for a dress, a hat, and shoes. We can do this. Have you got any ideas where to shop?’
‘No.’
‘You should go somewhere nice. Start early, have a nice lunch, and make a day of it.’
‘Yeah, maybe.’
‘Show me the invitation again.’
Cally pulled the invitation from her bag and held it up to the camera. ‘Here it is. The races, sponsored by Lovely Manor. It’s all very fancy.’
Eloise examined the invitation on the screen. ‘Very fancy indeed. Leave it to me. We’ll go somewhere nice and come back with the whole thing done and dusted. Make a day of it. Honestly, don’t stress.’
‘I hope you’re right. Yes, okay we’ll organise something.’
Eloise nodded. ‘Trust me, I’m a doctor.’
‘No, you’re not.’
‘I know. Sounds good, though.’
Cally wasn’t quite as sure. The closer it got, the less and less she fancied the races at all.
8
Acouple of days or so later and after another particularly long and gruelling chatbot shift, Cally made herself a cup of hot blackcurrant, ran a very deep bath, poured in a long stream of bubble bath under the tap, sloshed a measure of gin in her drink for good measure, dropped her clothes on the bathroom floor and lowered herself down in the water. Nice.
Up to her neck in posh bubbles bought for her by Logan, she sipped on the alcoholic blackcurrant and googled what to wear to the races. She skimmed the first ten entries and then swallowed and re-checked the invitation. So much for worrying about what to wear. The dress code was so tight there wasn’t much room for manoeuvre. There would be no fascinator in the enclosure Cally would be entering. The dress code wasthatstrict that it only allowed hats, and not any old hats either, but hats of a certain diameter. Ditto the length of one's skirt. Clicking on the second search result Cally looked at the pictures of what outfits were suitable and which were very much not. She ran her eyes down the list of prohibited outfits and let out a strange blow of air through a weird, crooked shape in her mouth. Yikes.
Sinking deeper into the fragrant bubbles with steam rising around her in spirals she learned all about the ins and outsof what was acceptable to wear to the prestigious event she didn’t really give a stuff about going to. The glow of her phone illuminated her face as she scrolled through it in the odd little cramped bathroom, with its slightly chipped tiles and dated fixtures, which seemed a world away from the glamour and prestige of what she was reading about.
She took another sip of her blackcurrant and gin concoction, wincing slightly at its strength and as she delved deeper into the strict dress code, her eyes widened and she shook her head. The list of requirements seemed endless: dresses and skirts of modest length falling just above the knee or longer; no shoulder straps or of at least one inch in width; jackets and pashminas could be worn, but the dress had to comply with the rules. And then there were the hats - proper hats with a solid base of four inches or more in diameter. No fascinators allowed whatsoever.
Cally let out another weird, windy groan, her head tilting back to rest against the edge of the tub. The ceiling above her had a small patch of mould in the corner, a stark contrast to the opulence she was reading about. Not for the first time, she found herself wondering if she truly belonged in Logan's world.
The water began to cool, and Cally reached out with her toes to turn on the hot tap, careful not to splash her phone as she plonked her leg back in. As the steaming water poured in, she scrolled further, her heart sinking with each thing she read. The enclosure, she discovered, as Penny, Nancy’s neighbour, had said, was invitation only. It wasn't simply a matter of rocking up, buying a ticket, and dressing up a bit to make yourself look fancy. Oh no, this was a world of tradition, of unspoken rules and social nuances. Cally already felt uppity about the situation, now her nerves hadquadrupled.She feared she might never fully grasp any of the stuff she was reading about. She pictured herself surrounded by the crème de la crème of British society. Not really her cup of tea at all.
Putting her phone down on the bath caddy, she watched as a droplet of water rolled down the side of the bath and then took another swig of her drink hoping it might quell the growing unease in her stomach. It didn’t do anything of the sort.
Sitting up, her hazy reflection, partially fogged from the steam, caught her eye in the mirror. She saw herself and shook her head. She was so far from one of the polished, sophisticated women she'd just read about, it wasn’t even funny. With her baby-blonde fuzzy hair piled messily on top of her head, face free of makeup, surrounded by bubbles in a bathtub that had seen better days, polished was not a word that sprung to mind. How could she possibly fit in and move in the circles of Logan's world? Not only that, was she interested? Not in the slightest.
She thought back to their first meeting, how charmed she'd been by his confidence and easy manner. Logan had swept her off her feet, introducing her to a life she'd not only never seen but not even glimpsed from afar. Fancy restaurants, weekend getaways to picturesque countryside hotels, and now, going to the races dressed up to the nines had not been on her radar in any shape or form. It had all seemed a bit like a fairy tale at first, but sitting in her bath, in the flat above the deli, Cally did not now feel like Cinderella. Rather, she felt woefully unprepared andwayout of her depth.
The dress code swam before her eyes as she picked up her phone again. Formal daywear, it insisted. Dresses and skirts of modest length. Trouser suits permitted, but must be full-length and of matching material and colour. No culottes, no shorts, no off-the-shoulder, halter neck, spaghetti straps, or strapless dresses. The list seemed to go on and on forever. So many do’s and don’ts. A multitude of things to get wrong.
She sank lower in the bath, letting the warm water lap at her chin and tried to picture herself in one of the outfits she'd seen: a fitted dress to her calf in a pastel shade, a wide-brimmedmatching hat perched, carefully styled hair. A square peg in a round hole. Turning heads for all the wrong reasons.
The doubts that had been simmering beneath the surface for ages that she’d been able to squash now bubbled up with renewed vigour. She shook her head. Was she really cut out for this life? Would she ever truly fit into Logan's world, with its unspoken rules and expectations that everyone else would clearly just know, having been brought up with it all? And more importantly, did she want to?
Cally looked around at the shabby little bathroom, which wasn’t even hers. It was more her world: unpretentious, lived-in, real, and a bit raggedy around the edges. Topping up with a bit more fresh, hot water, she inhaled deeply. The scent of the expensive bubble bath Logan had bought her filled her nostrils. Even that, she realised, was a reminder of the world she was trying to adapt to. A world of luxury and excess, where even something as simple as bath products came with a hefty price tag and an air of exclusivity. She now circulated with people who had rooms full of hats.
She sighed and decided to change her narrative otherwise she’d end up driving herself around the twist. She needed to flip the way she was thinking. Yes, the dress code was daunting. Yes, the thought of mingling with the upper echelons of society was intimidating. Yes, she wasn’t really that interested. But she decided to look at it in a different way. Let it in and see where it would take her. If she met it head-on, she might, in fact, enjoy it. See what doors opened. If Cinderella could do it, why couldn't she? She was about to find out.
9
Two days later, Cally had thought a lot about the races. On the one hand, she was all over the show, but on the other, she’d decided that, for once in her life, she would take the bull by the horns and go all-in in her preparation and actually try to make the run-up a good thing. Cinderella would, in fact, scrub herself up and jolly well go to the ball. Not only that, if it was the last thing she did, she was going to enjoy it.
