“Hi.” I find her at the sewing machine. Doing something that looks like magic to me.
Lavender fabric glides through her fingers like a gleaming river. She doesn’t look up at me as she speaks. Too focused on her work. “Eat your breakfast. Porridge and banana fritters. Rich in fiber and potassium. It’ll give you energy for the day ahead.” She laughs to herself. “You sound just like your mother, Lily.”
“Thanks.” I sit. Taste. The porridge is so hot it burns the roof of my mouth. I don’t show or even feel displeasure. I’m too happy. She seems to have spiced the porridge with turmeric. The flavor reminds me of being a child in Persia. That smell always traveled from the kitchens of my homeland. “What are you making?”
“A dress for some rich girl’s sixteenth birthday party, which will be held on some polo ground somewhere in the countryside, where the attendees would be horrified to find out whose hands made the birthday girl’s dress.” She continues sewing as she speaks. “Just what I dreamed of when I graduated fashion school.”
“They can’t be so horrified if they hire you.” I’m trying to raise her spirits.
She throws me a quick side-eye. Doesn’t stop sewing. “They don’t hire me, silly. You think the earls and dukes of the world are going to do business with me?”
“I’m sorry—I thought...” I put some food in my mouth to stop myself from putting my foot in it again.
“There’s a posh girl I went to school with who takes the orders. Cordelia Biddlecombe, but her friends call her Biddie.” She threads the sewing machine.
“What do you call her?”
“I call her Lady Cordelia.” She giggles. “Her family owns this place. Rent comes out of my pay.”
“So she doesn’t pay you?”
“She does. A tiny fraction of her price to do the work.”
“Oh.” I put a banana fritter into my mouth. Enjoy the fried sweetness.
“Beats working in a garment factory. I get to play my music. Use the leftover fabric to create beauty.”
“Still doesn’t seem fair.”
“Life isn’t fair. Sooner you realize that the better off you’ll be. But...” She stops sewing. Looks at me with a funny sort of pride in her eyes. She pulls the collar of my blazer up. Brushes my shaggy hair off my face with her long fingernails. “You know what, my menswear isn’t as bad as I remember.”
“Bad? I’ve never felt sharper.”
She shrugs. “Maybe I just hate men.” A beat. “No, no, I don’t hate men. Sadly, I love them. But why do they have to be such bloody twats so much of the time?”
“Did you want me to answer that, on behalf of all men?”
She laughs. “You’re not even a man yet. You’re a boy.”
She’s right. I’m still just a boy. Still full of the same angst. Same longing. Perhaps it wasn’t just my body that was frozen in time by those burning pages. Perhaps it was my mind too. My soul. My spirit. “You said life isn’t fair,but... What’s thebut?”
She takes a moment to gather her thoughts. In the background,Donna sings.Queen for a day. Queen for a night. Dressed head to toe. So you’d never know it’s me.Lily takes my hand in hers. “But it’s stilllife, and isn’t life the greatest gift God can give us?”
“I—” I don’t know how to answer that.
“Yes, it’s unfair that I’m the best damn designer in London and I have to make these dumb party dresses for the daughters of Tories, but it’s not all I do. I make dresses for the real queens of England. I help them transform into the creatures they always dreamed themselves to be.” She squints. “Boy, do you know your eyes glow like neon?”
“Oh.” I feel self-conscious. “Only sometimes. It’s strange. Some people think it’s frightening. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize for being unique.” She looks at my empty bowl. “You done?”
I nod. She picks up the bowl.
“I can clean it.” I’m not just being polite. I’m trying to find a reason to stay longer. “I can clean all of this. Help you organize. I’m good at that, and this place is a...”
“I know what it is.” She laughs. “I know it looks like a tornado passed through here just last night.”
“I could use a job. I could be your assistant.”
