‘Thank you. It’s a work in progress,’ says Laurel.
Haf walks to the rack of clothes and looks through them. There’s all sorts of clothes here – lots of dresses in all kinds, of fabrics and styles, tailored trousers and matching suit jackets, even jeans. On the other side of the room, there’s a section that appears to just be athleisure wear, just like the set Laurel is wearing.
‘Wait, did you make all of this?’ she asks, hoping she sounds more impressed than surprised.
‘Oh yeah, this is an old prototype,’ she says, gesturing to the outfit she’s wearing. ‘It took a little time, but I’ve finessed the design a little since then – it needed more support in the boobs and the leggings needed redrafting, not enough give in the seams. You’ll see when I bend down, they pull a bit too much.’
‘They are amazing. You could sell those. I’d buy them, especially if they could restrain these lads,’ she says, pointing at her chest.
‘That’s the plan, one day maybe,’ she says, wandering to the desk where there are pencils, paper and chalk strewn everywhere. ‘Anyway, I picked out some pattern ideas from what I already had drafted, but I can mix and match and adjust and hopefully we can find something you like. I hope you don’t think I’m presumptuous, but I guessed that you were probably wearing about a size twenty?’
Laurel is, of course, absolutely correct.
‘That’s a cool and slightly terrifying skill,’ Haf says, impressed.
‘I know.’ She snorts. ‘I can do bra size at three paces too.’
Haf covers her chest with her hands, and they both laugh.
‘Anyway, I can grade the pattern to your measurements but it’s always a good start to know a rough dress size.’
Laurel beckons her over to her computer where she’s made a mood board of images of girls wearing dresses. But not just any girls; they’re all fat. And they all look killer.
‘I wanted to pick models who were similar shapes to you, so you could get a good idea of what the shape might look like on you.’
‘Wow, thank you,’ says Haf. ‘That’s really thoughtful. The thing I hate most is when they only ever show you what it looks like on...’
‘Skinny people like me. God, don’t I know it. As a designer I find it utterly reductive. The average size in the UK is a sixteen, for fuck’s sake. Imagine not catering to all those fabulous fit people.’
‘Okay, it’s official. I like you.’
Laurel beams.
All the dresses are dramatic and beautiful. ‘God, I don’t know where to start. They’re all so beautiful. Normally for things like this I usually ask my flatmate Ambrose to help me decide. They have a great sense of style.’
‘Wait... You don’t mean,’ Laurel says, pulling up her Instagram and turning it to Haf. On the screen is Ambrose, lots of little Ambroses in different outfits, leaning against beautiful York backgrounds and looking effortlessly fashionable.
‘Oh yeah, that’s them. Ambrose Liew.’
Laurel screeches. It’s quite alarming, and Haf is just about to ask her if she’s okay, when Laurel starts speaking at high speed.‘I can’t believe you not only know butlivewith Ambrose! They are like one of my style icons! I am obsessed with their take on androgyny and femininity and changing up the game on what people expect non-binary people to wear!’ She is so excited and fangirly that Haf can’t help but like her more. Every time she meets Laurel, it feels like she finds a whole new piece of her.
‘Oh my God, please make them be my friend,’ she says with complete seriousness.
Of course, Haf logically knew that Ambrose was kind of a big deal in the influencer fashion world. PR packages regularly arrived at the house, and they sometimes did photoshoots together along the river – luckily her parents had bought her a nice camera years ago for birdwatching and field work, and it came in useful when Ambrose needed to shoot something quickly.
Obviously, she knew Ambrose was cool. After all, that’s pretty much why she couldn’t really believe that they were friends. It was kind of nice to know other people realised how cool they were too.
‘Erm, we could just ring them?’ Haf says. ‘Get their opinion and you can talk to them.’
‘Oh my God. We can’t!’ Laurel blanches, and then coyly adds, ‘Can we?’
‘I’m going to call them,’ she says, stepping out the room. Haf swears she hears Laurel mutter something about changing her clothes.
‘What have you done now?’
‘Nothing! I’ve done nothing! Also normal people usually answer with “hello” by the way.’
‘Sweetie, I’m not going to take advice on normality from you. So, what did you do?’
