by Emma Davies
‘Oh, okay – thanks.’ Hattie had the look of someone not entirely comfortable with the hard-sell approach.
Lucy swiftly held out her hand to retrieve the poster. ‘Actually, that was just an excuse to come and talk to you. Sorry, hope you don’t mind?’ She stood up, flexing her legs from their cramped position.
Hattie moved over slightly on the sofa. ‘Sounds mysterious,’ she said, as Lucy sat down next to her.
‘It’s worse,’ replied Lucy. ‘I have a favour to ask… well, not really. I just wanted to talk to you about an idea I’d had.’
Hattie looked at her expectantly.
‘I wondered if you might be able to help?’
‘Go on…’
‘Just that I’ve had Lia on my mind a bit lately—’ She broke off when she saw the surprise on Hattie’s face. ‘The lady from the book club?’ she added.
‘Yes, I know who you mean. It’s funny; she’s been on my mind too.’
‘Oh.’ Lucy didn’t know quite what to say.
Hattie grinned. ‘Go on, you first,’ she said.
Lucy took a deep breath, feeling slightly more encouraged. ‘I had some brochures come through in the week,’ she said, ‘from one of the local dance schools. They have classes starting next week, and I thought it would be brilliant if we could somehow make it possible for Lia to go. Things are pretty tough for her at the moment and when I heard what she said at the book club it… I don’t know, but it struck a chord with me.’
‘I thought the same!’ exclaimed Hattie. ‘We went for a walk afterwards and I said she should think seriously about learning to dance. I didn’t know about the classes, though. Have you spoken to Lia about them?’
Lucy nodded.
‘Was she keen? I know getting someone to look after her mum is an issue for her, but I’m sure we could work something out.’
‘That was my thought too, but to be honest she didn’t seem that smitten with the idea. I think she’s really nervous. I don’t suppose she goes out much, if at all, and she did mention that she wouldn’t have anyone to go with.’
‘Yes, that was my impression too, and I…’ Hattie trailed off, and Lucy caught the exact moment the penny dropped. ‘You want me to go with her?’ she asked incredulously. ‘I’m not being funny, Lucy, but have you looked at me lately? I’m not really built for dancing. I mean, Lia is, isn’t she? She’s so elegant – I can picture her sweeping around a ballroom, her long hair piled up, the curve of her neck, skirts swaying…’ She broke off and stared at her friend. ‘You’ve just given me a brilliant idea!’ She looked at her watch, and shrugged apologetically. ‘I’ve got to go, or I won’t get there today. Come on Poppy, sweetheart, time to go. We can take that book if you like and look at it later.’ She turned back to Lucy. ‘Would that be all right?’ She stood up, taking her daughter’s hand.
Lucy found herself looking up at Hattie in astonishment. ‘Yes, of course.’ She scrambled to her feet. ‘I’ll come and issue it for you.’
Moments later Lucy was staring at Hattie’s retreating back in bewilderment.
‘I’ll let you know how I get on!’ she called as she disappeared through the door.
* * *
Hattie stood beside the row of shops and looked up and down the street, and then, with one hand firmly in her daughter’s and the other clutching a large carrier bag, she turned resolutely left.
It took a couple of tries before she got the right house, but as Lia had said, she had lived there her whole life, and while the first door Hattie knocked on belonged to a couple who had only just moved in, the people next to them knew Lia well and pointed out the right house to Hattie.
She was a little thrown when a woman considerably older than herself opened the door, until she was offered a warm smile and asked, ‘Are you looking for Lia, love?’ When Hattie nodded, the door was opened a little wider. ‘Come on in. I’m Gwen, one of the carers. I help look after her mum.’
Hattie stepped into the dowdy hallway, feeling her daughter tug nervously at her hand. ‘I can come back another time if it’s not convenient,’ she said. ‘I didn’t tell Lia I was coming.’
Instead Gwen held out a hand towards Poppy. ‘It’s fine,’ she said, ‘no need. I was just making tea if you’d like some, or squash perhaps, and there’s biscuits…’ She let the sentence dangle enticingly in the air. ‘Lia’s upstairs, but I don’t suppose she’ll be long.’
She led the way down the narrow corridor, past the stairs and through to a small kitchen at the back. There was just enough room for a small table and chairs.
‘Pop yourselves here a minute, and I’ll go and let Lia know you’ve come.’ She pulled out one of the chairs and Hattie had no choice but to sit down; there was scarcely room to pass otherwise. Poppy climbed onto her knee.
‘Mummy, it smells funny,’ she whispered.
Hattie buried her head in her daughter’s hair. ‘I know, sweetheart,’ she murmured. ‘But a friend of mine lives here, so we’re not going to say anything, okay?’
Poppy nodded, and laid her head back against her mum’s chest.
Hattie put her bag on the table, the only clear surface she could see. She should never have come; she hated it herself when people turned up unannounced and she hadn’t had the time to tidy away Poppy’s things, or the pile of ironing, but this was different. It was as if she had stepped back in time for a moment. Nothing in this house looked as if it had been touched since the 1970s: the smoke-stained ceiling, the lurid carpeted floors, the dull marked paintwork. It was everything that Lia was not, and Hattie wondered if her presence here might embarrass her new friend.
There were footsteps in the hallway and Hattie hoped that it was Gwen returning. She could make her excuses and go, saying she would catch up with Lia another time, but when the figure stepped into the room, it was Lia, wearing a dressing gown, her hair wrapped in a towel.
‘Hattie! This is a lovely surprise. I thought it must be you,’ she said, smiling. ‘I don’t think I know anyone else with young children.’
‘I’m sorry, Lia. I probably should have phoned to say I was coming instead of bursting in on you like this. It was a bit of a spur-of-the-moment thing.’
Lia flicked a glance around the room, looking as if she was going to say something and then changed her mind. Instead she shrugged. ‘Don’t worry. As long as you can stand me looking like this, I don’t mind in the slightest. I’ve just had the most glorious shower. Stood there for ages.’ She grimaced. ‘I don’t always get the chance to have one uninterrupted,’ she added.
Hattie smiled in sympathy. It wasn’t that long ago that she had revelled in the luxury of going to the loo by herself without the company of her daughter.
‘It’s crazy, isn’t it, the things you long for?’
Lia nodded. ‘Gwen will be off soon, but at least tonight I can get into bed feeling clean. I’m usually so exhausted by the time I get there, I just fall in. The morning isn’t much better either – a thirty-second blast under lukewarm water and that’s the extent of my beauty routine for the day.’
Hattie glanced at the clock on the wall. She didn’t have that much time either, and she wanted the chance to talk to Lia properly, without interruption. ‘I brought something over for you that I thought you might like,’ she said, pulling the carrier bag towards her. ‘But I don’t just want to leave it with you. Have you got time to look at it while I’m here? I’d like to explain why I brought it.’
Lia pulled slightly on the belt of her dressing gown, and eyed the bag suspiciously, almost as if she guessed what was inside.
‘That sounds a trifle mysterious,’ she said. ‘But we can go up to my room, if you like? It’s rather more… well, I’ll show you.’
Poppy wriggled off Hattie’s lap, and looked up at Lia, her eyes large. Bedrooms were where the toys usually were; at least they were in her friends’ houses. Hattie smiled at her daughter’s eagerness to explore. It must be a trait she had inherited from her father. Being adventurous wa
s certainly not in Hattie’s nature.
‘Will Poppy be all right coming too? She won’t touch anything,’ she said, thinking of the trinkets in her own bedroom which held such precious sentimental value.
But Lia simply smiled. ‘Of course she can… In fact, I think I might have something that Poppy would like to play with.’
The garish carpet stretched the whole length of the hallway, up the stairs and along the landing, the threads wearing thin in places. It wasn’t that the house was in any way dirty, in fact as Hattie followed Lia up to her room she could see that the place was spotless, it was just very, very tired and dated. A little depressing, even. It made the sight that met Hattie’s eyes when Lia opened her bedroom door even more surprising.
She stood in the doorway, rooted to the spot for a moment, doing her utmost to keep her mouth shut for fear of saying the wrong thing. In the end, she said nothing, but the snort of laughter that burst from Lia’s lips let her know that her expression was something she hadn’t quite been able to control.
‘It’s a little different from downstairs, isn’t it?’ said Lia, amused.
Hattie stared around her at the pale lemon walls, the thick cream carpet and the pearlescent delicacy of the duck egg blue furnishings. It was quite the prettiest room Hattie had ever seen. It was feminine, but not overly frilly or flounced, neither was it filled with accessories. Everything was calm and ordered, of the utmost taste and elegance. This was the room where Lia could, for a little moment every day, just be herself.
‘It’s my little haven,’ she declared. ‘My calm against the storm, and the rest of the house which is so pug ugly…’
Hattie couldn’t help the giggle from escaping. ‘It’s not that bad,’ she protested, ‘not really.’ It seemed the polite thing to say.
‘It is,’ said Lia. ‘It’s bloody awful, and don’t try and deny it. But I only have so much money… and so I chose to spend it here. Some people might think me selfish, but—’
‘It’s not selfish, Lia,’ interrupted Hattie. ‘I’d say it’s a necessity.’
‘I like to think it stops me from rocking in my own corner,’ she said, and shrugged.
There really was no point beating about the bush, thought Hattie. Gallows humour it might be, but for Lia there was probably no other way to make it through the day.
She watched as she crossed over to a small armchair in the corner of the room. She lifted up a doll that lay there and brought it over for Poppy.
‘She’s my Angelina Ballerina,’ she said. ‘I’ve had her since I was a little girl so she’s looking a little sorry for herself now, but if you’re careful you can play with her if you’d like.’
Poppy took the doll with wide eyes, cradling it to herself reverently. She smiled a shy thank you.
Hattie watched her daughter for a minute, touched at Lia’s generosity. Once she was reassured that Poppy was treating the doll with the respect that it deserved, she turned back to Lia who was still standing in the middle of the room, an expectant expression on her face.
She held out the carrier bag in front of her. ‘I brought this for you,’ she said. ‘I’m pretty sure it will fit.’
Lia eyed the bag a little suspiciously before taking it and laying it on the bed.
‘It’s not new, I’m afraid – it’s one I made a few years ago, but it’s been stored inside a cover. I never knew what to do with it really, but now I think I might have found the perfect home for it.’
Her heart began to beat a little faster as nerves bubbled up inside her. She didn’t want Lia to be offended in any way and watched carefully for her reaction.
The dress was wrapped in tissue paper and it took Lia a few moments to shake it free of the folds. The instant her hands touched the soft silk her eyes widened and she hastened to uncover the deep pink roses that were peeping out. Eventually she was able to lift the material free and Hattie heard the intake of breath as she held the dress close to her in delight.
She stood up straighter, allowing the skirt to fall and settle around her, its hem just skimming her knees. Lia looked up in wonder and Hattie could see her piecing together all the possibilities this dress represented, imagining what it might look like if she were to wear it, and how it might make her feel. It was a million miles away from her dressing gown and towel, and Hattie could see from Lia’s face that this was the dress of her dreams.
‘You made this?’ she whispered. ‘It’s… beautiful.’ She looked down at the swirl of the fabric up against her and then back at Hattie. ‘But why did you bring it here?’
Hattie ignored the question. ‘Go and try it on,’ she said.
Lia opened her mouth to protest but Hattie jumped in before she had a chance to argue. ‘Go on – I want to see what you look like.’
Lia was torn, Hattie could see that. The dress was lavish, exuberant in pattern, made from sumptuous material and had about it an air of sophistication. Lia clearly didn’t think it belonged inside her drab, dreary world but there was a part of her that longed to be free, and Hattie knew this was just the dress she could do it in. With a sudden grin and intake of breath, Lia whirled around and disappeared through the bedroom door, the dress clutched against her in excitement.
It had been a long time since Hattie had worn the dress, but she remembered it as if it were yesterday. Straight from the fifties in style, the deep shawl collar sat wide on the shoulders, blush pink, with cream silk rosebuds lovingly stitched in place. The sleeves dropped midway between the elbow and wrists, while the fitted bodice of cream-coloured silk with pink cabbage roses tapered to an almost impossibly tiny waist, from which a full skirt hung in soft folds that swayed as you walked. It was a dress that had once made Hattie feel like the most beautiful woman in the world, until… She pushed away the memory and focused on the bedroom door.
Lia seemed to be gone for far longer than was necessary and it took all Hattie’s willpower not to hurtle through the door in search of her. Wherever Lia was, she hoped there was a mirror. She hoped she was standing in front of her reflection, eyes shining, remembering the woman inside her and what it felt like to be her. She wanted Lia to feel just like she had done all those years ago.
Eventually, the door opened and Hattie could see that it was so. Lia had taken her hair from the towel and even though it was uncombed it hung in soft waves to her shoulders, framing her delicate features. The dress fitted perfectly, its colours reflected in the gentle blush on Lia’s cheeks and contrasting against her dark hair, making her skin look smooth and creamy. She stood quietly, almost nervously, scarcely believing that what she had seen in the mirror was true – but no amount of denim or fleece had been able to hide Lia’s elegant frame. That was Hattie’s real skill as a dressmaker: the ability to see behind the everyday and know how to bring out the beauty that lay hidden.
The tears sprang to Hattie’s eyes in an unbidden rush of feeling, which was all the confirmation that Lia needed. The two women hugged, laughing and crying both, mindful not to damage the delicate dress but feeling the need to release the emotions they both felt. Lia was the first to pull away, but only to hold Hattie at arm’s length, before Lia clasped her hands in excitement.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ Lia managed. ‘It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever worn. I feel like…’ She dropped Hattie’s hands, throwing her own up as she searched for a word, any word which could possibly describe the merest hint of what she felt. Her face showed the myriad emotions assailing her until she slowly dropped her arms to her sides.
‘I can’t take this, though…’ she said, her arms hanging limply as the reality of her present situation began to intrude on her thoughts. ‘It’s so kind of you to think of me, but really, I mean… when would I even wear it?’
But Hattie had brought the dress to Lia for one reason only. She scooped up her friend’s hands again, holding them high, excitement shining in her eyes.
‘A few days ago you told me how much you would love to dance but that you didn’t rea
lly have the nerve. In fact, you made all sorts of excuses about why you couldn’t, but you and I both know that’s only because it would mean being bold and taking a chance. So that’s why I’ve brought the dress, Lia, because you said you’d need some convincing and if this hasn’t shown you that dreams can come true, then nothing will. So…’ she whispered, ‘it’s for when you dance.’
Chapter Nine
It was quiet when Lucy got in, her footsteps in the hall sounding unnaturally loud. She checked her watch but she was no later than usual. A yell up the stairs brought no reply, and it was only when she moved through to the kitchen that the reason for the empty house became clear. A note lay on the table:
Gone to get the last of your brother’s bits for uni – back about seven. Don’t make tea, we’ll bring in chips, love Mum xx
Lucy smiled, firstly in anticipation of the takeaway tea, but also because right now solitude was what she was craving. She flicked the switch on the kettle and went to hang up her coat.
Ever since Oscar had told her about his baby daughter, she had hardly been able to think about anything else. It seemed incomprehensible, the hurt caused to two parents, who, although young, were desperately in love and so ready to share that love with a child. Denied the opportunity, it had been the two of them against the world since the age of eighteen, never spending a day apart until Mary’s death just over a year ago.
Oscar had never seen his baby daughter, but a kindly nurse at the hospital where Mary had given birth had felt pity for her and taken a Polaroid photo of the little one. The tiny black-and-white image was the only memory he had of the child he still loved, but had never known. He and Mary had always believed that time and nature would give them a second chance, but she never fell pregnant again, and it had all but broken Lucy’s heart to hear the pain of loss in Oscar’s voice.
