hoping she’d be sympathetic to my situation.
“I’m sure we can find you something.” She said and busied herself amongst a rack towards the rear of the shop. I reviewed a selection of ties which were mostly old school ties or those with ex-forces insignia upon them. Whilst they looked smart, I didn’t want something which would suggest I was something I wasn’t, so I moved on past those.
The lady returned a few moments later, clutching a full suit, including waistcoat, and a tie that perfectly matched both the suit and the shirt which I still had on.
“How about this?” She asked.
“Wow.” I said. “That looks perfect.”
“Try it on.” The woman said, nodding towards some changing rooms to one side. I didn’t even realise charity shops had those.
“Thank you.” I said, taking the clothes from her and walking towards a cubicle.
“What shoe-size are you? I take it you’ll be needing shoes as well?” She asked.
“I’m a size ten.” I told her as I pulled back the loose curtain that revealed a small booth with a simple hook and a small bench.
As I entered and pulled back the curtain to conceal myself within the secretive chamber, I saw the lady dart back towards the front of the shop.
I removed my beaten trainers and scruffy jeans and pulled the suit trousers on, followed by the waistcoat and jacket. I secured the buttons to the shirt and wrapped the tie around under the collar and tied it in the only knot I knew.
When I looked up and into the mirror which was full length and hanging on the wall of the changing room, it was as if I was looking through a window rather than a mirror. For a split second, I didn’t recognise myself. Just for a moment, it was as if someone else was standing there and I was looking through their eyes at their reflection rather than my own. I shivered.
“How you getting on?” The lady called shrilly from the shop, snapping me out of the brief distraction. I pulled open the curtain and stepped out to show myself off.
“My goodness!” She said. “What a transformation.”
“It looks alright, doesn’t it?” I said, seeking confirmation.
“You look splendid. Reminds me of my late husband. He always looked dapper in that.” She informed me.
I suddenly felt sick inside. I was wearing a dead-man’s clothes. The woman obviously detected my reaction.
“Oh, don’t worry,” She said. “It was thoroughly cleaned after he passed. We wouldn’t be able to sell it otherwise.”
“What did he die of?” I asked. I don’t know why I needed to know, but if it had been of some terrible communicable disease, I didn’t want to run any risk by coming into contact with something he’d been so intimately connected to, even though by now it could have been too late anyway.
“Natural causes. Died in his sleep.” She said. “Terribly young when it happened. Not much older than you I’d say.”
I felt a little more comfortable. And having dredged through three shops already, I didn’t feel as if I had the luxury of time to try and find something else.
“I only really need it for the interview. I could return it after.” I offered, feeling somewhat guilty at taking her late husband’s belongings from her.
“No need.” She said. “It’s good that it could be put to some use.”
“Well, if you’re sure?” I asked. She ignored my question.
“Now, shoes!” She exclaimed. “Though I think we’ll need some socks as well no?” She said as she surveyed my footwear. White socks which were stained and worn through almost to the point of breaking the material which seemed to be clinging together against all the odds.
“Er, yes.” I said, nervous at the prospect of having to wear second-hand socks. I was just glad I didn’t need underwear as well.
“Don’t worry,” She said. “We don’t sell second-hand socks. But these shoes should be just right for you.” She held a pair of brogues in front of me.
“Were these your husband’s too?” I asked.
“No. He had tiny feet. Which was strange as he was big elsewhere.” I was surprised at her candid description of her husband.
“Broad shoulders?” I surmised from the comfort of the suit jacket.
“No.” She said, and winked at me. I knew what she meant. I smiled and she smiled back. It was the first time I’d actually seen her smile properly and it brought a youthfulness to her features. For her age, she was quite an attractive woman really.
I took the shoes from her and slipped them on. They fitted perfectly. Apart from some new socks, as wearing sports-white ones wouldn’t be appropriate, I had all I needed.
“I always think the waistcoat adds a touch of class.” She told me. “You can take the jacket off in the interview and the waistcoat will show them you still mean business, even though you’re relaxed or confident enough to remove your ‘outer’ skin.”
“And those shoes are perfect. Make sure you get some decent socks though. You can pick up some for just a pound at the supermarket.” Her kindness and advice was welcomed.
“You can tell the mark of a man by his shoes.” She said.
“How much do I owe you?” I asked. She looked up and down the shop then stood thoughtfully for a second.
“I can let you have the suit for free,” She said. “As it was mine, or rather my husband’s, to give away anyway. But I will need to charge you for the shirt, tie and shoes.”
Suddenly, she grabbed my right hand and pulled it towards her. Her touch was soft, but firm and warm. She lifted my hand towards her face. I felt giddy in my stomach for a moment at the prospect of what she might do but relaxed immediately when I saw her pull the price tag connected to the shirt’s cuff button-hole and examined the price written on it.
“Six pounds!” She uttered in shock. “Oh no, that’s not right.”
“Is it more than that?” I asked.
“Okay, shoes for two pounds, shirt for a pound and the tie for fifty pence. How’s that sound?”
I was ecstatic. ‘What a bargain’ I thought, but tried to remain as reserved as possible.
“That would be great. Three pound-fifty. Perfect.” I agreed.
“There’s one condition though.” She said, her demeanour becoming almost menacing. But then she smiled again and I felt drawn to her once more.
“What is it?” I asked, nervously.
“You must come back and tell me how you got on at the interview.” She informed me, smiling as she did so. I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Yes, absolutely. You’ve been so kind.” I told her.
I took the jacket off and made my way back to the changing room. Once inside, I removed the “new” clothes and hung them back on their original hangers. I put my own trousers and trainers back on and made my way back to the till, where the lady waited with a large bag which had the suit jacket inside to take the remaining parts of my outfit from me. As she placed these in the bag with the jacket, I pulled my money from my jeans pocket.
As she handed me the now full bag, I handed her the cash we’d agreed on. I really was lucky to have gotten such a great deal.
“Thank you. I will definitely let you know how I get on.” I said.
“I’ll look forward to it. Good luck!” She said as I left the shop.
I made my way home and immediately hung the shirt and suit up over the back of the lounge door rather than in the wardrobe to avoid the need to iron it and to prevent contamination from what was inside the tallboy.
Now all that was left to do was to research the company in preparation for the interview.
After staring at a computer screen for six hours, surveying dozens of websites for information about the company, my eyes started to close involuntarily. I’d already been “seeing” things in my peripheral vision which I put down to my tired and exhausted state.
Shadows in the doorway, small creatures such as a spider or mouse running across the floor, manifesting themselves in my visual periphery as sl
eep tried to take over from my waking state.
I switched the computer off after saving my work, made my way to the bathroom, urinated whilst simultaneously brushing my teeth and then got into bed. Almost as soon as I laid my head on the pillow, checking the time as I lay down and seeing it at just past midnight, sleep came and took me far away from the taxman and my other woes.
I was woken at what seemed hours later by a banging from downstairs. I looked at the clock. The display showed 02:15.
I sat up and listened. The banging which had woken me had stopped. Anxious that a burglar might be trying to break in, I got out of bed and made my way downstairs. As I tried to enter the lounge, I found something behind the door was restricting my opening it.
“Hello?” I called out meekly.
I waited a moment before trying to push the door forward again. It opened a little further, enough for me to get the upper half of my body around, and I saw the cause of the blockage. My interview outfit was crumpled up on the floor behind the door. Somehow, the hanger had dislodged and the suit, along with the shirt, had fallen to the floor. The metal part of the hanger was wedged tightly under the door preventing me from opening it further.
I squeezed myself through and wearily picked up the clothes and hanger. I switched on the main light and checked the suit. Luckily, barring a few extra creases, there was no further damage.
I hung the suit back over the door, ensured it was secure and returned to bed. When I entered the bedroom, the musty smell I’d experienced when I opened the tall-boy earlier that day permeated the room. I found the
The Ghost of Clothes Page 3
