by Liz Eeles
‘Here we are. You and Caroline had better use my bathroom.’
She pushes open a bright white door and I walk into what must be Millicent’s bedroom. A huge bed, covered in cream silk, takes up only a fraction of the room which is larger than The Cosy Kettle plus its garden. The softly draped cream curtains must be silk too, from the way they ripple when Millicent closes them using a remote control on her bedside table. Millicent is so posh, she doesn’t even have to open and close her own curtains!
‘Here’s the en suite,’ she says, opening another white door which leads into a room half the size of her bedroom. A roll-top bath with clawed silver feet is positioned underneath the sash window, and there are twin basins across the back wall. One of the basins has a spray attachment on its mixer tap, and a leather hairdresser chair next to it.
‘Caroline comes in every week to give me a trim and blow-dry. How long is it since you went to the hairdresser?’
‘Um…’
‘I thought as much. Well, don’t worry. Caroline will work wonders.’
I certainly hope so. But I can’t help worrying as Millicent pats her hair-sprayed ash-blonde perm because it doesn’t move. Not one inch. I doubt a force ten gale could budge it. If Caroline does the same to me, Logan will break bones should he ever feel inclined to run his fingers through my hair.
‘Do you have a dress for the party?’ asks Millicent, suddenly.
‘I’ve got one that I bought when I was out with Mary.’
‘Is it a dour colour?’
‘It’s black.’
‘Black? For a festive gathering? Oh no, that won’t do at all. What size are you?’ She gives me a once-over. ‘I might have something in my wardrobe for you to borrow that would suit.’
‘Please don’t bother,’ I say, following Millicent back into her bedroom.
Please, I beg you, don’t bother!
Millicent is sturdy and middle-aged and I don’t like to be rude about people, but her clothes are boring. I know my jeans and black sweatshirts wouldn’t make the heart of a Vogue journalist beat any faster, but at least they’re age-appropriate. I simply can’t turn up to Logan’s party wearing a frumpy beige number. Zac would wet himself laughing, but I don’t think Logan would find it funny. He’d probably cancel our date there and then. I’m going to have to be assertive and say no to Millicent. My heart starts thumping at the prospect of upsetting her when she’s trying to be kind, and it sinks when she opens the floor-to-ceiling wardrobe that spans an entire wall of her bedroom.
In front of me are rows of no doubt expensive but mega-frumpy clothes – knee-length skirts, long-sleeved blouses, V-neck jumpers, slacks with pin-sharp creases. And almost every item of clothing is beige, cream, caramel or camel… Millicent’s wardrobe looks like someone has sucked out all colour.
‘I’m not sure that—’
‘Oh, don’t worry. I’m not expecting you to wear any of these,’ says Millicent, cutting across me. ‘I was young once, you know, and I think I still have…’ She pushes the wall of clothing apart and reaches behind the clothes for three large boxes on a shelf. ‘Ah yes, here we go.’
She places the boxes on the bed and pulls off the lids.
‘Take them out, Becca, and have a look.’
Millicent sits on the edge of the bed while I push apart layers of white tissue paper and pull out the contents. The first box contains a long dress made of scarlet satin with wide shoulder straps and a large butterfly embroidered across the bodice in peacock-blue and cerise threads.
‘Wow, Millicent. This is magnificent! When did you wear this?’
‘I wore that on my first anniversary when we were on a Caribbean cruise to celebrate. I was rather slimmer then and so happy to be visiting such exotic locations with Phillip. It was a wonderful holiday.’ Millicent’s lower lip trembles and she tightens her jaw to control herself. I get an urge to comfort her but she folds her arms as though batting off any sympathy. ‘Go on, try the next box.’
Beneath the tissue paper lies a long dress made of the most exquisite green silk. It has a high mandarin collar and short sleeves, and the fabric feels feather-light in my hands.
‘That one was specially made for me while we were in Hong Kong,’ says Millicent. ‘We had such a wonderful time there.’ She smiles to herself while I carefully fold it back into the box.
Both of the dresses are beautiful and they look as though they might fit me. But I can’t wear a full-length dress to the party, however sophisticated it might be. The Cosy Kettle and long dresses just don’t go together. Plus, I’d chuck a drink all over me and stain the fragile fabric. It’s inevitable.
‘Not quite right?’ Millicent nods at the third box. ‘Then this one might do the trick.’
I feel the fabric before I see it. This dress is heavier, less likely to pull or tear. I unfold it from the box and my mouth drops open as light reflects around the room. The dress seems to be made of diamonds; tiny diamonds glinting in my hands. A closer look reveals hundreds of overlapping silver sequins across the strapless bodice and fitted skirt that ends just above the knee.
‘Every single sequin is applied by hand. Philip bought me that after Celeste was born – an incentive to get back to my pre-pregnancy weight. And I managed it.’
‘It’s absolutely beautiful. Where on earth did you wear it?’
‘We used to go to dances, back then, and I’d dance for hours.’ She clocks my expression and raises an eyebrow. ‘I haven’t always been this staid and bossy, Becca.’
‘I don’t think you’re staid and bossy.’
Millicent raises an eyebrow. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, you’re more…’ I swallow as Millicent gives me a warning look, but I plough on. ‘… more sad than anything else.’
‘Sad?’ Millicent’s laugh sounds brittle. ‘Sad, when I live in a house like this, my husband is a high-flyer, my children are doing magnificently well in their careers abroad, and my Christmas present to myself is a brand new car? What on earth gives you the idea that I’m sad?’
‘I just sensed it. Sorry. I’m obviously wrong.’
‘Wrong and rather too assertive when it comes to talking rubbish.’
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.’
Millicent opens her mouth and takes a breath, as though she’s about to have another go at me. But then she sighs and her shoulders drop.
‘I suppose I am sad sometimes. I see these dresses and remember who I used to be, before Philip and I had lots of money. You might find it hard to believe but we lived in a terraced house on the outskirts of Oxford.’ She shudders. ‘It was a horrible little house with a back yard instead of a garden and small dark rooms. But, ironically, I sometimes think I was happier there than I am here. I had friends nearby, Philip came home from work on time every night, and the children needed me. Now, well, it’s all very different.’
‘You have a wonderful home here.’
‘I do, and I’d rather live here than in our old house, believe me. But my friends have drifted away over the years, the children have their own lives now, and Philip sometimes doesn’t come home at all. Who knows what he’s getting up to? Business meetings, he says.’ She stops and takes short, shallow breaths. I know anxiety when I see it.
‘You have friends at The Cosy Kettle,’ I say, gently, suddenly no longer scared of Millicent.
‘The book club? Yes, I like to think that they like me, rather than just tolerate me.’
‘They do like you. And Flora does, too. And me.’ I hug the diamond dress to my chest. ‘I’m your friend, Millicent.’
Millicent stands up in one fluid movement, walks over and stands in front of me. ‘Bless your heart, Becca. I know you have your wish list, but don’t change too much.’
For one weird moment, I think she’s about to hug me. But she catches herself and draws herself up tall. ‘Anyway, enough of this maudlin talk. One thing you do need to change is your dress sense, so what do you think about wearing this to your party
?’ She runs her fingers across the silver sequins.
‘I think it’s beautiful but it’s too much for me. It’s not right, someone like me wearing a dress like this.’
‘Someone like you?’
‘Yeah, I’m nothing special.’
‘How dare you!’ Millicent sounds so fierce, I take a step back. ‘Everyone’s special, Rebecca.’
‘Even Stanley?’
Millicent’s mouth twitches in the corner. ‘Stanley is very special. He’s also very sad about the changes in The Cosy Kettle.’
‘I know. I didn’t mean to upset him.’
Millicent’s face softens as she puts her hand on my shoulder and squeezes. ‘Just wear the special dress while you can and enjoy it. You’ll be in beige elasticated slacks and aubergine gilets before you know it.’
‘Do you think the dress will fit me?’
‘Try it on at home and see. If not, you’ve always got your dour dress to fall back on, so you’ve nothing to lose. Ah, that sounds like Caroline now. Wait in the bathroom and I’ll bring her up.’ She pauses at the bedroom door and looks back. ‘And if you repeat any of what I’ve said this evening and imply that I have a heart, I’ll deny it all.’
I’m sure she winks at me before she goes out onto the landing and I hear her padding down the stairs. I carefully put the party dress back into its box and head into the bathroom to be transformed.
Caroline is younger than I expected, which is a relief, and she assures Millicent that she can banish all traces of blue from my hair.
‘What’s your natural colour, Becca?’ asks Millicent, flicking through the range of colours that Caroline has brought with her.
‘It’s a rather boring mousey-brown.’
‘Hmm. I was thinking that you’d look rather lovely with an overall chestnut shade.’
‘I’d quite like to be blonde.’
‘Really?’ Millicent stares at me in the mirror. ‘I can’t see you as a blonde, personally. Caroline, what do you think?’
Caroline, whose own hair is so platinum blonde it’s almost white, wrinkles her nose. ‘Blonde works for me if that’s what Becca prefers.’
‘I do,’ I say, assertively, picturing Jasmine in my mind. Surely one quick and easy way of looking more like my sister is having the same hair colour?
‘Whatever you wish,’ says Millicent, with a wave of her hand. ‘Let the transformation begin!’
In the end, I’m not so much transformed as improved. There’s only so much you can do with short hair, but Caroline gives me a good cut that brings out the natural wave, so it curls beneath my ears and at the back of my neck.
The colour is shocking at first. I’ve had red hair the colour of post boxes, green hair the colour of Cornish sea, and blue hair the colour of twinkling sapphires. I once had a rainbow stripe that cut across my head like a landing strip. But I’ve never been blonde before, and it rather takes my breath away at first.
‘Do you like it?’ asks Caroline, holding a mirror behind my head so I can see my new hairstyle from all angles.
‘I love the cut and the colour looks very natural. I’m sure I’ll soon get used to it. What do you think, Millicent?’
She twirls my seat around until I’m facing her and puts her hands on her hips. ‘I still think a rich chestnut would have been better but I prefer it to the ridiculous colour you usually sport. Do you look like you expected? Are you pleased?’
I swing my chair back and stare at myself in the mirror. I expected to look more like Jasmine, to be honest. There are echoes of my sister in my face and the blonde hair brings out those similarities, but I still look rather a lot like me. Maybe the new clothes will help.
‘I’m very pleased. Thank you so much, Caroline, and Millicent for organising everything.’
By the time Millicent drives me home, the ground is coated in white and snow is settling on the trees and stone walls that edge the country roads. I watch thick flakes hitting the windscreen and wonder at the transformation taking place around me. Every now and again, as we drive through tiny villages all lit up for Christmas, I sneak a look at myself in the wing mirror and smile. My reflection, all fuzzy in the wet mirror, does look a fair bit like Jasmine. I can definitely tick off wish number six.
Nineteen
Two days to go until the party and I think nerves are getting to me. I’ve found it hard to settle all morning, and I’m feeling rather disappointed. I thought being blonde would give me a boost but so far the reaction to my new hairstyle has been rather muted.
Zac’s eyes opened wide when he saw me at breakfast, and I braced myself for some mickey-taking, but he didn’t call me a cut-price Marilyn Monroe or wannabe Madonna or anything. He just said I looked ‘good’. Regular customers have hardly mentioned my new look and Flora said it was ‘nice’, which is so anodyne it’s almost insulting. I have no idea what the book club think about it because they still seem to be boycotting the café.
But at least The Cosy Kettle is looking great. The whole place is understated and sophisticated and Logan will think it’s wonderful. The party is going to be a brilliant success and he’ll be blown away when he sees me in my fabulous silver dress. My wishes are coming true and I’m happy – that’s what I keep telling myself.
I break off a piece of cinnamon bun and nibble the edges. Zac loves cinnamon buns but I think he’s eating out again this evening so there’s no point in taking any home. He’s out with friends all the time at the moment. Or at least that’s what he says. Maybe he’s seeing Jasmine and not telling me. I haven’t heard from her since the morning after their date and I feel ridiculously nervous about contacting her. I suspect she’s avoiding me because she feels awkward that she and Zac are an item.
‘Is everything all right?’ Flora, who’s just come into the café, pushes a couple of chairs underneath their table and tweaks the festive red tablecloth straight. The fabric is covered in images of Christmas puddings and won’t do for the party. I’ve got a box of white and silver paper tablecloths under the counter, all ready.
‘I’m fine, thanks. Why?’
‘No reason. You just looked miles away and a bit sad.’
‘No, I’m great. Really great.’
‘I hear on the grapevine that you have a date with Logan after the party.’
‘Who told you that? Has Stanley been spilling my secrets?’
Flora laughs. ‘You can’t keep anything secret for long in Honeyford. I learned that very quickly after arriving here. It was actually Phyllis who spilled the beans, when I bumped into her in the post office earlier. She also said that the afternoon book club aren’t coming in at the moment.’
‘They’re not too keen on the changes I’ve made in here.’
‘So she said. I’m afraid some people find change difficult but you’ve done a good job in here, Becca. You’ve really transformed the place.’ She grins and smooths down her pretty purple dress before tucking her dark hair behind her ears. Quite how she manages to work hard all day and still look fresh and elegant is beyond me.
‘The Cosy Kettle is party-ready. I don’t think there’s much more to organise before the big day.’
‘That’s great then.’ Flora hesitates as though she’s about to say something but smiles instead. ‘I’d better go and sell a few more books because Caleb’s Christmas present cost a fortune.’
She heads back into the bookshop while I think about the happy new life she’s made for herself. I really admire the way she’s coped with the changes that followed the break-up with her husband. My life seems to be changing too, which is what I wanted when I made my wish list. I just wish I felt happier and more at ease with the changes that are happening. I wish Zac and I were still the best of friends, I wish I didn’t care so much what people think of me, and I wish I didn’t feel out of place in The Cosy Kettle.
I look around the café and suddenly realise that Stanley is absolutely right; the café has lost its soul. I’ve been so busy transforming it into what someone else thin
ks is right, I’ve lost sight of what Flora, with her business head on, would call its USP – its unique selling proposition. The thing that makes it stand out from other cafés. And, Zac would laugh at me for saying so, but the place feels… sad. Hell, I feel sad at the moment.
There’s a burst of laughter as two new customers carrying bulging bags of shopping get caught in the doorway, and I slide off my stool, plaster on a smile and get ready to make reviving cups of coffee.
The lunchtime rush is almost over when Logan rushes in, throws off his coat and flings himself into a chair. ‘Becca, it’s so good to see you,’ he puffs.
Aw, that’s sweet. I pull out a chair and sit opposite him. ‘It’s good to see you too.’ But my smile fades as I notice the tension in his cheek muscles. I’m a connoisseur of anxiety. I can spot it at fifty paces. ‘What on earth’s the matter?’
He starts drumming his heels on the floor and shakes his head. He’s so upset. Would putting my hand on his seem too forward in the circumstances? Probably not, seeing as he’s already asked me out on a date, and kissed me. I move my hand towards his but Logan jerks back and puts his head in his hands.
‘I’ve made a terrible mistake, Becca. A dreadful, stupid mistake.’
Cold resignation hits the pit of my stomach. Of course, it was too good to be true. Women like me don’t get asked out by men like Logan. Ah, well. I’m not exactly heart-broken.
‘It’s all right. It’s not like we signed a contract or anything. I won’t hold you to it.’
Logan looks up, confusion flitting across his handsome face. ‘We did sign a contract – I signed to say that the party would be here. Why, what did you think I—?’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ I say quickly, my mind whirling. Friday’s date still seems to be a goer, but I’m not so sure about the party. ‘Just tell me what’s happened. I’m sure it can’t be that bad.’
‘That’s what I like about you, Becca,’ says Logan, settling back in his chair. ‘You’re optimistic and kind, but I’m afraid it is bad. It’s a disaster. I’ve basically cocked up the party and I can see my promotion disappearing in a puff of smoke. Everything’s ruined.’
