This is Me

by Shari Low

  Oh God.

  Out in the foyer, Ray turned to her and she realised that this was the first time she’d been close enough to see how white and perfect his teeth were. He gestured to the snack stall set up in the corner.

  ‘Wanna can of Coke?’

  ‘Sure,’ she replied, managing not to stutter the word out. Her heart was racing, her stomach flipping.

  Why was he talking to her? Alice was always telling her how pretty she was, like a young Goldie Hawn, she always said, but still, he could have anyone. And besides, Denise was pretty sure Alice was biased because they were pals. After all, she’d never had a proper boyfriend, so she couldn’t be that gorgeous. Although, she had snogged a couple of boys, but that didn’t count because it was usually at parties after they’d had a few cans of cider, and she was always much too embarrassed to talk to them at school the following Monday, so she’d avoided them at all costs.

  He was back a few seconds later with a can in his hand, not in the least fazed by having to walk around Alice and Billy, who were snogging against the wall next to the snack stall.

  ‘Here you go. So we’re heading over to Billy’s house because his parents are away. Fancy coming?’

  ‘I don’t think I—’

  ‘Yes!’ It came from behind him, from Alice, who had finally come up for air. ‘My mum will already be sleeping. She’ll never notice if we come home a bit late.’

  Denise flushed again. Go back to a boy’s house? Her mother would kill her – and then pray to God for her soul to be forgiven. Her stomach began to twist into a knot. Alice’s expression of defiance and giddy joy, and the fact that she was wound around Billy and showing no signs of letting go, told Denise there was no way she could make her friend change her mind. But she was supposed to be staying with Alice tonight and if she went home instead, her mother would immediately phone Alice’s mum to tell her why.

  ‘OK then,’ she conceded, her stomach flipping once more when Ray grinned at her and took her hand again with a confidence that said he’d known all along that she’d agree. Ray Harrow wasn’t the kind of guy that anyone ever said no to.

  Shelley Cavenagh walked past right at that moment and when she saw them together her jaw nearly hit the linoleum floor, before her face set in a glare of complete fury. She’d been Ray’s steady girlfriend for the last year and everyone knew they were sleeping together. It had been the talk of the school when they’d split up last month. Shelley was now seeing someone else, but the rumour mill had decided it was just to make Ray jealous. It clearly wasn’t working.

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said, summoning Billy and Alice, who were back in full scale snog mode.

  They reluctantly unlocked their lips and headed for the door, Alice giggling the whole way there. Outside, she pulled Denise to one side.

  ‘Ray Harrow!’ she giggled. ‘Well, if you’re going to lose it to someone it’s as well being him.’

  Denise nearly fainted. ‘I’m not going to lose it to anyone! At least… not yet.’

  The swinging sixties might have heralded an age of free love that had lingered into the seventies, but it had never swung into this working class town on the outskirts of Glasgow. Even Alice hadn’t had full sex yet and she’d had four boyfriends.

  Again, the prospect of her mother raging at her made her consider fleeing the scene. She’d be marched up to the priest first thing in the morning and then grounded until the end of time if she so much as entertained the idea of having sex before marriage. Not that she was going to wait until then, but at the very least, if she was going to sleep with someone, then they’d have to be engaged. Or maybe even just in a long term relationship. And it would have to be a total secret that no one – especially her mother – could ever find out.

  Nope there was no way. Absolutely not. Besides, Ray Harrow was the coolest, sexiest guy in the school. If he wanted to sleep with someone, there were plenty of girls out there to choose from, and he wouldn’t go for someone as shy and completely inexperienced as she was. Eyes glancing at him from under her fringe as they walked along the High Street towards Billy’s housing estate, she was surer than ever that he was just doing this as a favour to his pal. He’s couldn’t be interested in her, but if he did try to kiss her, then she was going to let him, she decided. Shelley Cavenagh was going to make her life miserable next week anyway, so she might as well make it worth it.

  But as for anything more than that? Even if he asked her, she was absolutely, definitely, 100 per cent positive that she was going to say no.

  Four

  Claire – 2019

  Nine a.m. Monday morning. The first thing Claire did when she arrived at her bridal salon every day was head to the office area and check the appointment book. This morning was no different. The thick red leather planner, a Christmas present from Jeanna, told her there were no new clients today so that would give her a chance to work on her outstanding orders and prepare for the rest of the week, while fielding texts from Jeanna with suggestions of new ways she could fill her time. And no, she didn’t care if pole dancing would give her the buttocks of a Kardashian.

  In the hours since she and Jeanna had sat at her kitchen table waiting for Jordy to call yesterday, she’d ricocheted from sadness (she missed him!), to despair (was he missing?), to excitement about the future, to wondering if stalking someone that once lived inside your body was a criminal offence. Jeanna said it was – and that Claire would know for sure if she decided to get a life and go to the criminology night classes that were on after the pole dancing at the local community centre. Claire was sticking to her guns (also covered in the criminology class) and making her own plans. She’d spent the rest of the day and night yesterday trying and failing to sit down and tackle her reading pile, writing texts to the boys and deleting them before she sent them and cleaning and organising the house. Her linen cupboard could now feature in architectural magazines.

  Now, her bones ached, she was weary, but at least work would keep her mind busy for the rest of the week.

  As always, she got a surge of pleasure when she switched on the lights in the showroom area of Everlasting Bridal Design, her wedding dress creation service. She’d dreamt about making a living this way since her grandad, Fred, passed down her granny’s old Singer sewing machine when she was barely a teenager. For the next few years, she’d made all her own clothes, before going on to study Fashion Design at college. Afterwards, she’d juggled her professional dreams with bringing up the boys, doing more with every year that passed, until she’d finally realised her dream of opening her own bridal salon last year.

  Business had been thriving since she moved to the new premises, a small, two room and bathroom, first floor space in the Merchant City area of Glasgow. This was where she met clients, where they told her their vision, where she designed their dress and where they came for fittings the whole way through the process. The front door opened into a hallway, which fed off to the bathroom and another room that served as an office and small kitchen. The one large main room was the showroom area, simple but sumptuous with a gloss wooden floor, white panelled walls, six huge, almost floor to ceiling windows that flooded the room with loads of natural light, and a gloriously high ceiling from which hung a stunning chandelier she’d found in an old antiques warehouse and restored with some imagination and lots of polishing. There was a velvet pedestal in the middle of the room for the brides to stand on while she worked, two changing rooms, a rack with samples, a display cabinet with tiaras and other accessories, and two throne-like chairs and a chaise longue that had been discarded, battered and tatty, in the corner of the same place she’d found the chandelier. Claire had taken them home, sanded and painted the woodwork in pale gold, and re-upholstered the seating in dark red velvet. They now looked stunning. She loved this place. Every inch of it had been decorated and thought through with love and it showed.

  Moving her work out of her home and into a city centre premises had been a big risk, but so far it was paying off
even more than she could have hoped. The footfall and shopping demographic in the area really helped as the addition of her salon made the street something of a one-stop area for wedding preparations.

  Downstairs was CAMDEN, an upmarket menswear boutique owned by a lovely guy called Cammy and his soon-to-be wife, Caro. Next along in the Victorian terrace was Sun, Sea, Ski – a holiday shop owned by the adorable Jen, helped out by an absolute sweetheart called Chrissie. And the third shop in the mini plaza was Pluckers, a legendary hairdressing and beauty salon that attracted everyone from the city’s fashionista set to the local senior citizens who popped in for their weekly blow-dry, all under the watchful eye of Suze, a force of nature who could give Jeanna a run for her money in the sarcasm stakes. It was the perfect location for Everlasting Bridal Design, and the most heart warming thing of all was that the neighbouring owners had all swept in, supported her and sent clients her way, so much so that she was considering taking on a new member of staff. But was that what she really wanted?

  At the moment, the business was run in a very intimate way, with Claire giving each bride a one-to-one service and seeing each dress through from conception to the dum-dum-da-dum bit. In the brides-to-be would come, with pictures torn from magazines, snaps on their phones, even – if they were full scale bridezillas – vision boards and swatches, and they’d begin the process of creating the gown of their dreams.

  There was no escaping the irony. She was divorced, as were her brother and best friend, and her parents had the most dysfunctional marriage she’d ever encountered, yet here she was making other people’s romantic dreams come true. Happy ever after by proxy. It was better than nothing.

  Claire’s bespoke creations weren’t cheap and with rent, rates and materials she wasn’t going to be buying a yacht anytime soon, but it was enough to clear a decent living and she’d never had a disappointed customer. Another seamstress would be a big help though. That had always been the next step in the strategy entitled Expand The Business To Take The Mind Off The Impending Empty Nest. She’d drawn the plan up the year before when Max left home and Jordy started his search for a scholarship. It was all very good in theory, but the flat feeling in the bottom of her stomach suggested it might not quite be working now that the reality of her empty nest had well and truly kicked in.

  Back in the compact office slash kitchen slash staffroom off the main showroom, she’d just switched on the Dolce Gusto coffee machine, when the doorbell rang. Claire had barely opened it when two women stormed in, one a seventy something with grey spiky hair, red lips, wearing an all black, militaryesque outfit that clearly came from the House of SWAT, the other topped by a platinum blonde bob and the bluest eyeshadow in the history of cosmetics.

  ‘Morning, Vera Wang,’ the older of the two sang, as she barged past her.

  ‘Aright love,’ chirped the blonde bringing up the rear.

  Not for the first time, Claire realised it was ridiculous – she was thirty-nine years old, and true, she was a couple of stone over her recommended weight, her make-up was a five minute exercise in the mornings and her hair was normally pulled up in a fairly nondescript ponytail, but still – she was being utterly out-glamoured and out-sexied by Val, who was pushing sixty and Josie, who’d been eligible for a pension for nearly a decade. Not that her friends’ advancing years or pensions were ever up for discussion. Josie maintained that she was far too fabulous to acknowledge or comment on either subject. She was right.

  ‘Morning, ladies,’ Claire said, her voice oozing amusement. Josie and Val were two of her favourite perks of the new premises. Val’s adopted daughter, Jen, owned Sun, Sea, Ski, and they were close friends of Cammy, Caro and Suze from the other shops downstairs too. They were the kind of women who believed you could never have too many friends and who took in waifs and strays, pulling them into their family circle. Hallelujah to that, Claire decided, the first time they’d popped up for a nosy and to introduce themselves. Since then, they’d made a point of dropping by a couple of times a week to ooh and aah at her latest creations, catch up on any gossip and work their way through her generous stock of chocolate biscuits.

  She was just about to close the door behind them, when another force pushed it back open. Jeanna. Carrying a large tray of Danish pastries.

  ‘So I decided, fuck it. If ever there was a day to blow the diet, this is it,’ she announced, her perfectly white veneers glinting so much they could cause blindness to anyone who didn’t have the sense to look away.

  Claire followed her into the showroom and stood, hands on hips, trying not to smile at the scene in front of her. Val and Josie had liberated two tiaras from her headwear display and they were both sitting like royalty on the ornate chaise longue that was generally reserved for the mothers, grannies, sisters and friends of her clients. And, unlike any of those women ever, they had both brought flasks of tea and were now waiting expectantly for Jeanna to dole out the apple pastries.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Claire asked warily. With this group it could be anything from a quick social chat to delivering earth shattering news.

  ‘It’s an interval,’ Val blurted, earning a roll of the eyes and a swift elbow nudge from Josie.

  ‘An intervention, Val,’ Josie corrected her. ‘Dear God. Here we are trying to be all modern day touchy-feely and you’re messing up the terminology.’ It wasn’t the first time she’d failed to grasp the current lingo. Val thought a mansplainer was a DIY tool and a catfish could be purchased at the seafood counter in ASDA.

  Unruffled, Val shrugged her shoulders, the action not even stirring her blonde bob, which was, as always, hair-sprayed to the consistency of steel. ‘Could be worse. I could just have said we’re here to make sure she doesn’t lie on the floor wailing into the shagpile all day. Which, let’s face it, is the truth of the matter.’

  Despite still trying to maintain an air of disapproval, Claire couldn’t help but be touched. There was a chink in her DNA that made her endlessly surprised when people went out of their way to be concerned about her. She’d never get used to it.

  Still, she wasn’t giving in that easily to being railroaded, especially when she had no idea what the conspirators had planned for her.

  ‘An intervention,’ she repeated, deadpan, before rounding on Jeanna. ‘I suppose this was your idea?’

  ‘Nope, it was all Josie.’

  Josie nodded, accepting the blame. ‘I was looking for an excuse to sit on my backside all day and wallow in someone else’s pain while eating free pastries. Those handsome boys of yours deserting you at this time was a happy convenience for me.’

  The edges of Claire’s lips turned upwards. It was impossible to be pissed off with this lot. And the truth was, most of what she was going to do today could wait, so hey, a morning with pals and comfort food suddenly sounded like a damn good idea.

  ‘I give in,’ she said, plonking herself down on one of the lush red velvet reproduction chairs.

  Josie took charge. ‘Good. So here’s the deal. You get to talk about it all today. To reminisce about the good times, swear about the bad, and you can cry your eyes out over this chapter closing if you want. Val, you’ll need to handle that bit, because you know I don’t do tears and snot.’ She grimaced at the thought, before continuing, ‘And then, after that, we’re going to talk about all the ways you can make life happier going forward, because it’ll be an absolute beamer if you keep stalking those boys and they have to take out a restraining order.’

  ‘Are you doing criminology classes down the community centre?’ Claire asked, giggling.

  ‘Nope, lifetime addiction to Prime Suspect,’ Josie retorted.

  ‘Excellent. You’ll come in handy for legal queries then,’ Claire shot back. ‘Although, in my defence, I wasn’t aware that I couldn’t just drop by the Navy base and visit him whenever I pleased. Archaic rules if you ask me.’

  ‘I’m sure the Ministry of Defence have their reasons,’ Jeanna interjected dryly, ‘You know, trifling things like na
tional security and prevention of espionage.’

  ‘I only wanted to take him my lemon drizzle, not commandeer a nuclear warhead,’ Claire argued, her defiance disintegrating into amusement. ‘Anyway, I don’t want to wallow…’

  ‘Of course you do,’ Josie countered. ‘And, like we said, this is it. Your one and only day to do it. After that, we reserve the right to tell you that you’re pathetic and start sprinting across the street when we see you coming. And we can’t have Val running, not with her hips.’

  ‘Understood,’ Claire said solemnly.

  A buzz from her phone interrupted the conversation, and she lurched for it and snatched it up with such speed she got a head rush.

  Jordy’s name flashed on the screen. Yes! But… bloody hell, it was after 2 a.m. in Nashville. Making the most of Freshers week then.

  She opened the text.

  Hey mum, sorry I missed your 11 calls. I’m not dead, injured, in jail or in the boot of a kidnapper’s car so you can stand down. Love ya, miss ya, and stop stalking me. PS: dad only called once this weekend, so you’re winning the overprotective parent award so far.

  A bellow of laughter was swept up from her gut on a wave of relief, followed by an immediate and even more ferocious flood of longing. She missed him so much. He made her laugh, would chat all night, and who was she going to dance with in the kitchen now?

  She read it out to the others, that one text completely eliminating the pit that had been weighing down her stomach for days. Suddenly, all was right with the world.

  ‘Thank God,’ Jeanna said, drily.

  Val was more sympathetic. ‘I get how you’re feeling, love. I was the same with our Dee and Mark when they were teenagers. But you’re going to have to find a way to live without your entire happiness depending on your kids. You need your own life and your own joy too.’