I smile at him. ‘Out of all of us, Felix, you’re probably the normal one.’
Something flickers across his hazel eyes. He lowers them to the floor. ‘Mum told someone on the phone I was weird. I heard that too.’
Ruffling his hair, I give him a hug, tell him not to be silly… and try to bury the memory of Vivi telling me the same thing when I came over to babysit on that dreadful night when life… well… imploded. In my head I can hear my sister saying how she was worried about Felix acting weird. She nagged me about getting Rory to take him to the football at the weekend. Back then I was more concerned with finding out where Rory was and not being able to contact him than what my nephew was up to. I think I was half-listening to Vivi and jokingly said something like, ‘Leave him alone. Anyway, Vivi, you were really odd growing up and we just left you to get on with it.’
How I wish I’d listened to my sister about Felix being weird. It might have helped me with him now.
‘Come on, let’s go downstairs.’
Picking up my iPad and grabbing the black chiffon material from his chair I lead the way. Felix, holding Baxter (still carrying my bra) follows. ‘Aunty Emily, I know you said Christmas was cancelled but can we go to London tomorrow?’
On the stairs I turn back to him. ‘London?’
He nods. ‘I want to see the London Christmas decorations. Everyone at school says London is cool to visit at Christmas.’
Once we get down the stairs, I head for the living room. We’re greeted by my four dressmaking mannequins who preside over the corner. All are wearing the vintage dresses I recently bought from the grandson of a lady in Worthing who had passed away. He’d found them in his grandmother’s attic and by chance had seen my business Facebook post about buying vintage dresses. I couldn’t believe my luck when I saw the dresses: a 1970s original BIBA Maxi dress with their iconic embroidered gold-on-black square label, woven with a black and gold thread, an original Louis Feraud vintage dress in hot pink; a 1950s brocade evening dress in silver; and a stunning 1960s kingfisher-blue silk ruffle evening dress which made both Felix and me gasp in amazement. All were in decent condition and my only issues were a few missing buttons, a ripped hem, and a tear on one of the waists. To my surprise he didn’t want any money for them. Instead, he asked me to donate to the Stroke charity which he was supporting after his grandmother had passed away.
Hanging up on hangers hooked over the picture rail are my handmade, off-the-shoulder, red polka-dot swing dresses which have sold like hot cakes online for Christmas parties, and now I have a long list for the new year celebrations. This latest batch still needs some work. Going to London tomorrow will put me behind schedule. My ‘to do’ list for the business gets longer by the hour and my online site needs updating, which will take me forever.
‘I should start working on this lot…’ I say, catching sight of Felix’s drooping smile.
He clasps his hands together. ‘Please, Aunty Emily, it’s Christmas.’
I think back to our chat on the landing. He came out of his room to talk to me tonight. Normally I creep downstairs to sew more dresses while he bangs and thuds inside his bedroom. Tonight, I made progress. If I’d known that carpet shaming Vivi would have got Felix out of his bedroom I would have done it sooner.
Scanning the room, I can only see dresses, an old sewing machine, embroidery cases, scissors of all sizes, bits of fabric, paper patterns, books, magazines, tins of buttons and bags of sequins. Vivi’s old living room is hiding underneath all this dressmaking chaos. Between the dresses I can see a few violet flowers from Vivi’s wallpaper poking out, Baxter’s leopard-print dog bed and her extensive ballet DVD collection gathering dust on pine shelves.
When I moved into her house it didn’t feel right to change the furniture and I felt Felix needed some stability. However, my dressmaking business has taken over the living room. Being surrounded by patterns, pieces of material and dresses has kept me sane.
I can’t see anything remotely festive in this room. Turning my attention back to him I notice Felix is squeezing the life out of his little hands and they’re almost white. He deserves a nice day out even though he pinches my fabric, fiddles with my bags of sequins, throws my iPad across the room, backchats me at every opportunity, refuses to eat his dinner and regularly shouts he hates me. Felix isn’t a bad kid. I know that.
A memory of Rory and I taking Felix out for the day last year pushes itself to the front of my mind. We had taken him ice skating while Vivi went on a date. I don’t think Rory, Felix and I stopped laughing all afternoon on the ice. Felix kept making hilarious comments about me and Rory’s dreadful ice-skating skills while impressing us with his fancy moves. At one point Rory turned to me and we both gushed in unison about how great fun Felix was. It was one of those weird experiences where you say the same thing and just stare at each other for ages.
Felix is a great kid. He lost his mummy all those months ago. At nine years of age that’s unthinkable. I need to keep reminding myself of this.
Fuck it!
‘Yes, we can go to London tomorrow.’
Watching my nephew jump for joy makes me feel light-headed. He rushes over and wraps his skinny arms around my waist. ‘Thank you, Aunty Emily.’
‘It will be good fun. We need it.’
After making myself a cup of tea, I return to the living room. Felix is sat on the sofa between two large dress carriers, one of my many sewing boxes, two bags of material from the stall at the craft market I visited last week and a pile of paper patterns. Baxter and my bra are on his lap.
I place one of my sewing boxes on the floor before sitting down. Felix is next to me and I can see that he’s fiddling with my iPad again. Seeing me he swiftly places it on the coffee table and shoves his hands under his legs. ‘Sorry, Aunty Emily. I should have asked.’
I’m too weary to fight. ‘Use it. Let’s not get upset with each other any more tonight.’
He nods as I take a mouthful of tea. ‘I don’t like Beth, Rory’s new girlfriend.’
The tea somehow lodges itself in my throat. I’m now choking and spewing tea all over one of my dress patterns. Felix springs up from the sofa and races to get some kitchen roll so I can clean up the mess I have made.
Once my paper dress pattern is drying out on the radiator I sit back. Felix cuddles up to me and Baxter runs off as he’s bored with my grey bra. ‘Rory’s new girlfriend makes you sad, doesn’t she, Aunty Emily?’
‘Don’t be silly, Felix,’ I say, blinking away tears. ‘Rory has moved on with his life. I don’t know why he keeps appearing in my newsfeed. I don’t know why we are still friends on Facebook. Maybe we should unfriend each other and then I won’t have to see his dating exploits.’
‘Mum was always secretly unfriending people on Facebook,’ mumbles Felix. ‘Please don’t unfriend him?’
