CHAPTER9
‘You know, I’m certain this is the room I stayed in last time I was here,’ Becky noted, flopping herself down on the bed. ‘I remember that little alcove by the window… but the walls… ugh, they were this disgusting mustard colour and I think the bed was on that—’
‘This wardrobe looks vintage,’ Christine said, paying no attention to anything Becky was saying; these days, she rarely ever did. Becky would often realise mid-sentence that Christine hadn’t heard a word, or worse, Christine would interrupt her to start a different conversation entirely. Becky wondered if she acted like this at work. For someone whose job it was to listen, sometimes Christine sucked at it.
‘Probably,’ Becky replied. ‘I expect Erin would have kept some of her grandparents’ things. I think her nana had good taste… her gramps not so much. This bed is new though… want to break it in?’
Christine chuckled as Becky bounced on the bed. She didn’t chuckle that often, but when she did, Becky loved the way her nose wrinkled. ‘Is that all you think about? Maybe later, I want to get my clothes out of the case before they crease.’
She watched Christine carefully unpack, shake and hang her clothes for the next three days. All designer and all still immaculately pressed, while Becky predicted that her clothes were already like a jumble sale in her suitcase. Christine’s meticulousness, in all aspects of her life, was something that Becky admired, envied even, and she had hoped in the two years they’d been together that somehow all of that fastidiousness might have rubbed off on her, given her focus when she tended to daydream and set goals that weren’t just ‘be kind’ – to be anything really, other than her unconventional self.
Early on in their relationship, Christine had made her feelings on Becky’s fashion sense quite clear. She remembered the day when everything really started to change.
‘Ta-da!’
Becky twirled around in her half-price, deep red, Monsoon maxi skirt that she’d grabbed as soon as the January sales hit.
‘What do you think?’ she asked Christine. ‘It’s super festive, right? I mean, I know Christmas is over, but I absolutely adore it.’
‘Very nice,’ Christine replied as she watched her girlfriend gush over a piece of fabric. ‘The colour reminds me of mulled wine. It suits you.’
‘Thank you! I’m thinking I’ll wear this and that little black vest for your work party next week. Dress it up with some jewellery. Maybe a little shawl…’
‘Oh,’ Christine replied, her eyes scanning the skirt again. ‘Hmm… you sure?’
Becky stopped admiring herself in the bedroom mirror. ‘Yeah… unless you don’t think it’s suitable?’
Five months into their relationship, this would be their first major outing together as a couple. Dinner and drinks at some exclusive club in Knightsbridge that Becky had never heard of. Knightsbridge wasn’t an area that Becky frequented often, she preferred the laid-back vibe of Shoreditch or Peckham, but, still, she was looking forward to it.
‘I think it’s amazing, darling,’ Christine said. ‘Though you’d look amazing in a potato sack. It’s just…’
‘What?’
‘I’m not sure it’s entirely appropriate for the venue.’
Becky took another look in the mirror. ‘Seriously? It’s a skirt, not a pair of cowboy chaps. What’s wrong with it?’
‘It’s perhaps a smidge too bohemian,’ Christine suggested. ‘You know that the circles I move in are less avant-garde than you’re used to. I’d just hate for you to feel self-conscious.’
Becky rarely felt self-conscious, but she was now.
‘So, what should I wear?’
Christine thought for a moment, her eyes still fixed on Becky. ‘You know how much I love you in a trouser suit, with your hair back. You remind me of Cate Blanchett. You just look like you mean business.’
‘Business? But I thought this was a party?’
‘It is a party… a work party.Mywork. Again, it’s completely up to you what you wear, I’d just hate for you to stick out like a sore thumb.’
Becky felt herself shrink as she realised this wasn’t about how she looked at all. It was about how she looked on Christine’s arm.
She felt the annoyance creep in. From the moment they met she had been toning down the way she looked. No gothic jewellery, no crystals, no pigtails, nothing that would stop Christine from taking her seriously. Becky might have gotten away with that free spirit look in her twenties, but she was in her thirties now. Time to grow up. However, this was an expensive skirt, not some floor-length tie-dye effort from the local hemp shop. Yet it still wasn’t good enough.
‘Are… are you embarrassed to be seen with me, Christine?’
‘Heavens no,’ she exclaimed. ‘Why on earth would you think that?’
‘Just a feeling I get,’ Becky replied. ‘Sometimes it’s like I’m just on the edge of being good enough but I never quite get there. I know you like trousers over skirts and suits over casual, but I just don’t feel they’re quite me. My style is more… girly.’
