Page 39 of The Late Bloomer’s Playlist

Hot Chocolate

YOU SEXY THING

I could hear Janet humming along to whatever was playing on the main floor of the shop. I even imagined her tapping her foot to the music, too. If I’d brought David, he would have come barging in here by now and interrogated me on exactly how long it took one woman to try on four dresses. Nearly fifteen minutes was the answer, apparently, and even now I wasn’t sure that I liked any of them. Seeing Sheila – making future plans to see Sheila, I thought with a pleasant stomach jump – had inspired me to shake up my ageing wardrobe slightly. The only problem being that for every item I’d thrown in a donation bag over the last two days of sorting, I wasn’t at all sure what I should replace those clothes with. I’d thought Janet might be a help but I hadn’t actually let her see me in anything yet, so we’d reached a bit of a stand-off there as well. But for this final dress – a slim-fit black number that came just below my knee, with a band of cream that ran up either side, leading to cream short sleeves – I thought I should at least make an effort to show her what her patience had been in aid of.

‘What do you think?’ I asked, arms spread as I stood awkwardly outside the changing room.

Janet looked up from her phone. ‘Oh, Patti, it’s lovely.’

I gave up the pose and dropped my hands to my hips. ‘But is it sexy, Janet?’

‘Oh.’ She looked taken aback by the question. ‘I… Well… I’m not sure sexy is the–’

‘Then what is the word?’

‘Honestly?’ Her mouth bunched up at one side and she spoke through the small space the expression allowed her, ‘Corporate.’

‘Christ, Janet.’

‘What about the others?’

I ran my hand through my hair. At least that was a change that had worked in my favour. I’d visited an over-priced salon on the high street only yesterday and asked them to give my grey some much-needed attention. I wasn’t precious about the colour necessarily, so I quietly turned down their gracious offer of blonde platinum. Though I did ask for a bit of life to be injected into the old locks; perhaps even some layers. Specifically, what I actually asked for was for her to make me look younger and I tried not to be too offended when the woman – who was definitely fifteen years younger than me if not more so – laughed at the sheer suggestion, as though I’d been taking the piss when I said it. But they aren’t miracle workers, I’d reminded myself as I stared down my reflection for a solid hour while the same woman chopped and shaped and feathered me.

Now I just needed to fix the rest…

‘You took in that gorgeous bottle green one, what about that?’

‘It’s too…’ I gestured from my waist down with both hands. ‘I don’t know. Flowy.’

‘Why don’t you let me see it?’

I sighed. ‘Do we even have time for that?’

‘Of course we do!’

Janet worked to her own system of time. But we were meant to be meeting a group of her girlfriends for lunch, too. I only knew the women in passing, but when I’d mentioned to Janet that there was a shopping spree on the horizon for me, she’d said we should go together and I could join her and her friends for lunch afterwards. I was sure it was the promise of lunch that had made me go through with the shopping trip in the end. Still, I didn’t want to be the reason Janet and I were late meeting The Gaggle, as she lovingly referred to them.

‘If you’re worried, we can do lunch and come back after? Besides’ – she reached down to grab her handbag from the floor – ‘it’s probably best to try things on after you’ve eaten. You don’t want to buy a boatload of new dresses and find they’re standing room only, do you? Scoot, get your linens and your jumper back on, and I’ll meet you outside.’

It may have taken me fifteen minutes to try on four dresses, but it only took me three to slip back into my comfortable clothes, hang the dresses on the No Thanks rail, and find Janet lingering across the road.

‘What caught your eye?’

‘This.’ She nodded towards a brilliant mustard shirt dress. ‘You’re going to eat lunch, and then you’re going to try that on for me.’

‘Janet, I–’

‘Come on, Patricia!’ she shouted back, storming ahead already in the direction of the bistro.

‘Janet.’ I hurried to catch up with her. ‘Janet, wait a second.’ She slowed her pace and I was quietly reminded of just how frequently Janet visited the gym on an average week – against my strong streak of zero times per week, for the last twenty years or so. ‘Janet, I want to ask you something and I don’t want you to tease me for it.’

‘Okay,’ she said with some hesitation, ‘but I’m really not promising anything, Patti.’

I sucked in a breath for courage. ‘Do you ever worry… about your body?’

‘Not really. You and I have those health check-ups and–’

‘No, that’s not what I mean, Jan, I mean…’