Page 86 of Read My Lips

“Hand drawn patterns.” Sev’s words were thick with pride, despite her continued rapid click through of screens.

Jo made a bashful sort of gesture, but she was glowing. “I work with companies who do the making up. It’s not like I’m personally inking every meter and stitching all the garments.”

Sev folded her arms. “Only designing the clothes, and the patterns and the colour combinations. Ignore the downplaying. She’s a creative powerhouse.”

“Sev’s biased, obviously.” Jo smiled fondly. “The whole clothing range was meant to be wax-printed onto cotton – Ankara type stuff. I started tracking back Creole origins in Mauritius to West Africa via the slave trade, and fell in love with all the patterns and use of colour. They resonated with me.” She leaned in, no hint of assumption that a bloke like me wouldn’t be interested in her creative process. “I wanted to incorporate the fluidity and romance of the Sega costumes Dad always told us about – and Simon said why not try modal silk⁠—?”

“He likes a bit of luxury,” added Sev. “You may have noticed.”

“—And I said sometimes luxury isn’t what you’re missing in life, darling brother.” Laughter sparked in Jo’s warm eyes. “But they do drape beautifully, don’t they? And then⁠—”

“Because she’s a terrible overachiever,” Sev interjected smoothly.

“I had to get in a little nod to Scandi folk design in the detail too.”

I nodded, smiling at the pair of them. “Because your mam’s Swedish, right?”

“Exactly!” She beamed at me. No wonder Sev fell for Jo. All that passion and enthusiasm made everything sound fascinating. Both of them were mile-a-minute. Keeping up was exhausting.

“Bet they’d be dead good in cotton too.”

Jo’s eyes lit up. “Would you like some? You can have a pair.” She fished for her phone out of a deep pocket in the folds of her skirt. “What size are you?”

“Oh. No – I mean. They wouldn’t look good on me, would they? Simon’s all...”

Right when I thought he’d checked out, his eyebrows hitched up in perfect amusement. “...All?”

No. I was not about to gush over how gorgeous Simon was to his face. I’d never live that down.

“He’s- uh. Got long legs, hasn’t he? I’m a short arse, me.”

Jo tilted her head, clever eyes narrowing as she engaged with the problem that wasn’t even a problem. It was just me.

“I’ve got tortoises too,” she said at length. “Would you feel more comfortable with tortoises?”

Simon snorted lemon water out of his nose.

Fuck my life. He was giving big-cat energy, and I was a step above an animate rock.

“I thought this was supposed to be a working lunch,” I snapped. Fed up with embarrassing myself in front of his family.

Simon sobered instantly.

“You’re right. We should focus. We can do a few more close ups together and add them to the mix for texture. What do you think Sev?”

Texture. Bloody hell. In my world that did not mean what he made it sound like it meant. Then again, my social media presence consisted of biannual photo updates and me liking the occasional weightlifting video.

Plucking up a cherry tomato to chomp, Sev clattered keys. “Wouldn’t hurt. I’m logging onto the corporate events section of the intranet. There’s got to be loads of official snaps of you two suited up for launches.”

I tried to peer around the edge of her laptop to get a glimpse at the screen, and she shuffled closer to Simon, making room for me next to her.

“Lean in, here we go. How good are you at Where’s Wally?”

“Oh god they’re all thumbnails.” The screen was a patchwork of tiny little squares, full of matchstick people and pin-head smiling faces. Simon’s usual colourful clothing didn’t stand out so much with everyone dressed up. Sorting through them all would take forever.

Simon groaned. “Have I mentioned recently how much I hate our company intranet?”

“Chin up. It’s only a case of sifting through approximately five-hundred unindexed pages of every media event the firm’s ever covered in random order.”