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“I hear you can get them on the internet,” Shona said. “Or in one of those dodgy pubs in Glasgow.”
“I don’t need a hitman,” Kirsty said. “I need help with sewing.” She took a deep breath. “I’ve decided to put together a show based on my own work, and I can’t sew it all in the time I have left. The fashion show is in ten days. The town is already filling up with tourists. If I don’t get help to sew, I’ll need to pull out and Lake will win.”
There were cries of outrage.
“We can’t have that.” Her mother leaned over the table to pat her hand. “Of course we can help sew—can’t we, girls?”
“Absolutely,” they agreed.
Kirsty felt the tension go out of her shoulders as she smiled back at them.
“We can call ourselves Sew Or Die,” Jean said.
Heather nodded. “Sew Or Die—Organised For Fashion,” she amended.
“You realise the acronym is ‘SOD OFF’?” Shona told her.
Heather grinned widely.
“I know,” she said.
“Okay,” Kirsty said loudly to get their attention yet again. “I have another problem. I don’t have any material and I don’t have time to go to Glasgow to get any.” She turned to her mother. “Do you still have that tartan stuff you bought years ago?”
Her mother thought hard.
“I think so.”
She disappeared into the back of the shop, and after a while she came out with a roll of red tartan cotton, which came straight from the punk era.
“Perfect,” Kirsty said, and gave her mum a hug. “I’m going to need other things too. Bra clasps, lace, that sort of thing.”
Her mother motioned to the shop.
“You can use whatever you find,” she said. “And what I don’t have I’m sure Shona has. She’s been stocking up on craft supplies for thirty years.”
“One garage and an attic full of it. I bet I have everything you need.”
Kirsty grinned widely at the women.
“Fantastic,” she said. “When can we start?”
“We’ll go get our sewing machines,” Heather said. “You get the sketches sorted and cut out the pieces you need. Jean is a dab hand at pattern making if that helps.”
Jean nodded as the women collected their coats and disappeared.
“This is going to be great,” her mother said once they were gone.
“My only hope is that we can pull it off.”
Kirsty reached up to rub the tension out of her neck and stilled. She was wearing her open-necked dress—only she’d forgotten to put on a scarf. For the first time since the accident, she was walking around with the scars on her neck showing. For a second she wasn’t sure what she thought about that, and then, with a slow smile, she decided it was okay. No one had commented. No one had even noticed. Spontaneously, she pulled her mother into a big hug.
“What’s this for?” her mother said. “Not that I mind!”
“Just love you,” Kirsty said as she grinned over the top of her head.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Lake was punching the living daylights out of a heavy bag in the back room of his shop when his phone rang. After a day searching Betty’s house for lingerie, he needed to hit something. He slipped off his gloves, unwrapped his hand and looked to see who was calling. He frowned slightly at the sight of his old army mate’s number. He’d been expecting John to get back to him weeks earlier.
