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Kirsty stood rooted to the spot. Her mind was in turmoil. Because, for a second—just a split second—she thought the emotion she saw in his eyes was love.
Kirsty was more excited than a kid on Christmas Eve. She flitted around behind the curtain at the end of the runway, making sure everyone looked exactly how they should. The marquee was packed. Every seat was taken and most of the space in between the chairs was filled with people standing. Caroline had almost suffered a meltdown over fire safety and the lack of exits. Eventually the women of Knit Or Die stepped in. Armed with craft knives, they stood at different positions around the tent ready to cut the canvas and let the stampede escape, should there be one. That seemed to calm Caroline down. In the meantime, nothing could calm Kirsty down. She was about to put herself in front of the world again. Only this time it wasn’t her body on show but her mind. Somehow that seemed worse.
“Welcome, everyone,” Dougal boomed over the crowd.
There was an excited roar. Helena squeezed Kirsty’s hand to reassure her and Kirsty smiled back gratefully.
“Welcome to the first annual InverTARTY Battle Of The Bras!”
There was another roar. Annual? That was the first Kirsty had heard of it.
“You all have two pieces of paper and there are boxes outside. If you think our Kirsty’s show is the best, put the pink paper in the box. If you think Lake’s show is the best, put the blue paper in the box. I don’t think I need to remind anyone that Kirsty was born in town and Lake, well, Lake is English.”
There was a round of good-natured booing that made Kirsty laugh.
“The local dance school will perform at the end of the fashion shows,” Dougal said over the noise. “That will give us enough time to tally the votes. So stay in your seat until we announce the winner. There are snacks and drinks outside the entrance and blankets in case anyone is too cold. One more point of business before we begin. I’ve heard that Lake is promising a reduction in prices to anyone who votes for him. This is not allowed. It was a good try, but it isn’t going to happen. For a start, he won’t know who voted and you can’t prove it. For another thing, it’s cheating. So don’t even think about it. There will be no discount.”
There was a loud groan.
“Before you all get your knickers in a twist...” There was another groan. “Remember that your votes count. At the end of the night, one of the contestants will be the winner and one of them will be out! Now, let’s welcome onto the runway our very own fashion queen and lingerie expert—Kirsty Campbell.”
“I think he’s been watching too much Project Runway,” Helena said in Kirsty’s ear. “If he starts speaking German, I’m going back to Edinburgh.”
Kirsty grinned at her friend as she pulled back the curtain and stepped out onto the runway. There were shouts and whistles as the crowd applauded. Dougal handed the microphone to Kirsty, whose hand shook when she took it.
“Thank you all for coming,” she said, and they cheered at that too.
As her eyes scanned the packed marquee, she saw her mother giddy with excitement standing on a stool by the main entrance. In the front row, looking relaxed and amused, Lake sat watching her. Kirsty had to resist the urge to stick out her tongue at him. She cleared her throat.
“The theme of my show,” she said, “is Scotland in the winter.”
More cheers.
“And to help me put it on tonight, some of my friends from my modelling days are pitching in. Please make sure you give them a warm welcome.”
Lake’s eyes narrowed. He shook his head slowly in mock disgust. Kirsty couldn’t help but feel smug.
“Here we go,” she said.
She handed the mic back to Dougal and signalled to the guy on audio-visuals. The room went dark, apart from the twinkling fairy lights above them and the spotlights on the runway. The data projector beamed pictures of Scottish tartan on the back wall and The Proclaimers blasted out over the speakers in their thick Glaswegian accents. As the curtain slid back, Kirsty stood at the side of the stage beside the crowd and held her breath. This was it.
Helena appeared, wrapped head to toe in Kirsty’s fur coat. She stepped confidently onto the runway and let the coat fall open to reveal the red tartan lingerie underneath. The crowd went wild. As Helena strode down the runway she shed the coat, until it hung from her hand and trailed on the ground. Kirsty’s eyes filled with tears. It was perfect. Her lingerie didn’t look out of place at all. In fact, it looked amazing. Helena winked at the camera, cocked her hip and turned to stride back up the runway, dragging the coat behind her.
Kirsty flicked a look at Lake. He smiled sweetly at her, his eyes full of pride, and then he saluted. Kirsty wanted to run at him and kiss him hard. But she didn’t. Instead
she watched the rest of her models follow in Helena’s footsteps. And even though you could tell the amateurs, it was still a fantastic show. Kirsty felt quite overwhelmed.
“How about that, folks?” Dougal roared at the end.
The crowd hollered their approval.
“Let’s hear it for our Kirsty.” Dougal led her onto the stage, where she took a bow. “I don’t know about you lot, but even I want to put in an order for some tartan knickers after seeing that.”
At the back of the crowd she could see her mother jumping up and down with excitement. Kirsty beamed at her before she left to congratulate her models. During the brief break between shows, when the pub stall made a killing in hot chips and warm mugs of drinking chocolate, Kirsty joined everyone back in the caravan. The level of excitement, and relief, was almost overwhelming. There were hugs all around.
“That was as good as any show I’ve been in,” Helena told her.
Although Kirsty didn’t believe her for a second, she appreciated the sentiment.
