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Hi, really sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did. I was a shit, and understand if you don’t want to come on Saturday.
Kate considered waiting to reply, but leaving people hanging wasn’t really her style.
Thanks for saying sorry, and yes, you were totally out of order. It wasn’t my fault you fell asleep.I’ll still come on Saturday as long as you leave shouty Bob at home… and buy ALL the drinks. What’s the dress code?
Bob’s reply came in a matter of seconds.Shirt, jacket and trousers.
Haha. So formal, proper dress kind of thing?
Yes, sounds about right? Just your usual Christmas party stuff.
Usual Christmas party? Kate couldn’t bear to admit she’d never been to one. In all the years she’d been with Alex he never once invited her to his office party. Not that she’d minded, she’d accepted his explanation that it was a chance to press the flesh with the right people, do some deals etcetera. But still, she would have liked to go, just once to see what all the fuss was about. The Sunbeam didn’t do staff parties, unless you count Angie’s leaving do when they went bowling and were banned for life after Flo threw up and did a moonie at the same time.
Kate put her phone down and scoured her wardrobe for anything party suitable. She found bugger all and was beginning to think she’d need to make an emergency dash to the charity shop when she remembered the dress belonging to her grandmother. Kate pulled out the box she’d stored it in and took off layers of tissue paper. Aside from the musty smell, the dress was as good as new.
With the bedroom door locked, Kate took off her leggings and hoodie and slipped the dress over her head. She moved over to the mirror and scrutinized the fit. It was too big on the bodice but that was easily rectified. The hemline skimmed the floor, heels would be needed unless she wanted to spend the entire night tripping up. Kate turned around and grimaced at the sight of her greying bra straps. Either she’d have to fork out on a fancy low-backed bra, or go without. She pulled the dress down to her waist and took off her bra. Pinching the fabric at the sides Kate assessed whether she could get away with the lack of underwear. Just about, she decided, but if it was cold in the jail she’d need a shawl to cover her modesty.
Kate pulled the dress back over her head and put her old, comfortable clothes back on. She grabbed her battered old sewing box from a cupboard and took out some pins. Her hand stroked the magazine clippings glued to the top of what was really an ice cream tub. There were several faded boy band members staring up at her, partly covered by flowers and butterflies. The sewing box had been her one slice of girly girlness. The walls of her bedroom had been too damp to hold posters, her clothes too stained and shabby to be considered pretty. But she’d spent quiet hours making friendship bracelets for the friends she’d one day have, or sewing patches onto clothes with scraps of fabric found in charity shops.
The sewing box transported her back to her old bedroom, a place she’d long since tucked firmly in her memory. Her mum was humming in the kitchen, radio on too loud. She’d been well and truly back on the booze when they lived in that flat. Kate thought of all the times she’d topped the vodka bottle up with water, but somehow Mum still managed to get pissed.
Her bedroom door back then had a hole in it, where one of Mum’s boyfriends had kicked it during a fight. There had been a conveyor belt of men over the years. Kate never bothered to get to know them, knowing they’d only be in Mum’s life for a month at best. She retreated to her room when they came around, some of them probably hadn’t even realised there was a child in the house.
Kate opened her eyes and looked around her bedroom. It couldn’t be further from her past. Clean, fresh damp-free walls, crisp, ironed M&S bedding, fairy lights around the window. Perhaps one of the reasons she started the Airbnb was that she didn’t know what to do with all the space. Her bedroom and kitchen were more than enough for her, after years living in poky hovels, the thought of spare rooms felt extravagant.
Kate turned her attention to the teal dress in front of her. She slipped it on inside out to pin it, and searched for a matching thread. The tasks would be easier with a sewing machine, silk was notoriously tricky, you only had to watch Sewing Bee to know that. Still, sewing up the dress would take all her concentration, a welcome distraction from the past occupying her thoughts. Kate threaded a needle, pushed thoughts of her childhood aside, and set to work.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
ONE THING KATEalways found puzzling, was people’s attitude to charity shops. Since arriving in Bodmin she’d heard plenty of sniffy comments about how the town wasall charity shops these days. Kate thought it was one of the best things about the town. They were an Aladdin’s cave of goodies, full of the surprising, quaint, quirky, and best of all, random. Kate felt a thrill searching through the rails and shelves looking for bargains. It seemed stupid buying new clothes when you could pick up quality second hand for a fraction of the price.
Kate whiled away many hours that week in the vast array of charity shops in town. Her mission had been to find a pair of heeled black ankle boots. In doing so she had broken her golden charity shop rule-never go with something specific in mind. Do that, and you’d be guaranteed not to find what you were looking for. No, the best approach was an open mind. Having searched for black boots and drawn a blank, Kate walked down to the bottom of the town to begin her trawl again.
It was fortunate she was size five, and four at a squeeze as there was no shortage of footwear in her size. In the first shop she tried on a pair of fake snake-skin stilettos. They looked good, but there was no chance she could walk in them. Her attempt at doing so resulted in a rail of jumpers being pulled to the floor and an annoyed shopkeeper.
In the second shop she found a pair of silver sequined platform shoes. There was no way they’d go with the dress but Kate was so tempted by their sparkle she paid the £2.99 for them and put them in her bag. She couldn’t imagine ever needing them in Bodmin, but life was full of surprises so best to be prepared. Kate sent a picture of them to Flo, who sent back a dancing gif, followed by a photo of her cleaning bucket and a messagechat after work.
Kate found nothing suitable in shops three or four, but in shop five she struck gold. In her focus for black she’d overlooked the crimson suede ankle boots sitting at the back of the shelf. Crimson and teal, could she get away with it? It would be a big departure from her usual monochrome, but maybe her wardrobe needed a shake up, and where better to start than a Christmas party?
Kate slipped on the boots, feeling like Cinderella about to go to the ball. They had enough of a heel to be considereddressy,but it was low enough that she could still walk, even dance if the mood took her. She checked the price on the label, £3.99. Just what she wanted, and a bargain at that.
Opposite the charity shop was a gift shop selling trinkets, jewellery and clothes. Kate nipped across the narrow road and the door pinged as she let herself inside. She scoured the cabinets before settling on just what she wanted. The assistant wandered over to unlock the cabinet and handed Kate the large hoop earrings, crimson and teal beads jangling from the silver. It really was her lucky day.
On her way home, Kate passed a smart menswear shop. She noticed a familiar figure in the middle of the shop and stopped just out of sight to look in. Bob was staring into a mirror, a willing shop assistant holding up a selection of ties and bow-ties. Bob held each one up in turn, squinting at his own reflection before trying another. Kate’s stomach fluttered at the sight of him,must be excitement about the party, she told herself before moving on.
Back at home, Kate laid her haul on the bed. It was a bold combination of colours, but Kate pushed away the nagging insecurities in her head and booked herself a hair appointment for Saturday morning.Why are you making such an effort? You can’t polish a turd. It’s only a local Christmas do.
Shut up, Kate said to herself, determined for once to override the negative thoughts in her brain. When was the last time she properly dressed up? It must have been while she was at uni, a full ten years earlier. What the hell had happened to her life that she shuffled around in black, grey and navy? Her mum, that was what had happened. But that was ten years ago, and the excuse for not living to the full was wearing thin.
*
Saturday morning dawned and Kate woke to butterflies in her stomach, wishing she’d opted for a simple black shift dress instead of her colourful ensemble. It wasn’t the outfit that was bothering her though, or the fact she’d not spoken properly to Bob since his hasty retreat the previous weekend. It was the thought of sitting on a table of strangers, pretending to be interesting. She had nothing interesting to say. If they asked about her career, she had nothing. If they asked about her family, what could she tell them? That her father was a drug addict and her mother an alcoholic? That was a party pooping tale for sure.
As she walked through town towards the hairdressers, Kate tried to think of anecdotes she could pull out later. Could she make up some story about a glittering career? Could she pretend she was married with kids? No, too risky. Everyone there was bound to know about her situation, they’d dealt with Moira’s Will after all. Perhaps she could practice her conversation skills on the hairdresser. But chatting to a stranger while trusting them with your locks was frightening, and the reason it was three years since her last visit.
Kate walked into the hairdressing shop and was hit by the scent of flowers and hairspray. A young girl with bleach blonde curls greeted her at the reception desk, offering her a chair and a glass of Prosecco. This was a step up from the ten-pound trim she’d had last time. Back then, she’d only been offered an over-brewed cuppa which she drank out of politeness rather than enjoyment. Kate declined the Prosecco in favour of coffee. It was only eleven o’clock and the alcohol would go straight to her head. Risky when someone was holding sharp scissors an inch from your scalp.
A heavily made up, willowy brunette appeared beside her, carrying an americano with shortbread biscuit on the side.
