‘Not any more.’
‘Cello? That’s cool,’ Lucy says, not sure if it really is but not wanting Daphne to get in trouble.
‘That’s not a word I hear used too often in relation to the cello,’ Adelaide says, and Lucy decides that the woman is either mean or in a bad mood.
Some customers at her parents’ shop are the same. Her friend Angelica, who works in a bakery at the junction, says she learnt a while ago that you can’t please everyone. ‘That one bloke wants his pain au chocolat, right, but it doesn’t have enough chocolate so he whinges and wants an almond croissant instead, then he says it has too many almonds, but a plain croissant is too plain … you get what I mean,’ was how she explained it one day.
‘So, what are you looking for?’ Daphne asks, and Lucy is glad for the change of subject.
‘Um … just seeing what’s new,’ she replies.
‘We got this pantsuit in,’ Daphne says, pulling something moss green from a rack. ‘The stitching is a little off in places and there’s no label, so I think it’s handmade, but it would be right for your height.’
Lucy is fairly tall, a fact she has often loathed, mainly when she’s teased about it – by girls more than boys.
Her mother sometimes asks her why she doesn’t have many friends. Angelica and Poppy are her only friends, really – and it’snot as though Lucy needs more, but her mother seems to think she does. But it’s because girls can be really mean. They’ve been mean to her since she was in primary school, and high school hasn’t changed anything – to the point that Lucy thinks she must have some kind of invisible sign attached to her that makes her a target. The favourite gibe is for a girl to say, ‘Your parents clean my clothes,’ or the equivalent; as if that makes Lucy’s parents lower-class or something.
Daphne holds the pantsuit up against Lucy and purses her lips. ‘Hm.’
Lucy glances down at it. The colour is lovely – not one she sees often.
‘It’s the right length and fit for you,’ Daphne says, ‘but possibly a little old. You need an office job for this.’
Lucy makes a face. ‘I don’t ever want one of those.’
‘I understand,’ Daphne says with a wink. ‘Let’s see what else we have.’
She moves over to another rack and spends the next few minutes pulling out clothes.
‘Actually,’ Lucy says.
‘Yes?’
Lucy glances over to the counter, where Adelaide is flipping through a magazine.
‘I wanted to ask you …’ Lucy thinks about how to phrase it.
‘Yes?’ Daphne prompts.
‘I can do alterations and stuff.’
Daphne nods encouragingly.
‘But I want to make something from scratch. From a pattern.’
Now Daphne’s face is alight. ‘A pattern! Well, we certainly have those. Someone donated a Butterick trove the other day.’
Lucy was worried that Daphne would ask her if she’s really up for making something from a pattern – because she hasn’t before – so she’s relieved that Daphne seems so keen.
‘Anything specific?’ Daphne asks.
‘I’d like a nice dress for Christmas.’
Which isn’t that far away, but Lucy wants to challenge herself to complete it in time.
Daphne walks to a basket in the back left corner of the shop, which Lucy can see now contains patterns. How has she never noticed it before? Probably because she wasn’t looking, she guesses. It’s funny what you don’t notice when you’re not looking.
‘Let’s see,’ Daphne murmurs as she starts going through the patterns, then she pulls one out with a smug smile.