Lucy sees something dark cross Daphne’s face, but it’s gone quickly.
‘So we need a solution,’ Daphne says, her forehead wrinkling. ‘Wait here.’
She goes to the back of the shop and disappears through a doorway, then pops her head out, smiling mysteriously.
‘Come and have a look,’ she says.
Christina raises her eyebrows at Lucy, who stands up slowly and walks over to the doorway, from where she can see a room with a long bench that’s mostly clear of objects. There’s a stool next to it and shelves above it, some of which are empty.
‘Could you bring a sewing machine here?’ Daphne says, gesturing to the bench. ‘I could give you a key to the place. You could come and go.’
Lucy is agog. This is really nothing she could have expected, and she’s not sure she’s ready for the responsibility.
‘But … you … you don’t know me,’ she says breathlessly.
‘Don’t know you?’ Daphne cackles. ‘Love, you’ve been in here plenty of times. And I’m a good judge of character.’ That fleeting darkness appears on her face again. ‘Mostly.’
‘Oh, do it, Lucy!’ Christina urges, grinning, showing her perfect teeth. ‘I’d love to be able to watch you work.’ She gasps. ‘Not in a creepy way!’
Lucy laughs. She can’t help it. This is all so unreal.
‘But why?’ she says. ‘Why would you do it?’
‘Why not?’ says Daphne. ‘I’m in charge, pretty much. I can do what I want. And Ophelia would approve, I think.’
‘Ophelia?’ Christina asks.
‘Original owner of the frock shop. She created stunning clothes.’ Daphne smiles dreamily. ‘Made many of them right here in this back room. So she would likely think that young Lucy being here means the shop’s being put to its rightful purpose.’ She looks at Lucy seriously. ‘So I don’t think you can upset Ophelia.’
Lucy laughs again. Is this really the solution? Can it really be so simple?
‘I’ll have to ask my parents,’ she says.
‘Of course,’ says Daphne. ‘Bring them by to say hello. But the space is yours if you want it.’
Now Lucy is smiling so much her cheeks hurt, and she grabs Daphne in the biggest hug she can muster.
‘Thank you,’ she whispers into the powdery-perfumed neck.
‘My pleasure,’ Daphne says as she squeezes back. ‘Now go home and ask them.’
As Lucy leaves the shop, her relief is so light she feels like it could lift her into the air and float her home. Surely her parents won’t object? They must see that she’s solving a problem – one they should have solved, yes, but they haven’t.
She’ll need her dad to move the machine from home to the shop, if her mum will let her have it. She hopes they won’t mind. And if they do, she’ll just have to find a way to manage something else. Or ask Daphne for help. Or Christina.
It’s astonishing, she thinks, how quickly things can change. For bad and for good. She’s going to hold on to the good for as long as she can.
THE
TAN SUEDE JACKET
By the time the girl was given the tan suede jacket, it had already been through two owners.
The man who gave it to her – a friend of her parents’ – had bought it in the 1960s, worn it often, then gave it to his son once his son was in his twenties. The father was, by that stage, wearing the jacket rarely and the son was borrowing it so regularly that it made sense to pass it on.
The son was the apple of his parents’ eyes and the eyes of almost all around him. Outgoing, handsome and charming, he brightened every gathering, even if he hadn’t seemed to quite find his way in life. They were all waiting to see what he would become, this young man with so many natural talents. As his twenties went on, they were still waiting. Then he became ill. It was gradual and so people didn’t really notice, other than wondering why he looked thinner. By the time they all found out, he was on his way to dying and there was nothing that could be done about it.
By that time the jacket was back in the father’s wardrobe, because the son had moved in with his parents to be cared for by them. Everyone pretended it wasn’t the end, but they all knew otherwise. Especially him, the lovely young man with bright eyes and a soft voice who was so kind to the girl who would, one day, wear his jacket.