Miracle on Regent Street (12 page)

‘Lila?’ I squeak. ‘Say something . . . please?’

She just shakes her head silently. Then she clambers off the bed and steps towards me. She holds my arms and stares at me from my head to my toes, which are in need of a lick of nail polish, I
realize. I try and scrunch them in my shoes to hide them.

‘It’s too much, isn’t it?’ I mumble. ‘I mean, I wouldn’t wear this on a first date, obviously. It’s more for if I ever get invited to a big event, you
know, like, like . . . the Oscars or something, which, you know, obviously could
totally
happen because that’s how my life rolls . . .’ I force a laugh. Delilah is still staring.
‘Anyway, I’m going to get changed now . . .’

‘Will you just SHUSH for a moment?’ Delilah says impatiently, and a smile bobs over the corners of her lips. ‘I am trying to savour the moment when my little sister turned into
a woman. Look at you, Evie!’ She twizzles me around and pushes me in front of the full-length mirror on the inside of the armoire door. ‘You look beautiful!’

‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ I say bashfully. I look passable, yes, pretty even, but beautiful? Never. I love my sister and all, but even I know she’s over-exaggerating. But
that’s OK. I realize that what she’s trying to say is that I look better than I’ve ever looked before, which frankly, is all I’m aiming for.

I gaze at my reflection with the same eye I use on our shop-floor displays every morning when I’m assessing what I’d do to make them better, if someone would just let me. I try to be
critical but even I have to admit that this is probably the best I’ve ever looked. The sage colour of the dress enhances my pale skin so it looks soft and creamy, and does the same for my
mousy hair. It has a really lovely sheen to it this evening. My ankles look small and delicate, my thighs are well hidden under the full skirt, as are the tops of my arms. And my boobs –
well, frankly, this dress makes them look fabulous. Usually I hide them under baggy clothes, but the hidden corsetry has lifted them, which forces me to stand tall and throw my shoulders back.

‘Oh, Evie, it’s so nice to see you happy with the way you look,’ Delilah says. ‘I hate the fact that you’re always so hard on yourself. So,’ she claps her
hands, ‘are we decided?’

‘Decided on what?’

‘Your outfit, of course.’

‘Um, no,’ I reply in horror.

‘Evie, you have to wear this for your date, you just
have
to. It’s PERFECT.’

I stare at her in horror. ‘But I don’t know where we’re going. I’ll look a right fool turning up to a pub or somewhere in this.’

‘Oh.’ She looks downcast for a moment and then her eyes light up again. ‘Well, let’s try an outfit on for every possible scenario then!’ She claps her hands in
delight, then dives into my wardrobe, peers under some of the plastic and pulls out a blush-spotted chiffon blouse and hands it to me. ‘Try this with those navy cigarette pants, Evie. Go,
GO!’

I skulk off to the ensuite. I know not to argue with Delilah when she’s like this.

An hour later and I’ve tried on four more outfits for four very different dates: a black ruched long-sleeved wrap dress with a plunging neckline for a chic city dinner
date; a 1940s fur-trimmed tweed jacket with a soft, cream cowl-neck jumper, denim skirt and knee-length brown 1970s boots for a Sunday afternoon countryside amble; a gorgeous horse-printed wrap
dress with heeled brogues and a camel cape for a trip on the London Eye (‘He’s American,’ Delilah exclaimed. ‘He’s bound to choose somewhere like that!’); and
lastly, and because Delilah begged me to, I also tried on one of the 1930s bias-cut satin gowns for a sexy night in a hotel in Paris. Even though it brought back memories of Jamie. Delilah sighed
and said she hasn’t been to Paris, or had sex, for a long, long time and she needed to live vicariously, so I relented.

Another hour later and we’re officially drunk. I’ve put
It’s a Wonderful Life
on DVD and we’re snuggled up in bed, simultaneously sniffing and swooning over Jimmy
Stewart.

‘The thing nobody tells you,’ slurs Delilah as she stretches out next to me on my bed, ‘is that once you’re married and have got kids, you never go on dates any more or
do any of the fun, exciting things that made you fall in love with each other. It’s just endless monotony. Work, kids, dinner, tidying up, more work, bed.’

She rolls on her side and leans up on one arm. ‘Do you want to know a secret, Evie?’ I turn my head to face her and see a faraway gaze in her eyes. ‘Sometimes, I wish I was
you. You’ve got it all ahead of you, haven’t you? Your dream job, buying your first flat, falling in love, getting engaged, travelling, marriage, first baby – all those exciting
firsts! Whereas me, I’ve just got this. For. The. Rest. Of. My. Life.’ She sighs and turns her face towards the ceiling again. ‘I know it sounds really awful, but I just
can’t help thinking, is this it?’

‘It doesn’t sound awful, Lila,’ I say gently. ‘It’s normal. Lots of women feel the same. But look at you! You’re beautiful, clever, you’ve got an
amazing, successful career, a wonderful husband, two great kids and this incredible house. People would
kill
for your life. Whereas, you know, if they got offered mine they’d probably
say, “Er, no thanks, I’ll stick with what I’ve got.” It’s just the wine making you maudlin.’

‘I know, I know,’ Delilah says shamefully. ‘I know I’m lucky, but I can’t help how I feel. Maybe it’s because I’m about to turn thirty-five. I mean, God
how de
pressing
.’

I rub her shoulder soothingly. ‘Would it help if I told you that you look younger than I do?’ I reply. Delilah smiles weakly and I sit up and cross my legs. I over-exaggerate a frown
and point out my forehead speech marks to her. ‘Look. Now, tell me truthfully, wouldn’t you be
more
depressed if you were twenty-eight and had these? Joan Collins has fewer
wrinkles than I do!’

She laughs and I notice her brush away a solitary tear.

‘Age means nothing these days, Lila,’ I say, rubbing her knee. ‘Look at Kate Moss! And now look at me. I may be six years younger than you but I work in a fuddy-duddy shop, I
never go out and I haven’t had sex since Jamie dumped me! That was two years ago, Lila. I mean, I’m practically a born-again virgin!’ I force a laugh and Delilah joins me but
I’m not laughing inside. Right now I’m focusing on distracting Delilah from her weird wine-induced mid-life crisis. I can focus on my less-than-average life later.

‘Now,’ I say, clapping my hands as I think of the perfect way to cheer her up, ‘it’s your turn for the fashion parade. So, let’s just say that you were going on a
date that could end in hot sex, what would you wear?’ I indicate The Wardrobe, wordlessly granting her access to its priceless garments, despite feeling a little nauseous at the thought.

‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly Evie,’ Delilah smiles at me. Her tears have separated her eyelashes so that she suddenly looks like a young Twiggy from the sixties, all thick, spidery
lashes and wide-eyed innocence.

She looks towards The Wardrobe and then back at me before leaning across the bed and fanning my hair over my shoulders like she does with Lola. ‘These clothes, well, they’re the
essence of you, aren’t they? I couldn’t possibly try them on. No one would do them justice like you can.’

I swallow, overcome by my sister’s sensitivity. It’s moments like this that I realize just how much I love and need her.

I honestly don’t know what I’d do without her.

Friday 2 December

23 Shopping Days Until Christmas

‘M
orning, Felix,’ I say, brandishing a strong Starbucks Americano in front of his security off ice window.

It’s Friday, thank God, but Felix doesn’t look like he’s got that Friday feeling at all. He smiles wearily at me and reaches out for his coffee. He looks almost grey with
fatigue, but then again if I’d been up all night I’d look like crap, too. Felix is here every morning when I come in. He’s in his mid-seventies, and he’s what you’d
call a rough diamond. He’s lean for his years, with sharp blue eyes, messy dark-grey hair and matching stubble. He looks slightly unkempt, like a man who doesn’t have a woman in his
life. Maisie, his wife of nearly forty years, died almost three years ago. But before she died, Maisie left him a list of things she wanted him to do after she’d gone. The first was go back
to his old employers and to ask for a job. The last was find a companion. Felix complied with the first, but has told me he’s too long in the tooth to be meeting any new woman. ‘Dating?
At my age? She was a clever old bird, my Maisie, but she wasn’t always right. Nope, having a job is good enough – I don’t need anything else.’

I know when he came here that being a security guard wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind, but he says it suits him as he hates being at home on his own at night. Until
Maisie’s death they had never spent a night apart. Can you imagine that? After Jamie, I thought I knew what it was like to lose the love of my life. Now, since I’ve met Felix, I can
only wonder what it would be like to find it.

I hand him his coffee and nod at the newspaper in front of him, which is, as ever, turned to the puzzle page. ‘How are you getting on with that?’ I ask, pointing at the Sudoku.

He shakes his head ruefully and flicks his pen between his teeth. ‘I’m well and truly stuck, Evie. Feel like I’ve been on the same bloody square forever.’

‘You and me both,’ I laugh ruefully. ‘May I?’ I tilt my head towards the pen and he smiles at me.

‘Go for your life, love,’ he replies warmly and leans back in his chair, sipping his coffee with satisfaction.

I bite the lid of the pen as I stare at the puzzle. Figures have never been my strong point, but I love the certainty of knowing that every one of the nine numbers in a Sudoku has a place, and
when they’re in the right one every other number falls into place around them. I scribble a seven in the top left-hand corner of the box and then quickly fill in the rest of the missing
numbers across the line.

‘There,’ I say, and hand the pen back to him. ‘That should help.’

Felix leans forward and squints at the puzzle, then back at me. ‘Whooo,’ he whistles. ‘You are on form.’

‘Pity no one else thinks so,’ I say, and before I can stop myself my chin is wobbling and I’m sitting in his office telling him about the promotion that never was. Felix shakes
his head and pats my shoulder as I reel off my feelings of disappointment and failure.

‘It’s not right,’ he mutters. ‘It’s just not right. Why can’t they see what’s in front of them? Walter would never have overlooked such obvious talent,
that’s for sure.’ I smile at his loyalty to me and his old boss, whom he respected enormously. Felix used to be a manager here back in the days when Hardy’s was a real destination
store, and I love hearing his stories. Just like me he started in the stockroom, back in the late 1950s, working hard until Walter Hardy junior spotted his potential and moved him on to the shop
floor. He’s convinced the same will happen to me.

‘It’s crazy that you’re stuck in that stockroom when you could be such an asset on the floor,’ he says, and I resist the urge to smile. ‘The customers would love
you. I know,’ he adds gruffly, ‘because you’re a little ray of sunshine for me.’ I feel my eyes fill up and I can see he’s embarrassed and doesn’t know where to
look. I don’t know what’s up with me today. I’m not usually this emotional.