The Dress (Everyday Magic Trilogy: Book 1) (15 page)

She thrust herself up through the water, reaching for her towel. No, there really were some things better kept to herself. She couldn’t believe now that she’d risked so much when Ella was younger. She hadn’t thought ahead about the questions Ella might ask, the conclusions she might jump to, here in such a different time and place.

 Fabbia stood and opened the tiny bathroom window, letting the cool night air slap her cheeks and the fragrant steam escape. She rubbed at her legs with the rough towel, feeling the strength return to her calves and ankles, enjoying the cool of the lino floor. Yes, some things were hers to keep close, for Ella’s own good. To keep Ella safe.

She wiped at the mist-covered mirror and looked at her face reflected there. A woman smiled back at her, a woman who had lived. And yes, she thought, she liked the new lines around her eyes, the creases at the corner of her mouth.

She cupped the warm skin of her belly in both hands and smiled.

12.
Robes of pale blue velvet. Origin unknown.

Mamma picked up the letter from the mat and slipped her fingernail under the flap.

‘Oh no,’ she said and then, ‘
Catzo
!’

It was Saturday morning. David had stopped by between home visits and was balancing on a stepladder, his arms stretched above his head, replacing a bulb in the chandelier. He laughed and the stepladder began to shudder, the chandelier swinging precariously in his hands.

‘I don’t even know what you’re saying, Fabbia, but I know that it’s very rude.’

Mamma pulled a face. Today, in her little powder blue suit with the peplum jacket and short neat skirt, Ella thought that she could easily pass for a schoolgirl.

‘Agh. It’s one of my regular suppliers. He’s let me down about the Chinese silk I ordered,’ she sighed. ‘He’s saying he can’t get hold of it but I need it for Jean Cushworth’s gown.
Dio mio
. I have to have that dress ready for next Friday, Saturday morning at the very latest...
Disastro
.’

Ella stepped out from the doorway.

‘Mrs Cushworth? Katrina’s mother?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Mamma grimaced, mimicking a regal voice and pose. ‘“I want only the very best, Fabbia,”‘ she says to me. “It has to be very special, better than any of the dresses you’re making for the other ladies… I have a certain… how can I put it, Mrs Moreno, without you thinking me frightfully arrogant? There is a certain
expectation
from people in this town. One mustn’t
disappoint
…”‘

‘Well, can she choose a different fabric? A different colour, perhaps?’

Mamma laughed.

‘David, you obviously don’t know women. When we make up our minds… And I really don’t want to disappoint her. She’s brought me a lot of business already.’

Then her face suddenly brightened.

‘I could go to the wholesalers myself and pick up the silk. I’ve been making do for a while now with so many of my little bits and pieces… I wonder…’

‘We could make a day of it,’ said David. ‘Monday’s my day off.’

Mamma clasped her hands together.

‘What fun! And Ella could come with us. Wouldn’t you like a trip to London,
carina
?

Ella screwed up her face.

‘Honestly, mum. What are you like? I can’t just take a day off school. You have to get special permission. And I’d miss stuff. I’d have to catch up. I’ll be fine here on my own, though. Go. Have a great time.’

As she turned away, she caught Mamma’s expression of dismay, reflected in the shop window.

‘Such a good girl.
Too
good,’ she was saying.

*

But Ella knew that she wasn’t that good. She had her own reasons for staying behind. She thought about them all the time now. She couldn’t stop thinking about them.  

On Monday, when the bell rang for end of school, she turned down the corridor past the girls’ cloakrooms, and there was Katrina, leaning on the wall, hips forward, shoulders back, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

‘Hi, Ella,’ she said, flashing a smile. ‘I saw your mum at the station this morning. With
David
…’

Ella felt prickles of irritation tingle down her arms at the thought this seemed to imply: that it was a bit of a joke, the idea of her mother and Doctor Carter going anywhere together.

‘I thought I’d come home with you,’ she said. ‘Keep you company, so you won’t be all lonesome.’

Ella’s heart plunged. They were out of the door now and heading across the playground where she could see Billy hovering by the school gates. He saw Katrina and instantly, like an automatic reflex, his head snapped down and he started to walk off, his hands in his pockets, staring determinedly at the ground.

‘Billy! Wait a minute!’

Ella turned and glared at Katrina. ‘You can do what you like,’ she said, ‘but I’m walking with him.’

Katrina raised an eyebrow. ‘Okey dokey. You’re in charge.’

When they reached the shop and Billy had helped Ella wrestle with the complicated doorlocks, Katrina ran ahead of them, up the stairs into the flat and began to walk into each of the rooms, picking up a book here, a trinket box there, saying, ‘How
sweet
!’  and ‘So
tiny
. How
abso-lutely darling
!’

Ella exchanged a look with Billy and went into the kitchen. She banged the coffee filter loudly against the sink, scattering old damp coffee grounds.

Katrina appeared in the doorway. ‘What in heaven’s name are you doing?’

‘Making coffee. What does it look like?’

‘Erm, honestly? Like you’re brewing up some weird kind of spell in the sink,’ said Katrina, wrinkling her nose. ‘Smells awful…’

‘Right then, I’m off.’ Billy shoved his hands into his pockets.

Ella’s heart banged in her chest. ‘But we only just got here…’

‘Things to do, people to see,’ said Billy. ‘I’ll leave you ladies to it.’

‘I’ll see you off then,’ Ella said, perhaps a bit too quickly. ‘I mean, I’ll have to unlock the door and lock it again behind you.’

She followed him down the stairs and, whilst she fumbled with the keys once more - middle latch, top and bottom bolts - Billy hissed at her under his breath.

‘God, El, how can you stand ‘er?’

‘Oh, do I have a choice? I hadn’t noticed.’

‘Here, I’ll do that.’ He slipped the key out of her hand. His fingers were firm and warm and sent little jolts of feeling through her.

The door gave way. The bell jangled.

‘Well, then. Be seeing you,’ he said, winking. ‘Don’t forget to have fun.’

‘Billy…’

He turned, expectantly.

‘Oh, it’s nothing. Doesn’t matter…’

She watched him cross the courtyard, under the low archway. She felt flat, limp, like a party balloon with the air gone out of her. What had she even been thinking, anyway? 

And then, as she stood there, Billy’s head suddenly reappeared around the far wall, a clown’s head without a body, eyes crossed, mouth pulled askew, tongue waggling.

She stuck her tongue out back at him, sensing the strange new pull of feeling between them. He’d known she would still be standing here, watching.

This wasn’t at all like the usual kind of Signals, colours and movements in the air around her that she could tune into. This was something that came from inside her. It felt as if she and Billy were attached to opposite ends of a piece of elastic, each of them tugging in their own direction, straining as the elastic got tighter and tighter, wondering exactly how far it would stretch before snapping them back hard.

The bottom stair creaked. Katrina was standing there, her back turned, running her hands up and down her sides, wriggling her body as if held in the grip of a comedy embrace, making fake kissing sounds.

‘Oh, get lost, Katrina,’ Ella sighed.

Later, as they sat at the kitchen table, sharing the
timballo
, the round cake of pasta and cheese and sausage and rich tomato sauce that Mamma had left, Katrina prodded the air with her knife.

‘Don’t you ever get sick of it?’

‘Sick of what, exactly?’

‘Oh, you know. Life in general. Being an only child. Not that I’m actually a proper ‘only’, you know… I mean, you’ve probably heard that there was… I mean, I had…’

Ella waited. She watched Katrina lay down her fork and scrutinise her plate. When she looked up again, she said, ‘What really bugs me is the way that my mum – mine and yours – are always going off with someone. All that business….’ She pursed her lips, making more air kisses.

‘But mine doesn’t,’ Ella said. ‘It’s the first time she’s ever been anywhere.’

‘Well, mine does it all the time.’ Katrina frowned. ’And I hate it. It’s always Mr So-and-So this, Mr So-and-So that. Katrina,
sweetheart
, I
must
introduce you to my new friend, Mr So-and-So. Lately, it’s that awful Pike person. You know the one...’

She squinted her eyes and combed her hair across her forehead with her fingers in imitation of Pike’s greasy fringe.

‘Yes,’ Ella said. ‘He came in the shop.’ She felt a stab of fear at the sound of the name, remembered those eyes slithering over her.

‘Really?’ said Katrina, suddenly interested. ‘What was he doing in a dress shop, for God’s sake? Did he buy anything?’

‘I don’t think so.’ Ella formed her words carefully, realising her mistake. ‘It was just when we first got here… something about the council. That’s what he does, doesn’t he?’

‘He’d be trying it on with your mum, probably. Eyeing her up,’ Katrina said. ‘He’s a snake. But your mum’s not stupid enough to get mixed up with someone like that, whereas mine’s got no common sense. There’s always bloody someone. It’s so embarrassing – she’s like a teenager. And then there’s all the committee meetings. Committee for this, Circle for that… so that she can feel important, I suppose.’

‘But what about your dad?’

‘Oh, my so-called
father
,’ said Katrina, rolling her eyes. ‘An idiot,’ she said. ‘Completely clueless. Wouldn’t know what she was up to from one minute to the next. And even if he did, he wouldn’t be interested. He’s old enough to be
her
father and he’s almost always in France or America or Hong-bloody-Kong, selling his stupid equipment…’

‘What kind of equipment?’

‘Oh, I don’t flippin’ know, do I? Stuff for making your lights go on and off and watering your garden automatically and air-conditioning and heating. Stupid. Totally ridiculous. But all Terribly Important, of course…’

Katrina chased a piece of penne around her plate, trying to spear it with her fork.

‘What is this stuff, anyway? It’s weird.’

‘It’s
timballo
, which means drum. You take a bowl and you line it with
penne
pasta  - you know, it’s called that because it’s shaped like feathers… well, actually, like little quills – and then you put all these different things in – meat and peas and more pasta and cheese sauce and tomato sauce – and then…’

‘Blimey. I don’t need the bloody recipe,’ Katrina said. She pushed her plate away, rudely. ‘It tastes funny. Too many flavours. It’s kind of confusing my taste buds.’

She dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her finger where a bead of tomato sauce clung on.

‘No, I can’t wait to get out of this place. Get out for good. Do something useful.’

‘Like what?’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Just
something
.
Any
thing.’

‘I quite like it in York, actually,’ Ella said.

‘Well, you’ve only just bloomin’ got here,’ said Katrina and then her eyes lit up meanly. ‘And, of course, you’ve got
Billy-boy
following you everywhere like a lovesick puppy. I mean, who wouldn’t stick around for
that
?’

‘Oh, shut up,’ Ella said, scraping her chair back from the table, clattering plates together. ‘Just.
Shut. Up
.’

*

When Katrina had left, trailing her veiled insults and bad jokes, Ella stretched herself across the sofa, flicking through TV channels.

She tried not to think about Mamma’s box in its hiding place under the bed but the more she wanted to resist, the stronger its pull became.

She knew, anyway, that she’d been thinking about taking a look for herself since Mamma had left that morning.

It was the book especially that intrigued her. She’d seen Mamma turning the pages, the well-thumbed paper whispering under her fingers. She hadn’t been close enough to see anything clearly – but it looked, from where she’d been standing, as if every part of the paper was covered in tiny handwriting along with sketches and diagrams. A recipe book, Mamma had said, but it didn’t look much like one. And if it was, why didn’t she keep it in the kitchen along with her Elizabeth David and the faded red Larousse?

Her phone bleeped with a text message:
Got 7pm traiN. HOMe 10ish. LoVe M xxx

OK x
, she texted back.

Not much time left.

She pressed the ‘mute’ button on the TV remote and watched as a woman in a sombrero stood with her feet planted firmly in a turquoise ocean, throwing her arms around and miming her excitement at the glittering water.

She would look. Just one look, she promised herself. Five minutes.

She went into the bedroom and knelt by Mamma’s bed, feeling into the gap for something box-shaped.

It was gone.

She threw back the duvet and pressed her cheek to the dusty floorboards. Nothing. Only shadows and fluff and a crumpled tissue imprinted with red lipstick.

She dragged a chair from the kitchen and clambered up, feelign with her hands along the top of the wardrobe. It wasn’t there, either. She looked through Mamma’s drawer, her hands moving through the layers of silk and lace, being careful not to leave anything disturbed.

So Mamma
was
hiding something, after all. She must have moved the box right after they’d had that conversation.

Ella clenched her fists. She clattered down the stairs and went through the boxes under the shop counter, the reels of gift ribbon, the neatly folded piles of tissue paper. She peered into the musty understairs cupboard where Mamma kept dusters and the mop and bucket and shelves of cleaning supplies.