The Great Christmas Knit Off (10 page)

‘Hello, Lawrence,’ she says throatily, and even her voice sounds super sexy.

‘Ruby, this is Sybs. Sybs, this is Ruby, she owns the vintage clothes shop on the High Street,’ Lawrence says by way of an introduction.
Ah, of course she does.
We smile and shake hands. ‘Did you bring the clothes?’ he asks. I grin awkwardly, bobbing from one foot to the other as she casts a lazy look over my body.

‘Of course. And in a range of sizes too.’ And she turns and sashays back out of the room, leaving me to wonder what her verdict is.

‘Don’t mind her, she’s a poppet really. We’re the best of friends and I knew she’d help you out with some clothes.’ Lawrence picks up a silver-embossed cigarette case, selects a cigarillo and lights one up before offering it to me. I shake my head. ‘Are you sure? I find them very restorative.’ He smiles.

‘No, really, thank you,’ I grin, inhaling anyway. There’s just something about the nostalgic waft of a cigar – it reminds me of my granddad, he was a big cigar fan too. Keeping the cigarillo for himself, Lawrence pushes open a window to puff the smoke out into the cold snowy air. ‘You won’t tell anyone will you? Only it’s not
really
a public place this room,’ he says, draping himself across a padded window seat before flicking the ash outside. He winks at me before pulling his cigarillo hand back in to brush a smattering of snowflakes away. I shake my head and smile in agreement.

Ruby returns with a pile of clothes under her left arm and holds a pair of skinny jeans out towards me, dangling them by the belt loop on the end of a pillar-box red polished fingertip. I peer at the jeans suspiciously, as they look very small.

‘Try them. They’re your size.’ She dips her head slightly to one side as reassurance. I hesitate. Lawrence and Ruby are both staring at me, so I slip my soggy Converse off. And oh my God, what is that pong? Oh no. To my shame I realise it’s the trainers, still damp from the snow and sweaty like an old wheel of Brie: my feet officially reek like a thirteen-year-old boy’s bedroom. Eewww! Lawrence thoughtfully sweeps the offending shoes across the floor and straight into the naughty corner.

‘Here,’ Lawrence gestures to a curtained section of the room, ‘you can change behind there.’

‘Thank you,’ I say, shuffling away gratefully, hoping the whiff evaporates very quickly. A few minutes later and I have the jeans up and buttoned. They fit perfectly. I poke my head around the curtain and Ruby hands me a top – a gorgeous polka dot chiffon blouse with a Forties’ pussycat bow. I slip my arms in and she does the tiny little buttons up for me before tying the bow just right.

‘Oh, you’re good, Rubes. The clothes look like they were made for Sybs,’ Lawrence says, closing the window and joining us by the mirror after I push the curtain back, feeling like a woman on one of those TV makeover shows.

‘Well, it is my job to guess a woman’s size,’ Ruby smiles, confidently.

‘Thank you, Ruby, you’re a lifesaver.’ I grin, feeling chuffed that I’ve made it into a size ten. But then it’s hardly a wonder as I’ve had no appetite and have been surviving on mainly party ring biscuits, Haribo Strawbs and the occasional fried chicken leg from the place on the corner of my street.

‘No problem, but you can’t keep them. The jeans are from my designer range. Oh, I nearly forgot – you’ll be needing these too.’ She hands me three pairs of gorgeous silk knickers. ‘You can have them on the house.’

‘Thanks so much,’ I say impulsively, but then quickly add, ‘Oh, no I can’t just take them. Please, let me give you some money.’ They’re proper expensive French lace, but she just lifts an elegant hand to brush my offer aside.

‘Oh wow! Then thank you very much,’ I say, clasping the knickers to me. My big old cotton clangers won’t know what’s hit them when these appear beside them in my underwear drawer. ‘And of course I’ll bring the blouse and jeans right back to you.’ I grin again. ‘Mine should be dried out soon, with a bit of luck. They got drenched and covered in muck with all that trudging in the snow so I rinsed them and now they’re hanging up over the bath …’ I stop talking, feeling feeble, and I’m sure she doesn’t want to be bothered with the minutiae of my wardrobe malfunctions.

‘Sybs, you didn’t need to do that. You could have used the washing machine. Fetch them down later and you can run them through the tumble dryer,’ Lawrence says.

‘Thank you. I didn’t think to ask earlier, but that would be great,’ I smile.

‘Wonderful,’ Ruby says, and I make a mental note to return the clothes as soon as possible – I can’t wait to have a nose around her shop. ‘And Lawrence can return the favour by way of cake – I take it you do have a selection?’ Ruby purrs as she hooks her right arm around Lawrence’s neck and smacks a big lipsticky kiss on his cheek. I glance away, feeling self-conscious and a bit in awe of her charisma.

‘OK, that’s enough,’ Lawrence chides, as he leans into a mirror and wipes the smudge away with a tissue plucked from a silver box on the shelf.

‘Oh, you love it really,’ Ruby teases, in Lawrence’s direction. ‘Now, slight problem with footwear … what size are you?’ She turns back to face me with a quizzical look on her face.

‘Er, a seven.’ I wish I had dainty little feet like hers.

‘Mmm, well, I can’t give you a new pair because I need to sell them and I shan’t be able to if they’ve been worn; different story if I had some genuine vintage ones in stock but I’m all out of them at the moment. The blouse is fine to be sold on and the jeans I can use in the Christmas window display when you’ve finished with them. I’m planning a traditional tobogganing scene – jeans, festive knitwear, Christmas jumpers, bobble hats and scarves, that kind of thing. Very kitsch, very
It’s a Wonderful Life
,’ she says, having it all worked out.

‘Ah, I love that film,’ I beam.

‘Oh, me too,’ both Ruby and Lawrence say in unison.

‘And I could help you with the window display,’ I suggest, feeling excited.

‘How?’ she says in a very direct, businesslike way.

‘Um, I knit. It’s my passion, and needlecraft, crochet, and quilting … I love it all. And I have a pile of Christmas jumpers in my spare bedroom at home.’

‘Do you indeed? Well, I’d like to see them. When can you show me?’

‘I’m here until Sunday so I could post a selection to you on Monday?’

‘Good.’

‘Or you could knit one while you’re here,’ Lawrence suggests. ‘You know, as a teaser until Tuesday when the rest arrive. Hettie will have everything you need.’

‘Er …’ I open my mouth to explain but Ruby does it for me.

‘Don’t be daft, Lawrence, I’m sure Sybil can’t knit a whole jumper in a matter of days.’ They both turn to me with expectant looks on their faces.

‘It really depends on the size of the project – the yarn, knitting needles, complexity, that kind of thing.’

‘OK. Well, how about a super-chunky jumper with a fairly simple pattern on the front, like a Christmas pudding?’ Ruby lifts a perfectly groomed eyebrow and I nod my head, keen to help her out after she’s been so generous to me.

‘That’s certainly doable, if I make a start right away.’ Three days. It’s tight, but I’m willing to give it a very good go. Ruby claps her hands together, seemingly pleased with the plan. I smile inwardly, remembering my decision from earlier about going after my dream in a different way, and now one of my creations is going to be in a real shop window. And who knows, somebody might actually want to buy it?

‘And I can drop you at Hettie’s on my way back to the High Street,’ Ruby says, ‘the lanes are almost clear now, Pete was out with the tractor first thing. Good job the parish news people invested in that snowplough attachment last winter or we’d all be stranded by now. Lawrence, where are those cowboy boots? We need to hurry up now so Sybil can get knitting.’

‘Cowboy boots?’ Lawrence asks.

‘That’s right, the ones from
9 to 5
, the Dolly Parton musical you staged last year,’ she says, sounding impatient now. ‘Get them for me, please.’ Ruby waves a ‘hurry up’ hand in his direction, and my heart sinks. I can’t waltz into a bookshop to check out a mystery man wearing Dolly Parton boots. Lawrence does as he’s told and starts rummaging around in the cupboard.

‘Oh, it’s fine. I can wear my Converse. Really, it’ll be alright,’ I say, not even daring to ask how much her boots cost to buy after spotting the Ralph Lauren label inside the jeans. I quickly grab the Converse from the corner and push my left foot back into the still-soggy trainer while Ruby throws both her hands onto her hips, before glaring down at my feet. Lawrence even stops flinging a pair of Puss in Boots thigh slappers around the room to stare at me too. Silence follows as Ruby sizes me up. Lawrence pulls a face behind her back and then instantly busies himself back in the cupboard when she throws a daggers’ look in his direction. She’s circling me now, head tilted, as she supports her chin with a thumb and index finger, pondering on an alternative solution, I hope. But I can sense that she’s not feeling the love for the stinky-feet grunge look that I have going on, oh no.

‘Found them,’ shouts Lawrence, waving a pair of purple mock-croc cowboy boots in the air. They even have silver-tipped toes and little wheelie spurs around the side of the heels. Oh God.

‘Perfect,’ Ruby says, grabbing the boots from Lawrence’s hand. ‘Try them; they might be too big, in which case we’ll go to plan B,’ she instructs, handing me the boots. I take them, and go to slip my foot into the right one, not daring to challenge her or enquire about plan B. For all I know it could be much, much worse. Sasha has a pair of red patent leather thigh-highs that spring to mind. Can you imagine me sauntering into the village bookshop in fuck-me boots? Hardly. Mrs Pocket will probably call Mark, the policeman, over to arrest me and I’ll be banished from Tindledale for ever, my heinous crime having tarnished its heritage irreparably.

‘NO,’ Ruby shrieks, with such force that I can’t help wondering where the sudden emergency is. ‘Tuck the jeans in. It’ll help keep them clean.’ My heart sinks as I do as I’m told, eager to please my new girl crush, but at the same time wishing the spurs wouldn’t whizz around quite so furiously every time I move my feet.

‘Oh, yes, they’re definitely too big,’ I say, eyeing up a cute denim shoe-boot that Lawrence still has shoved under his arm. He catches my eye and mouths, ‘Sorry’, in my direction.

‘Nonsense, they fit fine.’ Ruby crouches down to press the end of the boot to see where my toes are, making me feel like a kid getting measured up for new school shoes. It’s the same sinking feeling when you know you’re getting the sturdy black brick-like monstrosities when you really want the glossy red dainty ones with the sweet little Mary Jane strap. My heart plummets even further. I wish I’d put my foot down, literally, but I keep my mouth shut and go with the flow instead. ‘There, let me see you.’ Ruby stands back to scrutinise me. ‘Yes, perfect.’ She presses her palms together in approval and then fluffs my hair forward over my shoulders making me feel pampered, like a model, sort of. ‘Yes, cowboy boots with your winsome smile … very kitsch in a postmodern Doris Day way,’ she says, as I try to keep up, hoping she doesn’t mean all thigh-slapping and cowgirly, or that she’s going to pull out a whip from Lawrence’s dressing-up box just to complete the look. ‘I like it, and so much better than those stinking Converse! And in snow.’ Ruby looks outraged now. ‘All that schlepping along looking grungy? No, no, no … Sooo not a good look. You must saunter along, bursting with swagger, and don’t be worrying about going arse over tit on the ice. If you do, just laugh it off and get right back up.’ She makes a big Elvis-style circle with her arm to demonstrate the point. ‘So, who’s the man?’ she asks nonchalantly, smoothing a perfectly arched eyebrow with her ring finger.

‘Oh, it’s not like tha—’

‘Honey, it’s
always
like that!’ she says knowingly, her voice sounding all Mae West after several hundred cigars. ‘Now get the dog and let’s be off,’ she glances at her watch before pulling her ski jacket back on.

‘Thanks for sorting me out Ruby.’ I give her a quick hug.

‘My pleasure.’ And she sashays from the room.

‘Hurry, hurry, you don’t want to miss Adam. He could leave at any moment in his search for rare books and then who knows when he might return?’ Lawrence tosses the shoe-boot back into the cupboard and makes a shooing action at me with his hands.

‘Thank you, Lawrence, for everything,’ I say, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the kindness of strangers. Well … that’s what Lawrence and Ruby were, but not any more: they’re friends, new ones. And to be honest I really need to make more effort on the friendship front – sitting in night after night on my own, avoiding my old friends, despite their efforts to cheer me up after the non-wedding isn’t good for the soul, I need to get out more and I don’t just mean Zumba.

‘Ah, you’re very welcome,’ he mutters, leaning down and gently squeezing my shoulder. ‘Oh, before I forget … Wait here, I’ll be back in a moment.’ And he shoots out of the room, returning a few seconds later with an enormous silver foil parcel. ‘Lunch for Hettie. Just a few rounds of sandwiches – will you give them to her please, with my compliments?’

‘Sure,’ I say, taking the sandwiches, thinking what a lovely man he is.

‘Thank you. I know she doesn’t eat enough, and I worry … Now, be off with you. I enjoyed the pampering session too, and just hide those damn boots behind a bookcase or something and Adam will be none the wiser,’ he says, lowering his voice so Ruby doesn’t overhear, and elbows me gently in the side. We both laugh as we glance down at the purple shockers. I click the silver-tipped toes together and Lawrence shakes his head.

‘I’ll do just that.’ And I turn to leave in my Dolly Parton boots, all ready to find the mysterious bookshop man called Adam. But wait, there’s more. I’m getting to go into a bone fide haberdashery shop, which is such a treat, and I swear that today is turning out to be the very best day in a long, long time.