The Great Christmas Knit Off (22 page)

‘Wow, your shop is fantastic!’ I say, ducking down into Ruby’s little office that’s cleverly concealed under the staircase, the bannister of which is adorned with twinkling Christmas tree lights, and they’re woven in and out of the spindles too, creating a magical Santa’s grotto effect. There’s a miniature Christmas tree and even a kitsch little nativity scene with plastic figurines and a manger.

‘The kids love it,’ Ruby explains, seeing me looking. ‘Keeps them amused while the mums shop.’

Ruby looks effortlessly chic in navy silk palazzo pants, teamed with a white cotton wrap top that she’s tied into a huge floppy bow that trails elegantly from her hip.

‘And you look amazing,’ I say, trying to sound breezy – can’t let my girl crush completely ruin me.

‘Thanks, lady,’ she mumbles, through a couple of dressmaking pins that are poking out from the corner of her mouth. ‘Dump your load down there.’ Ruby points to a dusty-pink crushed velvet armchair over by a window that looks out on to a pretty courtyard garden that’s covered in snow with just the twigs of a few bushy pot plants peeping through at the borders. I do as I’m told before handing her the plant.

‘To say thank you,’ I beam.

‘Oh, how sweet. And
thank you
.’ She carefully presses her cheek against mine so the pins don’t catch my face. ‘But what for?’ she asks, turning back to check the hemline on a gorgeous Japanese silk kimono.

‘For, well … for everything. For lending me the clothes.’

‘Ah, don’t be daft, it was my pleasure.’ Ruby pulls a vague face and wafts a dismissive hand in the air, making me smile.

‘Oh, and there’s this for you too.’ I point to Hettie’s suitcase. ‘’It’s crammed full of vintage clothes, shoes, stockings, that kind of thing. Hettie wondered if you might want to buy some, or all of it, to sell on in your shop.’

‘Ooh, how exciting,’ Ruby says, eagerly dropping the hem of the kimono to pull the gaffer tape from the suitcase instead. She riffles through. ‘I’ll take a proper look later, but on first glance, some of these items are American couture – see here.’ And she shows me the label inside a lovely salmon-pink satin sheath dress. ‘
Very
nice. This is from a boutique on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan – it opened in the Fifties and is still there, I think – very exclusive.’ Ruby does big eyes. ‘This dress probably cost a fortune back in the day.’ She nods her head, clearly impressed.

‘Ah, well that makes sense, Hettie did tell me that she lived in America for a while.’

‘There you go – I’m an expert when it comes to vintage couture,’ Ruby says in her usual self-assured way. ‘Tell Hettie I’ll catalogue the contents and put them on my website; I think my overseas customers are going to love this collection. I’ll just deduct an amount for shipping and she can have the rest of the revenue. I know she struggles financially,’ she adds matter-of-factly.

‘That’s kind of you,’ I beam.

‘Pah, it’s nothing. If I can’t help an old lady, then there’s something seriously wrong in this world. It’s just a shame that she won’t let us help her more.’

‘What do you mean?’ I crease my forehead in concern; hoping word of the bailiffs calling hasn’t gone around already.

‘Oh, the whole village knows that she’s struggling to make ends meet, but she won’t take so much as a sticky bun. Kitty in The Spotted Pig offered her one, even pretended it was a leftover from the day before, but Hettie still insisted on paying for it. I’d have ripped Kitty’s arm off – I love a nice gooey cake – and even better if it’s free.’ Ruby nods her head as if to confirm her stance on the matter.

‘I guess Hettie is just a bit proud. Probably a generational thing,’ I say tactfully, not wanting to be seen to be gossiping; I get enough of that about me at work, so I know what it feels like. Marigold had a debit card in the glove box of her car (I know! You’d never risk that in London) and she got a receipt – the bailiffs barely glanced at the card which was a massive relief as they’d soon have seen Marigold’s name on it and not Hettie’s, but I guess as long as they’re getting paid, then what does it matter to them? After they’d left, we went into the oast house and found Hettie in the bedroom, still rummaging for the decorations. Marigold explained what had happened, we’d figured it was for the best, and she even offered to clear the rest of the balance, but Hettie, panic-stricken and thoroughly humiliated that her debt problem had been publicly revealed, flatly refused, so we’re now hoping to raise the funds through the online shop. Sharpish. The bone knitting needles are up to four hundred pounds now, so that’s a start, and I’ve listed practically everything else in the shop on eBay. Hopefully, the contents of Hettie’s suitcase will fetch a good price too.

‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Ruby says. ‘So, changing topic entirely, did you get it on with our gorgeous-but-doesn’t-know-it Dr Ben?’ She plants both hands on her hips, clearly impatient for an answer. ‘He is one hot dude. Lady boner alert.’ She does kissy lips in the air.

‘Ruby!’ I snigger, diving into a nearby rail of gorgeous tops and blouses to hide my flaming cheeks.

‘Well, he is! Why deny it? And I saw you holding hands as you walked around the duck pond.’ She laughs too. ‘A date is a date, and trust me, the good ones are few and far between, so you need to catch Cupid’s arrow while you can,’ she sighs.

‘It wasn’t really like that,’ I protest, trying not to smile as I select a sumptuously soft pastel-pink cashmere polo-neck jumper for closer inspection, but instantly wonder: then what
was
it really like? Is it too soon to meet someone else? Is my trampled-on heart up to it? I am only just over halfway through my year of heartache – and then I realise that I’m getting way ahead of myself. He probably felt sorry for me, thought I needed cheering up, and a good night’s sleep. That’s all. Who knows? And I have to go home tomorrow, so there’s a high chance I’ll never find out.

‘Trust me, it’s
always
like that!’ Ruby says.

‘Hmm, maybe. How much is this?’ I ask holding up the jumper and not seeing a price tag.

‘Everything on that rail is thirty pounds, but if you want two then you can have them for fifty.’

‘Ooh, in that case, I’ll have this one as well,’ I say, performing a pincer movement on a gorgeous navy sailor top; it even has the big boat collar and puffy short sleeves with little gold anchor detailing at the edge.

‘Good choice. Come on, follow me to the changing room and then I’ve got a surprise lined up for you. Want to have some fun?’ She tilts her head to one side, her eyes sparkling.

‘Maybe … it depends,’ I say warily, not wanting to commit until I know what she has in mind.

‘Burlesque. You told me last night that you would love to give it a go,’ Ruby says casually, giving me a sweet smile. I open my mouth and quickly close it after a ridiculous Scooby Doo ruh roh sound comes tumbling out. Major cringe. ‘Yep. Admittedly, when I made it over to the Duck & Puddle pub, you had already necked several brandies, but you definitely said it. Don’t you remember? Dr Ben was busy pretending to be interested in old Tommy Prendergast’s totally imagined hernia – last week he was convinced he was having a heart attack because his pulse wouldn’t stop racing but it turned out he was sugar rushing, having scoffed his way through a whole Christmas chocolate selection box. But yep, you definitely said it.’ She shakes her head in amusement.

‘Um, well, I do remember you telling me that you dance burlesque, but I was joking about actually having a go myself. Really, I couldn’t.’ I hold my palms up in protest, panic tearing through me. OK, I may have gushed out something about wishing I had the guts to try it; funny what you say after a few too many brandies, isn’t it? But with a hangover head in the cold light of day, no way. I’ll look ridiculous. Ruby’s staring at me now, doing a snorty, flared nostril thing. ‘Anyway, I haven’t even shown you the jumper or the matching mittens and scarf yet. Don’t you want to put it in your window display right away? Look!’ I grab the carrier bag, pull out the jumper and hold it up to show her as a distraction. She gently takes it from me.

‘Wow. Thank you. It’s gorgeous and just what I had in mind,’ she says, taking a good look, before placing it on a nearby chair.

‘You’re welcome,’ I say, not daring to meet her gaze. A short silence follows.

‘You don’t have to go for the nipple tassels. Just try on an outfit, trust me … you’ll love it,’ she says excitedly, clapping her hands together in glee.

‘But what about the customers, what if someone comes in?’ I gulp, just about managing to avoid a repeat Scooby performance; she’s clearly not taking no for an answer.

‘Darling, I’m not expecting a stampede of customers; this is hardly Oxford Street, now is it?’ She casts a regal hand towards the front window overlooking the little snow-covered village High Street with the olde-worlde shops and no one around. It makes me laugh. ‘Come on. It’s the perfect lift; you’ll be flying high afterwards with no memory of ever having been betrayed by your own sister – the one who organises foxhunts! Can’t say I really agree with all that. And I grew up in the countryside so I know what a nuisance foxes can be, but still …’ She rolls her eyes and shakes her head in disgust. Hmm, I think I may have said something about Sasha too, last night. ‘And that … whatever his name is.’ She pulls a face as if Luke isn’t even worth mentioning, which is a bit harsh as I did love him, I truly did, of course I did, once upon a time. Didn’t I? Oh well! And then it hits me. I’ve just thought about Luke, but with absolutely no physical or emotional reaction attached. No ice-cold swirl in the pit of my stomach, or tearing, searing, tight band of brokenness wrapped around my heart. Wow! I actually think I might be getting over him. Hallelujah!

Taking a big breath as if to clear my head, I ponder for a moment. I know there’s no escape once Ruby has made up her mind; she’s very tenacious, look what happened with the Dolly boots. So I’d best just get it over with. Gingerly, I nod my head, a secret part of me warming to the idea; nobody will see me, and you never know, it might be fun, in a mad, kookie cuckoo, liberating kind of way, and certainly the perfect opportunity to celebrate me having reached a momentous milestone in my predicted year of heartache.

‘OK, I’ll give it a go – but I’m not coming out of the changing room.’

Laughing and shaking her head, Ruby lets the curtain swing closed. ‘Brilliant. And I have just the costume for you. It’s a new Christmassy-themed one and, to be honest, I really could do with seeing how it looks on someone else, so now is the perfect moment. I’ll get it while you try on those two tops.’

*

I’ve just about managed to cram myself into a crimson satin corset with matching frilly knickers which has a white lacy trim around the cleavage part and fluffy feathers fluting around the tops of my thighs. I’ve also managed to bury my pongy Converse trainers under my jeans; I didn’t want to inflict them on Ruby again.

‘How do you feel?’ She pokes her head around the curtain. ‘Wow, look at you! Sally Rand, eat your heart out,’ she adds on seeing me.

‘Who?’

‘Oh, she was a famous burlesque dancer in the Thirties and quite beautiful,’ Ruby smiles, ‘just like you.’

‘Aw, thank you,’ I grin. ‘I do feel pretty good, actually.’ It’s amazing how it gives me a lovely hourglass figure. Feeling pleased with myself and a bit daring, I put my hands on my hips and twist my body from side to side. Not bad, even if I do say so myself.

‘Try these.’ Ruby hands me a pair of fishnet stockings. They have snow-white and scarlet satin rosebuds stitched around the top with black whizzy tassels dangling down from each side.

‘I can’t wear those. I’ll get arrested,’ I say, in a very breathy voice, as the corset is so tight it’s making me feel giddy. I make big eyes at her and pull a pretend outraged face.

‘Of course you can. It’s just for fun. Don’t worry, I’m not going to make you dance or anything … unless you want to.’ Ruby smiles eagerly. ‘I’d be happy to show you some moves.’

‘Er, no, I don’t think so.’ Smiling and puffing, I hold up a finger, my miraculously enhanced cleavage practically bursting up to greet my chin as I attempt to bend over and swing a foot up on to a stool in preparation for a stocking. ‘Can you imagine me shimmying and bouncing on the back of my heels? Hmm, I don’t think so; I may have to build up to that part of my burlesque experience.’

‘OK, calm down. You have to be ready. Hang on, I’ll find you a wig! Ooh, I’ve got just the thing.’ Her eyes light up. ‘And some Mary Janes and a choker. You
have
to have a choker.’ She darts off excitedly, and I admire myself in the mirror until she returns a few minutes later with a shoebox under one arm, a long blonde plaited wig over the other and a matching crimson velvet choker in her hand.

Once I have the rest of the costume on, and now with my confidence soaring, I swing the curtain back and kick a stocking-clad leg out of the changing room. Ruby claps her hands together. She’s reclining on the chaise longue, and I feel euphoric now, so I kick my other leg, place a hand on my hip and sashay out into the back of the shop.

‘See? What a transformation. You’re flying now, aren’t you?’ Ruby laughs.

‘Oh yes,’ I purr, in a way that hopefully sounds sexy and not too much like a chain smoker heavy breathing down a phone line looking for a cheap thrill.

‘You could do a turn at my next burlesque event; I’m hosting a Christmas special at the Picture House – that’s the old cinema building in Market Briar. Think gold satin swishy curtains and a cocktail bar
on the stage
. Perfect. I’m sure I could find a spot for you,’ Ruby laughs throatily, but with a deadly serious look on her face.
Is she mad? I can’t dance burlesque in public. On a stage, in an old cinema with all those people watching? Oh no!

‘Steady on,’ I laugh. ‘I’m just a beginner.’

Unperturbed, I press on, arching my back as I stick my bottom out and rest my hands down on the chaise. Ruby has switched off the record player now and turned her iPod on instead
.
She swipes the screen a few times until Mariah Carey starts singing ‘All I Want for Christmas Is You’, so I strut around in front of her, flinging my arms out high and wide before doing a big air grab on the ‘yooooooou’ bit which I then draw in, clasping my left fist against my chest in an exceedingly over-dramatic way, all the while strutting up and down, tossing my long blonde plaited wig around with lots of attitude and loads of twerking action going on.