‘Was it hilarious?’ I ask.
‘We got told off by a security guard who ended up taking your number. You dated for a month.’
We walk past a section of underwear that is all about the luxury and the matching sets. These are high-class thongs for the more discerning housewife. Mum will certainly not pay for any of these, though it is a surprise to see Grace perusing this section. That’s definitely not a floral midi. It’s a lace body that is both quite see-through and has attachments for stockings. She runs her hands over it and, like Grace, checks the price tag first.
‘Caught you…’ I say, sneaking up on her. She jumps back, shaking her head at me. ‘Oooh, Gracie, this is fancy. I like this…’ I say, stroking it.
She pulls a face. ‘I don’t know. It seems a waste. People don’t wear these every day, do they?’
‘I guess it depends on their line of work?’ Beth suggests.
‘Are you thinking of buying it to add a bit of luxury to the bedroom?’ I say, in estate agent tones.
She rolls her eyes at me. ‘Maybe? But I’d have to fling it on every time we have sex to make it feel like it’s worth the cost,’ she says. Spoken like a true accountant. ‘I like sex with Max but I don’t know if he’s worth it.’
‘Plus it doesn’t have a gusset…’ I add.
Both sisters laugh. ‘God, I’d look ridiculous in this,’ Beth jokes and I sense a bit of self-deprecating wit there as she’s carrying a bit of baby weight.
‘Don’t be a donkey. And who says these types of outfits are for men? Maybe we wear them to feel better about ourselves, to feel sexy as opposed to looking it,’ I say, fiddling with the straps.
Beth smiles over at Grace.
‘What?’ I ask them.
‘Nothing,’ Grace says. ‘That’s just a very Lucy thing to say.’
I grin and take down two and throw them into Grace’s basket, hiding them under the dressing gown Mum’s also forcing me to acquire. It’s tartan. It’s ugly as balls but Mum is sick of seeing my nipples when she’s having her muesli.
‘Shall I get some for Meg and Ems too?’ I add. ‘We can all look like the Pussycat Dolls.’
‘Or not,’ Beth says.
I try and find one in my size and examine it in more detail. ‘Would I have worn something like this?’ I ask.
‘You’d have worn this out,’ Beth tells me. ‘With hotpants and trainers and, hopefully, a jacket of some description.’
‘Really?’
‘Lucy, you had bras with built-in nipple clamps.’
‘Not bought from here then?’ I jest.
‘No, I think you’re the only person I knew who had a loyalty card with Love Honey.’
I pull at the suspender straps and let them ping back in my hand.
‘To be fair, you went on stage wearing something like this. You toured withChicago. Every night, just on stage in pants,’ Grace adds.
I’m only able to recall this because I’ve seen some pictures. I wear a bowler hat well.
‘You were kinda awesome in that. You do the Fosse thing very well,’ Grace says.
Having visited the house share, the sketchy evolution of my work history is slowly being fleshed out. I didn’t just do princess parties in big wigs. At university, I went to drama and dance classes. I pushed that agenda, I worked my arse off to be noticed, to learn, to grow my CV. I toured with a couple of shows, worked the panto season hard. I like that Lucy plenty.
‘Hey, we’re in London. Maybe we should have a tour of some of the theatres you performed at?’ Grace mentions.
‘That’s a lovely idea,’ says Mum, appearing with a full basket of multipacks.
