As I emerge from the changing room, expecting a swift no, Samira jumps up. “Okay, now we’re talking.”
“This? Look at the sleeves! I’ll have them in Mum’s trifle.”
“Mara, Mara, Mara,” she says. “This is emerald green silk. Look at the way it hangs on you.Joan!”
Samira shouts for Joan, who arrives with a tape measure and a case of pins and begins nipping and tucking to Samira’s instructions. Joan pushes me and pulls me in all directions until I feel like a pincushion who can barely breathe without a jab to the fanny.
“Oh my God,” says Samira when Joan steps back and they survey the finished dress.
“Well done, dear,” says Joan to Samira, spinning me around to face the mirror.
The sleeves have been pinned up to a little cap, and the drop waist raised to my true waist, the long flowing silk now hitting just below my knees. The higher neckline remains, with the original button work around the neck at the back, and a large round cutaway circle sits across my shoulder blades. It feels extremely special, even pinned up like this.
“Goodness,” I say, turning myself in all directions. “I feel like Keira Knightley inAtonement.”
I feel a flush of excitement. This is how I could look for Joe. Beautiful and sophisticated and oh so feminine. I think of him walking into the pub: this time I sparkle in shimmering green silk, my hair delicately curled around my face. In this new fantasy he walks straight up to me, pulling me up off my chair and kissing me hard on the mouth. Visions of the library sex scene inAtonementflash through my mind, my heart picking up with the excitement of it all. I want to be desired. I want to be desired in this dress.
“I’m nearly ready,” I say under my breath.
“Is it too much for your mum’s sixtieth?” Samira asks. “I think you could tone it down with flats and a little denim jacket if so. Otherwise, some silver heels? I dunno what the tone is.” Then she grins, holding her phone up to take a photo. “You look amazing in that green. Amazing.”
“I feel really good in it,” I say, reaching my hands up to my waist, the pulled fabric making me conscious of every curve. “It’s amazing. But it will be a road test at Mum’s birthday, before the big day.”
“What big day?” Samira asks.
“Nothing. Well, not nothing,” I say. “The guy I met in Budapest, he’s coming. And I’m going to wear this.”
“He’s coming to Broadgate?”
“He is,” I say with renewed confidence.
“Well, you look stunning,” she says, turning her phone around to show me a photo of myself, like the several dress mirrors are not enough. “You’re enough to make a guy emigrate.”
“Shall I do it, then?”
“Yes,” say Samira and Joan at the same time.
“What will the total cost be with the dress and all the alterations, Joan? Approximately?”
“Let’s see,” she says. “I think we’re looking at around a hundred and fifty? Maybe less. It depends on the stitching around the back here.”
“A hundred and fifty?” I reply, gulping.
“It’s a total one-off dress for life,” says Samira. “You can’t think of it in terms of one party. But also, I think you should get this dress too, this top, and these pants as your new non-black basics.” She holds up an armful of clothes.
“Heavens,” I reply, “I already spent thirty quid at the video store.” I carefully unzip the side of my dress and shake it down, trying not to disrupt any of the pins. “And, like, now I need to go and buy a DVD player.”
15
The shopping tripwith Samira has made me a little braver. I have paired my own black leggings with an oversize white shirt. It’s an attempt to wear something non-black and not feel excruciatingly visible. Unfortunately, though, the first person I see when I enter the office is incapable of passing by without commentary.
“Mara!” Lynn says, pulling her whole head back into her neck, her eyes wide in surprise. “What are you wearing?”
There is nothing positive to find in the way she’s posed this question, as she has managed to emphasize both thewhatand theyou.
“I’m wearing a white oversize shirt,” I reply, pulling down the front hem as if I might be able to disappear inside it like it’s a gigantic recycled cotton tent.
“You need a belt,” she says, sighing. “Come with me.”
