Greta laughed to herself, trying to imagine Lottie dressed in a matching pastel skirt and jacket rather than her oversized sweaters and holey jeans. Offering to help tidy up was an alien concept to her daughter.
She finished her doughnut and headed over to the boutique, where she admired the window display. Classy dresses, shoes and handbags in neutrals, or sugared almond shades of lemon, lilac, mint and strawberry, looked like someone had plucked them straight off a catwalk.
Greta couldn’t see any price tags, and the thought that the handbags might also be free made her feel both giddy and a bit suspicious.
These days, she usually only bought clothes if they ticked three boxes—the fabric didn’t need ironing, the fabric dried quickly, and the garment didn’t make her look like she was wearing a tent. As a result, her wardrobe at home consisted mainly of functional dark garments, simple though not exactly flattering.
Thankfully, practicality and budget restraints didn’t seem to apply in Mapleville. The beautiful clothes in the window seemed to call out to her.
Unsure if she was going to wake up back in Longmill or not anytime soon, Greta decided to pop in for a wardrobe update.
Standing in the shop, her mind briefly flicked back to the photos of celebrities lining Nora’s walls, with Tobias Blake occupying a particular place in her thoughts. All the beautifully cut clothes and wide smiles in the shots reminded Greta of when her own name had topped invitation lists. If only Nora could see her now, looking polished, poised, and utterly fabulous. She was sure more rewarding work would come her way.
Greta glanced around, marvelling at all the elegant clothes on the rails. Should she try on things to suit her forty-five- year-old self, or ones to match her new, more youthful aura? She didn’t want to look like mutton dressed as lamb, or should that be lamb dressed as mutton?
A sales assistant with copper-red hair swept over. Her eyes were a deep orange-brown, a similar shade to her hair and lipstick. She wore a string of gleaming chunky pearls the size of marbles around her neck, and her name badge said Millie.
‘Hello. Are you by any chance new here?’ Millie asked, sounding surprised. She had the poise of a debutante, and her polished accent was reminiscent of the ones once heard connecting long-distance calls on switchboards.
Greta smiled with a nod. ‘Yes, I arrived today. I’m Greta.’
‘Well, you are most welcome. I’m Millie Maxwell, at your service.’ She daintily held out her hand. ‘Would you care for a coffee while you peruse our collection? It’s Maple Gold, a distinguished blend made from the finest beans.’
‘Thanks, but I’ve just had a brew,’ Greta said, still able to taste Iris’s coffee on her tongue. ‘It was a very unique blend.’ Millie’s brow furrowed. ‘There’s coffee other than Maple Gold?’ She shook her head in disbelief. ‘How very . . . intriguing.’
Greta picked out a pink dress and held it to her chin. ‘Do Maple Gold have a say ineverythinghere?’
‘Oh, they have a hand in most things that matter.’
Greta couldn’t help feeling Millie was referring to something more than just coffee. She gave her a sideways glance, deciding to hold off asking any further questions for now. Her shoes were starting to pinch, and it would also be nice to find something to wear with a looser waistband. ‘Do you sell jeans and running shoes?’ she asked.
Millie arched a fine eyebrow, as if no one had ever asked her this before. ‘They’re not really the kind of thing we stock, but let me see what I can find.’
She disappeared through a door at the back of the shop, returning moments later with three dresses—in pink, mint and pastel blue. ‘These will look lovely on you . . .’
‘Oh,’ Greta said, taking hold of them. ‘Do women’s jeans not exist in Mapleville?’
‘I think I’ve heard of them before . . .’ Millie said vaguely.
Greta carried the dresses into a changing room cubicle, where they all fit her beautifully. The curtains across the cubicle parted several times as Millie passed her yet more dresses to try on.
‘Is there anything you adore?’ she cooed.
‘Everything’s lovely.’ Greta mused. The nipped-in waist of the mint-green dress was flattering, though hardly practical for her acting classes or hanging around her flat. Jim and Lottie probably wouldn’t even recognise her in it.
‘Super. You look absolutely splendid, and I bet you deserve a treat,’ Millie said with a wink.
Greta smoothed a hand over the fabric, relishing the absence of her usual lumps and bumps. The stress of the last few days, weeks and months had given her a few stray grey hairs that were absent here. ‘Yes. Yes, I do,’ she said, a smile spreading across her face. ‘If these are complimentary, I’ll take all three dresses, please.’
While Millie wrapped them in tissue paper, Greta meandered around the shop again, checking out scarves, shoes and handbags. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so pampered.
But as she wrapped a plaited leather belt around her waist, a few worries wormed into her thoughts. How long would she stay in Mapleville? How would Jim and Lottie know where she was? She felt like she’d been here for quite a while now, with no idea how to get back home. She hadn’t told anyone she was going to the coffee shop, and Iris hadn’t given her any instructions on how to return, other than a warning not to struggle.
Greta’s pictured her husband and daughter striding around the flat, calling out her name. What if they reported her as a missing person to the police? Her veins chilled at the thought.
Was Mapleville even in England? Or was it somewhere else entirely? More questions swarmed her mind, and she clasped a hand to her racing heart.
Her panic continued to bubble until she felt a warm cup of coffee pressed into her hands.
