Most of my clothes are cast-offs or from charity shops. At The Circus we could wear what we liked so long as it was outlandish and vaguely on theme, which suited me down to the ground. When I reached the dizzy heights of team leader I took to wearing a ringmaster’s outfit, and ran around in a red long-tailed jacket with a nipped-in waist, with a baton in my hand and velvet shorts or silk breeches, depending on my mood. So there’s no point looking to my work clothes is what I’m saying – and the rest of my wardrobe resembles a jumble sale.
I flip through the pile of clothes on the chair, pull on the least flouncy midi dress and some cowboy boots, grab a spritz of Miss Dior and run. By the time I jump onto the veranda of Kit’s studio with Shadow two steps behind, I’m gasping … and not just because I’m out of breath. Out in the sunlight my boots look like they belong in the wild west, there are so many creases in my tiered denim dress it looks like crinkle fabric, and a loop of cream lace is dangling from the hem. And eff my life – I haven’t brushed my hair today!
I’m leaning up against the doorframe, with two minutes to elevate myself to High Tides standards. As I unknot the hair tangles with my fingers and try to tie up the trailing trim, an image flashes into my head of the day Dillon and I went to Kit’s place in the city, and I know I’m so far below Kit’s level that I’ve already lost the fight.
His fiancée, Violetta, was the one who welcomed us, and she was impeccable; statuesque and spare, groomed within an inch of her life, her sheath dress so classy you knew it had cost more than I’d have earned in a month, and that’s including tips. I’ve revisited this memory a lot lately, trying to second-guess where she is, because she was so dynamic and present, she’s not the kind of person who would simply drop out of the picture. Hair piled up, every sweep of bronzer highlighting her incredible cheekbones. I’m trying to recall her nail colour when the support behind my shoulder gives way, and a second later I’m diving headfirst into the studio, the wooden floorboards flying up towards me.
First impressions don’t come much worse than me sprawled with my nose an inch away from Kit’s shiny black brogues, my boobs spilling out of my scoop neck, while Shadow licks my ear. But as Kit helps me up and I hurriedly drop his hand and rearrange my dress instead, it sinks in that no one is taking notice of me.
The space I’m staring into has the sharpness you’d expect from a designer who just landed from London, but there’s a serious lack of warmth. The walls are painted in blocks of grey, with occasional tall glass cabinets and angular steel furniture artfully arranged. Seeing Kit still hanging on to the same signature flourish of significant quotes written on the walls, all these years on from Dillon’s and my visit to Covent Garden, gives me shivers of the wrong kind. And if that hadn’t already turned my blood to ice, the young woman sitting on the long suede sofa beyond the desk, crying buckets into her tissue, finishes the job.
‘Is she okay?’I mouth the words at Kit, but it’s obvious she’s not.
Her partner is standing beside her, his hands jammed into the pockets of his chinos, staring upwards like he’s trying to bore holes in the ceiling.
Kit hisses in my ear. ‘Bianca and Salvador walked in, looked around and this started…’ He steps back and shrugs, then comes back in again. ‘If you’d like to take it from here? For context, I’ve told them you’re my partner…’
My stomach does a giant leap. As it hits the floor, I screech, ‘YourWHAT?’
‘Business not sleeping…’ The flicker of a smile goes and he blows out a breath.
Okay, I put my hands up. Weeks scanning the area without a single sighting of Violetta should have been the clue, but it’s still come as a shock to march in and find she’s definitively not inside.
I hurry on to check my mission statement. ‘Do you have a preferred outcome?’
‘No expectations, do whatever you can. A smile as she leaves would be a bonus, but I accept that’s unlikely.’
I glance along the studio then mutter down to Shadow. ‘Firefighting would be a hundred times easier.’
I stare down at my feet, think of Violetta’s Manolo Blahniks, and it hits me – the way forward might be to channel a bit of the woman whose shoes I’m filling. I close my eyes, imagine I’m wearingthatdress, and give a mental gasp as, in my mind’s eye, my thigh slides through the waist-high side-split. The breath I drag in to summon my courage adds six inches to my height. As I take four immense strides down the room, I force my face into a smile as confident as Violetta’s and it takes all my inner willpower not to add in her gorgeous Eastern European accent too. Whatever I’ve done, something must have worked, because as I open my mouth, I feel ready to boss the world.
‘Kit!’ In my head I’m teetering on stupendous spikes. ‘While Bianca and I get to know one another, why not show Salvador your alchemy equipment?’
His eyes widen in surprise. ‘It’s not alch—’ My frown kicks him back into line. ‘Great idea, thanks for that, Floss.’
I aim a super-sophisticated beam at the woman on the sofa. ‘What are men like? This one doesn’t even remember his partner’s proper name.’ I roll my eyes at Kit, then turn back again. ‘Lovely to meet you, Bianca, this is Shadow and I’mFlorence.’
Kit’s already steering Salvador past the desk. ‘Come next door to the workshop…’ he sends me a meaningful stare ‘…also known as the atelier or themetallurgydepartment.’
And a second later they’re gone.
Now I’m closer I get the full benefit of Bianca’s blonde pixie cut with the blue blaze that matches her faded denims. As she twists her cropped biker jacket tighter around her waist and crosses her feet in Doc Marten sandals it hits me how young she is.
I scrunch up my skirt, prop my chin on my fist and turn to look at her. ‘No pressure –at all– but if you’d like to tell us what’s going on, Shadow’s a very good listener.’
That makes her smile. Then she heaves a sigh, and she leans back to look at me. ‘It’s completely stupid. If I hadn’t been certain about this, I’d hardly have got up at dawn so we could get here.’ She sniffs and dabs her nose. ‘Then I get in the door, read the words on the wall and two seconds later I’m in bits.’
As I scan the blocks of painted script searching for a clue, I can’t see that Albert Einstein’s famous quote about attraction would push anyone over the edge. ‘Which wordsexactly?’
She points at the wall above the desk. ‘It was your slogan –tOgether fOrever.’
It’s ironic she’s attributing me ownership of my most hated phrase, so I try to distance myself. ‘That’s one of Kit’s favourites. Me, not so much.’
‘I love being engaged. I can’t wait to be married.’ She scrutinises the tiny solitaire on her left hand. ‘Then I got here, read that and…’
I fill in for her. ‘You did the maths?’
She nods. ‘I’m twenty-two. All that flashed through my head was, it sounds like averylong time to be with one person.’
