‘Yes,’ Michelle exclaims. ‘She would look awesome with big hair and leather trousers.’
‘Now that would most definitely make Hector dump ridiculous Rachel and climb back into your bed.’
‘Can we stop talking about Hector, please?’ And stop talking about seventies groupies with mad hair, because it hurts too much to remember the girl with stars on her cape and music in her soul.
‘Why?’ Michelle says. ‘Do you have someone hidden away back in New York you’d like to tell us about instead?’
‘Nobody ever makes it past the third date,’ Layla says as she turns around and indicates that I should unzip her, before heading back into the changing cubicle.
‘I’m not sure this is really a bridesmaid’s dress.’ I look back at my reflection and wonder if perhaps I might buy the dress anyway. But would I ever wear it, or simply hang it in the back of my wardrobe to look at every now and then?
‘Stop changing the subject.’ Layla comes back out with the bridal gown looped over one arm. She glances at the counter, where a queue of other brides-to-be is gathered.
‘I agree,’ Michelle says. ‘We need to know more details about your sex life, because surely you must be playing around with more than just numbers?’
‘Not really.’
‘Do you even like your job?’
‘Why do you ask?’ I take down a gown with a multi-layered skirt and vintage rose pattern. It’s simple but delicate and would be perfect for a wedding at a French chateau. I show it to Layla, who turns it around and nods her approval before heading to the counter.
‘You did classics, yes?’ Michelle pulls off her t-shirt and dumps it on the floor, before taking the gown from me and slipping it over her head. ‘At Oxford.’
‘Yes.’
‘But then you came here.’ Reaching underneath the hem of the dress, she drops her skirt to the floor, completely oblivious to the looks we are now getting from both customers and staff alike.
‘Your point is?’ I know what her point is. I mean, who changes their mind after two years of studying at one of the most prestigious universities in the world? Someone who needed to leave what she’d done behind and find somewhere to start again, that’s who. Somewhere nobody knew her, or her shame.
‘From the moment I met you, you always had everything figured out,’ she says, taking the dress off and holding it out to me. ‘A five-year plan and the exact way you were going to get there. Meanwhile the rest of us were getting shit-faced on cheap student booze and shagging anything that moved.’
My student days at LSE were so very different to those at Oxford. At the time, I told myself it was because I lived off-campus and was at least three years older than my classmates so had a been there, done that sort of mentality. Now I understand it’s because I was too busy trying to convince myself I’d made the right choice.
‘I used to think money meant independence,’ I say. I also thought all that money would somehow make up for the fact I still miss him every single day.
‘And now?’
‘Now I’m terrified it’s stopped me from doing anything worthwhile.’
‘I always thought we’d have kids.’ Layla comes back holding a thick, cream envelope. I feel bad for hijacking her moment, for inadvertently making it about me when we should be focusing on her.
‘Surely you and Christophe have spoken about it?’ I check my phone, registering the long list of emails that seem to multiply the more I try to ignore them.
‘No, you and me.’
‘I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but I’m not that way inclined.’
‘Oh shush your noise,’ Layla says, slipping one arm through mine and the other through Michelle’s. ‘You know what I mean. Raising them at the same time, bonding over sleepless nights and people judging your every move. Summers spent somewhere warm, watching them grow, then wishing they’d stay young forever.’
I know exactly what she means because I used to think the same way, but about someone who, for all I know, could be knee-deep in babies already.
‘You’re such a hopeless romantic,’ I say as we make our way back through the store.
‘I like to call it optimism.’
‘There’s still time,’ Michelle says, stepping on to the escalator and turning around to face us. Even two steps below she’s the same height as Layla.
‘I’m not really that keen.’ I’ve always found these conversations difficult, not least because it’s so awkward trying to explain my reasons to people who make no secret of their desire to raise a large family. Hector told me on our second date that he wanted five children and I assumed he was joking. But when I said as much to Layla, she told me I should be glad to have found someone who was willing to settle down and have kids as quickly as possible.
‘Is that why you broke up with Hector?’ Michelle peers round Layla to frown at me. ‘Because money and a career are more important than a family?’
As we step back out into the day, I think about fate and how much emphasis people place on it when it comes to love. All the what ifs and maybes and countless tiny decisions that end up with two people being in the same place at the same time. If Michelle had decided not to attend the opening, would she have met Torsten nonetheless? Would fate or luck or serendipity herself have forced the two of them together because they were meant to be?
If the three of us hadn’t gone to New College bar that night, would I have still ended up breaking us apart?
‘It’s not that simple.’
Michelle makes a sound halfway between a snort and a raspberry. ‘It never is with you.’
NIAMH
Metanoia (n.) – the journey of changing one’s mind, heart, self or way of life
London, 1996
Chelsea was like an alternate universe where even the dogs were well groomed and Niamh felt like she stuck out like the veritable sore thumb. Erika might have been wearing ripped jeans and Adidas trainers, but they were paired with a white silk blouse and one of her mother’s hand-me-down Chanel handbags. Duncan was rocking his usual geek-meets-Savile Row attire, complete with braces, brogues and yellow-tinted sunglasses. In comparison, Niamh was wearing a paisley maxi-skirt with bells around the hem and a faded purple waistcoat that had one of its buttons missing.
For the past couple of hours, the three of them had been traipsing up and down the King’s Road in search of the perfect outfit for the summer ball. Secretly, it was Erika’s way of getting Niamh out of Oxford and away from Leo, if only for a weekend, but it had been sold as a shopping opportunity not to be missed. When Niamh had questioned why it was necessary to start looking for an outfit three months before an event, Erika and Duncan had shared one of their looks, then sighed in a way more suited to indulgent parents than best friends.
‘It needs to be more . . .’ Erika gesticulated with her hands in front of her body when Niamh held up a long, black dress split to the thigh.
‘More boobs?’ Niamh said with a laugh as she put the dress back. ‘I don’t really think that’s an issue.’
‘Outladdish.’ Erika picked up a pair of silver stilettoes with rhinestone heels and waved them across at Duncan, who simply shook his head.
‘Outlandish,’ Niamh said with a yawn as she stretched her arms above her head.
‘That’s what I said. This is the perfect opportunity to wear whatever the hell we want.’
‘Why can’t we wear whatever the hell we want every day?’ Niamh looked around the shop, thinking once again at how uniform all the so-called fashion was. Everyone dressing and thinking the same, afraid of standing out in any way and subsequently losing all that made them unique.
‘She thinks that as soon as we graduate, her life will be nothing more than suits, pearls and Barbour jackets.’ Duncan began to roll a cigarette, tucking it behind his ear and fumbling in his pocket for a light.
‘That’s so dull.’
‘I agree, but Erika is determined to slot herself firmly into the status quo of the ric
h and even richer.’
‘Stop talking about me as if I am not here.’ Erika pulled out a black dress that was daringly short at the front, but with a frothy, layered train.
‘Too drag queen,’ Duncan said.
‘Then perhaps you should wear it.’
‘I wouldn’t want to upstage you,’ he replied. ‘I’m going outside for a smoke. You coming?’
‘No.’ Erika reached out a hand to stop Niamh from following Duncan to the safety of the street. ‘She is staying here and trying at least one more dress on.’
Niamh trailed her fingers over the sumptuous fabrics, surreptitiously turning the price tags over and dismissing everything outright.
‘What’s wrong with this one?’ Erika asked, pointing to a floor-length beaded number with a low back and thin straps.
There was nothing wrong with it; it was exquisite and made Niamh think of actresses from the golden era of Hollywood. She and Leo had been going through a phase of only watching films that were at least thirty years old. Whilst she had fallen in love with the Hepburns, Leo had become obsessed with all things Hitchcock.
But no matter how beautiful the dress, and all the other dresses Erika had shown her, they each cost about the same as Niamh would spend on food during the course of an entire term.
‘It wouldn’t suit me,’ Niamh said as she strolled around the shop, aware of how the assistant’s eye had, just like in every other establishment they had been into, lingered on her a moment more than was either comfortable or polite.
Erika stood with hands on hips and a look on her face that told Niamh she was thinking very carefully about what to say. Which also told her that she was trying very hard not to say anything insulting. Things had been strained between them ever since they’d bumped into Leo in the pub and Niamh realised that he and Erika had known one another all along.
‘Why don’t we go for a drink?’ she said, looping her arm through Niamh’s and escorting her from the shop. ‘Then perhaps I can persuade you to come back and let me buy the dress for you.’
‘Erika . . .’
‘And if you say no’ – Erika placed one finger on Niamh’s lips as she spoke – ‘I shall be mortally offended and never speak to you again. Please, Niamh. If it’s only about the money then let me help. I want to help.’
‘You always want to help,’ Niamh replied, because Erika would more often than not insist on paying for lunch or drinks or a pair of boots that Niamh couldn’t quite afford. Not to mention when Niamh had been called in to see the college bursar because her accommodation fees for the summer term hadn’t been paid. Before Niamh even had a chance to call her parents to ask for the money she knew they were so reluctant to give, Erika had marched back into the office and written out a cheque to cover the full amount.
‘I’m not a bank,’ she had said with a laugh when Niamh offered to repay her in instalments. ‘It’s a gift, not a loan.’
‘At least let me buy the drinks,’ Niamh said, trying not to think of just how much money she would owe Erika if she ever did ask for it back.
‘Did somebody say drinks?’ Duncan stepped between the two of them, draping his arm around each of their shoulders. ‘Best idea I’ve heard all day.’
As they walked along the road, they came to the town hall where a small crowd was gathered at the bottom of a flight of steps. A moment later a bride and groom emerged from the building to a chorus of cheers and a stream of rainbow confetti that danced and swirled through the air. Niamh turned her head to look back, to see the couple kiss through their smiles, which rewarded them with another round of jubilant cheers.
She couldn’t help but think of Leo, of what it might be like to spend the rest of her life with him. In turn, she was overcome by a sense of foreboding, as if that kind of happiness would never be hers.
‘You’re far too young to get married,’ Erika said as she gave Niamh’s arm a gentle tug.
‘It’s not that,’ Niamh replied. Erika had been doing her best to avoid being in the same room as Leo for more than a few minutes at a time. Leo in turn would comment on the way Erika tried to manipulate Niamh, control her even. It was draining: the two of them so clearly on opposite sides of the table, with her in the middle trying to play referee. It felt as if she was in two relationships, always needing to appease someone’s jealousy about how much time she spent with the other.
Niamh dropped behind as they navigated an elderly couple shuffling towards them and smiled to herself at how, if you fast-forwarded fifty years, it could have been her two friends. She imagined them in a retirement home somewhere, deaf and flatulent, still arguing over everything and nothing at all. It was something she had missed over the past few months. Not the arguing, because they would argue over whether the sun was shining given half the chance, but rather the simple ease of being with them.
As she passed by a dilapidated shop window, Niamh’s eye was caught by the display. She stopped so abruptly that a man smacked into her from behind. He tossed an insult at her as he walked away, but Niamh was already going inside the shop.
‘Niamh?’ Erika called out as she came back to linger in the doorway, peering into the half-light and wrinkling her nose at the musty smell. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Give me a sec,’ Niamh said as she ventured further, eyes wide and her head turning in all directions.
There were rails upon rails of clothing set up around the perimeter of the shop, with shelves climbing the walls above and rows of shoes underneath. Through the centre were chests of drawers, crates and even a dilapidated chaise longue, covered in hats and bags and trays of costume jewellery. Niamh stopped in front of a circular coffee table, around which several suitcases were stacked. Lifting the lid of one, she discovered dozens of shawls, and in another tiny silken purses with silver clasps. The whole place was chaotic, with no sense of order and absolutely stuffed to the rafters, but she loved it.
‘There’s more downstairs,’ a wisp of a woman said as Niamh picked up a top hat with a bright yellow sash tied around the base. Niamh looked to where she was pointing and saw the beginnings of a staircase in the far corner.
‘That’s where we keep the good stuff.’
Niamh smiled her thanks and crossed over to the far side of the shop, breathing in the scent of time and memories that could only ever come from something old and pre-loved. The bannisters were barely visible under reams of scarves in every conceivable colour and there were bags and shoes on each stair.
‘It’s like Aladdin’s cave,’ Duncan said as he came down behind her, plucking a wig from a nearby head and walking across to a full-length mirror.
Niamh glanced over to see Erika taking down a blush-pink ballgown with an enormous bow around the middle. There were hundreds of dresses, all fighting for attention, some on rails and others hanging from the walls and up to the ceiling. Her eye fell upon a cream dress with long sleeves, covered buttons and an intricate floral pattern that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the forties. Next to it was a flapper dress with a dropped waist and beside that was a peacock blue velvet suit with pearlescent beading along the lapels.
But it was a dress hanging at the top of a pillar, half-hidden behind a pair of angel wings, that made her stop and stare.
‘Now that,’ Duncan said as he saw what she was staring at, ‘is what you might call a showstopper. You have to try it on.’
‘Ta-da!’ Erika exploded from a makeshift dressing room, sending the curtain rail crashing to the floor behind her. ‘What do you think?’ she asked as she strutted around the basement, her boobs bouncing up and down with every step.
‘You look like the Sugarplum Fairy,’ Duncan said as he climbed on to a nearby crate and passed down the dress to Niamh.
‘I know, isn’t it divine?’
‘If you and Leo do get married, please make her wear that, and perm her hair so we can get the full eighties effect.’
‘Can we talk about something else?’ Niamh turned the dress round on the hanger and held
it at arm’s length.
‘Yes, let’s.’ Erika unzipped her own dress and let it drop to the floor.
‘Put some clothes on, you hussy,’ Duncan said as he picked up the dress and hung it back on the rail.
‘Don’t be such a prude.’ Erika went back into the dressing room and rummaged through her bag. ‘It’s not like you haven’t seen it all before. Has anyone got any change?’ She pulled out her pager and scrolled through the messages.
‘Why?’
‘I need to make a phone call.’ She held one hand out to Duncan and used the other to pull up her jeans.
‘What am I, your manservant?’
‘If you were, I would have fired you years ago.’
‘Here,’ Niamh said as she handed over a fistful of coins. ‘That’s all I’ve got.’
‘Thanks. There’s a phone box over the road so I won’t be long.’ Erika slipped on her trainers and ran up the stairs two at a time, not bothering to tuck in her shirt or tie her laces.
‘Come on then.’ Duncan led Niamh to the changing cubicle and hooked the curtain rail back into place.
Standing before the mirror, Niamh tried to ignore the dark circles under her eyes and the grey pallor to her skin. She’d barely spent any time outside recently. Her days consisted of sitting in the library, trying to catch up with all the reading she was supposed to do, and at night she was tucked up next to, or underneath, Leo.
Part of her longed to be back in Ireland, to walk the coast and breathe in all that salty air. She needed the space to think, to process everything that had happened between her and Leo in such a short space of time. She wanted to be alone in her room with nothing more than a stack of records and well-leafed books for company. It was a startling thought, given how desperate she usually was to escape the oppressive quiet of home.
‘How are the rats?’ she called out to Duncan as she undid her waistcoat and shrugged off her skirt.
‘Mr T escaped last week.’ Duncan’s voice sounded far away and Niamh could picture him rummaging through a box of trinkets, head down, feet in the air like something out of a cartoon.
The Love We Left Behind Page 18