Secrets, Schemes & Sewing Machines

by Katy Cannon

  Faith took a deep breath and said, “I was hoping you might agree to be my bridesmaid next summer?”

  What you need:

  A piece of lightweight fabric, 175 x 60cm

  What to do:

  1. Fold and iron your fabric in half lengthways, with the right sides together, and pin in place.

  2. Sew along the long side of your rectangle, to give you one long tube of fabric.

  3. Press open your seam, using an iron.

  4. Turn the fabric the right way out and fold in half the other way, so the two open ends of your tube are together. Make sure the seams line up exactly.

  5. Now to join both ends of the scarf. Take the two inner layers of fabric, pin them together then sew in place, removing the pins as you go.

  6. Keep going around the circle until the two ends are joined.

  7. If you’re using a sewing machine, leave a gap of about 5cm, fold under the edges of the unstitched section to match the rest, then hand sew the gap closed.

  “She asked you to be her bridesmaid?” Jasper said, as we walked down the corridors from the sixth-form common room towards the textiles classroom. “Maybe I’m missing something here, but isn’t that a good thing? You know, one of those moments all little girls dream about, along with getting their first horse and turning into a fairy?”

  I glared at him. “Not all little girls dream of being a fairy, Jasper.” Although, to be honest, I totally had, from around the age of five until I was nearly eight. Horses freaked me out, though. “Besides, it’s not like I have any objection to being a bridesmaid. It’s just…”

  “Being her bridesmaid,” Jasper finished. He shrugged. “Yeah, I can see that. But I still think it’s nice of her to ask. Do you think your mum put her up to it?”

  I thought about it, about how nervous Faith had seemed, how desperate for me to say yes. “Actually, I don’t think she had. I think this was all Faith.”

  “So, what did you say?”

  “I said yes, of course. It’s not exactly easy to say no to someone when they ask you to be their bridesmaid. Especially since she started going on and on about colour schemes and shopping trips and everything.” Up until the night before, I’d been pretty sure that Mum was more excited about it than Faith. In fact, I’d kind of assumed that she was using it as a way to try and make things up to her, in a “I might have missed most of your life, but let me give you a perfect wedding” sort of way.

  It was always one extreme or the other with my parents. Either total disinterest in my life, or constant vigilance and grounding. I guess Faith had had it even worse. Nothing for twenty-two years, then everything all at once.

  But Faith had been honestly excited about all the wedding plans, and me being a part of it. So how could I say no?

  “Gonna be weird, I guess,” Jasper said, and I nodded.

  “At least she says I can pick my own dress.”

  “Maybe you could make it.” Jasper nodded at the textiles classroom up ahead, and smirked at me.

  “Funny man.” As if I didn’t have enough on my plate with finding costumes for the entire Drama Club. “Come on. We’re going to be late.”

  In some ways, walking into Sewing Club wasn’t half as weird as turning up at Drama Club without an acting role. In other ways, it was loads weirder. This was not my place at all.

  “Grace. You made it.” Miss Cotterill sounded surprised to see me. Someone else who didn’t think I was going to follow through. I wondered if she’d been talking to Connor. “And you brought a friend.”

  “This is Jasper,” I explained. “He’s keen to help out with the costumes.”

  “Actually—” Jasper started, but I spoke over him, before he could explain the Christmas-stocking plan to the whole room.

  “So, where do we start?” I asked brightly.

  Miss Cotterill didn’t look nearly as enthusiastic as I was trying to be. “Well, I suppose we should find out how much you both know already, before I let you loose on the costume cupboard.”

  “I know nothing at all,” Jasper said, cheerfully. “Starting totally from scratch, here.”

  “I have some experience,” I said, trying to find a way to describe my talent level that a) didn’t make me sound like an idiot and b) wouldn’t end up with me in charge of a sewing machine without a clue how to use it. “But it’s been a while. It will be really good to brush up.”

  Miss Cotterill looked resigned to having two complete novices in her group. With a sigh, she turned to face the room, and I took in the other people in the club for the first time.

  Over in one corner, as I’d predicted, were a few Year Sevens sitting with one of the teaching assistants, trying to thread needles. Well, that looked like fun. At another table were a group of girls I thought were in Years Eight and Nine, who appeared to be making some sort of blanket out of old clothes. Then there were a few older girls, each taking up a table of their own for their projects.

  And at the very back of the classroom was Izzy Maguire, shiny silver bangles running up both her arms, her black hair scraped back into a messy ponytail.

  Izzy was one of those girls in school that everyone knew of, but no one really knew. She was in our year, but in different classes, so I’d never had much direct contact with her. But you could always pick Izzy out of a crowd. Even back in Year Eight she’d been the girl whose uniform somehow looked different to everyone else’s, even though on the surface it conformed to the uniform code. She just had a way of customizing, or accessorizing, of adding a certain something that made her look unique. And whatever that trick was, she hadn’t learned it from any of the magazines I read every month.

  Yasmin said that Izzy just had natural style, the way some women do. Lottie thought that maybe her mother was French.

  I just figured that Izzy Maguire didn’t give a damn what anyone thought of her, so she wore whatever she liked and somehow it always looked great. Izzy wouldn’t ever waste time figuring out how to spin a story, or make herself look good. In a strange way it reminded me of Connor, who didn’t care what people thought, either. Except Izzy was less irritating.

  “Izzy?” Miss Cotterill called, and she looked up. “We’ve got a couple of new members today. Beginners. They’re going to be working on the costumes for the school play with you.”

  Izzy rolled her eyes. “And I’m sure they’ll be a lot of help. Come on, then. I’ll introduce you to the costume cupboard. We’ve got every possible colour of wimple and breeches you can imagine. What is it with this school and Shakespeare, anyway? The drama department knows that other people wrote plays, too, right?”

  I shrugged. “Shakespeare’s a classic, I guess. And besides, there aren’t any wimples or breeches required this year.”

  “No? Hughes gone modern?” Izzy grinned as she grabbed a set of keys from Miss Cotterill’s desk and headed out of the classroom. “Makes my life easier. You can all just wear jeans.”

  “No jeans, either. We’re setting it in the 1920s jazz scene,” I explained, following her past the drama room, to the edge of the backstage area.

  Izzy paused outside a cupboard door. “Really? Well, that does make things more interesting. Don’t know how much you’ll find in here. We’ll have to source – or make – almost everything.” She sounded excited at the challenge.

  Far more excited than I was, anyway.

  Turning the key in the lock, Izzy yanked the door open. The cupboard went far further back than I’d imagined and was lined on each side with hanging rails stuffed full of outfits. Above them were shelves loaded with boxes of all sorts of shapes and sizes, and the floor was covered with more bags and boxes, too.

  “It’s going to take forever to sort through this lot,” I said.

  Jasper pushed past me and grabbed what looked like a musketeer’s hat from a top shelf, shoving it on his head and striking a fencing pose with an imaginary sword. “En garde! Prepare to do battle with the ghosts of school plays past!”

  “Don’t joke yet, you prom
ised to help me,” I reminded him.

  “No, I didn’t.” Tugging the hat off his head and shoving it back on the shelf, he gave me a too-innocent grin. “I promised to join Sewing Club to learn how to make a Christmas stocking.”

  “You actually want to learn to sew?” Izzy asked, sounding surprised. “I thought you were just here to get off with your girlfriend in the costume cupboard.”

  Jasper laughed harder than I thought was strictly necessary, although I was with him on the sentiment. “Not a chance. Grace blackmailed me into joining. And trust me, very much not my girlfriend.”

  I nodded my agreement. Still, I didn’t think the idea of someone wanting to kiss me was quite that hilarious.

  “In fact,” Jasper went on, “that’s who the stocking’s for. My girlfriend Ella moved away and I’m going to visit her at Christmas. I want to make a Christmas stocking to fill with presents for her.”

  “Well, come on, then,” Izzy said. “Let’s leave Grace to her costumes, and you and I can go through some basic stitches. We’ll have you knocking up Christmas ornaments and accessories in no time.”

  “Brilliant.” Jasper grinned at Izzy, and I had a horrible moment of foreboding. This was going to be Lottie all over again. Jasper was going to be the sewing champion, and I was going to be lost forever in the costume cupboard, trapped beneath somebody else’s wimple.

  What even was a wimple, anyway?

  “I want to learn to sew, too,” I called after them, as they headed back towards the textiles classroom.

  “Good,” Miss Cotterill said, appearing in the doorway. “Because I’ve got your first lesson set up in here. Come on.”

  Damn it.

  I followed her back inside the class to one of the spare tables at the front of the room, where she’d set up some fabric with holes in it, like the sort I remembered using to make bookmarks and place mats for Mum in junior school.

  “Don’t you think I’m a little bit old for this?” I asked, as I took my seat.

  “If you want to learn, you need to learn properly. Starting with the basics. So, today I want you to practise your basic stitches. The aida material will help guide you.” She pulled out a large piece of paper with stitch diagrams printed in black and white. “One row of each of these, please. Then we’ll see.”

  I sighed but, since it didn’t seem like I had a lot of choice, I picked up my needle and a couple of strands of the embroidery thread she’d left out for me to use.

  “Good.” Miss Cotterill nodded her head, then disappeared off to help one of the Year Eights who was struggling to thread the sewing machine.

  Pulling the stitch guide closer, I read the first instructions. Running stitch. In out, in out. Easy.

  Threading my needle, I tied a knot in the end of the thread and pulled it through, one square of fabric at a time. It felt weirdly familiar, given how long it had been since I’d done it. Maybe it would all come back to me faster than I thought.

  After a row of running stitch, I tackled back stitch, cross stitch, and even some blanket stitch, making a neat run of thread along the edge of the aida. I turned towards the back of the classroom and was just about to go and show Miss Cotterill that I wasn’t quite as incapable as she thought I was, when I heard the door open.

  “You’re here again, too, are you?” Miss Cotterill said, and a sudden, sinking feeling took up residence in my chest. “Let me guess, you want to learn to sew as well?”

  “Not exactly,” Connor said, and the sinking feeling sunk altogether. “I’m here to get the key for the costume cupboard. And to see Grace.”

  Plastering on a smile, I turned to face him. “Here I am.” Was he checking up on me? Making sure I really had joined Sewing Club? His pale eyes gave nothing away – neither surprise to see me there or disappointment in being proved wrong. Nothing.

  “How are you getting on with those stitch samples, Grace?” Miss Cotterill came over to check my fabric. “Hmm, running stitch is good, and the back stitch. But your cross stitch is too tight, and your blanket stitch is a little loose in places. You need to be sure to pull the thread tight, remember. But not so tight that the fabric pulls, like in your cross stitch.” She dropped it back on to the table, apparently oblivious to my burning cheeks. This was junior-school stuff, and I still couldn’t do it well enough to satisfy her. And she had to tell me that in front of Connor, who didn’t think I could do anything.

  “Still, not bad for a first try,” Miss Cotterill finished. “Perhaps you’d like to show Mr O’Neil the costume cupboard, while I put together some homework for you.”

  Homework. Brilliant.

  “Come on, then,” I said to Connor, not actually looking at him.

  We’d left the cupboard door unlocked so we didn’t need Izzy’s key to open it this time. Just as well, really. Looking over at her table, she and Jasper were totally engrossed in some pattern book or another, and Izzy had a stack of different materials in red and green piled up in front of them. At least it looked like Jasper would get the chance to do something more than stitch samples.

  “So you’re planning on taking the theatre world by storm with your sloppy blanket stitch, are you?” Connor murmured, as we reached the cupboard.

  “Shut up.” OK, not the most eloquent of comebacks, but it served my purposes. I opened the door. “I thought the deal was that you’d call me to set up a time for us to meet.” Not ambush me at the worst possible moment.

  “I figured this was easier. I mean, it’s not like I didn’t know where to find you.” He pulled his timetable from his pocket and waved it at me, pink ink shining.

  I turned to face him, hands on my hips. “You mean, you were checking up on me. You didn’t think I’d really join Sewing Club, did you?”

  “Do you blame me?” Connor leaned against the doorframe, irritating smirk firmly in place. “I mean, it’s not exactly the natural habitat of a diva extraordinaire, now, is it?”

  Diva? “I am not a—”

  “Really?” He raised his eyebrows. “Are you honestly telling me that you’re not going to try and find a way to get that lead role? I saw you let loose on Mr Hughes at the auditions, remember?”

  “That was different.” I tried to ignore the heat rising up to my cheeks at the memory. So what if that was my plan? It didn’t mean I wasn’t still the best person for the part.

  “Because you thought you were owed something.” Connor dipped his head, as if I’d disappointed him somehow. I wanted to grab him by his scruffy hair and make him see the truth of the situation.

  “I was!” I couldn’t help it. I knew the words just confirmed everything he thought about me, but it was true. “I worked my way up from the chorus line in Year Seven to a major role last year. I did everything right. I was good – you saw my audition. I deserved to play Beatrice. And more than that, I was the right choice for it, whatever you think.” I couldn’t look at him any more, couldn’t bear his assumptions and his superiority. Instead, I turned to the first costume rail, blindly pushing hangers to the side as if I were actually paying any attention to what was hanging on them. When in fact, all I could think about was Connor Bloody O’Neil, and how he just wouldn’t listen or understand.

  “Mr Hughes didn’t think so.” His words made me stop, fingers digging into the red velvet of a long cloak, my jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

  “Mr Hughes was making a point. But he didn’t have all the information,” I replied. Still didn’t, in fact. Nobody in Drama Club did, except for Yasmin, and I was more than happy to keep it that way.

  “Is this the part where you tell me how hard your life is so that I feel sorry for you? Because, honestly? Not interested. I’ve had enough of that this year.” I perked up at his words. He said it like it was old news, but it sounded to me like there was a bigger story there. And I really, really wanted to know what it was.

  I turned back to face him, but my hands were still clenched in the cloak so it sort of came with me, wrapping around my middle like a layer of armour.
“Sounds to me as if you’ve got your own little sob story there. What happened? Tragedy, death and disaster?”

  “No.” No elaboration, just one, sharp word. “Look, I’m here to work, even if you’re not. We need to meet, so let’s meet. Now.”

  “Now?” If he was trying to catch me unprepared, he’d be disappointed. “Fine. Where do you want to start?”

  Connor looked around him. “What’s the deal with this cupboard? Does it have the costumes we need, or not? Because I don’t think they wore red velvet cloaks in the 1920s.”

  I dropped the cloak, my cheeks warming, and stared back into the cupboard at the rails and racks of costumes and accessories. “No, but there must be some stuff we can use.”

  “Guess we’d better start sorting through, then.”

  “I’d better sort through,” I corrected him. “I’m the wardrobe mistress, remember? I don’t need your help.” Last thing I needed was him getting the idea that I was some needy girl who couldn’t do anything herself. That would just totally round off the list of reasons he disliked me, I was sure.

  “And I’m the stage manager,” he countered. “Which means, in case you’ve never paid any attention to what Drama Club people are doing off stage, that I’m in charge of making everything run smoothly for this play. Including ensuring that our actors actually have costumes to wear by opening night.”

  I gaped at him. “How incapable do you think I am?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s why I need to keep an eye on what you’re doing. Because all I know so far is that you think you deserve to be a star, that you’re rubbish at sewing and you can’t even manage to set an alarm clock. I’ll be honest – I’m not filled with confidence.”

  My blood felt too hot in my veins. “Then let me tell you a few more things,” I said, biting out the words. “First, I’ve been a member of this Drama Club for nearly six years. I know what a stage manager does. Secondly –” I ticked the points off on my fingers as I spoke – “I’m determined. Stubborn even. And I like to have a plan. When I want something, I get it.” Unless Lottie Hansen gets there first, anyway.