by A. E. Murphy
“Nom nom,” Emily says quietly as Dillan bangs his hands against the plastic surface of his highchair.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I whisper and we both laugh together.
Feeling rested, full and fresh, we head out to the car and find the independent dress maker. It isn’t easy as it sits below a townhouse down a side street. I leave the kids with Jeanine at first to check that it’s open and also because if this is a failure like the rest I’ll feel awful for getting them in and out of their car seats for the hundredth time today.
At first I assume I have the wrong place because of the numerous dream catchers on the inside of the window and the strange dark purple, sparkly net that hangs just behind them. It seems to be a display for one of those palm reading stores. The sign above the door reads,
‘Altered Illusions.’
The name seems… well strange, but who am I to judge?
I knock on the glass of the door before opening it and it rattles and jingles in such a cute, old timey store way.
The store itself is very dimly lit and smells wonderful, spicy and sweet all at once. I can’t decide what it smells like, I just know that I like it.
The reason I immediately know I’m in the right place is because along every wall are rolls and rolls of fabric. It seems very disorganised but I bet the creator of the beautiful dresses on mannequins in the centre of the room knows exactly what she’s doing.
“COMING!” Comes a yell from the doorway, draped in purple beads, behind a small, rectangular shaped wooden desk. “Ouch.” The lady stumbles on something I think because she begins cursing under her breath after knocking a few things over.
When she finally comes into view, she is not what I expected. Though after walking into this store, I’m not entirely sure what I expected. What I didn’t expect was a petite, stunningly pretty young woman with light blue hair. It’s almost grey but not quite. Her fringe is a perfect block against her forehead. It really suits her.
I see a white peace sign tattoo on the side of her neck. White. I didn’t know they could tattoo in white. It looks amazing.
She pops a pink bubble from between her thick, dark brown lipstick painted lips. “I’m Adriana, the owner of this lovely little crap hole. And you are?”
“Oh, I’m umm…” I look at her outfit. Her top is a white lace crop top over a bralette. Her dark jeans are slashed all the way down to her ankles. White converse with sparkly silver gems on the toes cover tiny feet. “I’m…”
“You got a problem with how I look?” Her hands go to her hips and she chews the bubblegum angrily before popping it again.
“No, God no,” I raise my hands, my eyes wide. “I love it. I wish I had the guts and style to dress so… wicked?”
She grins, seeming appeased, and holds out her hand which also has a tattoo, this one a black lace design, going from her wrist to her middle finger.
“I can stylishly flip people off,” she giggles, noticing me staring. “Okay, I’m done being the walking object. How can I help you…?”
“Gwen,” I respond when she waits for me to tell her my name. I release her hand and pull out my phone. “I want a wedding dress made like this.”
She snatches the phone from my hand and places glasses over her eyes. They were hanging on a chain around her neck but I didn’t notice them as I was too busy checking out how perky her breasts are in that tiny bralette. I think I might fancy this woman a little. “This is gorgeous, but it’s not my design.”
“I know.”
“Which means I can’t make it, but I can take inspiration from it and design you my own.”
My lips part. “Really? What if I don’t like it?”
“Oh you will love it. I’ve yet to disappoint,” she grins, still chewing away. “You want this colour too?”
“Yes! I absolutely love that colour.”
“It needs more sparkles to make it pop.”
“Sure,” I agree for the sake of agreeing. “How much do you think it’ll be?”
“I’ll have to measure out the materials and whatnot before I can give you a definite price. It won’t be cheap, but it’ll be cheaper than what you’ve been quoted for that dress. I only charge for time and materials.”
That’s what I figured. “Okay. Do you have a portfolio or something I can flip through?”
“Yep.” She finally gives me my phone back and I follow her to her desk. She hands me a black folder. “I’m the best. People don’t know it yet, but it’s true.” As I flick through the images, I completely believe her. “You really made all of these?”
“I did. And they’re all cheaper and better quality that anything similar instore.”
“You’re so talented.”
“Thank you.” She pops her gum again and cocks her head at me. “I take a fifty quid deposit just so I know you’re serious and if you don’t like the dress I sell it on and try again, but trust me… you will love the dress.”
Can I really put my faith in somebody for something this huge? “I’m in. Could you possibly make a few matching ties too?”
“Whatever you need, you email it to me,” she hands me a business card, “and I’ll add it to your bill.”
“This is great!” I beam, stuffing my phone back into my pocket. “Shall I email you the image too?”
“Nah, it’s cool. I got it up here.” She taps a finger to her temple, flashing me the Deathly Hallows symbol tattooed on the side.
“Thank you.”
“No problem, sweets. Now let’s get your details then.” She opens up her diary on the desk. It’s a large leather journal with cotton paper. “When do you need it for?”
“Not until July, but…”
“Good, that’ll give me enough time. You need to lose weight and get fit, I bet?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Stop eating bread, hype up the protein and you’ll be golden.” She tweaks the hoop piercing in her nostril and then flexes her impressive, defined biceps. “I know what I’m talking about.”
“Right.” I quickly give her my details. “Do you need the deposit now?”
“No, not until I start. I’ll call you when I’m ready and when I have the invoice. You’re a ten, right? It’ll take a few days. My turnaround is usually quicker but I am fully booked for a while.”
“That’s great, I’m happy for you,” I smile and she just gives me a disbelieving look. “So I’ll go and you call?”
“Yep, I’ll call you and you’ll need to come in closer to the time for measurements too, but for now I’ll calculate the cost based on an average size ten.” She leads me to the door and all but shoves me out. “Happy engagement!”
I skip back to the car and climb into the driver’s seat with a broad grin on my face.
“Sorted?” Jeanine asks and I nod frantically. “Excellent. That’s such good news.”
“I think we got lucky. You should have seen the few dresses she had on display. They were ostentatious but they were amazing. This one dress had three layers and the top layer was this see through black lace. It was so gothic but so beautiful and well made.”
I turn back to look at the kids, both in car seats on either side of the rear bench. Dillan is drawing pictures on the window with his finger and Emily is napping as per usual.
“I can’t wait to see what she does with your dress.” Jeanine buckles up her seatbelt, as do I, and we set off once more, this time for home. “Though I can’t say it took long?”
She’s concerned I’m going to end up with something I hate. Me too.
“She’s going to get me a price for the style I want and then we’re going to finalise everything… probably.” My hand clicks the signal and we turn right, almost hitting a man on a bike as he flies across the road, uncaring of oncoming traffic. Well, this is London. I don’t expect any differently. I’m used to it now, forever prepared for any eventuality. “This is fate; it’ll be fine.”
“I’m so happy you and Nathan are okay again.”
“The one you’re always harping on about?”
I nod. “They do some lovely leather journals. I get one or two for Nathan every year. I haven’t had chance this year though.”
“He still writes in his journals?”
“Yes, he lets me read them when they’re full too. They really have helped me to understand the way his mind works.”
“Poor boy,” she mutters solemnly. “I wish I’d done more to help him growing up.”
“You had enough kids of your own to deal with. He doesn’t hold it against you at all.”
“He’s a good man when he wants to be.” She pats my hand on the gear stick and offers, “Go in, I’ll wait in the car with the kids again.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. No use getting the kids out again, especially not while Emily is sleeping.”
“Thank you.” I park as close as I can and race across the street, weaving through people as quickly as the crowds will allow. It doesn’t take long for me to find the perfect journal either. Nathan doesn’t like the ones with clasps and such; he prefers just a plain brown leather with a rope to seal it shut. That’s exactly what I buy him and before I know it I’m back in the car and I’m driving Jeanine home.
After an emotional goodbye, despite the fact I see her far more than my regular friends, I head home with the babies where a happy looking Nathan waits for me and helps me remove the kids from the car.
Once they’re settled in front of the TV, I take the journal from my bag and race it upstairs before he can see. I have a little box where I hide things worth hiding. It sits at the back of my closet on the ground, hidden beneath a pile of shoes. Well it used to. I notice how the shoes that are usually stacked neatly in that area are in a bit of a mess. It’s been a while since I took a set of heels from the pile; I must have forgotten to tidy it.
Unfortunately, I discover the reason for the mess and my heart stops. It stops so suddenly I begin to choke for air and then nausea takes over. As I attempt to calm myself, my hands throw the shoes out of the closet.
I yell repeatedly, “No, no, no, no… this can’t be happening!” Shoes fly backwards as well as Nathan’s journal and the box itself until there’s nothing on my closet floor. “FUCK!”
“Gwen?” Nathan calls up the stairs. “Is everything okay?”
“No,” I honestly reply and then bury my head in my knees.
“Babe, you need to come here. I can’t leave the kids.”
“Did you take it?” My voice is muffled by the foetal position in which I’m holding my body.
“I can’t hear you; come here.”
“Did you move the DVD?” I lift my head, tears streaming down my face.
His silence finally draws me from my protective position. I stand upright and make my way to the stairs. He stands at the bottom, frozen in place and staring up at me with blank, almost lifeless eyes and pale skin.
“Did you?”
“I wouldn’t. He waits for me to go down before racing up after me. The sound of drawers sliding open and slamming shut brings the kids to where I stand. Dillan grips the bars of the stairgate and Emily clings to my leg. “Did you put it somewhere else maybe?”
“No. It’s always been there.”
He continues looking around before coming back down, looking dishevelled and panicked. “We haven’t had a break in.” His shoulder accidentally bumps mine as he goes into the room and checks the cabinet full of DVDs and books. “We’d have noticed.”
I let out a sob. “That’s why…”
“What?” He looks at me for a brief second, pulling DVDs off the shelf. I see his face get paler.
“I’m so sorry,” I whimper and press my hand to my aching heart. “Nathan, I am so sorry. I never should have left her alone.”
“That’s all she wanted, wasn’t it?” His voice is monotone as he sits back onto his knees and surveys the mess of cases on the ground around him. “She used us, tricked us and the kids, to keep him out of prison.”
“How did they know we had it?” I ask, stepping into the room, feeling lost and out of breath. “How do they know we haven’t made a copy? How did she know where it was?”
He doesn’t answer; he continues to stare blankly at the cases. I kick them out of the way and crouch down in front of him.
“Nathan…”
“It doesn’t matter,” he whispers and stands abruptly. “There’s no use dwelling on it. Come on, the kids need dinner.”
I watch him leave, his tense body taking long, eager strides to remove him from the room.
“Nathan,” I say quietly, softly, as I follow him close behind. “It’s…”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“We have to.”
“We don’t!” He snaps, his voice loud and his tone final. “I don’t ever want to discuss this again. It’s done.”
That spiteful, vile bitch. “I know you’re hurting.”
“Then you don’t know me well.”
Ouch. “I’ll give you space.”
“I don’t need space.” He turns to me, his eyes blazing. “I need you to help me make dinner and to just go back to normal.”
“Please…”
“Wipe that pity from your eyes, Gwen. I can’t stand it. I don’t want it and I don’t need it.”
“Don’t shut yourself away from me.”
“I’m not. Why are you forcing me to confront something that isn’t even bothering me? It’s over.”
“The hell it is,” I mutter, seething with anger, not at him but at this situation. “I’ll kill her.”
“What’s the point?” He turns away and begins rooting through the cupboards before grabbing a bag of pasta and dropping it onto the side. “They’ve won; it’s over. Let’s just safeguard our children and learn from this. Okay?”
“I can’t believe this is happening,” I whisper to myself, though I know he hears it because he laughs. “Oh I can.” His hands frantically rip at the bag and he dumps too much pasta into a sauce pan. He has yet to boil the kettle but I don’t think he’s realised. He’s too consumed by the hurt I know is eating at him. “Of course she didn’t come back because she could ever love me or my kids. I’m a fool.”
“You are not a fool.”
“Aren’t I? I lied to you because deep down,” he turns and looks at me with a weary gaze, “I knew this would happen and I didn’t want to face the pity you’d give me, the pity in your eyes right now.”
“That’s not…”
“Because why, after years of torment, years of begging her and him to let me stay with my brother, would she suddenly be there for me? Why?” He yells and steps towards me. “Because clearly I haven’t been punished enough, have I?” His hands grab my biceps and hold tight. Fingers bite into my arms but the pain is nothing compared to the throbbing in my chest. My heart is truly breaking, for him, not for me. “My entire childhood was stolen from me. I have no good memories. I’m a mess, Gwen, a mess. And the one time, the one time I let myself believe that things might actually be going perfectly, it gets ripped away.”
“You don’t need her; you have us.”
“Is it so wrong?” He asks sadly and his voice breaks. His brown eyes shimmer and a tear slowly leaves a shiny trail as it falls from his lashes and onto his cheek. “Is it so wrong that I just wanted her to love me?”
“No.” I cup his face with my hands, my own tears falling freely at the sight of his. “That’s not wrong. They are wrong. They are losing, not you.”
“Why doesn’t she love me, Gwen?” His voice is barely audible and I choke back a sob. He buries his face in my neck and with trembling arms he holds me to him so tightly I find it hard to breathe. “Why would she let them do that to me?”
I don’t know what to say so I don’t say anything. I just hold him as he cries, something I know that he has likely never don
e.
“I’m so sorry,” I sob, holding him just as tight as he holds me.
Frantic lips find mine and I let him kiss me. It’s painful, it’s rough but we both need it. He lifts me onto the counter and knocks the saucepan full of pasta onto the ground. My arms wrap around his neck as our mouths tangle as well as our tears. A strong hand grips the back of my head, disallowing me to move away, making it hard to breathe, but I don’t care. I let him. I absorb him. All of him. All of his pain. If I could take it into myself I would, but for now this will do.
“Uh-oh,” Dillan cries from the doorway and we both separate and look at where he’s pointing a chubby little finger. “Mess.”
“Naughty Daddy.” I playfully smack Nathan’s shoulder and wipe my cheeks on my sleeve. “Shall we get the brush?”
“Yeah.” Dillan goes straight for the cupboard under the stairs where we store the dustpan and brush.
Nathan grabs my wrist before I leave the room and yanks me sharply back to him. “Thank you for loving me, Gwen.”
With the back of my fingers, I stroke his still moist cheek and whisper, “I don’t know how anybody can do anything but love you, Nathan. You don’t know what you’re worth.”
He kisses me again, sweetly this time, and quickly turns away, his eyes glistening once more. I chase after Dillan, giving my fiancé the escape and privacy he needs.
“Let’s clean up this mess,” I tell Dillan, who is sweeping the hallway already despite it being sparkling clean. “In the kitchen, baby.” Emily toddles along after us with a feather duster.
Nathan stands at the back door with a glass in hand. It’s clear and I can’t tell if it’s vodka or water. When he downs the glass and his profile grimaces, I decide it must be vodka. As the kids are pushing the mess around the floor, I sneak up behind him and wrap my arms around his middle. He places a hand over my locked ones and sighs gravely.
“You go have a bath,” I tell him, my cheek pressed between his shoulder blades. “Relax.”
He nods, turns, kisses me and then stalks upstairs.
“Right,” I tell my beautiful babies. “Let’s clean this up and go.”