by Penny Parkes
‘Earth to Alice, come in, Alice? I was just saying to Grace how fabulous you always look. Come on – what’s your secret? Maybe you could give her some pointers to get an outfit together?’
Alice nodded, caught on the hop; whilst fashion and designers were her passion, it was more of a private, almost secret obsession, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about sharing. She looked at the two expectant faces before her – open and affable, and asking her advice. Tilly’s voice echoed in her mind.
‘Sure,’ she said slowly, realising this let her off the hook of stepping into the breach. ‘What have you already got? Maybe we can accessorise something to make it more fancy?’
Grace and Hattie both laughed. ‘You’ll have your work cut out then,’ confessed Grace with a shrug, indicating the simple powder-blue sundress she was currently wearing. ‘This is my smart dress, or was my smart dress when I had occasion to wear it. Now I just get on and enjoy it. No point saving things for best, is there really?’
Alice suppressed a small wave of bewilderment. It was almost as though they were talking a foreign language. ‘Okay then,’ she said. ‘Maybe we need to take you shopping.’
Grace and Hattie looked guiltily at one another.
‘The thing is,’ Grace said, ‘the dinner’s tomorrow night.’
‘Oh,’ breathed Alice, wondering why Grace wasn’t actually panicking more. It hardly occurred to her that, for Grace at least, the dress she would wear was probably the least of her concerns.
Stepping back out into the Market Place, without so much as a bag of fancy pasta in her hand, Alice drew in a steadying breath. If she took even a moment to outline the anxiety she was feeling, Grace would no doubt think her crazy.
She couldn’t even put a finger on when this bizarre obsession with keeping things just for herself had begun; it was hardly as though she could blame a sister for borrowing and trashing her clothes, or indeed a shortage of replacements should something be damaged whilst ‘on loan’. No, she decided, it was just one more step in the direction of being an official nutjob – or whatever the technical term actually was for someone who bought more clothes than they could ever reasonably wear in a lifetime? Of course, she’d watched the programmes on television about hoarders, and she’d been comfortably smug that she would never let her own home get into such a state of disarray. No indeed, because Alice’s collections of books and clothes were all catalogued and cared for – no unsightly heaps for her – just a spare bedroom filled with hanging rails and indexed storage boxes stacked neatly in every available space.
The very idea of lending Grace something to wear was one thing; inviting her into her own personal space was even harder. She felt a sweaty, clammy wave of discomfort prickle over her chest, even as Grace chatted easily beside her. How on earth had a longing for something special for supper ended up like this? She couldn’t even really recall how the conversation had morphed into her making the invitation.
‘You are very sweet to offer, you know, Alice,’ Grace said after a moment, perhaps picking up on Alice’s uneasiness, ‘but if you’ve got other plans for this evening, you only have to say.’
Alice thought for a second. Well, she did have plans. There was Neil from Norfolk to chat to online, a sale on matchesfashion.com and a new instalment of her latest Netflix box set – yet somehow all of those things felt a little hollow now, compared to the laughter and bonhomie in The Deli.
‘Nothing that can’t keep,’ Alice said quietly, determined to push herself out of self-imposed exile. There was no need to point out to herself that she could equally well do all of those things in the wee small hours, when Coco nudged her awake to check her blood sugar as it plummeted.
Besides, she was almost intrigued to see Grace in such a tizz. It was so out of character that Alice wondered if it was Pilot Chris – as Hattie had anointed him, as though he came straight out of a children’s cartoon – who had got Grace’s pulse racing. Maybe he really was just that wonderful? Which would be a shame really, thought Alice, as she’d harboured a secret hope that Dan and Grace would one day look up and actually notice each other.
‘Your aunt said you’d picked up an interest in interior design,’ Grace said, as they turned into Alice’s road. ‘Spotting fabulous bargains at the Antiques Market and restoring them?’
Alice shook her head. ‘Sadly my aunty Pru has a big mouth and a severe case of wishful thinking. She keeps threatening to drag me to Ikea to get organised.’
Grace shuddered, earning herself immediate Brownie points from Alice. ‘What fresh hell would that be? And who wants to live in the same identikit house as everybody else anyway?’
‘Quite,’ said Alice, secretly surprised by Grace’s vehemence on the topic.
‘And is she still calling it Eekoo? I do love your aunt and her malapropisms; she told me she was after joining some flamingo classes when I saw her last week.’ Grace smiled. ‘She only wants the best for you, Alice – probably just wants you to settle in, put down a few roots so you’re less of a flight risk,’ she said, adopting Dan’s spot-on phrase.
She made a valid point, thought Alice, but Grace continued.
‘It can take a while to settle anywhere new. And you do spend so much time at work, and with your gorgeous Jamie . . . I guess Pru just wants you to feel at home here.’
Alice nodded, overcome by the entirely unfamiliar, but increasingly nagging, urge to share. ‘You do know he’s not really my Jamie.’
‘Oh,’ said Grace, her voice laced with understanding. She stopped walking for a moment. ‘You could just tell him, you know,’ she said gently.
Alice shook her head. ‘Too messy.’
Grace opened her mouth as though to say something and then stopped, satisfying herself with a supportive look.
‘Maybe there are easier ways to appease your aunt,’ she offered. ‘Buy a bookcase, maybe? I mean, how many books could you possibly have that it’s causing her such concern?’
Alice pushed open the door to her cottage, where the catalogued boxes were stacked neatly against one whole wall. ‘Eight hundred and ninety-three,’ she replied simply, ushering Grace inside and wondering whether her surprised expression boded well for what she was about to see upstairs.
‘Cool,’ said Grace after a beat. ‘Well at least I know where to come when I need reading advice.’
Alice was grateful that she hadn’t immediately said what most people did: either they expressed disbelief that anyone could need, or indeed read, so many; or they made jokes about using her as their local lending library. Alice breathed out slowly, trying not to relive how pissed off she’d felt at having her beloved Jilly Coopers returned with corners folded down and coffee rings on the cover. In Alice’s world, her books were treasures to be enjoyed again and again as new, not merely coasters for the nearest hot beverage.
‘So,’ she said, as the front door swung to behind them and she perched on the back of the sofa, ‘what look are you going for? Professional interest or super-sexy?’
Grace blushed. ‘Somewhere in between? I mean, it would be lovely to feel a bit swish, wouldn’t it?’
‘And this Chris? Is he just lovely?’ Alice felt she needed to ask. If she was going to give up on her ideas about Dan and Grace, then she felt an odd responsibility to vet this potential suitor. It was madness really, and certainly none of her business, but she couldn’t help notice that Grace seemed relieved to have someone discreet to talk things through with. Grace held up her iPhone, tapping on the Safari icon, and an image quickly filled the screen.
‘Crikey,’ said Alice, a little taken aback at the image of a smiling man in his flight suit.
‘Quite,’ said Grace. ‘So you can see why this isn’t a date. What would someone who looks like that see in someone who looks like me? Are you quite sure you won’t go?’
It was her endearing insecurity that made the decision easier for Alice in the end. Chris Virtue was one of the good guys – he could be flying in the private sector and earning
a bundle, but he’d chosen the Air Ambulance. And what’s more, he’d obviously looked at Grace, with her yoga-toned body, but endearing lack of guile, and decided she was worthy of his attentions.
Alice paused at the top of the stairs, wondering how to make her request. In the end, she opted for transparency, ignoring the clammy swell of apprehension at letting anyone into her world. She couldn’t help thinking Tilly would be proud. ‘Grace,’ she said, ‘can we agree not to talk about this with anyone? It’s just, well . . .’
She pushed open the door to her spare room, to the rails and rails of dresses and jackets and blouses, to the hooks bearing necklaces and bracelets and scarves. She shrugged, the ache of vulnerability making it hard to speak. Quite why she’d decided that tonight was the night to bare her soul she couldn’t say. Was it Jamie’s total belief in her and the confidence that conveyed, or Hattie’s proffered hand of friendship, or perhaps simply that she’d reached the point where the secrecy was wearing her down?
‘Bloody hell,’ said Grace, turning her wide grey eyes on Alice in surprise. ‘No wonder you always look so stunning. I had no idea you were a fashionista.’
Right then, in that moment, Alice would so easily have hugged her: fashionista sounded so much healthier than compulsive shopper.
She stepped forward and pulled a cobalt blue halter-necked dress from the rail nearest her. ‘I thought this would frame your shoulders perfectly,’ she said, as though it were the most normal situation in the world.
Grace leaned forward and gave Alice the lightest of kisses on her cheek, herself a little emotional. ‘Thank you, Alice,’ she said with feeling. The honour of this vulnerability was not lost on her. ‘It looks beautiful.’
Alice managed a smile. ‘Oh, we’ve barely started yet.’ She watched Grace’s eyes flit around the room from rail to rail; it was about time she started having fun with her trophies, rather than sequestering them away in shame. Perhaps helping Grace might prove to be the first step on the path to helping herself, she thought, as she pulled out another two dresses and laid them in Grace’s arms. ‘What are you waiting for? Let’s see how they look!’
She pulled out her iPhone from her pocket and hit play on her summer playlist and as the sultry tones of Tracy Chapman rang out in her cottage, Grace slipped off her sandals with a grin.
‘I’m not doing this on my own,’ she said. ‘Get that gorgeous green tunic on you, madam, and let’s see how you look.’
Chapter 22
Grace tried not to stare when Alice arrived at work the next day. The carapace of co-ordinated clothing no longer seemed quite so incongruous in their rural bubble, but rather clarified so many little questions that had been in the back of Grace’s mind for months.
‘Hi,’ said Alice simply, hesitating for a second, as though just waiting for Grace to blurt out her secret. ‘Are you excited about tonight?’
‘More nervous than excited, but the dress is just wonderful, Alice, thank you. So even if the evening is a bust, there’s that at least.’
Alice laughed, the shutters lifting slightly. Everybody knew Grace was the soul of discretion, but Alice obviously had morning-after-the-night-before reservations.
‘I’m going to skip out for a bit and get my hair done too,’ continued Grace. ‘Can hardly let the dress down, now can I?’ She gave Alice’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, making the most of this rare moment of privacy. ‘And then you and I are going to have supper together one night and get some plans in motion, okay?’
The feisty, self-sufficient part of Alice clearly wobbled at the very thought; the exhausted part, the solitary part, seemed to recognise a reprieve. ‘That sounds lovely,’ she said.
Grace could only feel relief at her simple capitulation. She had spent half the night tossing and turning, worrying about this wonderful young girl with the weight of the world on her shoulders. There had been a certain amount of bravery in letting her in last night, Grace had decided, and she was determined not to let the moment pass. As far as she could tell, there was very little support in Alice’s young life and God knows she needed it more than most. She was certainly adept at putting on a front though.
Grace thought back to her first year at med school, sharing a room with Suzie Rogers. Putting aside all the crude jokes they had made at the expense of her name, she had been Grace’s best friend throughout that awkward freshers’ year and someone she would never forget. Suzie, like Alice, had been a Type One diabetic, and seeing what she went through every night had been quite the eye-opener. The disrupted sleep, the checking and calibrating . . . But Suzie had chosen the opposite path to Alice; she talked about it to her friends, who in turn then found it easier to check in with her, to tease her even, but most importantly, to be there for her on the days when things seemed unmanageable.
Alice? Well, as far as Grace could tell, Alice had her aunt Pru. And as wonderful as Pru Hartley was, she didn’t seem to grasp the severity of Alice’s condition, still turning up with sticky buns and ‘gat-ox’ from the bakery to ‘cheer her up’. And, Grace decided, if Pru really was convinced that all Alice needed to do was to pop to Ikea and ‘unpack’, then clearly she hadn’t been allowed into Alice’s inner sanctum either.
She wondered who really knew what was going on in Alice’s life. Jamie? One of these online ‘boyfriends’ she occasionally spoke about?
What was it about Larkford, Grace thought, that it seemed to collect those who needed to heal? Besides her aunt Pru, she’d never heard Alice mention any family at all and the only friends she referred to seemed to keep in touch via status updates and Skype calls rather than visits – what a miserable generation of lonely kids, she thought. Although to be fair, Elsie the silver surfer was much the same these days. Perhaps Grace herself was the anomaly, spending so much time with ‘tech’ during her working day and for her hobbies that she longed to keep her personal interactions personal?
Speaking of which, her heart gave an involuntary flip as she saw Dan Carter walk past the doorway. Perhaps Alice wasn’t the only one in denial, though, about how their life was actually playing out?
Alice reached into her soft leather handbag and pulled out a velvet box. ‘I thought this might work with the dress?’ she offered, blushing slightly and regaining Grace’s attention.
Grace popped open the box and a fabulous necklace of twisted silver leaves, pearls and filigree lay nestled inside. ‘Alice! It’s beautiful.’
Alice grinned. ‘And you don’t need to worry about breaking it or losing it, it’s really nothing fancy.’
Grace raised an eyebrow in disbelief, the delicacy of the workmanship directly contradicting that statement. ‘It’s far too precious, Alice. Honestly, I’m so grateful for the dress, I couldn’t possibly—’
Alice shook her head. ‘And you say I’m stubborn. Just wear it, enjoy it; it deserves an outing. And if it all falls apart on the dance floor you can blame me, because I made it, okay?’
‘Are you serious?’ said Holly, ambling into the room with a pain au chocolat in one hand and a vast glass of orange juice in the other. ‘You are such a dark horse, Alice Walker!’
Grace nodded, wondering how Alice had managed to have them all so convinced that she was a straight-cut pillar of professionalism and composure. Whilst in reality, beneath every layer there lay another one awaiting discovery.
Alice blushed. ‘It’s just a hobby. I have rather a thing for craft shops, so I had to find a reason to visit!’
Grace smiled at her proudly. Baby steps, small admissions of her vulnerability.
‘Well, I think it’s stunning and, if you truly don’t mind, I’d love to wear it tonight,’ Grace said with feeling.
Holly nodded, the flakes of pastry fluttering around her. ‘God, Alice, if I’d known we had the next best thing to Tiffany’s in our very midst, I’d have been pestering you to make me something for the wedding months ago!’ She flustered then and flushed. ‘Not that I’d be expecting a freebie, and it would probably take months . . .’
Grace narrowed her eyes as she watched Holly dissemble. She’d put money on the table her discomfort had absolutely nothing to do with Alice or her jewellery-making skills. She watched Holly take a long sip of her orange juice and that in itself just played into the wired and weird atmosphere that surrounded her. Where was the omnipresent double espresso? Where was the—? Oh. Grace paused, unable to conceal the smile that spread across her face. She turned away and busied herself answering the phone. All in good time, she thought to herself, all in good time.
Later that day, with her freshly blow-dried hair falling neatly into place and Alice’s necklace resting gently on her collarbone, Grace pulled her front door closed behind her and stepped into the street. She’d already sent Alice a selfie of herself all dolled up and was gratified by the enthusiastic response. It was just as well really, as she was starting to have a little wobble. Somehow, without even realising it, she had agreed to her very first date since Roy had died. She wasn’t sure whether to feel awful that she hadn’t really noticed the milestone, or just plain nervous at how out of touch she might be on dating etiquette.
She swayed slightly for a moment, unaccustomed to such high heels, but under strict orders from Alice that the dress demanded them. The silky fabric billowed for a moment around her legs at a sudden gust of wind and Grace heard a wolf whistle echo between the houses.
‘Come and give us a twirl,’ hollered Taffy from the grass bank outside the pub.
She looked up in confusion. As far as she could tell, Dan and Taffy were lining up rows of Babybel cheeses at the top of the slope.
‘You look absolutely stunning,’ Dan said, as though he couldn’t quite believe it.
Whilst she could admit to being secretly thrilled at the obvious admiration on his face, Grace felt a moment’s pique at the underlying note of surprise.
‘Dare I even ask what you’re up to?’ she said, checking her watch.
Taffy grinned. ‘Poor man’s cheese-rolling. Couldn’t get to Gloucester, so we thought we’d recreate. Look, we’ve got Ben’s Action Men for scale.’