by Dawn Goodwin
After five minutes, the assistant returned with a long box in her hands. I had caught some of Scarlet’s enthusiasm and was momentarily overjoyed until the assistant said, ‘We only have a size 3 or a 5. I’ve brought the 3s out for you to try though?’ Something about the way she looked me up and down made me think she thought it preposterous that I would wear such boots, so I flung her a haughty, ‘Fine.’
She crouched down, opened the box and began to unwrap a thin layer of tissue paper. A faint hint of new leather teased my nose. They looked so soft and beautiful, lying snuggly in the close-fitting box. It had been ages since I’d felt a ripple of delight at the idea of buying something new.
Perching precariously on the cube, I removed my old pair of worn Converses and picked up the boots, enjoying the feel of the cool, silky smooth leather under my fingertips. I slipped my toes in and began to ease the zip up over my calf, aware of Scarlet and the assistant watching me closely. The zip on the right boot slowed and for a moment I thought I would have to face the embarrassment of having a calf too big, but to my relief it glided up to the top.
My hands were damp – from excitement or from being in the spotlight, I wasn’t sure. I looked up at Scarlet and she licked her lips like a predator. I noticed I was leaving fingerprints on the cool leather as I grabbed hold of the zip on the left boot. Things were going well – the zip was moving freely and I had a moment of exhilaration in thinking they would fit after all until it caught on my opaque stocking and stopped. I wormed my fingers in between the zip and the stocking, and could feel that the material had snagged on the metal teeth. I tried to unhook it, but it was imprisoned.
‘Damn,’ I whispered.
‘Everything okay? Do they not fit then?’ the assistant gloated.
I gave a hard pull on the zip, which dislodged after a moment of hesitation so that I could force it up to the top.
I smiled in satisfaction and relief. ‘Nope, see? All perfect.’
I looked down at my feet and took a short stroll over to the floor-length mirror, where I turned and flexed to see the boots from every angle. They were beautiful and made my legs look slim and long, but the pointy toes were nipping like pincers. A size 4 would've been perfect, but maybe the 3 would stretch with wear, I reasoned silently. A small part of me actually liked the sharp pain accompanying every step. I could imagine that after half an hour of wear, my feet would feel like they were in a vice that would tighten deliciously with every step.
My decision already made, I preened in front of the mirror, enjoying the moment but not letting myself focus on how long it had been since I’d looked at my reflection properly like this. Behind me, Scarlet gurned in delight and urged me to buy them. The assistant sighed. After stringing it out even longer just to annoy her, I casually asked how much they cost.
‘Two hundred and ninety-nine pounds.’ My eyebrows shot up. ‘Well, they are such good quality and made from very expensive Italian leather,’ she simpered.
‘You have to buy them, they look amazing,’ Scarlet gushed.
‘Um, I don’t know, they’re really expensive,’ I replied hesitantly.
Under a mirage of devil horns, Scarlet’s eyes gleamed. ‘Go on, treat yourself.’
I paused, not for long, then surrendered. ‘I'll take them.’
Sitting down again, I unzipped the right boot with relative ease and handed it to the suddenly very friendly assistant. She fussed and fawned with the tissue paper, ready to slip the boots back into their cardboard coffin that would likely end up in the mausoleum of my wardrobe and hardly ever come out again. I then took hold of the left zip and tugged. It slid down an inch, then stopped. I frowned, re-zipped it to the top, then tried again. This time it stopped after a few centimetres and refused to go any further. I felt sweat trickle down my spine as I gave it a third go. It went no further than before.
‘Everything okay?’ the assistant asked brightly, holding out a clawed hand for the other boot.
‘Yes, yes, just caught on my stockings I think. Um, let me have another go.’
Scarlet was watching with a look of mild amusement. I continued to struggle, but the zip refused to move a millimetre and I could feel panic building.
‘Let me have a go – maybe your hands are a bit damp or something,’ the assistant said in a nervous tone, all fake friendliness now gone.
She tugged and pulled, but nothing happened, save for the zip now not going up or down. The assistant’s drawn-on eyebrows, previously sitting like commas on her perfectly made-up face, now formed a tight, straight line. As she wrestled with my leg, I could feel humiliation warming through me. I looked over at Scarlet, who seemed calm and unfazed. She was gesticulating rudely behind the assistant’s head, which was practically in my lap as she crouched in front of me. I looked down and noticed glaring flecks of dandruff showing along her ruler-straight hair parting. As I contemplated the scales of dead skin clinging to the dark strands of hair, I suddenly felt quite serene and removed from the absurdity of the situation.
‘I'll have to get the manager, I think,’ she said and hurried away.
My fingers were red and tingling from pulling and tugging, and I held them up in front of my eyes, turning them this way and that.
Scarlet crouched down and looked at my feet. ‘Well, this is a thing.’
‘I think it’s caught on my tights,’ I answered matter-of-factly. ‘Karma’s a bitch.’
‘Well, it is clearly a poor-quality product then. Not your fault at all.’ Scarlet’s voice was even, but loud with defiance.
A young man, victimised head to toe by the latest trends, minced out of the back room with the assistant, looking worried. I could feel sweat sticking the stockings to my calves as my body reacted, even if my mind was in denial about the severity of the situation.
‘I understand there’s a problem with getting the boot off, ma’am?’
‘Yes. It went on fine, but I think I must have got my stocking caught in the zip.’
‘Perhaps you shouldn't have forced it on in the first place, fat legs and all that,’ the assistant muttered, just loud enough to be heard.
Scarlet’s reaction was immediate and volatile. ‘What kind of a shop is this? And at this price, I would at least expect the zip to work properly. Thank goodness this didn’t happen after she bought them,’ Scarlet exploded.
I added in a quieter voice, ‘I didn't force it on at all. It went on perfectly fine,’ knowing that wasn’t exactly true, but not wanting to surrender so easily in front of Scarlet.
‘Perhaps we can pull it off without undoing the zip. It may dislodge whatever is trapped. If I lift your leg and pull from the bottom, it may work,’ the manager said. There was no way it would work, considering how skin-tight the boots were, but I allowed him to lift my leg, the feeling of detachment growing until mentally I was standing next to Scarlet and watching it all happen to a stranger. I concentrated on the manager for a moment, noticing the razor-sharp creases in his trousers and witch-like point of his patent shoes as he pulled and tugged on my leg.
The handful of customers in the shop had begun to stare and two teenage girls were sniggering into their hands. I had an overwhelming urge to laugh with them and had to swallow hard to dislodge a manic giggle that took residence in my throat.
As both the assistant and the manager gripped onto the boot while my leg in my denim skirt lifted higher and higher, the bubble of mirth popped and I guffawed loudly just as the tights gave up the fight with an amplified ripping sound. The boot remained resolutely in place. The manager dropped my leg abruptly and crossed his arms in anger while I concentrated on stifling any more explosive laughter.
Scarlet could still be heard ranting behind them about the quality of the boots and customer service, even raising the possibility of suing the shop, for what I wasn’t sure.
‘We’re going to have to cut them off,’ the manager said melodramatically. ‘But I hope you realise that if we cut the boots, then you will have to buy them in their da
maged state.’
‘But the boot must be defective if the zip got stuck so easily,’ I reasoned. ‘Surely you can’t expect me to still buy them?’
‘You are not paying for those boots, Ron,’ Scarlet said indignantly. Turning to the manager, she added, ‘I’m a fashion journalist. One poor recommendation on Twitter from me and this store is ruined. Remember that.’ This had to be a blatant lie, but at that moment I didn’t care.
‘There is nothing defective about these boots. More to the point, I think next time you should be more aware of the dimensions of your legs before trying on such a high-quality and expensive item.’ He turned to the assistant. ‘Bring me the scissors.’
‘Do not cut those boots until you agree that she will not be charged,’ Scarlet shouted in outrage.
‘I’m not paying for these boots.’ The low menace in my voice surprised even me.
The group of spectators had turned into quite a throng and an audible gasp rippled through the onlookers at the prospect of a fight breaking out between the manager, now armed with a pair of lethal, glinting sheers, and me, with nothing but my principles.
We glared at each other, neither willing to back down.
Eventually, he nodded his head and reluctantly said, ‘Okay, no charge, but in return please refrain from any negative social media comments.’ Little did he know that I had long ago abandoned advertising my pathetic life on Facebook, Twitter and the like.
‘Agreed. Cut away,’ Scarlet said.
‘Agreed,’ I concurred.
The steel blade of the sheers glinted as they bore down on the beautiful leather and sliced through like a scalpel. After a moment, I felt cool air against my skin as the boot fell away and exposed my shredded stockings.
The manager looked mournful as he turned on his heels and stormed off to the counter, clutching the ruined boots.
I squared my shoulders and looked down at the ruined tights and my pale, sweaty skin beneath, marked in red where the boots had dug in. Without a second thought, I reached under my skirt and found the top of my stockings, wriggled them down to my knees and pulled them off unceremoniously, before balling up what was left in tight fists and plonking them on the counter in front of the manager’s horrified glare. Then I pushed my feet into my old Converse, grabbed my handbag and stalked defiantly through the faces staring at me, some in sympathy but most in glee.
Reality flooded over me and it took all of my strength not to burst into sobs, but I refused to let my head drop. As we got to the door, I turned to see the assistant looking smug.
‘Oh, and you should do something about that dandruff. Most unattractive,’ I said as a parting shot, then glided out with Scarlet at my heels giggling.
‘Oh my God, that was funny!’ Scarlet exclaimed when we were finally free of the stares.
I groaned. ‘I can’t believe that happened – or that I said that.’
‘Don’t be silly! I have the fattest calves in the world and get boots stuck all the time. I think we need a drink to steady our nerves.’
‘It’s the middle of the day!’
‘Perfect! All the more reason,’ Scarlet replied, looping her arm in mine.
‘You’re a very bad influence on me, Scarlet,’ I teased.
As we walked, I could feel my heart hammering in my chest in indignation. Scarlet was humming under her breath, her pace ambling and casual. She then pulled up short and I turned to see what had caught her attention. A small girl was standing to our right, alone, her thumb in her mouth. She looked to be little more than four years old. Someone had tried to plait her hair in an intricate French braid, but most of it had unravelled and escaped the pretty butterfly clips so that wisps reached out in every direction, making her look untidy.
‘I think she’s lost,’ Scarlet said and started walking towards her.
I looked around and couldn’t see an adult nearby that she may belong to. I closed the gap between Scarlet and I, my heart still racing, but now accompanied by a dull thud deep in my head that kept time with my pulse.
As we approached, I took in her miniature denim dress with a dark red juice stain down the front, frilly white ankle socks smudged with dirt, one rolled up and the other down, and the pint-sized Nike running shoes on her impossibly tiny feet, scuffed at the toes.
‘Yes, definitely lost,’ Scarlet was saying in a faraway voice.
I stretched an arm out to the child, then drew it back quickly, not wanting to startle her. Instead, I said, ‘Hello’ and crouched down at her eye level.
She stared at me with wide brown eyes, tears dripping silently from her long lashes.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Mummy says not to talk to strangers.’ Her voice was little above a whisper.
‘That’s very true, but if you’re scared, I think perhaps we can try and help you. Where is mummy?’
She looked around, her eyes sweeping the faces walking past.
My knees, bent at an awkward angle, were beginning to complain loudly. I reached to the floor and steadied myself with a shaky hand.
Scarlet was close behind me. ‘Maybe we could go and find an information booth or something.’ She was also scanning the vast space around us.
I studied the wretched face before me – the innocent eyes, flushed cheeks and quivering lip – and I felt angry. What mother could leave this beautiful creature alone like this? She looked unkempt and uncared for, and my heart choked at her helplessness. She was so unlike Grace at that age, and yet something about the expression on her face and the startled eyes made me think of her.
An image started to take shape of me scooping the little wretch up and carrying her out of the mall, taking her home, brushing her hair, caring for her…
As if echoing my thoughts, Scarlet said, ‘You know, we could so easily walk out of here with her. No one would notice. Everyone is completely ignoring her.’ She looked over at me. ‘Of course, we wouldn’t, but you know…’
Of course I wouldn’t. Would I?
I took her hand in mine gently and stood again, my knees creaking, then started walking.
‘Mummy!’ The child lurched from my grasp and ran towards a young blonde woman who had appeared from an accessories shop to our right.
‘Jade! There you are.’ She grabbed hold of the girl in a smothering bear hug and, when she held the girls at arm’s length again, I could see panic etched in the lines of her forehead.
‘Oh my God. I thought I’d lost you.’
Noticing me standing there, she came over, saying in a rush, ‘Thank you so much. I was beside myself when I realised she wasn’t next to me. I only turned away for a second.’
I looked at Jade and this time I didn’t see an unkempt, uncared for child, but a regular girl whose mum had tried in vain to tame her wild hair into an intricate braid, complete with girly bows and sparkly clips; who had probably started the day looking beautiful in her new denim dress, only to spill juice on it by lunchtime; and wearing shoes that had spent a lot of time running, jumping and exploring. I didn’t see an uncaring, distracted mother, but a woman who had just had a taste of her worst nightmare when she realised her daughter wasn’t holding her hand any more.
‘Really, I can’t thank you enough. I hate to think what could’ve happened,’ the woman was still rambling in relief.
‘It’s no problem at all. I was looking for an information booth or something,’ I said by way of explanation, but the words were thin.
‘Right, I think we’ve earned an ice cream, don’t you, Jade? And you and I need to talk about you wandering off like that, don’t we?’ They walked away, the woman holding onto Jade with both hands. As they turned towards the ice cream shop, Jade looked back at me and waved.
I felt sick.
Scarlet was oblivious to my distress.
‘Right, where were we? For a moment there, I thought we would have to postpone our drink.’
She started walking again, then stopped abruptly a second time. This time she was staring, wi
th a snide half-smile playing around her lips. I followed her eyes into one of the large department stores towards the mall entrance. Like the shoe shop, it was full of glamorously painted, pointy shop assistants selling their wares to impressionable women who wanted to look younger, live longer and find skin-deep happiness.
‘You know…’ Scarlet said. ‘That woman in the shop thought she was so special, treating us like clapped-out housewives. Well, I’m tired of it.’ Her voice was low and menacing, so unlike her usual tone. I certainly didn’t want to interrupt her to point out that I was a washed-out housewife.
My hands were still shaking and I was struggling to detach from what had just happened.
‘I can imagine that they in there’ – she gesticulated at the department store – ‘would be just as bad.’ She had a steely look in her eyes. ‘Let’s get our own back, shall we?’
I almost expected her to burst into a maniacal laugh, the way she was speaking. A stone of dread weighed down in my stomach and I felt exhausted.
‘Really, Scarlet, I’m over it now. No need for further action. I gave as good as I got anyway. Let’s just go and get that drink. I’m done in.’
‘Oh, come on,’ she said with an eye roll, dragging me by the arm towards the store.
I followed, eyes down, trying to make myself as small as possible.
Scarlet wandered past a few counters, gesticulating and commenting, before approaching the mirrored shelves of the more expensive make-up labels. She casually picked up eyeliners and mascara tubes, as if considering her options, then zoned in with sniper precision on a lipstick in a shiny gold case. It was top-end stuff, the kind of thing I would never consider normally, but probably the type of brand Felicity would wear just to pop to school, only so that someone would comment and she would have to explain how expensive it was.
‘You know, this looks just like another one I have in my bag, but that one’s a much cheaper brand,’ Scarlet said cheekily.