again, her words hurt. I’m really not used to this.
‘I’m going to the shop to get my dress and I really do hope your attitude changes while I’m away, Rosie.’
It is on the tip of my tongue to tell her that I am trying to make our last days together perfect. That I’m not going to be here for much longer. That I am dying. That it’s not just any holiday, but our very last holiday. But I bite my tongue and leave her to her snapchatting. I know exactly when and where I am going to break the news to her.
It’s in my plan for the week ahead, of course.
Shelley
Matt calls me for the second time this afternoon just as I’m putting the finishing touches to the mannequin in the window. I’ve dressed it in the most beautiful, glitzy gold fringed dress that arrived in Terence’s delivery. I cradle the phone under my ear to speak to him as I pin the waist in to fit my so-called size 10 model.
‘The town must be buzzing today,’ Matt suggests. ‘You know, with the match? Any idea of the score? I thought I’d call you first to check in before I looked it up.’
‘Sorry, I have no idea,’ I tell my husband, only half-listening as I admire my efforts at dressing the window. This has always been one of my favourite parts of retail and I was told more than once that I had a flair for it. ‘Hopefully we win.’
‘You say that like you really care,’ laughs Matt. ‘Shelley, the football fan. Anyhow, I’d better get back to my client. He’s a moody sod, old Bert. I was thinking if we do win, maybe you should go for a drink tonight to take your mind off things? Call one of the girls like you used to? Though I’d say there will be plenty of action around the village whichever way the result goes. It’s not often we get so far in the Championship so we may as well join in. What do you think?’
I gulp at the very thought of it.
‘What?’
‘A drink? Tonight?’
‘I … I couldn’t, Matt,’ I stutter. ‘You know that I couldn’t go out tonight, not if Galway won the world championship. No way. Not tonight.’
His silence irritates me slightly.
‘Are you still there?’ I ask.
‘Yes, of course I’m still here,’ he says. ‘Look, forget I mentioned it. I just think sometimes it’s good to keep busy and distracted. I know it’s working for me and you’re doing well at work, aren’t you?’
‘Doing well?’
‘Shelley, I’m trying my best here. I’m stuck in Belgium and missing you like crazy and this is killing me to be away today of all days but I hate the thought of you sitting at home alone tonight. Please do something. Don’t be on your own. A drink with friends won’t change things and crying at home on your own is never going to bring her back!’
That hurt. I know I shouldn’t be sitting home alone all the time, I know he is right, but I am absolutely heartbroken at his suggestion that anything I do or don’t do might make me think she is coming back. How could I celebrate a stupid football game today? How could he even think of such a thing?
‘I have to go. Sorry. Chat to you later, bye Matt.’
‘Shell?’
‘Bye.’
I hang up and jump when the doorbell sounds as a customer enters. I look up, and just as I had anticipated, it is the lady with the wig again – only this time she doesn’t look as glamorous as she did before.
‘Is everything okay?’ I ask her, breaking my own rules around overstepping the mark when it comes to conversation that doesn’t involve fashion stock or clearance sales. ‘You left in a hurry earlier.’
‘I’d like to buy that dress, please,’ she says to me, flustered. ‘I can’t believe I haven’t brought proper clothes with me. I can’t believe I’m here … and I can’t really afford to go shopping and let’s face it, I won’t get much wear out of it but just … I’ll take the dress.’
And at that she bursts into tears.
Juliette
‘I’m so sorry for all this,’ I sniffle, handing over my debit card as the unaffected shop lady packs my new dress into a very fancy paper bag. ‘It’s not like it was a big row or anything, it’s just the thoughts that it triggered, you know, it got to me and I haven’t let anything get to me so far. Not this time. This time I was meant to be strong. That’s why I’m here. To be strong. For her. To do the right thing. For her.’
I am rambling to a stranger and the poor woman is as white as a sheet behind the small counter as she hands me the very trendy bag.
‘You know, I got some gorgeous new stock in just after you left,’ she tells me, as if on autopilot. ‘Some really nice stuff so if you want to come back again and try on more, you’re very welcome. I can do discount so don’t worry about price. No point you shivering on your holidays.’
‘I can’t come back again. There’s no point me buying a lot of nice clothes, not now,’ I tell her. ‘I don’t have time to wear them.’
Was she not listening to a word I said? Maybe it’s a good thing she wasn’t. Maybe that’s how she was trained, you know, to be professional and not indulge in anything more than small talk with strangers. Just take the money and run and all that. Maybe I shouldn’t be ranting and raving like this to someone who has no idea of why I am here or what little time I have left.
‘Okay, well the dress you chose really suits you,’ she says, tugging at her hair. ‘I’m glad you came back for it. It’s very you. It suits you. It suits your hair, I mean, your wig. Sorry! I’m not thinking straight. Thank you. For your custom.’
Apart from her annoying hair fiddling, she is almost robotic and I feel like shaking her by the shoulders. A dying woman has just broken down in front of her two eyes and she is too wrapped up in her new fucking stock to notice.
I open my mouth to let it all out but then I look into her eyes and I see they are totally glazed over with tears, and the agony in her eyes runs through me, sending shivers down my arms and into my fingertips.
‘You’re not okay yourself, are you?’ I ask her and she hands me a tissue, again mechanically like she is trying to block me out. I wipe my nose and dab under my eyes. I wasn’t stupid enough to wear that cursed mascara again this time.
She shakes her head and keeps glancing at the window, at the door, as if in fear of someone coming in and seeing her.
‘I’m fine, but thank you,’ she says to me. ‘You said red was your colour. There’s a lovely red—’
A stray couple of tears escape from her eyes, causing her to stop and take a breath. She doesn’t wipe them. She tries again.
‘There’s a lovely size twelve—’
‘Oh for goodness’ sake,’ I reply. ‘Forget the size twelve red whatever it is you are trying to sell to me, please. You’re not okay at all, are you?’
She shakes her head again but still purses her lips in defiance.
‘Thank you very much … for your custom.’
She nods and I’m waiting for her to say ‘have a nice day’ like it’s rehearsed in her script but she doesn’t so I leave her to it. She evidently isn’t as prone to public breakdowns in front of strangers as I am.
‘You are very welcome,’ I reply and then I say it for her. ‘Have a nice day.’
I slip off my sandals and damp shorts and lie on top of the bed in my room that overlooks the harbour of Killara, and I breathe in the sea air that creeps in through the open window of our cottage. The blue dress from the vintage boutique