Page 45 of People In Love
Naturally.
Plus you know I’ve always had a thing for gingers.
Do not saygingers, Nora says. We’re not fourteen.
D’you think he’d go for an angry, purple-haired dog-mum?
I think he’d be lucky to have you, Nora says, but something is happening inside of her, a clam closing where her heart is, and she says she’s got to go, the boutique is a bit of a walk away and she doesn’t want to be late or sweaty or whatever, when she gets there.
You look kind of sweaty already.
Thanks, Shay.
Take a croissant, Shay says, taking some tongs to the glass counter, maybe you’re having a sugar low.
To which Nora agrees. Because that, surely, is all that’s wrong: a dip in her blood sugar. Which is dangerous, she knows, damn near transformative. Robin says she becomes a different person, it’s almost frightening, has been known to throw snacks at her from a safe distance until the hungry angst of her recedes, and the Nora he knows and loves returns to the room.
_
She gets to the shop ten minutes early. Brick walls, swirling white stencils up the windows sayingPre-Loved, Vintage Couture. She half expects Bren won’t show but then he’s there too, hands shoved in the pockets of his down jacket, flash of blue nylon against the pavements. Hey, he says, with his half-smile, and she says it back. They hug, which still doesn’t feel normal, and when they break apart he tells her she has sugar on her face.
I had an almond croissant before I got here, she explains,as she touches her chin, brushes it off. I should have brought you one, sorry.
He says it’s okay and they stall, rain beading on the sleeves of their coats.
So shall we, Bren says, looking at the glass door of the shop, and that clam of her heart feels stuck now, as if dunked in resin.
I’m kind of nervous, she admits.
What about?
It’s meant to be fun, this part, she says, but I think there’s a lot of judgement, too, about your budget, and your taste, and I have a low budget and weird taste, as it is. And it’s just happening so fast, she says, by which she means the dress, of course, meaning the sudden engagement turning to a sudden wedding to a sudden situation where she is here, with him, outside this door.
So let’s sack it off, Bren says, after a moment.
I can’t, she says. I booked an appointment.
Then cancel it. We’ll go somewhere else for the day.
Oh yeah? Like where?
He lifts his shoulders in a shrug, his hands returned to his pockets.
Paris, he says. We’re near St Pancras, aren’t we? And you like croissants?
He is teasing, she thinks, but he’s looking at her as though he’s not, and she feels a flush of heat, despite the cold air.
Let’s go, she says, turning to the shop door.
To Paris?
To where weplanned, she says, as she rings the buzzer. Her words hang there as if they’re a pointed reference to the past and she regrets it for a second but pretends not to; stands back, waits. He is silent. Eventually a tall, thin woman opensthe door, dressed in every shade of beige possible. Nude lipstick, taupe shoes, camel-coloured jumpsuit.
Ms Harper? she says, and they’re ushered inside, told to leave their wet coats, please, on the hooks by the door.
They both do as they’re told. Shoes off, too, if you could, the woman says, which is more unexpected, but they remove those as well. Could be in Paris, Bren says to Nora in an undertone as they walk down the ramp to the shop floor, and Nora hits him lightly on the arm, says he’s just sore she didn’t bring him a croissant. It’s funny until the beige woman turns to them with her arms crossed. Like they’re whispering schoolchildren, not showing the dresses their due respect.
These are the gowns, she says, and Nora looks past her to the five rails standing atop the polished wood floor, spotlights illuminating the silk and chiffon and lace, suspended like skins.
