Page 106 of People In Love
Have you taken some painkillers, she says, to which he says yes, and before she can ask, he’s been eating dry toast, too, and sipping water. Which is what they do when they feel unwell; pop some pills, eat some toast, and it has always worked for them.
What I’ve got to show you will perk you up, she says, and he hears the promise in her voice, then; finally opens both eyes.
Should we talk, he says, after they have looked steadily at one another for several seconds. About what happened yesterday, with Bren?
Yes, Nora says. But afterwards. Please.
So he agrees, wordlessly. Lets her keep his hand in hers, lets her pull him up from the sofa and lead him out of the living room and through the kitchen out the back door, up the concrete steps into the yard. Towards the shed which was meant to be his makeshift darkroom or her sewing studio which they never got around to converting; just sits there, spiderwebbed, rotting with rain. Apple crates piled by the door, which they’d pilfered from supermarkets when they’d first moved in. Some women have a lot of shoes, Robin said, as they carted her stuff from the moving van. You, Nora Harper, have a lot of yarn.
And now, she pushes open the door, ducks inside, and Robin follows. He is so tall he has to stoop, which disorientates him, says he must be dehydr –
But then he sees what she has brought him here to see, what is suspended in the centre of the shed on a wire hanger, covered in a sheet.
What is this, Robin asks her.
It’s my wedding dress, Nora says.
Your …?
I couldn’t find one that felt quite right, before, she says. None of it, really, felt right. But you did, Robin. You do.
She doesn’t say anything more, just yet. Instead she lifts the bed sheet – has to stand on her tiptoes – and then steps back with it bundled in her arms, the dress left spinning, slightly, like a ballerina in a music box.
I’ve been working on it since we got back from Devon, she says. It’s something I tried on and liked, mostly, at that vintage place, but it needed some … tweaking. I let it out a bit, because I’ll want to eat a lot of cake, on the day, obviously, and I talked with some textile artists about how to embroider into this particular fabric, which wasn’t easy, like I’d thought it would be.
Note of worry in her voice, as she talks; longing for him to see what this means.
I broke a load of needles, she goes on. The material’s so much thicker than it looks, but at the same time, I wanted it to feel lightweight, like I was wearing pyjamas, you know? And I’ve managed that, I think. I removed some of the underskirt, see, here. Then I started the embroidery, which is what took the time, really, because I got a bit carried away, but I couldn’t tell you about it because I didn’t want you to know until it was done.
Robin is still staring at the dress, as if he can’t hear what she’s saying.
I saw all those surprises you were planning, Nora tells him, in your notebook. And I just … wanted to do the same, for you. I didn’t want you to think I’d marry you out of, I don’t know, pity, or to smooth things over. Or in any sort of gung-ho,why not, reaction. I want to marry you because I reallywantto marry you, Robin.
She feels like she’s botching this. Stumbling through it.
Saying the word marry, too much.
That’s what you were doing? he says. All those hours you’ve been working late?
Nora nods; skims the skirt with her fingertips. She would like him to touch it, too, or better yet, touch her. She wants to look into his face and watch him realise that she was not pulling back from him, before. On printed invites, maybe, and a shiny venue, deposits and harpists and fanfare and fuss. But not this. Not all the things that they share, which she has embroidered into the gown, by hand.
Do you like it, she asks him as it twirls, slowly, on the ceiling hook. Or is it … too much, do you think?
She had only meant to embroider one line, from their favourite film, along the inseam. Had then darned another into the hem, and had planned to stop there, but there was so much more that kept coming to her, like the lines in his notebook that must have kept coming to him. So she kept going. Adding in-jokes about bare feet and croissants and musicals, the phone number to their local takeaway, co-ordinates of the bench where he’d proposed with a ring that was not his but became hers. It was all there. On and on she had sewed, in the back room of her art café, for three weeks, instead of finalising her events timetable, instead of serving customers coffee or hosting workshops, becausethis, Nora, is more important, Shay had said, and she was right.
Is that … your yunomi mug, Robin asks.
Broken, but forever in our hearts, Nora jokes. Or on this dress, at least.
She thinks this moment of lightness might coax a smile out of him, but it only leads to more silence. Some kind of struggle, in his face. The dress hanging heavy between them.
I’m so sorry, Robin, she says again. I’m sorry if I’ve beenvague, instead of clear. But I’ve been thinking and planning and wanting so badly to make it perfect, wanting this thing we’re doing to feel likeus. And stuff with Freya and Josie and Bren got tangled up in the rush of it all, and I didn’t knowhowI felt, until we slowed down, and I could catch my breath.
Robin looks at her, now. At last.
I want to do this, Robin, Nora tells him. But I don’t want to do it with people judging, or questioning our decisions. I don’t want to spend money we don’t have on things we don’t need, or catch my mother rolling her eyes, or pose for pictures when weknowyou could be taking better ones.
She pauses, still hoping for his smile.
