Don't Come Looking by AJ Campbell (always you kirsty moseley .txt) 📗

‘Something for Harry’s eighteenth tonight.’

‘Something eye-catching. What size are you, eight, ten?’

‘All depends on the style.’ I suck in my post-pregnancy pouch, which Jim tells me is in my imagination, but I beg to differ.

‘I have just the thing for a black tie do.’ She walks over to the side wall and pulls out a black dress. ‘You can never go wrong with an LBD, and this design flatters any figure,’ she says, which I take to mean that its ruffled middle will hide the fact that I’ve delivered two kids.

She whips out a baby-pink jacket with black buttons and trim to the pockets – if that’s the way to describe it. This is not my area of expertise. ‘This jacket complements it perfectly. Or maybe you’d prefer something more formal which you could get away with for any occasion.’ She reaches for a light tan suede jacket and slips the dress inside its sleeves.

I don’t think she has quite sussed my budget.

‘I’ll tell you what. Why don’t we pick a few things out for you, and you can try them all on? That way, you don’t have to keep dressing and undressing. How about these to go with the pink jacket?’ She grabs a pair of pink and black leopard print skinny jeans.

I stifle a giggle. She hasn’t sussed my taste either.

‘Try them. You never know. And what about this? It’s a little less formal.’ She swings a skirt and matching top off the rails. ‘You can always dress down items with a scarf, you know.’ She opens the lid of a large wicker basket and rummages around to find the colour she’s looking for. ‘These are just to try. If you like any of them, I can get you a packaged one from my storeroom. When you’ve chosen what you like, I can accessorize too. Any item can be jazzed up.’ She points to a shabby chic cabinet below an ornate mirror, arranged with earrings and brooches, necklaces and bags. ‘Sasha was out the front when I left this morning, busy with some decorations. Pity Marc won’t be at the party tonight.’ Flitting around the store, she gathers items like a bird trying to assemble a nest. ‘This is a good one, such a sleek style. A real showstopper. You can match it with different coloured camisoles.’ She reaches for a short dress with a plunging neckline.

What was I thinking, coming here?

‘Or this sexy number is great because you can wear suspenders underneath and they won’t show through. A dress to impress, designed to trim the waistline and flatter from every angle. Not that you have a waistline needing attention.’ She holds the dress towards the ceiling and waggles it. ‘Don’t you just love the way all these sequins shimmer in the light?’

No, I don’t want to look like a disco ball. I smile and nod in agreement.

A few customers trickle in. ‘I’ll be with you in a minute,’ Annie calls out to them. ‘Please feel free to look around. There’s no rush.’ With her arms loaded, she motions me into the changing room and hooks her questionable attempts to restyle me onto the back of the door. ‘Very strange about Marc, don’t you think? I spoke to Art about it last night. Art knows him much better than I do. They sometimes go jogging together. We’ve gone through all the scenarios, but none of them make any sense.’ She glances down at my feet. ‘You need some shoes to try on all these with. Give me a sec.’ I watch her fade amongst the rails and reappear with a pair of ankle-breaking stilettos.

This is getting worse.

‘This classic style will go with most of what I’ve picked out. Once you’ve chosen what you like, you can try on some different styles to complete your outfit. Call me if you need a different size or help zipping up.’

She leaves me staring at my reflection, exhausted before I’ve even started.

As I kick off my trainers and tug off my jeans to begin the painful process of elimination, I hear her repeat her sales technique with her other victims. She tries her hardest but doesn’t succeed in getting them into a changing room. When the doorbell chimes, I hear her tut and mumble something about time-wasters as she rushes back to ask me how I’m doing. When I confirm I’m still trying items on, I hear her talking to Isabella. ‘Did your mummy plait your hair?’

‘Yes,’ Isabella replies.

‘It’s so long.’

‘I’ll be able to sit on it soon.’

‘You’re a very pretty girl. Like your mummy. And what about you? Are you as handsome as your daddy?’

There’s no reply, but I can imagine Joe nodding. I wrangle with one of the dresses, trying to decipher how I’m meant to wear it.

‘I thought so. What’s your daddy up to today then, having a rest?’

‘No, he’s working,’ I hear Joe say.

‘What does he do?’

‘He’s an author.’

In the changing room, I gape at my image – nose screwed up – in the three-way mirror wearing a yellow linen one-shoulder dress, feeling like a right lemon. It clashes dreadfully with my blonde hair.

She raps on the door. ‘Which one are you leaning towards?’

I step outside, gritting my teeth to stop myself swearing.

‘Very nice, you like it?’ she asks.

Nice? It’s the most unflattering thing I’ve ever tried on. Besides, won’t the other shoulder get cold? ‘I’d prefer something more… symmetrical.’

‘The trouble with this fabric is it wrinkles too easily. Try some of the others.’ She stands watching me. I wish she wouldn’t. ‘I always thought Marc was the ultimate family man. He’s always doing something with his kids. Don’t tell her I said this – it could come across wrong – but I’ve always been a little jealous of Sasha. She’s got it all, hasn’t she? The pretty face, the great figure, her own successful business, the committed husband and father? I still can’t believe he’s gone, you know.’ She carries on like