The Dress (20 page)

‘Look here, it's puckering at the waist. Can you see?'

Honor would struggle to see some tiny flaw during a fitting, then Joy would move her arm slightly and there it was – a glaring mistake, as obvious as a pulled thread. There was no criticism, no blame in Joy's observations, just the knowledge that, for a garment to be truly haute couture, it must be cut and finished to feel like a second skin.

‘When I wear this dress,' Joy said, ‘I must feel as comfortable as if I were naked.'

Honor sighed. She was already having trouble lifting the train alone from the table and had not fully figured out how she was going to structure the waistband of the bodice so that it could carry the damn skirt with all its embroidery and beading.

*

Honor was making tea when Joy arrived.

‘Want some?' she asked.

‘You know I can't drink that brown Irish muck.'

Honor laughed, then sat back down to her hand sewing, while she waited for the kettle to boil. She could not waste one single minute if this dress was going to be finished on time.

‘Look what I bought you,' Joy said, spilling the contents of her bag over the Formica-topped table.

‘I dug out a few trinkets; I thought they might be useful for decoration.'

Honor exclaimed, ‘Jesus, Joy, they're beautiful, they're... tell me they're not
real
.' Honor's hand hovered over the diamond choker, afraid to touch it. ‘They
are
real. Are you
mad
?'

Joy smiled enigmatically. ‘A little, perhaps.' This was fun.

‘Where did you get them?' Honor had picked up the pearls. Her hands were shaking as she ran the string gently across the back of her hand, studying it.

‘The bank, of course.'

Honor dropped the pearls as if they were red hot.

‘Joy, there is no way we can use these... on a dress? No, no way. Take them back... they must be worth a
fortune
.'

But now that they were there, spread out on the table next to the fabric, bringing it to life with their glittering splendour Joy knew that her mother's gems would make the dress beyond anything ever seen before. They would make this dress so special, so magnificent, that it would transcend all the ugliness, all the drinking, all the cruel words, and the heartache of her marriage. The jewels would turn the dress from a mere garment into something so valuable it would be like an act of God. Joy felt an act of God was what she needed.

‘Of course they're not real,' she laughed. ‘It's just some old paste of my mother's I had lying about the house. Can we use them?'

‘Of course,' Honor said. ‘If they belonged to your mother, we'll find a way of working them all in.'

Joy smiled and said, ‘I'll make the tea.'

Honor might not realize the gems were genuine but Joy would know. Frank would know, because she would tell him; she would say, ‘All my money means nothing, because when I am in this dress, I belong to you completely.'

When she came back with the tea, she found Honor looking thoughtful. She was sorting the jewellery into casual piles, according to colour and size.

‘Are you all right?' Joy asked.

Honor thought about saying, ‘fine', but then realized it had been a long, long time since anyone had asked her that question and the truth was, she wasn't feeling entirely all right.

‘What is it?' Joy said. ‘Is it me?'

‘No, no,' Honor said. ‘It's just...' then she trailed off. She couldn't say it out loud. It was just so stupid, so childish, and so girlish.

Joy lit two cigarettes and handed one to Honor. ‘Come on, tell me.'

‘It's nothing, really.'

‘Now I am just going to
make
you tell me. You're pregnant? You owe money on the horses? Oh God, Honor, don't tell me one of your parents is dead and you have to go back to Ireland...'

‘No, no, nothing like that.'

Joy dragged on her cigarette and narrowed her eyes expectantly.

Finally, Honor confided, ‘Oh, all right, there's a man...'

Joy spun around on her heels and screamed, ‘How thrilling! Tell me; tell me
instantly
, who is he? What's his name? Are you in
love
?'

Honor laughed. ‘I've only met him once, and all I know about him is that his name is Francis and he's some sort of a builder or odd-job man.' She didn't mention she had met him in this very building. She didn't want Joy interfering and asking awkward questions.

‘Oh, how thrilling. When are you seeing him again? When do you have
time
to see him? We must make time; you must invite him to the party!'

‘No, Joy, sure, I don't even know if he likes me or not.'

‘Silly woman, of course he likes you. How could he not like you? You are...' and before she spurted out the word unthinkingly she stopped to pause over it. ‘...you really are the most
wonderful
, kind, talented person.'

Honor smiled, touched by the genuineness of the compliment.

‘I don't think it will come to anything, it is over a month ago since we met, but I think about him a lot. I don't know why. It's silly really. I've no time for any of that nonsense, anyway.' She stubbed out the cigarette, then went back to the table and picked up her sewing again. ‘I'm married to my work; my passion is for dresses, any man will always come second to that.'

‘That,' Joy said lighting another cigarette, ‘is the most
awful
thing I have
ever
heard. A woman's passion for a man is the greatest passion she will ever experience. There is nothing else. Lord knows, I love my dresses, Honor, and my trinkets...' Her fingers lingered for a moment over her mother's diamond choker. ‘...but my husband? He's the only thing I have ever truly loved to distraction. I would trade everything, everything I own and everything I am, to make him happy.'

‘You're lucky,' said Honor, ‘to love someone that much.' Although in truth she thought it sounded rather frightening.

‘Yes,' Joy said, and Honor saw a shadow cross her face, ‘I am.'

When Joy opened the door of the apartment later that week, she found Honor slumped asleep at the kitchen table. She was still wearing her spectacles, which were skewed sideways on her face. A large swathe of embroidered fabric was in her lap and the needle and thread she had been using were trailing across the floor. This was third time that Joy had found her like this. She had begged her to hire help, but Honor had insisted on doing all the work herself. She wanted complete ownership of the work and Joy understood that. The dress was not simply a garment; it was a labour of love. Joy's love for Frank and Honor's love of her work.

Joy opened the curtains, put the kettle and radio on, then gave her friend a sharp poke in the ribs.

‘Quite apart from the fact that you could prick your finger in your sleep and get blood on the charmeuse, in which case we would have to start again, you really can't carry on falling asleep on the job like this, Honor. It's madness.'

‘I know,' Honor said stretching, as she readjusted her glasses, ‘but we've only got two weeks to get this finished.' Then, as if realizing it for the first time, she jumped with panic. ‘
Two weeks...!
'

Joy looked over Honor's shoulder. She was embroidering a panel of peony roses in shades of fuchsia, magenta and a deep, almost damson purple. It was exquisite.

The dress was standing in the centre of the sitting room floor on a tailor's dummy, and white cotton sheets were spread out on the floor all around it; it seemed to fill the whole room. The train still had several panels of embroidery to go on, but it looked almost finished. It certainly was a magnificent garment, but Joy had become so accustomed to looking at it that the dress's magic seemed lost to her now. Seeing it every day had made it as familiar as her own face. However, Joy found that she didn't mind. She had decided that, while the dress itself was wonderful, it was the process of making it, the routine of coming here every day, that she enjoyed. Hanging out with Honor while she worked and making herself useful. Joy ordered in the embellishments, beads and sequins, sourced the embroidery fabrics and threads and got the best price on everything. She scoured the museums and galleries for romantic images and brought catalogues and books to inspire Honor; she fed and watered her, encouraged and praised her. Honor herself would admit that, without Joy's help, she would not have been able to do what she did.

‘What's left to do? It looks pretty much under control to me?'

The truth was, Joy was mooching about, looking for something to do. The party was completely organized. Everyone was coming, everyone had their seat allocated and now the whole thing was down to the manager of the Waldorf. All she had to do was turn up looking magnificent on the night.

‘The skirt needs two more embroidery panels sewn in. Once they are done, then the whole skirt section can be steamed and pressed and all the final beads and crystals put in. The bodice has been pressed and is ready for the pearl buttons...' She nodded over at a pile of Joy's mother's pearls that had been de-strung and were sitting in a wooden button box on the table, in front of her. ‘...as soon as I get around to it.'

‘Look,' Joy said, ‘any idiot can sew on buttons, surely? Let me get somebody in. Surely one of the girls you used to work with could do that for you and let you get on with something else? Then you can take some time off and we can go out for lunch, like civilized women.'

Honor growled and said through clenched teeth, ‘I am not feeling very civilized right now, Joy, and besides, that's
not the point
. Yes, there are other women that can do this work as well as me, but I don't
want
anyone else touching this dress. Do you understand? The only people who are allowed to touch this dress are you and me. Now, look what you made me do! I'll have to unpick it and start again!'

‘Goodness, but you're grumpy,' Joy said. ‘Pastry? Come on, you're hungry, I can tell.'

Honor put the sewing down and moved across to the kitchen counter where Joy had laid out a plate with pastries from the Jewish bakery. Honor hungrily wolfed back two while Joy picked at hers.

‘Well, if I'm the only other person allowed to touch the dress, then I'd better give you a hand,' Joy said.

Honor nearly spat out her croissant.

‘What?' said Joy. ‘It's only
sewing
. We did sewing in finishing school, not that I paid any attention, but honestly, how hard can it be to sew a button on a dress?'

‘Joy, it took me two weeks to teach you how to make a proper cup of strong tea.'

‘That's not tea you Irish drink, it's
blood
, and besides, there are other people to make tea.'

Honor shook her head. ‘Sorry, Joy, it will be quicker to do it myself.'

‘Like sourcing the right embroidery threads? Like persuading a bunch of nuns to turn around a year's lace work in under two months?'

‘This is different, Joy, this is sewing. It's a
skill
...'

Joy walked over to the kitchen table, grabbed an already threaded needle, one of her mother's pearls and marched over to the dress. ‘If you don't show me how to do this, Honor, I'll just have a go at it myself.'

Honor shouted, ‘No!' and flew across the room.

She had only finished sewing the bodice the night before, so this was the first time Joy had seen it. Her cheeks flushed with a mixture of shock and pleasure. The pearls and most of the smaller gems had been threaded, but some of the bigger stones had been too difficult to attach without holes so, where possible, Honor had left them in their settings and worked them in that way. In fact, Joy's heart had been in her mouth on many occasions over the past few weeks; once, when seeing a precious pearl slip from Honor's hands, then again, seeing her mother's diamond necklace, which had lived in a bank vault all its life, thrown carelessly onto a scruffy kitchen table. Sometimes Honor's manner was so intense that Joy wondered if she would have treated them any differently if she had known they were real. Looking at them now, on the dress, Joy thought she could not have created anything more beautiful out of them if they had been the Crown Jewels of England.

As a finished piece, the jewelled bodice was breathtaking, sparkling with the authenticity of its diamonds and pearls. Honor moved her working lamp across, so that it lit up the back of the bodice where the pearls would go. As she did so, the jewels sent out shards of magical light across the room.

‘It looks incredible,' Joy said. Inside, her heart thudded as she realized the dress now contained all of her past, as well as her future.

‘Come back here,' Honor said impatiently, pulling her over to the worktable. ‘I'll show you how to sew the wretched buttons on.'

It took Joy three full hours, on a piece of scrap fabric, to perfect the pearl button technique, but she was determined to make her contribution. Honor was patient with her.

‘First we have to wax and press the thread, and make a waste knot. Then, bring the needle out at the location of the button – the pearls must be just far enough apart from each other – then allow them be secured in the loop... Now make several tiny stitches to secure the thread and strengthen the button base, that's it... you need to make a stem to allow the button to sit in the buttonhole without denting; we'll need a shank of six threads to do this...'

Joy was astonished and frustrated to discover how complicated it was. Honor was right: this was much too hard for her to master. However, she had said she would do it, and pride would not allow her to give up. It was a slow process, gave her cramp in her fingers and split two nails. On her tenth attempt she got it right. Honor checked and rechecked, but Joy's pearl button was perfect.