The Dress (Everyday Magic Trilogy: Book 1) (26 page)

‘Then explain them to me, Mum. Explain why you’re so frightened, why you think we have to run away. Because I just don’t get it.’

‘I’ve told you, there are some things I can’t explain. Things you don’t need to know about…’

‘Oh, Mum. I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ Ella punched the pillow. She felt hot, tired, frustrated. ‘Don’t you understand? You can’t ruin my life just because you haven’t got the guts to stay here!’

‘Ruin your life?
Tsk.
Six months ago, you didn’t even know these people, Ella. You didn’t want to come here. I had to drag you, kicking and screaming…’

‘Yes, I know. But I’m just starting to get used to it. And now you want to do it all over again. Who cares what people say about me? They’ve been saying it all along anyway. They’ll believe whatever they want to believe. I don’t care any more. And neither should you, Mum.’

She launched herself from the edge of the bed to the window and stood, looking out over the little courtyard, the rooftops where the pigeons jostled one another.

She tried to relax her mind. It was worth a try. If she could just, for a few moments, feel her way into Mamma’s thoughts, tune in, find out what she was thinking… But there seemed to be something in the way. It was as if something was blocking her.

‘Ella.’

‘Yes, Mum?’

‘Don’t even think about it. I can feel what you’re doing. And I have to warn you. You won’t get anywhere. Some things are none of your business. So just leave me alone, OK?’

Outside in Grape Lane, there was a scuffle and the sound of voices and then Billy appeared in the courtyard below, gripping Katrina by the arm. She was trying to wriggle her arm free, digging her elbow into his ribs, but he held on tight.

‘El,’ Billy shouted. ‘Let us in. Katrina has something she wants to say to you.’ 

Ella felt Mamma’s hand on her shoulder, gently pushing her aside. She leaned out of the window.

‘Billy. Please. It’s no use. Go home. You’ll only make things worse…’

But Ella was already running down the stairs, unlocking the door. Billy shoved Katrina roughly through the doorway, standing behind her, barring the door.

‘Go on, then,’ he said. ‘Say what you’re here to say.’

Katrina scowled. She stuck her chin out and rolled her eyes heavenwards.

‘It was only meant to be a bit of a joke,’ she said. ‘For God’s sake, I didn’t mean for all this to happen.’

Billy jabbed his finger between her shoulder-blades. ‘No, that’s not it. That’s not why we came here. Go on.
Say it
.’

‘Chill out, OK?’ Katrina hissed. She folded her arms in front of her and glared at Ella.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I was angry. I didn’t mean for you or your mum to get into trouble. I just wanted to get back at
her
. For never being there. You’re lucky, Ella, to have a mum like yours. Mine doesn’t give a damn about anyone except herself. I just wanted to hurt her. So I took her stupid dresses.’

Ella watched her carefully. She could feel and hear The Signals. They crackled around her, the colour of flame.
She’s lying. Don’t believe her.

Katrina sighed and unfolded her arms, as if she could hear them too.

‘Look, it’s
the truth
, Ella,’ she said. ‘Honestly, it is. I’m sorry. I really am.’

She turned to Billy, her hands on her hips. ‘See? I told you this was a stupid idea. That she’d never believe me. She doesn’t want to listen.‘

Inside her, Ella felt a certainty that she hadn’t had before. She was learning to trust what The Signals told her.

‘I know that you’re lying, Katrina,’ she said, slowly. ‘You’ve never liked me. Not really. And, anyway, it doesn’t make sense, your story. You could have thrown the dresses in the bin, cut them up into little pieces, taken them to the charity shop. You didn’t have to bring them here.’

‘Yes,’ said Billy. ‘I don’t get it, either.
Why
did you do it? To Ella? To Mrs Moreno? What’ve they ever done to you?’

Katrina looked away then, out of the window. She seemed to be asking herself the same question.

And then suddenly her face crumpled. Her mouth twisted up on itself  and she hid her face in her hands.

Ella saw that Katrina wasn’t pretending. These were real tears. But Billy sighed impatiently.

‘Oh, spare us the waterworks, Katrina. You’ll have to do better than that. You’d better tell us
exactly
what’s been going on.’

*

Fabbia finished folding the last of her blouses. It was her favourite one, navy blue, which was always an easy colour to wear, and she smiled to herself now to think that even Ella, with her sober tastes, would approve of it. Fabbia loved the collar and the wide buttoned cuffs; and she loved the way that someone had edged these, patiently, carefully, with tiny hand-sewn criss-cross stitches in cream. But most of all, Fabbia loved the way that the fabric felt in her hands and the memory of it, so soft and supple, against her bare skin.

She’d last worn it on the trip to London with David. They’d sat in the first-class restaurant car and she’d been slightly tipsy already, at nine o’ clock in the morning, on two glasses of bucks fizz. She’d watched the fields slip by and she’d felt lighter and lighter, as if she were finally leaving the past behind. She’d imagined that she was in one of her favourite films – as Marilyn or Audrey or perhaps Jane – travelling into another life, a new life in which nothing else would ever matter again except this moment. She smiled at David and, as she did, she caught her reflection in the train window. It was almost as if she could continue forwards, smiling, whilst this ghost of herself, the sad part, the pale part, fell further and further behind until it disappeared completely, fading away like the trees and the fields in a green haze.

Fabbia sighed. She could hear, from the shop below, the sound of Katrina sobbing and she felt her skin prickle all over with irritation.

Why had the girl done this to them? Fabbia couldn’t understand. She knew that Katrina was unhappy. She had known this for a long time and had even felt sorry for her. But to do such a spiteful thing. It was unforgivable.

And why was she here now in the shop? Billy was a nice boy. He was trying to help. But it couldn’t possibly achieve anything. Things had gone too far.

Tart, ridiculous, floozy
. Fabbia heard those words, over and over, as she lined-up the cuffs with the hem and smoothed the sleeves and laid the blue blouse in her suitcase. She felt the words enter her body, again and again, the little sharp points of them.

Her mind drifted back to Eustacia’s parcel of letters.

‘And that’s why I simply can’t accept your decision, my darling… We have to be together, Eu. We simply have to…’

But they hadn’t been together in the end, had they? Some things were just not possible. Eustacia Beddowes had made her choice. She’d remained single all her life. Fabbia didn’t know the whole story but she could guess. That was the choice you had to make sometimes, if you wanted to stay true to your principles. Falling in love with someone was the easy part. It was what happened afterwards that counted. And if Eustacia could make a hard decision, so could she.

And besides, she hadn’t known David long enough. Just five months. And as she’d always told Ella, you shouldn’t give away your sealskin, your selkie skin, to just anyone. 

She began to layer scarves over the top of the case – her Hermés, her Chanel, wisps of delicate silk and squares of brightly patterned cotton.

Through the floorboards, the sobbing had become a kind of wailing. Fabbia’s tongue made the
tsk
-ing noise. It was too much, just too much. She should go down and put an end to it, right now.

She crossed to the top of the stairs and paused for a moment with her hand on the rail, straining to hear.

‘She asked me to do it,’ Katrina was gasping now, her voice breaking between sobs. ‘She
asked me herself
to drop off the parcel. Just a few old things, she said. I’ve been having a clear-out. Perhaps Mrs Moreno can use them… I didn’t know. Honestly, Ella, I Didn’t Know Anything. I didn’t know that you’d seen her with Pike. I knew they were seeing one another behind dad’s back, of course. But there was always someone she had on the go, lots of men…’

‘But why did you lie when I asked you before? Why didn’t you tell me that it was all your mum’s fault?’ Billy’s voice sounded hard, unmoved, disbelieving.

‘Because I didn’t want people to know what a mess she is. I was ashamed to think she could plan such a horrible thing. I didn’t want to admit it, even to myself. And she
is
my mum, after all. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, half the time. She’s drugged up to the eyeballs and drinking when she shouldn’t. And I thought she might be grateful if I covered up for her, took the blame. I thought she might be nicer to me, more interested. But she isn’t. I can see that now. I think she’s lost the plot. You know, ever since my brother… She’s never been the same since. I think she needs some kind of help.’

Fabbia pressed her hand against the wall to steady herself. She made herself walk down the stairs very slowly.

She saw Katrina put her face in her hands, saw her whole body begin to shake uncontrollably.

‘Katrina,’ she said and the girl stopped and looked at her from between her fingers and then the sobs and the shaking began all over again.

Fabbia crossed the floor. She laid her hands on Katrina’s shoulders. For the second time that day, she dropped to her knees.

‘Don’t now,’ she said. ‘Please. No more tears,
carina
,’ and she smoothed a wisp of hair from Katrina’s damp forehead.

19.

A pair of ballet shoes. Red silk. Not for sale.

‘But I still don’t understand,’ David was saying, ‘The girl’s told us everything. So why do you still want to leave? I don’t get it.’

Ella clattered the coffee filter against the side of the sink.

‘That makes two of us, then,’ she said.

Fabbia sighed. Her hand hovered over a cardboard box that she’d set on the draining board, ready to pack with kitchen equipment.

‘It’s really very simple. There are things that neither of you know or understand and I’m not going to start explaining them. But it’s even clearer to me now that we’re not welcome here and we never will be. Jean Cushworth, Pike, they’ve got it in for us, they don’t want us here. And where they lead, hundreds of others will follow. So we have to leave before things get any more complicated.’

‘No, you don’t,’ David said. ‘Fabbia, please. You don’t have to leave. You don’t have to go anywhere. Just stop for a minute, Fabbia. Slow down. Listen to me.’

He took her gently by the wrist. He prised a coffee cup wrapped in newspaper from her hand and laid it carefully on the table.

‘Please, Fabbia. I’ve told you. I want you and Ella to come and live with me. Please let me take care of you.‘

Ella watched as Mamma pulled her hand away. She saw Mamma’s eyes flash in that dangerous way. She watched her draw herself up straighter, tighten her lips in that thin, hard line. Her words were precise and carefully pronounced.

‘David, I think I’ve been very clear. That’s not what I want. Now, please, I must ask you to leave, to let me get on with what I have to do.’

David’s body went limp. It was as if she’d hit him, right there, wallop, in the middle of his chest, thought Ella.

She followed him down the stairs.

‘David,’ she whispered and, when he turned, ‘please don’t give up on her. Please. I don’t want us to leave either.’

David shrugged and held up his hands in a small gesture of helplessness. ‘I don’t know what else I can do, Ella. I just don’t know…’

As she watched him cross the courtyard, she felt hollowed out, emptier than she ever had before.

She could feel the air thickening around her, the gathering of The Signals in swirls of yellow static, around her neck and the back of her head. She could hardly breathe.

The story of the red shoes

To understand my mother, Fabbia Moreno, there are two more stories that I need to tell you. The second of these stories is the story of the red shoes. I’m sure you know how it goes.

As a young girl in Tehran, Mamma was taken to see The Red Shoes one Saturday after school. It was the first film she’d ever seen. She remembers sitting in the darkened cinema with Madaar-Bozorg and looking up to see the motes of dust drifting in the beam from the projector and how the woman sitting next to her paused, her handful of pistachio nuts halfway to her mouth, as the curtains swished apart and the film appeared on the screen.

There in the dark, Mamma fell in love with Moira Shearer, the ballerina with the long red hair. She was already taking ballet lessons at the lycee.

She told me that she would stand in front of her dressing-table mirror, practising
plié, port de bras
, whilst whispering lines from the film out loud:

Why do you want to dance?

Why do you want to live?

She was too young to understand the irony. All she wanted was red shoes with red ribbons.

That long hot summer, she begged her grandmother. There was a shop in their neighbourhood, on the corner by the café, that would dye your shoes for you in any colour. 

Madaar-Bozorg would not give in.

‘Child, don’t you remember how the film ends? Don’t you know what happens when you want something too much? It eats you up from the inside. You’ll never be free of it, never be able to rest.’

When Mamma turned eighteen, she couldn’t wait to leave. She packed her small blue suitcase with the essential things that she imagined she might need for her new life in Paris. She kissed her grandmother and took a taxi to the airport.

‘Go. Yes, you must go,’ Madaar-Bozorg had agreed. The city was already changing around them and it wouldn’t be long before little girls could no longer take ballet lessons, before women couldn’t even go out into the street without a headscarf covering their hair.