Page 26 of The Wedding Dress Repair Shop
I didn’t drive, so I supposed I’d better find out where the nearest train station was …
8. Confess to George about what happened and that I’m taking Honey’s job offer.
I hated the thought, because I knew he’d be disappointed in me, but it would be better if I told him myself.
9. Give the V&A shop my new address.
I’d need the sales of the little costume mannequins to augment my part-time income.
And, memory jogged, I added:
10. Finish off current costume mannequin and deliver to V&A.
I made more coffee, then started a fresh sheet with slightly less urgent tasks. It all felt quite empowering: I was now the captain of a ship about to set sail to new horizons, not clinging to the mast of a sinking hulk.
1. Ask Honey if she could possibly measure the windows in the cottage, to see if my curtains will fit.
She’d sent me a short video of the interior of the cottage ages ago, after it had been renovated, replastered and painted, and the walls were all now plain cream with the woodwork picked out in white, so it would be a blank canvas when I moved in.
2. Tell Miss McNabb on her return – or when she rings – about my imminent move, so she can make arrangements for Golightly.
Unless whoever bought my flat was a cat lover, she’d have Golightly all to herself. I can’t say I would miss him, because Golightly had never shown any signs of affectiontowards me, but he’d miss being able to range between the two flats whenever he fancied a change of scene … or of menu, if he thought I was cooking something more interesting than his cat food. I was also used to looking after him when Miss McNabb was away, or out late … but then, therearecatteries.
I’d come to a halt, pen suspended. I was sure there were lots more things I needed to do, or to know … but perhaps I’d got enough to be going on with.
I showered and changed into jeans and a green T-shirt. Apart from having lavender shadows under my eyes from lack of sleep, by the time I’d darkened my lashes and brows and added a bit of rose lippy, I’d lost the zombie elf vibe and lookedalmosthuman.
Golightly had demanded breakfast the moment I’d got out of the shower, but then had gone back to bed –mybed – so I didn’t think he’d miss me if I went out for a while. He’d be able to get through the cat flap on to the fire escape, if he wanted to, though not into Miss McNabb’s flat, because her cat flap would be locked. Experience had taught her that when she was away, Golightly would sit in the empty flat and scream horribly for hours, which wasn’t popular with the neighbours.
I found a small, padded envelope and put my engagement ring inside, wrapped in a bit of tissue paper. It was beautiful, but somehow it had never seemed reallyme, like the Bakelite jewellery was. I was obviously a plastic kind of girl and falling in love with both the ring and Marco had just been a temporary aberration.
I didn’t bother with a note, just addressed it to Marco, but Idid write a brief thank you to Wilfric to put in an envelope with some money to repay him for the taxi.
It was now almost six, and promised to be a fine day. London was never entirely quiet, even this far out, but in the early morning hours it was as close as it ever got.
I filled Golightly’s water bowl, put some dry food in his dish and scattered around a few of the cat treats he loved, for him to find when he eventually decided to get up.
Then I shrugged into a cotton jacket, put the two envelopes in my big tapestry bag and went out.
*
No one in the theatre world was likely to be stirring at that time of day, so I dropped Wilfric’s envelope in at the theatre first of all, before heading for Mayfair, where I tiptoed down the steps to Marco’s basement door. I slid the small padded envelope through the letterbox without letting it make a betraying rattle, though since the blinds were down and there was no sign of life, Marco must still be in bed … with or without Mirrie.
Mission accomplished, I strode off up the street with a feeling of having escaped peril, and caught the tube back to more familiar territory.
I treated myself to a comforting full-fat breakfast and two huge cappuccinos while waiting for the estate agent’s to open.
Over the second coffee, I emailed Honey about the cottage’s postal address and the window measurements.
It took a bit of rooting around in the bottom of my bag before I found Wilfric’s card and emailed him, too, to say therewas an envelope waiting for him at the theatre, with the taxi fare in it and thanking him again for his kindness. I finished with the hope he’d have huge success in the play.
I paused for a moment, thinking he was already bound to know I’d been fired by Beng & Briggs, and then added that I’d already accepted a new job and would be moving out of London almost immediately.
Then, girding my loins, I went to put my beloved little flat on the market. It felt as if I was abandoning it and, with it, the link to the past and my happy childhood that it had represented.
*
Wilfric emailed me back later, saying I really shouldn’t have bothered repaying him for the taxi. It was his pleasure and he entirely understood my actions, because I’d been tried beyond reason, which was sweet of him and rather soothing. Then he went on, more waspishly:
