7. REMINISCING
SEVEN
REMINISCING
Tess had to agree with Orla that she might have overdone the ‘Shires lady’ look yesterday, particularly the pearls. Not that it mattered much, because she’d never have fancied James or his damned bike in a month of Sundays. And she wished she wasn’t forever trying to please; she’d spent years trying to please Gerry, and look where that had got her. She must now concentrate on pleasing herself.
As Tess sat down behind the little counter in Curvaceous she recalled that first meeting with Gerry. Thirty-nine years ago, when she fell off the bus! It was an unusual first encounter to say the least.
She’d been honing her dressmaking skills in an East End warehouse that supplied outfits for most of the West End stores and, on this particular occasion, she’d taken the bus up to Oxford Street for a late shopping night. It was pouring with rain and she wanted to go to John Lewis, so when the bus was held up in heavy traffic directly opposite the store, she took the opportunity to jump off. Unfortunately, just as she started to jump the bus lurched forwards; she lost her balance, and fell in an undignified heap into a giant puddle. People stopped in their tracks to gawp at this bedraggled woman, but only one extended a hand and asked, ‘Are you all right?’
Tess wasn’t sure if she was all right or not as she hobbled onto the pavement. She only knew she was wet and cold, and she’d injured her ankle. She certainly did not want to draw attention to herself.
‘Have you hurt your foot?’
For the first time she looked into the blue eyes of her rescuer, and liked what she saw.
‘I’m OK, really!’ she said. ‘But thank you.’
‘No, you’re not,’ retorted the good-looking stranger, who, as well as the blue eyes, had blond hair and a very winning smile. ‘You’re limping, and you’re wet. Let me buy you a coffee.’
‘No, really, I?—’
‘I insist! Come on, there’s a great place just round the corner. Think you can hobble that far?’
And Tess let herself be led into a warm, steamy coffee bar, just off Oxford Street, by this handsome stranger.
As they sat down he extended his hand. ‘Gerry Templar.’
‘Hello, Gerry,’ she said. ‘I’m Tess. Tess MacKenzie.’
He grinned. ‘Not often do pretty Scottish ladies fall into my arms from the back of buses. But I’ve been living in hope!’
Then he bought them each a frothy coffee and pulled over a chair from a nearby table. ‘Your ankle’s swollen,’ he said. ‘You need to keep your foot up.’
Tess was aware that she must look an absolute mess, with her wet hair and muddy coat. And probably her mascara had run all over the place. This guy must be a really kind and diplomatic soul, because no one in their right mind could possibly fancy her at the moment .
‘So, Tess, what do you do when you’re not falling off buses?’
‘I’m training to be a dressmaker,’ she told him. ‘I’m doing tailoring at the moment. And one day I’d like to set up my own business.’
‘Good for you! And when I have my own advertising agency I’ll be sure to promote your designs.’
‘When is that likely to be?’ Tess asked, sipping her coffee.
Gerry Templar lit a cigarette, blew out some smoke, narrowed his eyes and said, ‘By the time I’m thirty. Which gives me four years.’
He was, at that time, working for a large prestigious agency, but Gerry had even bigger ideas. And what Gerry wanted he usually got. She found out some time later that he’d also had a fiancée at the time. People did, back then, promise to marry each other, buy engagement rings, set the date. But Gerry was instantly smitten with Tess, and the rest was history. Tess was later to learn that when Gerry fancied something, or someone, that was it. In retrospect she’d never been quite sure if there had been others, until that fateful day when she discovered Gerry had transferred his affections to Ursula. Their marriage did not survive the younger woman.
Ursula’s lower half was solely dedicated to pleasure and hadn’t suffered the indignities of reproduction or, heaven forbid, a hysterectomy. Not only that: she made great cocktails and great contacts, and Gerry’s agency thrived as a result.
It had taken Tess a very long time to trust any man again. Until dear David came along years later.
Tess was woken from her daydreaming as a woman came in through the shop door. This lady was not one of their regulars. As always, Tess made a mental assessment of how difficult she might be to dress; she was probably around five foot seven and sixteen stone, so not too much of a challenge.
‘I’ve been recommended to come here by Mrs Byron-Sommers. I’ve lost four stone and I’ve decided I need a completely new wardrobe.’
‘Well, you’ve come to exactly the right place,’ said Orla. ‘What did you have in mind?’
What she had in mind was a skirt suit, a trouser suit, two skirts and two dresses.
When Tess arrived home that evening she was still thinking about the new customer and the half-dozen new outfits she wanted. It prompted Tess to have a look at her own wardrobe. She’d completely forgotten about some of these clothes that she hadn’t worn in years. She did what most women do, wearing only about a quarter of what was hanging in there, and she’d read somewhere that if you hadn’t worn a garment for a year – or was it two? – you should get rid of it. But Tess still liked some of these things, if only she could get into them. Well, she was trying to do something about that, but now it was time for a wardrobe cull. A great idea, but not that easy. She’d really loved most of these items in the first place, and some of them had cost a lot of money, or they had a special association with someone or somewhere.
Tess spent the evening hauling stuff out that she wasn’t likely to wear again. Some went straight into a black bin liner – like the waterfall cardigans and flared trousers, destined for the charity shop – and some were thrown across the bed in a haze of indecision, much to the disgust of Dylan, her large tabby cat, who’d been asleep on the duvet. The remainder she was keeping. OK, so she couldn’t get into some of it, but it was stuff she couldn’t bear to part with and, most importantly, it was all going to fit again . Definitely.
Tess’s excess weight wasn’t all due to gluttony. Not all . She shuddered, thinking of her shock and disbelief when, two years before and not long after David’s death, having attended a routine mammogram she’d been told she had breast cancer. She could remember saying, ‘There must be some mistake – I haven’t felt a lump!’ Nevertheless, breast cancer it was, and there followed those eighteen months of gruelling treatment: chemotherapy, radiotherapy and the loss of her hair. It had all grown back quickly, and better than before, but she’d never forget the horror of seeing herself in the mirror, robbed not only of the hair on her head but the eyebrows and eyelashes as well. She’d never realised before how much her hair defined her.
She’d worn a wig and lots of eye make-up, but was full of admiration for some of the women she’d befriended in the oncology department who’d worn their baldness with pride. She’d never had that kind of confidence. And, as the weight piled on, so her confidence dropped even further.
Everyone had meant well. ‘Go on, have that cream cake/ice cream sundae/sticky toffee pudding – you need to keep your strength up!’ No, she didn’t, and she didn’t need to keep her strength up with a double portion of cheesy chips either. But oh, it was all so very comforting! It had taken months to get back to where she was now. And there was still a very long way to go. It would take months more. Amber’s wedding may have been the catalyst for her decision but she really needed to do this for herself, to restore her confidence and to feel attractive again .
Now, in a moment of determination, Tess chucked all the ‘doubtfuls’ strewn across the bed into the bin liner. She’d take that bag straight down to the charity shop before she changed her mind.
The new customer wasn’t the only one who was going to need new outfits. Tess had her cruise to think about.