Five
When the school bell rings again later, this time to signal the end of the school day, I walk with my friends back down through St Felix as usual. But, instead of stopping at a shop for some snacks or an ice cream before heading home as we often do, today I leave them and walk up into the part of the town that contains the many fishermen’s cottages that once upon a time would have been home to the population of St Felix. Now, however, the narrow little houses are fast becoming accommodation for the many holidaymakers who visit the town in the spring and summer months.
But not the particular house I’m looking for – Snowdrop Cottage – where my boss from the flower shop, Rose, still lives.
Ah, here it is,
I think, pausing for a moment outside a pretty cottage in one of the last rows before the sea. I do hope Rose is as relaxed about me turning down her offer of dresses as she seems to be about most things. I really can’t imagine she’ll have anything I like.
I lift my hand to reach for the knocker, but the door opens before I can get there.
‘Ah, Frankie,’ Rose says, smiling at me. ‘I’m so pleased you came. Come in.’
Inside is a pretty little kitchen with pale blue units, a black Aga stove and a small, round table with four chairs.
‘I’ll make us some tea in a moment.’ Rose gestures to the table where she’s already prepared a tray with some cups and saucers. ‘I’ve laid out the dresses upstairs for you. The light is so much better up there in the sitting room. We’re a bit topsy-turvy here, because of the view you see.’
As I follow her up the stairs, I realise that, unusually, the sitting room is in the upper part of the house, and immediately at the end of the room I can see why. Past a rocking chair and a plump, scarlet sofa with patchwork cushions, is a pair of French windows, and, beyond that, a small balcony.
‘Gosh.’ I walk over to the windows and gaze out. ‘You have a beautiful view here.’
‘Yes, I’m very lucky. St Felix Bay is very picturesque whatever the weather outside. I spend many happy hours up here looking out at that view. Now, I’ll just make us some tea and then we can have a look at the dresses.’
While Rose pops back downstairs to make tea, I wander out onto the balcony to take in the view.
Today, the sky is cornflower blue, broken by just a few white clouds floating calmly by. Seagulls ride the gusts of wind in front of me, and I can just see the beach below where holidaymakers sit protected from the breeze by colourful windbreaks, while dogs run around on the beach, chasing balls and knocking down sandcastles with their excitable tails.
‘Now then,’ I hear Rose say behind me, and I turn to see her putting down the tea tray on a little coffee table. ‘Milk, one sugar, right?’
‘Yes, please.’ I walk back through into the sitting room. ‘This is such a lovely house, Rose.’
‘I’m very lucky here. Being one of the last rows, we all have this incredible view of the bay. When I’m not in the shop, I spend as much time as I can out there.’
‘I would be painting that view if I lived here,’ I say without thinking. ‘In all weathers. Each picture would be so different from the last as the skies and the colours changed.’
Rose smiles and gestures for me to sit on the sofa. ‘I didn’t know you painted?’
‘I don’t very often. Mostly at school, really. I occasionally sketch, though, when I have time.’
‘I guess it’s a busy time for you right now preparing for your exams next year?’ Rose passes me a cup of tea.
‘Yes, we don’t get much free time – it all seems to be taken up with homework.’
‘It will be worth it when you’re done, though. Do you still want to go to art college?’
I’m impressed Rose remembers me telling her this during my interview for the shop.
‘I would like to. Whether I’m good enough is a different thing.’
‘Oh, I’m sure you are. And if you’re not, then it’s not meant to be. I’m a great believer in things happening when they’re supposed to.’
‘I don’t know what I’ll do if I can’t go.’ I take a sip of my tea. ‘I’m not really interested in much else.’
‘Life has a funny way of showing us what we actually
need, rather than what we think
we do,’ Rose says, nodding slowly.
I’m not sure what to say, so I sip again on my tea.
‘Now, shall we have a look at these dresses?’ Rose asks. ‘I’ll bring them through and if there’s any you like, you can try them on. I have a long mirror in my bedroom.’
‘Sure.’
Rose puts her tea down on the table and heads across the landing to her bedroom, returning with several dresses on hangers. She lays them over the back of the sofa and proceeds to lift them up one at a time.
I smile and nod, and say how pretty or lovely they all look. But even me, with my limited knowledge of fashion, can see the dresses all look like they’re from the 1950s, which, thinking about Rose’s age, they probably are. They all have fitted bodices, narrow waists and full skirts, some with several layers of net underneath.
‘This one,’ Rose says, holding up a white dress with black polka dots, ‘was made by a lovely lady who used to have a shop here in St Felix . . . ’ She thinks for a moment. ‘I think it was where the wool shop is now – you know, Wendy’s Wools?’
I nod.
‘That shop was owned by . . . oh, what was her name . . . Clara! Yes, that was it. She was a very talented seamstress who used to make all the latest fashions for us to wear. Not like it is now where you can easily go to a big department store to buy a dress, or one of those high-street boutiques you youngsters like.’
‘We could probably do with something like Clara’s shop now,’ I say, looking at the dress, which is probably the best Rose has shown me so far. ‘We have to get the bus to Truro to find anything remotely fashionable in one of those boutiques you’re talking about.’
‘Nothing in Penzance?’ Rose asks.
‘Not really – they have more shops than here in St Felix, but they don’t really sell anything that people my age would wear.’
‘That’s a shame. So, yes or no to this one?’ Rose holds up the dress again.
‘Maybe?’ I reply diplomatically. ‘I’ll certainly try it.’
Rose lowers the dress. ‘This isn’t working for you, is it?’ she asks, looking me directly in the eye, so I have no choice but to tell the truth.
‘I’m really sorry, Rose. It’s so kind of you to have me here and to offer me your dresses. They’re all very beautiful, and I’m sure would have looked amazing on you back then.’
‘But they’re just not your cup of tea?’
I shake my head.
‘Not a problem, dear. Not a problem at all. Let me just go and hang them back up again.’
Rose lifts all the hangers from the sofa and, with a rustling of net petticoats, escorts them back to her bedroom.
I feel awful. I didn’t even try one on.
I get up and go over to the French windows once more and look out at the view. The tide is coming in and the waves are strong and high as they roll into the bay.
Wait, what’s that?
I see something splashing about in the sea a little way out from the beach. There it is again! It’s the same thing I saw on Saturday when I was having my lunch – a large fishlike tail flipping about in the water.
I’m about to step out onto the balcony to see if I can see it any better when Rose returns.
‘I was just hanging the dresses up in my old wardrobe, when I noticed this at the back,’ she says as I turn away from the view back towards her. ‘This dress was my mother’s, so it’s not from the same era as mine. It’s from the late 1920s, I think, possibly early thirties? I wondered if it might be more your thing?’
I look at the dress she’s holding up – it shimmers in the sunlight coming in through the window behind me. The dress is covered in rows and rows of overlapping blue, green and turquoise sequins, which make it look like the scales of a fish as it catches the light.
‘It’s a flapper dress – I think.’ Rose frowns. ‘I was always a bit too . . . I like to call it curvy
, to wear it. But you would be able to carry it off much better than I ever could.’
Rose is clearly referring to my figure, which, unlike Mandy’s voluptuous curves, is fairly straight up and down. So a dress like Rose is holding would likely hang on me like its hanging on its silk, padded hanger right now.
‘I can see by your expression that you like this one a little more,’ Rose says while I gaze at the dress. ‘Why don’t you try it on?’
‘It’s like a fish,’ I say, walking towards her. ‘A fish’s scales, I mean – the colours are beautiful, especially when it catches the light.’
‘I’ve always thought so too.’ Rose looks at the dress with me. ‘Go on, try it, Frankie. What have you to lose? My bedroom is just across the hall there.’
I take the dress from Rose and head into her bedroom. I slip off my uniform, then I unzip the back of the dress and pull it up over my legs and hips. Finally, I place my arms through the delicate narrow straps, pulling them up onto my shoulders, where, to my surprise, they sit perfectly.
In fact, the whole dress seems to fit perfectly. It’s neither too big nor too tight anywhere. It’s as if it was made for me.
Rose knocks on the door. ‘Are you decent?’
‘Yes, come in.’
‘Well.’ She pauses in the doorway as she sees me. ‘Don’t you look a treat!’
‘It does seem to fit quite well.’
‘It fits you perfectly, Frankie. Turn around for me?’
I spin slowly around so Rose can see the dress from all angles.
‘You look simply beautiful,’ Rose says, looking pleased. ‘It’s like there’s a beautiful mermaid standing in my bedroom.’
I stare at her for a moment. I’ve not told Rose anything about our act at all – let alone the name.
‘Oh, have I said the wrong thing?’ she asks anxiously.
I shake my head. ‘No, you’ve said the best thing actually. Not only does this dress fit me perfectly, but it will also be perfect for the entire evening.’
I look in Rose’s antique walnut mirror again.
Enchantment Under the Sea dance
. . . I think, turning to and fro. You might just have found your first mermaid of the evening.