Chapter 13 #2
For God’s sake, get a grip, she told herself, irritated by her own indecision. She grabbed several dresses and headed to the fitting room.
In the cubicle next door, she could hear two English girls.
‘That is fab! Yes. It really suits you.’
‘Yes, but does it make my boobs look too saggy?’
‘Tit tape will sort that out.’
There was quiet next door apart from the rustle of someone changing as Rebecca stripped off her shorts and T-shirt and pulled on the first dress.
The bra would have to go– it didn’t work with the neckline.
She pulled a face at herself. Brown. Was that really dull?
And without the bra her nipples would show.
She took off the dress and tried on the crochet one. It fitted snugly and she turned three-sixty in the mirror trying to look at herself.
‘Oh God, no,’ came the voice from next door.
The other girl burst into giggles. ‘FFS, my stomach looks like a well-stuffed pudding.’
‘Sorry, babe, not flattering at all. Try the blue one on.’
Rebecca studied herself. Some people had face blindness– maybe she had fashion blindness.
She wished she dared ask one of the two girls for their opinion, but they were obviously such a tight-knit pair, she didn’t want to interrupt.
She caught her lip in her teeth and turned again to study her figure from the side.
Did it look okay? In the end, it was the scratchy label at the neck that decided her and she quickly peeled the dress off.
She took the green patterned dress from its hanger and undid the buttons and was about to step into the satin fabric when she stopped.
This was a waste of time. She was only going to end up making a complete tit of herself like she had at the ball.
It was far better to be comfortable and not try to be something she wasn’t.
She wasn’t a dress girl– she’d always been a tomboy.
Stick with what you know , she told herself, dressing quickly and leaving the cubicle.
As she did, she bumped into one of the girls from the cubicle next door.
‘Sorry,’ she said automatically.
‘No, it was me. Not looking where I was going. Oh, are you buying that?’ She pointed to the crochet dress. ‘What size is it?’
Rebecca held up the label.
‘Can I take it off you? It’s exactly what my mate was looking for. What are you buying?’
Rebecca lifted her shoulders in defeat. ‘Nothing. I’m just not sure.’
The other girl grabbed the dresses from her. ‘Really? Not the green? That’s so cute. But this? Come on.’ She held up the brown satin. ‘You’re tall; this must look amazing.’
‘Yes, but it’s brown.’ Rebecca looked again at the silky fabric, now noticing that the colour had greater depth in this light.
‘Chestnut, sweetie. Chestnut. And look at that neckline.’
‘Yeah but I haven’t got the right bra.’
‘Who needs a bra in this weather?’
‘I just wasn’t sure.’ Rebecca hated sounding so wet. She wasn’t wet, but clothes weren’t her thing.
‘Let’s have a look. Amy! I’ve got that dress for you and I’m doing a bit of on-the-hoof styling.’
The other girl peered around the door of her cubicle. ‘What are you like, Hannah? Oh yes, the crochet dress. Yes, please.’
‘What do you think?’ asked Hannah, holding the brown– no, chestnut – dress up against Rebecca.
‘Goddess. I wish I was tall, like you. That will look amazing,’ enthused Amy, snatching the crochet dress from her friend’s hand and disappearing behind the door.
‘See, she agrees. You’ve got a gorgeous tan; it will look lovely against your skin tone.’
Before Rebecca knew it she was being hustled back into the cubicle.
A minute later she was standing in front of her new friend who was cooing with approval. ‘Absolutely yes. That is so sexy. Look at the back– or rather not back.’ The dress dropped away at the back almost to her waist. ‘Girl, you’ve got it, go flaunt it.’
Five minutes later Rebecca was in the queue paying for the dress with a big smile on her face.
Consulting her Google map, she turned left and followed the streets directly down towards the river to reach the U-shaped square of Praca do Comércio.
She walked through the huge triumphal arch that dominated this side of the square, sandwiched between yellow-painted buildings.
In the centre of the square was an imposing statue of a man on a horse, who she later discovered was King José.
The place was crowded with tourists and she sat on a low wall fronting the river to idly watch people passing by, listening to the wash of the water and inhaling the briny scent of the air.
Although the square was busy with tourists, there was a relaxed, almost indolent, air.
No one was in a hurry and everyone seemed quite laid-back.
She took a deep breath and focused on the here and now and the gentle flow of air in and out of her lungs.
Who needed to worry about stupid clothes?
There were more important things to think about.
Like inner peace. That was why she’d taken up Pilates originally, because she’d found a level of peace that was missing in the rest of her life.
It had also given her a sense of control.
Make no mistake, she could give as good as she got, but there was a real sense of relief when she could escape the noise and bluster of her brothers and parents.
Her life had adapted to them, stretched and shaped around their loud, brash world, so there was no room for anything else.
Home had always been a testosterone fog with loud television, loud meals and loud conversations.
No wonder her cousin had run off and got married as soon as she could.
Rebecca had adapted too but now she was starting to wonder if she’d adapted too much.
Since she’d come to Portugal, it was as if the tightly coiled spring inside her had softened a little.
She grinned– she was still competitive.
She crossed to one of the many cafés vying for custom on the square’s sides.
Sitting down, she ordered a glass of wine and opted to have pizza for lunch– it was her favourite and that was allowed.
She sat enjoying the sunshine, sipping her wine and waiting for her food, amusing herself by anticipating what Felipe might think of her new backless dress.
She couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when she put it on later…