Chapter Eight
Today marks two weeks since I first opened Belle of the Ball. I can’t put this off any longer, much as I’d like to.
With quivering fingers, I lift the lid of my laptop and log on, bracing myself for the video call. Suddenly, a woman with long locks of ebony smoking a cigarette pops into view.
I swallow hard, feeling as though my mouth has filled up with sand. ‘Hi, Mama.’
‘Hello, Charlotte.’ My mother insists on calling me by my full name, never mind the many times I’ve asked that she use Lottie, and we always speak in her native tongue. ‘You’re well?’
Clearing my throat, I give a sheepish nod. ‘I am, actually. The boutique is officially open and I’ve already had some orders, so that’s good news.’
Mama says nothing, she simply draws another drag on her ciggie, those icy blue eyes refusing to meet mine. Mama makes me so nervous, she has this cold, aloof aura about her, the same one the girls at school who were too cool for me exuded. Whenever I find myself in her presence - digitally or physically - I’m forever on edge, anxious to impress her, but never quite making the grade.
‘You - you should come down sometime to see it,’ I ramble awkwardly. ‘You could stay with me.’ Though where , exactly, I’ve no idea. I can’t imagine my mother agreeing to kipping on a sofa bed.
‘Maybe.’ She draws the word out in a way that tells me it’s a definite no. ‘Honestly, I don’t know what you were thinking leaving Paris, Charlotte. Who gave you the idea to move all the way across the world? Your father, I presume.’
‘It’s hardly across the world, Mama. And no, it wasn’t his idea, he just suggested that I could stay with him for a bit. Then the shop came up for rent, I had some savings for a deposit and decided to take the chance.’
Mama doesn’t look at all convinced. ‘So, you think you can make it work, then? This little boutique of yours?’
‘I - I hope so.’ I gulp down the fresh fears she’s set into motion inside my mind. ‘As I said, I’ve had a bit of interest so far.’
‘Well, I certainly hope you aren’t expecting me to bankroll you if you can’t make your flat payments. Though I suppose you’ve been relying on your father for that, haven’t you?’
My cheeks flame and I don’t trust myself to speak.
‘Perhaps that’s why you gave up everything you could have had in Paris, you know daddy will take care of things when the world gets too hard.’
Her jeers are a knife in my chest, and each word twists it deeper. Dad isn’t a wealthy man by any means, and yet, he welcomed me into his home with open arms, rent-free. And when I had the idea to open the boutique in Lily Vale Village, he supported me in every sense of the word. I’ve sworn to him that I will pay back every penny he lent me, but still, the guilt eats away at me daily.
‘I … I’m very lucky,’ I whisper, fighting to keep my lip from quivering.
‘Hm, lucky girls don’t learn.’
I swear I can smell the cigarette in her hands, feel the cloud of smoke engulfing me in its grasp, the way it did when I was a young girl.
‘So, how are things with you?’ I smile, trying to divert discussions away from me and my life.
Mama shrugs, seeming bored with the entire conversation. ‘I cannot complain.’
We struggle through the rest of the call, and I get the distinct notion that neither of us is much enjoying the catch-up. Thankfully, it doesn’t last much longer, and soon, Mama is bidding me a swift farewell.
‘I best go.’ She doesn’t even bother to come up with an excuse, but then again, what did I expect? ‘I’ll speak to you soon, Charlotte.’
Hopefully not too soon.
‘That would be nice,’ I lie. ‘Speak soon, Mama.’
Slowly, I close the laptop, and I’m instantly plunged into the awful quiet of my surroundings. It’s like the silence after a slap, the stillness before the sobs. Suddenly, the flat is stifling, terribly so, the walls are closing in on me, squashing all reserves of air out of my lungs until I can’t breathe …
I need to get out of here.
Snatching my keys off the hook by the door, I rush out into the fresh air and drink in the soft breeze as it bristles through the trees. Why does my mother make me feel this way? Does she enjoy putting me down? I don’t know why I’m even asking that, since I already know the answer. It’s been this way ever since I was a child. I could be getting high marks in school, excelling at my extracurricular activities, I might have bagged myself a date for the school disco, but still, nothing was ever good enough for Mama.
‘You got an A in art?’ She’d wrinkle her nose. ‘Why not an A+?’
‘Why are you wasting time with hockey?’ She’d cluck her tongue. ‘You could be using those hours for your studies instead.’
‘Who asked you to the disco, Louis Allard?’ She’d raise an amused eyebrow. ‘That lanky, spotty boy who works at the leisure centre? Hm, a prize, indeed.’
Every compliment was peppered with derision, every achievement was met with insulting surprise or critique, and nothing has changed.
Strolling down the winding streets in no particular direction, I find myself walking toward the village park. Considering I’ve lived in Lily Vale for months now, I’ve not done a great deal of exploring, and so when I pass through the big black gates, I’m pleasantly surprised by the lush, green scenery, complete with a pebbly footpath and a small pond boasting hoards of ducks and geese. It really is beautiful here. I’m a city girl to my core - to me, both London and Paris have charms all their own, but this place, well, it’s like nothing I’ve ever known before.
It’s just so … peaceful.
Birds chirp overhead as I pause beside the duck pond and gaze into the water. The lily pads are blooming now, and the edge of the water is brimming with frogs spawn, a sure sign that summer is close.
‘You alright, Lottie?’
Flustered, I start and turn to look over my shoulder. It’s Lucy, and her sunny countenance becomes streaked with worry. Hastily, I wipe the tears away with the sleeve of my cardie.
‘I’m fine.’
My half-hearted response doesn’t seem to have convinced her. ‘It’s nice here, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah.’ I bring my eyes back to the pond. ‘It is nice.’
Though I’m mortified, I can’t exactly run away as Lucy sidles up beside me. For a few minutes, we say nothing, we simply stand side by side, watching the ducks swim around the pond, quacking in contentment. It’s a comfortable kind of silence, but after a while, Lucy breaks it.
‘Come on, you could do with a pick-me-up.’ As if we’ve been friends forever, she links her arm through mine. ‘I’ll treat you to a coffee and cake.’
Dumbfounded, I can do nothing but blink. ‘But … why?’
Lucy smiles sweetly. ‘You helped me out when I needed it, now it’s time to return the favour.’
If I had more energy, I’d protest, but instead, I allow Lucy to lead me toward The Cosy Little Tea Room, where we order twin salted caramel mochas and a slice of spiced carrot cake each. We take root at a table in a inconspicuous corner, and Lucy’s concerned eyes watch me as I sip my coffee.
‘Do you want to talk?’ she asks, her tone coaxing, but not pushy.
My fingers press hard on the sides of the hot mug, so hard, I’m surprised it doesn’t begin to crack. I have every intention of shaking my head, of politely refusing her sympathetic ear. That’s my intent, but my tongue has other ideas.
‘It’s … everything, ’ I sigh into the steaming mug. ‘I wouldn’t even know where to begin.’
‘How about you begin from the beginning?’
The beginning … you mean the huge, career-destroying mistake I made back at New York Fashion Week that’s had me questioning whether I’m truly good at what I do? Or do I go even further back than that - to my mother’s constant put-downs, my childhood full of disappointed sighs and frowns, courtesy of her?
I can’t spout all that mess, not to someone I’ve only met twice now, so I bite back my fears and opt for the easiest issue to bring up.
‘I’m just a bit nervous about this weekend,’ I mumble into my chest. ‘You see, I’ve been asked to design a wedding dress, and I’m struggling to come up with anything good.’
‘Wow, you’ve only been open a fortnight and already you’re doing wedding dresses? That’s impressive, Lottie.’
If only she knew I once spent my entire career creating wedding gowns and more for a world-famous fashion house …
‘Well, that’s part of the problem. There’s so much expectation, so much that could go wrong. I just - well, I don’t want to mess this up.’
I decide to leave out the vital information that this bride-to-be is my sworn enemy, the ex-friend from hell. After all, I don’t want to start blubbing again right in the middle of the tearoom.
‘You won’t! And if you do somehow muck up the meeting, well, there will be others.’
A tiny, uncertain smile cracks my lips. ‘Maybe you’re right.’
Proud, Lucy folds her arms and nods her head. ‘I know I am.’
‘Thanks for this, and, well this.’ I gesture to the half-full coffee and the crumbs of carrot cake dotted across the plate. ‘I really needed it.’
‘Well, what are mates for?’
Mates. I’ve had mates before, and they so often let you down. Or else, they betray you, steal your designs and ruin your career in one fell swoop. Still, I bury down my bitterness and allow a grin to paint my lips.
‘Yeah,’ I reply brightly. ‘Mates.’