netting hangs down the front.
As I put it on, I spot a sales assistant striding towards us. She’s middle-aged and stiff with hairspray and make-up.
‘Can I help you?’ She acts polite, but I know from experience she’s hoping to herd us away from her patch. It’s obvious these hats are for grannies and every middle-aged
woman in the world is convinced that teens are a buzzkill for the wrinkled.
Treacle isn’t intimidated. ‘We’re looking for something with a veil.’
‘For a wedding?’ the woman asks.
‘It’s more of a funeral,’ Treacle qualifies.
The sales assistant stiffens. ‘It’s either a funeral or it isn’t,’ she says pertly.
I step in. ‘It’s definitely a funeral.’
‘But we don’t want black,’ Treacle announces.
I look at Treacle. ‘We
don’t
?’
‘Aunty Jessica would want it to be a celebration of her life.’ Treacle meets the assistant’s eye. ‘Have you anything in pink?’
‘Pink.’ The sales assistant glances over her shoulder as though looking for backup. ‘For a
funeral
?’
‘Perhaps more like plum,’ I offer. ‘
Dark
plum.’
Huffing, the assistant weaves through the hatstands and plucks a purple hat from a hook. ‘What about this?’
It’s elegant. No feathers or stalks. Just a neat brim. But no veil.
Treacle shakes her head. ‘Mother will be disappointed if we don’t get just the right hat.’
The assistant narrows her eyes. ‘Perhaps
Mother
should have come with you,’ she says pointedly.
The comment sails past Treacle. Her head has swivelled.
‘What are you staring at?’ I follow her gaze.
‘I’ve just had an idea.’ Treacle zigzags through the hatstands to a display on the wall. She stops beside a black riding hat – a top hat, Olympic dressage style, with a
dark veil scooped over the front brim. Treacle lifts it from its hook. ‘You could do the whole horsey look!’ she exclaims. ‘Jodhpurs, riding jacket, crop and hat. No one would
ever recognize you!’
I point at my thick hair. ‘What about this?’
‘We can hide that under a wig.’
I take the hat thoughtfully and try it on. The net is fine enough to see through but tightly woven. It totally blurs my face, even close up. I start to visualize the full effect. It might just
work.
Treacle’s grinning. ‘There’s a costume shop on Marsh Lane. We can get the rest of the stuff there.’
I check the price of the hat and swoon. ‘I can’t afford this,’ I hiss as the assistant catches us up.
‘Mum gave me her credit card to buy shoes for the prom,’ Treacle whispers. ‘But I
have
shoes. We can use the card for this then return the hat afterwards.’
My chest tightens. This feels like burglary.
‘It’s going to launch your career,’ Treacle hisses. ‘And you’re only wearing the stuff for ten minutes. We’ll return it in perfect condition, labels and
everything, I promise.’
‘OK,’ I agree reluctantly.
Treacle sweeps the hat from my head and hands it to the assistant. ‘We’ll take this one, please.’
The costume shop looks tiny on the outside, but inside it’s like an Aladdin’s cave. Racks of clothes stream away into the distance. Shelves line the walls,
overbrimming with hats and boxes and feathers and furs. Dresses and suits hang in bunches from the ceiling.
We squeeze between two rails bulging with sleeves and rustling skirts.
‘What about this?’ Treacle grabs a Marie Antoinette dress and holds it against her. The skirts stick out from the waist like two embroidered bedside tables.
‘Jessica’s old, but she’s not that old.’
Treacle pulls a sad face and hooks the costume back. We head deeper into the shop.
She stops beside something large and green. ‘Oh, Gemma,’ she says, her voice filled with awe. ‘Let’s ditch the original idea and go with this.’ She pulls out a
green foam dragon suit. ‘No one would recognize you!’
It’s tempting, but I’m not sure that the school would be entirely convinced I’m Jessica
As I put it on, I spot a sales assistant striding towards us. She’s middle-aged and stiff with hairspray and make-up.
‘Can I help you?’ She acts polite, but I know from experience she’s hoping to herd us away from her patch. It’s obvious these hats are for grannies and every middle-aged
woman in the world is convinced that teens are a buzzkill for the wrinkled.
Treacle isn’t intimidated. ‘We’re looking for something with a veil.’
‘For a wedding?’ the woman asks.
‘It’s more of a funeral,’ Treacle qualifies.
The sales assistant stiffens. ‘It’s either a funeral or it isn’t,’ she says pertly.
I step in. ‘It’s definitely a funeral.’
‘But we don’t want black,’ Treacle announces.
I look at Treacle. ‘We
don’t
?’
‘Aunty Jessica would want it to be a celebration of her life.’ Treacle meets the assistant’s eye. ‘Have you anything in pink?’
‘Pink.’ The sales assistant glances over her shoulder as though looking for backup. ‘For a
funeral
?’
‘Perhaps more like plum,’ I offer. ‘
Dark
plum.’
Huffing, the assistant weaves through the hatstands and plucks a purple hat from a hook. ‘What about this?’
It’s elegant. No feathers or stalks. Just a neat brim. But no veil.
Treacle shakes her head. ‘Mother will be disappointed if we don’t get just the right hat.’
The assistant narrows her eyes. ‘Perhaps
Mother
should have come with you,’ she says pointedly.
The comment sails past Treacle. Her head has swivelled.
‘What are you staring at?’ I follow her gaze.
‘I’ve just had an idea.’ Treacle zigzags through the hatstands to a display on the wall. She stops beside a black riding hat – a top hat, Olympic dressage style, with a
dark veil scooped over the front brim. Treacle lifts it from its hook. ‘You could do the whole horsey look!’ she exclaims. ‘Jodhpurs, riding jacket, crop and hat. No one would
ever recognize you!’
I point at my thick hair. ‘What about this?’
‘We can hide that under a wig.’
I take the hat thoughtfully and try it on. The net is fine enough to see through but tightly woven. It totally blurs my face, even close up. I start to visualize the full effect. It might just
work.
Treacle’s grinning. ‘There’s a costume shop on Marsh Lane. We can get the rest of the stuff there.’
I check the price of the hat and swoon. ‘I can’t afford this,’ I hiss as the assistant catches us up.
‘Mum gave me her credit card to buy shoes for the prom,’ Treacle whispers. ‘But I
have
shoes. We can use the card for this then return the hat afterwards.’
My chest tightens. This feels like burglary.
‘It’s going to launch your career,’ Treacle hisses. ‘And you’re only wearing the stuff for ten minutes. We’ll return it in perfect condition, labels and
everything, I promise.’
‘OK,’ I agree reluctantly.
Treacle sweeps the hat from my head and hands it to the assistant. ‘We’ll take this one, please.’
The costume shop looks tiny on the outside, but inside it’s like an Aladdin’s cave. Racks of clothes stream away into the distance. Shelves line the walls,
overbrimming with hats and boxes and feathers and furs. Dresses and suits hang in bunches from the ceiling.
We squeeze between two rails bulging with sleeves and rustling skirts.
‘What about this?’ Treacle grabs a Marie Antoinette dress and holds it against her. The skirts stick out from the waist like two embroidered bedside tables.
‘Jessica’s old, but she’s not that old.’
Treacle pulls a sad face and hooks the costume back. We head deeper into the shop.
She stops beside something large and green. ‘Oh, Gemma,’ she says, her voice filled with awe. ‘Let’s ditch the original idea and go with this.’ She pulls out a
green foam dragon suit. ‘No one would recognize you!’
It’s tempting, but I’m not sure that the school would be entirely convinced I’m Jessica
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