she asked wide-eyed.
‘That’s what I asked you at the time,’ hissed Nan.
But the thing that was making Nan’s heart leaden was that she had had a row with Shirley.
Now nobody had rows with Shirley. She had a face so like the rising sun you expected rays to stick out from her head like in a child’s drawing. If Nan hadrowed with her, it had to have been Nan’s fault and that was that.
Shirley had been coming to Nan for two years now, ordering maybe five garments a year. Nan remembered the first day she came she had been pressing her nose against the window rather wistfully, looking at a little bolero and skirt outfit on display. The skirt wouldn’t have gone over Shirley’s head, let alone made it to her waist.
Nan pulled back the curtain and waved her inside – she still wondered why she did it. Normally she never encouraged customers. She had enough enquiries she couldn’t deal with, and this was obviously not a fashion-conscious girl whom it would be a pleasure to dress.
Shirley’s great, happy face and bouncing, bulging body arrived in Nan’s little shop.
‘I think I have the wrong place,’ she began. ‘Lola who works with me and who’s eight months pregnant said she got her smocks here, and I was wondering if you have any more smocks. I mean, they might fit me, even though I’m not pregnant.’
Nan had liked her cheerful face so much she’d encouraged her.
‘Sit down. I’ll go and see. I’ve very few things really – I mainly make clothes up for people you see.’
‘Oh, are you a designer?’ asked Shirley innocently.
She had touched on something very near to Nan’s heart. She would have liked to think of herself as adesigner and she had a flair for ideas and style. She sold things to classy boutiques from time to time. But something about Shirley’s face made her answer, to her own surprise: ‘No, more a dressmaker.’
‘Oh, that’s great,’ Shirley had said. ‘I thought that they’d disappeared. I wonder, would you be able to make me a smock . . . ?’ She broke off, seeing a refusal beginning to form itself on Nan’s face.
‘Oh, please, please do!’ she said. ‘I can’t find anything in the shops that doesn’t have white collars or tiny, thoughtful, mum-to-be prints on it.’
‘It’s just that I’m very busy . . .’ Nan began.
‘It would be very easy to do,’ said Shirley. ‘You wouldn’t have to put any shape in it, and you wouldn’t have to waste time wondering if the fit was right.’ She grinned encouragingly, and that did it. Nan couldn’t bear her to go around the world as vulnerable as that, and indeed, as badly dressed in that hideous, diagonally-striped garment she had on.
‘You win,’ Nan had said, and they spent a happy half-hour planning what Shirley would wear for the winter.
Away went the belted grey army issue-type coats – the only one that fitted Shirley – and on came a cape. Away, too, the men’s warm sweaters and on with a rosy red dress and a warm pink one.
Nan also made her a multi-coloured evening dress, which had all the shades of the rainbow in it. It was, she thought, a pleasure to design a dress for Shirley.She was so grateful, so touched and happy when it was finished. Sometimes she would whirl around in it in front of the mirror, her fat little hands clasped excitedly like a child.
Shirley was one of the few clients who didn’t seem to have a list of complaints and personal problems, which was another bonus. Nan thought of Mrs Fine, always running down her husband. Shirley never complained about men at all.
Miss Harris was always bitching about traffic or work, or how you couldn’t get a taxi or a waiter who spoke English, or proper wholemeal bread. Shirley never seemed in the least upset by such deprivations.
In fact, Nan knew little of Shirley’s life, except that she fancied her boss in an advertising agency. Or maybe she didn’t – Shirley was always so jokey. The last garment she had made Shirley was a
‘That’s what I asked you at the time,’ hissed Nan.
But the thing that was making Nan’s heart leaden was that she had had a row with Shirley.
Now nobody had rows with Shirley. She had a face so like the rising sun you expected rays to stick out from her head like in a child’s drawing. If Nan hadrowed with her, it had to have been Nan’s fault and that was that.
Shirley had been coming to Nan for two years now, ordering maybe five garments a year. Nan remembered the first day she came she had been pressing her nose against the window rather wistfully, looking at a little bolero and skirt outfit on display. The skirt wouldn’t have gone over Shirley’s head, let alone made it to her waist.
Nan pulled back the curtain and waved her inside – she still wondered why she did it. Normally she never encouraged customers. She had enough enquiries she couldn’t deal with, and this was obviously not a fashion-conscious girl whom it would be a pleasure to dress.
Shirley’s great, happy face and bouncing, bulging body arrived in Nan’s little shop.
‘I think I have the wrong place,’ she began. ‘Lola who works with me and who’s eight months pregnant said she got her smocks here, and I was wondering if you have any more smocks. I mean, they might fit me, even though I’m not pregnant.’
Nan had liked her cheerful face so much she’d encouraged her.
‘Sit down. I’ll go and see. I’ve very few things really – I mainly make clothes up for people you see.’
‘Oh, are you a designer?’ asked Shirley innocently.
She had touched on something very near to Nan’s heart. She would have liked to think of herself as adesigner and she had a flair for ideas and style. She sold things to classy boutiques from time to time. But something about Shirley’s face made her answer, to her own surprise: ‘No, more a dressmaker.’
‘Oh, that’s great,’ Shirley had said. ‘I thought that they’d disappeared. I wonder, would you be able to make me a smock . . . ?’ She broke off, seeing a refusal beginning to form itself on Nan’s face.
‘Oh, please, please do!’ she said. ‘I can’t find anything in the shops that doesn’t have white collars or tiny, thoughtful, mum-to-be prints on it.’
‘It’s just that I’m very busy . . .’ Nan began.
‘It would be very easy to do,’ said Shirley. ‘You wouldn’t have to put any shape in it, and you wouldn’t have to waste time wondering if the fit was right.’ She grinned encouragingly, and that did it. Nan couldn’t bear her to go around the world as vulnerable as that, and indeed, as badly dressed in that hideous, diagonally-striped garment she had on.
‘You win,’ Nan had said, and they spent a happy half-hour planning what Shirley would wear for the winter.
Away went the belted grey army issue-type coats – the only one that fitted Shirley – and on came a cape. Away, too, the men’s warm sweaters and on with a rosy red dress and a warm pink one.
Nan also made her a multi-coloured evening dress, which had all the shades of the rainbow in it. It was, she thought, a pleasure to design a dress for Shirley.She was so grateful, so touched and happy when it was finished. Sometimes she would whirl around in it in front of the mirror, her fat little hands clasped excitedly like a child.
Shirley was one of the few clients who didn’t seem to have a list of complaints and personal problems, which was another bonus. Nan thought of Mrs Fine, always running down her husband. Shirley never complained about men at all.
Miss Harris was always bitching about traffic or work, or how you couldn’t get a taxi or a waiter who spoke English, or proper wholemeal bread. Shirley never seemed in the least upset by such deprivations.
In fact, Nan knew little of Shirley’s life, except that she fancied her boss in an advertising agency. Or maybe she didn’t – Shirley was always so jokey. The last garment she had made Shirley was a
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