Page 61 of Before You Say Goodbye

“You girls don’t know how to do this properly anymore,” she said. “In the olden days, before we had Facebook, this was all we did with our Saturdays. You have to try on a load of different things. Otherwise, how will you know when you’ve found the right one?”

“That’s exactly how I feel about lovers.” Bluebell grinned.

“I just hope you’re careful.” Emma winced, pulling her changing room curtain across dramatically.

“I’ve never once heard you say those words to Marley,” Bluebell said accusingly to her mother through the fabric.

“I tell him to wrap it up, all the bloody time,” Emma called. This was true. Autumn had heard her.

Smiling at their tomfoolery, Autumn stepped into a cubicle and took her time getting changed. They’d be waiting for Emma for a while yet, she reasoned. As she pulled up the zip on the very first ballgown she’d ever had a reason to put on, she was thrilled to feel the fabric hugging her form exactly as it should. It fitted perfectly. She allowed her eyes to roam over her reflection. She looked older. Exhausted. She’d never looked this worn out even when she and Bowie had been up all night every night having sex. She wished she’d bothered to wear make-up for this; it might have made her feel better, though she supposed she would still know what was lurking underneath.

A dramatic swoosh from the cubicle next to hers followed by Bluebell’s dejected whine interrupted her thoughts.

“Nobody was here for my grand reveal.”

Autumn plastered a smile across her face and pulled back her own curtain. “Is it the one?”

“Of course it is,” Bluebell said, turning from the mirror she’d been admiring herself in to twirl. Her friend looked sensational. Autumn nodded her approval.

“You look amazing,” she said.

“So do you,” Bluebell replied.

“Let me see.” Emma poked her head out from behind the cubicle curtain. “Oh, girls, you look fab.”

“Show us yours, Mum,” Bluebell said. “And I want to see some vogue from you.”

Emma drew the curtain back to reveal an unflattering black lace number. She did not pose. Autumn shook her head.

“Again, please. This time with feeling.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Emma whipped the curtain closed, then opened it again, raising her arms theatrically like the goodsport that she was. Autumn and Bluebell laughed. Emma’s eyes crinkled up too.

“I thought I was the one forcing you into a fashion show?” She smiled.

“Be careful what you wish for,” Bluebell said. “Now, take it off and put the green one on so that we can all go for a beer.”

Autumn giggled.

“Don’t you like this one?” Emma asked, stepping out to survey herself in the full-length mirror.

“Do you?” Bluebell asked.

“No,” Emma replied.

“Good, because it’s utterly hideous. Put the green one on.”

“I want to try the purple one first.” Emma closed her curtain again. Bluebell sighed, plonking herself down onto a beanbag with no attempt at grace.

“I’m having a really good time,” Autumn said, a little surprised.

“Me too.” Bluebell smiled. They stared happily at one another for a few seconds, before Bluebell looked guiltily away. She always did that these days, whenever she enjoyed herself for more than a moment. Autumn watched anxiety creep slowly across her friend’s face. She knew the same thing was happening to her. Every tiny twinge of pleasure she felt was always accompanied by an unhealthy hangover of guilt. They were only together and enjoying this moment for one reason: Bowie was dying. They never discussed it, not ever, but they were haunted by the same shadows.

Bluebell called out to Emma, and Autumn knew that she was shattering the moment intentionally. “I’m not even going to comment on any of the others.”

“Oh, why not?” Emma shouted back.

“It’s a waste of my breath.”

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