Page 31 of Shout Out To My Ex

Cassie chuckles good-naturedly. ‘You’re probably being a little harsh,’ she says to Shaz. ‘There’s a lot to be said for buying timeless pieces you can mix and match.’

I send Shaz a smug smile as though we’re squabbling siblings and not in our mid-thirties. She makes a face back.

Cassie, undeterred by our childish antics, starts pulling dresses, blazers, blouses, and trousers from my wardrobe and laying them out on the bed in various combos. ‘I wish Elle were here – she’s the real fashionista – but, of course, that’s not possible… Still, we have a lot to work with here,’ she says as she switches some pieces around. In my layperson’s opinion, she’s got a good eye and I snap photos of each outfit so I can assemble them by myself.

She turns to me. ‘And what’s your shoe of choice?’

‘Ballet flats,’ Shaz answers for me. ‘She has them in every colour.’ She opens up another door in the wardrobe, revealing my shoe collection.

‘Noteverycolour,’ I say defensively.

‘You’re right; you’re missing puce,’ she quips.

‘You wouldn’t know puce from chartreuse.’

She shrugs, but I know I’m right.

‘That is quite the collection,’ says Cassie. She reaches to one of the upper shelves. ‘These will work for some of the outfits,’ she says, holding up a pair of white leather sneakers. ‘Do you have any kitten-heeled mules?’

I go to the wardrobe and scan my selection. ‘I have these,’ I say, taking out a pair of basic black heels. ‘They’re my going-out shoes. And I have a nice pair of black boots…’ I show them to her.

‘Hmm.’ I can tell she’s trying to be polite. ‘This is what I suggest: for the shows, you wear one of your linen shifts and we get you a pair of nude kitten-heeled slingbacks. They’re always in fashion and they go with everything. They can be your signature.’ She turns back to the bed. ‘For travel and any time we’re not at a show, wear trousers and a white T-shirt with a blazer, and the sneakers.’

‘What about the parties?’ asks Shaz. ‘There are parties, right?’

‘Yes, good point. Does your husband have a tuxedo, by any chance? We’d just need the jacket.’

‘Hang tight,’ I say. Tristan is in the lounge, stretched out along one of the sofas, reading. ‘Darling, quick question: you have a tuxedo, right?’

He places the book on his chest and peers at me, amusement tugging at his lips. ‘Last-minute black-tie event you haven’t told me about?’

‘Cassie wants me to wear the jacket.’

His mouth quirks.

‘God,you’renot going to laugh at me now, are you?’

He swings his legs over the edge of the sofa and stands. ‘Absolutely not, but I did just imagine you wearing my tuxedo jacket – andonlymy tuxedo jacket.’

I grin at him. ‘We can play dress up when the others leave.’

‘Oh, we are definitely doing that.’ He lands a less-than-chaste kiss on my lips and I amthis closeto shooing Cassie and Shaz out of the flat. Instead, I grab his hand and pull him towards the bedroom so we can raid his wardrobe.

Half an hour later, I have an I’m-pretending-to-be-fashion-journalist wardrobe and a shopping list. Against each item is the name of a shop and Cassie’s going to call ahead so they’ll be expecting me. I’ll even meet with a lipstick designer (I had no idea that was a thing) to find my perfect shade.

But at the very bottom of the list is one item that terrifies me: a haircut. I’ve worn my straight dark-brown hair in the same style since… well, since I can remember. When I step out of the salon – I visit four times a year for a treatment and a trim – it sits in a straight line across my back, between my shoulder blades and my bra strap, with some layers around my face.

Every hairdresser I’ve ever had has tried to convince me to do something more daring with it, but I like my hairstyle. It’sme. And I’ve seen Shaz through as many hairstyling disasters as romantic ones over the years – it took her two years to grow out that undercut – so I always stand firm.

But Cassie thinks I need something a little edgier to convincingly portray a fashion journalist.

‘What’s that?’ Tristan asks, reading over my shoulder. ‘Oh, if you ask my mother along, she’ll be delighted.’

I ignore the comment – I amnottaking Helen on my shopping spree – taking refuge in Tristan’s arms as he wraps them around me. ‘Look,’ I say, pointing tohaircut.

‘I take it you’re not particularly keen?’

‘What if they shear it all off? Give me a pixie cut or something?’ I reach up and grab a lock of my hair, pulling it through my fingers and twirling the ends.

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