Page 79 of Shout Out To My Ex

We arrive at the striking pink entrance of the museum and Leo asks me to wait outside while he buys us tickets – refusing my offer to pay for mine – so he can keep the exhibit a surprise until the last moment. I even avoid looking at the marketing banners, so I don’t spoil it.

‘Ready?’ he asks a few minutes later.

I nod and follow him inside. Ilovethis museum – the industrial feel of the space, with its polished concrete floors and high ceilings – even the lighting rig above our heads. And the colours and patterns that adorn the array of surfaces! Dame Zandra Rhodes is imprinted in the DNA of this museum.

‘This way,’ says Leo.

I follow closely, keeping my eyes on his back so I don’t accidentally ruin his surprise.

‘So? What do you think?’ he asks as we enter a cavernous gallery, and I finally lift my gaze. Set on plinths around the gallery, with a multi-tiered display at the far end, are several dozen mannequins dressed in clothing from the mid-20th century.

With my mouth open, I do a slow spin, taking in the dresses and gowns, the suits, thehats– men’sandwomen’s.

‘And check this out,’ says Leo, lightly touching my elbow to guide me to the back of the gallery. We stop in front of a display, and I understand immediately thatthisis why he’s brought me to the museum.

‘Pretty awesome, huh?’

My eyes rove the tableaux of mannequins dressed as travellers – the outfits, the travel accessories, the scarves and shoes and hats. A plaque at the front of the display reads:

A Mid-20th Century Retrospective on Travel

‘This is incredible. I mean, it’s in here, of course…’ I say, touching the side of my head – our education on the history of fashion was extensive and rigorous, and this era is the inspiration for our collection. ‘Butseeingit in person…’ I lean closer, taking in the tiny stitches on a satin cape. ‘Can you imagine wearing clothes like this for a long-haul flight?’ I ask, turning back to him with a grin.

He chuckles. ‘It was a different time, for sure.’

‘I’ll say. This is a far cry from leggings and Uggs.’

‘Hah! There’s no way you travel in Uggs,’ he teases.

‘Well, no, but you know what I mean.’

I return to the display, scrutinising each piece while simultaneously thinking of our sketches. Excitement courses through me; our collection is going to be brilliant.

‘We should get some photos, yeah?’ I ask, whipping out my phone.

I start snapping away, Leo joining in, and we take the kind of photos only designers would take – closeups of buckles and stitching and lapels and bows. I even kneel on all fours in front of the dresses and skirts at the front of the display to look at the hems and lining.

‘Silk lining,’ I say about an A-line skirt as I stand and dust off my trousers.

‘Would you expect anything less?’ Leo asks.

‘Patternedsilk lining.’

‘Impressive.’

‘Or overkill.’

‘Orsexy,’ he says. I look up at him and his eyes lock with mine, the air between us instantly charged.

‘Maybe the designer was thinking about what that skirt would look like on the bedroom floor,’ he says, his voice raspy.

‘Or bunched up around someone’s waist in the aeroplane toilet,’ I add, throwing fuel on the fire. My mind instantly teems with thoughts of Leo and me joining the Mile High Club.

He clears his throat and looks away and I inhale deeply through my nose. Right, so we’re going to pretend that didn’t happen.

‘Got all the photos you want?’ he asks. Translation: that was intense, and I’m engaged to someone else.

‘Um, yes, I think so.’ Translation: what’s the fastest way back to your flat so we can consummate this?

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