Page 5 of Read Between The Lines

‘Even for somewhere quite fancy?’ I asked.

‘Undoubtedly. It’s boho chic.’

She sounded so confident, that I found myself believing her. I allowed myself to be shown into the changing room, cringing at the number of mirrors and how bright the lighting was. There was nowhere to hide. I reluctantly removed my shoes, peeled off my jeans and top, pulled the dress on and nervously examined my reflection from all angles. The yellow fabric was a much bolder colour than I’d normally go for, but something about it made me smile.

I experimentally gathered my hair up into a loose bun at the nape of my neck, but then let it free again, remembering the librarian stereotype I so hated. I’d stick with my usual approach of giving it a good brush before I went out and hoping for the best. I’d need to take a little more time with the make-up, of course. Perhaps Moira could help me with my eyeliner, so I didn’t mess it up. She was always so elegant with her perfect flicks of kohl extending from her lids.

I turned slowly on the spot and then a little more quickly, enjoying the feel of the silky fabric floating around my legs, then pulled on the jacket and put my shoes back on to get the full effect. Somehow my well-worn Converse looked a lot smarter paired with a dress. And, most importantly, I wouldn’t spend the evening worrying about getting blisters or turning my ankle, both distinct possibilities if I went down the heels route.

Maybe, just maybe I could pull this off. But was I getting swept up in the shop assistant’s enthusiasm? I needed a second opinion.

Moira answered my FaceTime call on the first ring, almost as if she’d been expecting me.

‘How goes it?’

‘Good, I think. I reckon I’ve found the perfect get-up, and I need to see if you agree. Or rather, the assistant found it for me. I’ve not dared to check the price tags yet, so potentially this call is a bit premature. I really should have considered that before trying the stuff on. Keep your fingers crossed.’

I reached down the back of my neck with my right hand, keeping hold of the phone with my left, and then contorted myself so I could read the tag in the mirror behind me. Maybe a high price was the reason why the assistant was so keen for me to go for this dress.

‘Phew, unless my backwards reading skills have failed me, I won’t have to eat beans on toast for the rest of the year. Well, as long as I actually do my returns,’ I mumbled, correcting myself. ‘Probably the less said about them the better. I’m rapidly becoming the postman’s least favourite address to deliver to.’

‘Stop moving off topic,’ said Moira. ‘Can we get to the point, please, young Kat? We’ve established the outfit is within budget, excellent news, hooray and all that, but so far I’ve seen nothing of it, just a close-up of your face as you pull weird expressions. I’m not complaining, mind, but it’s not achieving the object of the call, is it? Stop with your delaying tactics and let me see the thing.’

‘Fine, I’ll show you now. Excuse the dodgy camera work. And promise you’ll give me your honest opinion.’

‘When have I ever not?’ she demanded.

She had a point there. Moira was blunt almost to a fault, but it was always from a place of kindness. If Moira said I looked okay, then I knew I could believe her. I moved the phone further away and tried manoeuvring it so she could see my full-length reflection. I clearly needed to work on my mirror selfie skills.

‘Hold it to the right, you’re blocking the key cleavage area,’ was her first comment.

I reluctantly did as I was told, feeling even more self-conscious.

‘Nice. I can see why the assistant picked it out. That colour shows off your complexion perfectly, and it reflects those honey undertones in your hair.’

Honey undertones? Moira was definitely in a generous mood. I’d never heard my mousy hair described in such a flattering way. I felt myself stand slightly taller, then realised that was probably why she’d said it.

‘Polka dots are always a winner,’ she continued, ‘and you can’t go wrong with a denim jacket, date or no date. Practical and perfectly pitched. You look lovely, Kat. Sexy Soldier will be thanking his lucky stars when you turn up looking like that. Outfit very much approved,’ she concluded. ‘Don’t you agree, girls?’

Etta, our student librarian, suddenly popped up on screen, giving an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

‘It really suits you, pet,’ added Doris, startling me with a close-up view of her tonsils as she seized control of the phone and held it near the end of her nose for a better look at me. ‘It’s giving definite main character vibes.’

‘Thanks, Doris, that’s very kind of you.’

‘More importantly, how do you feel?’ Moira asked in the background. ‘Is the whole ensemble secure? That’s the real test. You’ll want to give your attention to much more important stuff than worrying about clothing riding up or falling down. Or at least, not at the dinner stage.’

I tried to ignore Etta’s snigger as I considered Moira’s question.

‘Everything feels fine, there’s no risk of any inadvertent flashing, even if there’s a breeze. It’s very comfortable, but not in a boring way. I like the way the skirt swooshes,’ I said. ‘And the colour is really pretty and cheerful. But are you sure it’s not too “look at me”? It’s a bit bolder than I’d normally go for.’

‘And what exactly is wrong with giving off “look at me” energy?’ said Doris. ‘You’re a gorgeous woman going on a date. You shouldn’t feel the need to shrink back and hide away. A little bit of self-confidence wouldn’t go amiss, if you ask me. The heroines in my books don’t get their happily ever after by fading into the background, isn’t that right, Moira?’

‘Abso-bloody-lutely. They pick up their swords and go after the rippling bicep men. And you could, and should do the same,’ said Moira, grabbing the phone back.

I was briefly treated to a shaky view of the library and noticed immediately that the man with the muddy boots was back taking up half of the business section again, head apparently deep in a dusty volume. I really hoped he hadn’t been eavesdropping on the conversation. He’d be bound to make some snarky comment about my outfit paranoia, when I got back, given my criticism of his footwear earlier in the week.

I lowered my voice, just in case, although it was probably far too late.

---