Page 39 of A Midnight Kiss on Ever After Street
I’ve stripped the windows of everything apart from the Cinderella dress, and all of Ebony’s peacockish designs are on their way to the back room. There are naked mannequins in the window, and so many plastic legs and arms and torsos all over the place that it looks like a doll murder scene, and we’ve got half-full rails, empty rails, and dresseseverywhere.
‘In this parallel universe I’ve accidentally walked into,whatare you doing?’
‘Giving love another chance.’ I explain everything while Witt carries on de-robing a mannequin of one of Ebony’s designs – a neon yellow and purple dress with a plumage-like chiffon skirt and oversized sleeves made of feathers that make it look as if the wearer is trying, and failing, to sprout wings from their shoulders.
I wait for Scarlett to tell me I can’t do that, to start putting things back as they were, to phone her mum and tell her everything, but her face slowly breaks into a grin as I stumble over my explanations. ‘It’s about time. How long have I been saying this, hmm?’
I’m welling up again because it feels so right and she comes over to hug me.
‘Sometimes the right people say things in the right way for you to hear it with your heart rather than your ears.’ She nods towards Witt. ‘Well done, that man.’
‘Nothing to do with me.’ He carefully unlaces the mannequin’s corset. ‘Just so you know, I feel like a total pervert doing this, even though the woman’s made of plastic.’
‘Just shows how much of a gentleman you are,’ Scarlett tells him.
I don’t add that he did actually ask the mannequin for permission to undress her and reluctantly started even though she, unsurprisingly, did not give her plasticky consent.
‘Jackson has just been showing me the website. You might want to have a look at this.’ She holds her phone out to show us, and Witt comes over and bends beside me, his chin millimetres away from resting on my shoulder, and that little flutter races through me again at his closeness.
And even more so when I realise what Scarlett’s showing us. ‘Seventeenthousandlikes on Instagram?’
‘Six thousand “pins”, and look at all these comments. They’re all saying the dress is magnificent, and how much it reminds them of the Disney dresses of their childhood dreams.’ She flicks the screen up and shows us more social media sites.
‘Nearly a half a million views on TikTok,’ I say in astonishment. ‘This is…’
‘Good for Ever After Street, right?’ Witt finishes for me.
‘Yeah.’ I look at him. ‘It’s exactly what we need. These are numbers that could save us. If this amount of engagement translates into customers… The Cinderella Shop could soar again. The other shopkeepers are noticing it too. Everyone’s mentioning that they’re busier than usual. It could give Ever After Street a leg to stand on against the supermarket buying the castle. With figures like this, we arenotjust a little retail outlet that they can evict and turn into car parking spaces. We have value of our own. People will support us. If this number of followers see us posting about how special the Full Moon Forest is, there will be uproar about anyone who wants to tear it out and put in access roads. There will be protests. Threats to boycott the supermarket. All of this will be for nothing if the sale to the supermarket goes ahead, but if we could use this as a platform to save Ever After Street itself, then maybe…’ I stop myself before I get excited about the prospect of the castle being saved, but I can’t help thinking it. This kind of online presence could impacteverything.
Witt drops my gaze and looks uneasy. I shouldn’t have said any of that in front of him. I’ve let my imagination run away with me, while conveniently forgetting that it’s his job to sell the castle to the highest bidder, even if itisa supermarket.
‘Mum’s going to go ballistic,’ Scarlett says with a laugh. ‘You’ve gone viral with a dress that she would have refused to display.’
‘It’s not the dress, it’s the story. People want to believe that fairy tales can happen in real life.’
‘Trust me, Sade, it’s the dressandthe story. And… you two.’ She waves an arm towards us. ‘Good things happen when you’re together.’
‘I agree,’ Witt murmurs, turning his face to my ear and burying the words in my hair.
My hand is hanging limply next to his, and my fingers find his and brush against them and he lets out a tiny little sigh that might be the best noise I’ve ever heard. I get that little shiver down my spine again, the one that’s full of both joy at finding someone who makes me feel like this, and dread at how he’s going to react when he finds out who the missing Cinderella really is.
‘Now we just have to make sure the storyandthe dress gets a happy ending.’ Scarlett claps her hands together. ‘Right, let me help, there’s a lot to do before opening time tomorrow!’
By nightfall, the three of us have transformed The Cinderella Shop into a wonderful, exciting jumble of colours and fabrics. There are four mannequins in one window, each wearing a demure Disney-inspired gown from the returned rails. Everything’s price tagged at £50 to £100 depending on the amount of fabric and man hours involved, and while each dress is easily worth a lot more, even second hand, it isn’t about the money. It’s about taking a stand and proving to Ebony that my ideas are worth listening to, and it will be a pleasure to see the dresses being enjoyed again.
For the first time in many, many years, I can’t wait for Monday morning to come around. And it’s not very often you get to say that.
11
By 9a.m. on Monday morning, there’s a queue outside.
We haven’t posted on social media or the Ever After Street website in case Ebony is keeping tabs from her cruise, but we’ve asked our fellow shopkeepers to spread the word locally, put up a sign on the notice board and in our windows, and Scarlett’s put a chalkboard outside advertising our ‘second chance’ dress sale, and it seems that a chance to own a Cinderella Shop dress for a fraction of the price is enough of an incentive in itself.
Marnie, who barely leaves the bookshop, is first in the queue and she waves excitedly at me as I go to open the door, and leave it hooked open, inviting people in, something Ebony never lets us do in case it invites the ‘wrong’ type of people in.
After Marnie, there’s Lissa, Mickey, and Imogen, and even Lilith has tottered up on her Zimmer frame, along with customers I recognise from previous visits – people who have been put off by the extortionate prices. Faces I’ve seen through the window, looking in longingly, but never venturing past the door. Within minutes, the shop is alive with chatter, chaos, and a chorus of oohs and ahhs.
And it isjoyous.
