Page 5 of A Midnight Kiss on Ever After Street
‘Something magical is going to happen tonight.’ She squeezes me back. ‘I can feel it in my bones.’
‘The only magical thing is going to be somehow getting away with this.’
‘There’s nothing to get away with. All you’ve got to do is be back by midnight.’
‘Not a problem. You know me, I’m the furthest thing from a “fancy ball” type of person. I’ll probably be bored stiff in twenty minutes and come home immediately.’ Even though I’m trying to play it down in front of Scarlett and not let on that my heart hasn’t stopped pitter-pattering since she held up that mask, I also have no idea how true this is. Am I a fancy ball type of person? I’ve never been to one to find out, and I can’t quite hide the excitement that tonight, I will.
‘Not if you meet a handsome prince.’
‘At least that’s one thing we can be sure definitelywon’thappen tonight!’
‘And I thought you believed in fairy tales.’
‘I do… I mean, I did. I used to, once… But everyone does when they’re younger, and then you grow up and find yourself stuck in an endlessunmerry-go-round of disenchanting dresses, a poky flat, and trying to make life what you thought it would be and never quite succeeding.’ Fairy tales are a nice thought, but they don’t happen in real life, no matter how much you want them to. ‘Never mind all that, you’re going to be late for work and I’ve got a dress to get into without knocking a hair out of place or smudging this make-up.’
‘You look beautiful, Sade. Have a wonderful night.’
‘I will. I promise.’
When Scarlett leaves with her bag of hairdressing gear over her shoulder, I slip outside and go around the corner to the stairs up to my flat. It’s bursting with dresses so the choices are endless, but my mind is set on just one.
About three months ago, I couldn’t sleep, so I sat down at my mum’s old Singer sewing machine in the flat with no plan in mind. The clock on the wall said it was 9p.m., so I had plenty of time before I’d be too tired to keep my eyes open. I used my own measurements, and before I knew it, I’d made this beautiful dress. When I’d looked out of the window, the sun was coming up, but the clock still said it was 9p.m. Unbeknown to me, it had stopped, and it made the night feel endless and I barely remembered time passing. It was like waking up in the morning and finding elves had nipped in and sewn the dress overnight. My mum always used to say it was like that for her, and for the first time that night, it felt right. Sewing that dress felt like what I was supposed to be doing, like something else was driving my fingers, where everything went perfectly and there wasn’t a single mistake or broken needle or snag or bunched-up bobbin thread. I always feel close to my mum when I’m sewing, but that night, it was as if she was right there beside me. I could almost see her sitting there, like when she’d sat beside me and shown me how to sew when I was little, and this dress felt extra special because of that.
I gave it the finishing touches over the next few nights, and I should have put it on the shop floor as a display piece, but the thought of Ebony ridiculing it and shoving it to the back where no one could see it was unbearable, so I put it in my wardrobe and tried not to think about how good it felt to make, and howthatis the way I want to spend my life, not sewing barely-there catsuits for celebrities that even the Z-list hasn’t heard of.
I take the ballgown from the wardrobe and run my fingers over the blue silk. I thought of the sky while I was making it, a mix of day and night. A simple off-the-shoulder bodice, sewn with light blue and navy blue satin that seamlessly blend together, stiff boning in the corset and hook-and-eye fastenings, but the full skirt is what makes it spectacular.
The bottom hem skims the ground, and layers of ivory tulle and pale blue chiffon make up the first petticoat. The second petticoat is made of organza in every shade of blue from light to dark, then there are layers of iridescent organza that’s so delicate it’s almost transparent. There’s a third skirt which is made of a heavier silk in the colour of a pastel rainbow, and the outer skirt is navy silk organza and covered in Swarovski crystals so it sparkles with every movement.
I slip it on and it’s by far the most beautiful thing I’ve ever worn. I instantly feel like a princess. This is how my mum’s clients must have felt all those years ago, and how I wish clients of The Cinderella Shop would feel now. A dress like this suspends all worries – while I’m wearing something like this, there is nothing but me and the night ahead. There can’t be anything wrong in the life of a girl who owns a dress like this. It makes a swishing sound with every movement as I spritz on my mum’s favourite perfume, a little way of taking her with me everywhere I go, and make my way back down the stairs and into the shop.
Not even Cinderella herself could walk in glass slippers, so I borrow a pair of shoes from the shop shelves. The Cinderella Shop gets custom shoes made by a Dutch shoemaker to match our dresses, but we’ve always got a few pairs in stock for display and to give clients an idea of the options, and a few of them happen to be in my size. I choose a pair of midnight-blue satin slip-ons with a lace overlay, diamante accents, and a two-inch wedge heel, and slide my feet into them, and then I use one of the brightly lit changing room mirrors and hold the mask up to my face and tie the ribbons into a bow at the back of my head to keep it in place.
The woman staring back at me from the mirror could have stepped out of a Hollywood remake of any Cinderella movie. My masked face doesn’t look like mine, my sparkly half-up hair do could rival Belle’s in the ballroom dance scene, and my dress looks like it came straight from the wand of a fairy godmother. Blending in is usually my speciality, but tonight, for once, maybe it would be nice to stand out. This is the most magical thing I’ve ever done. I should probably feel guilty, but for the first time in years, I’m putting myself first and the one place I want to be tonight is at that ball.
3
What was I thinking? I don’t fit in at a fancy event like this. I make dresses for people who go to balls like this, but I am not one of those people. I’m awkward and out of place. The castle is as majestic as I’d always hoped it was – round towers, blue conical roofs, regal turrets and shining spires, an imposing clocktower looking down on us, but I barely had a moment to take it all in as, along with every other ball attendee, once we’d shuffled along the walled stone walkway and handed our invitations to the guard at the gatehouse, we were funnelled into a grand entrance hall and then sent to one of the two ballrooms that have been opened up for the night.
The portcullis gate was raised, and I’d wanted to stand there and appreciate the very spot where my mum and dad met, but there were too many people, both guests and staff hired for the night, herding us through like sheep, and now everyone’s split off into cliques, and I’m standing at the edge of a ginormous ballroom on my own with a glass of flat champagne that’s unappealing in every way.
How does everyone know each other? Have they all come together? Doesn’t that defeat the object of a masked, anonymous ball? The make-up, the dress, and the mask make me look like I belong here, but inside, I’m swirling with that familiar ‘last to be picked for school sports teams’ feeling all over again, and I wish for the confidence to simply walk over, insert myself into a group and join in with their laughs and conversations.
Everyone else looks so natural, as though it’s a regular occurrence to be quaffing champagne in a castle, but unless they’re secretly royalty, surely they’re people just like me, who have never done this before and aren’t quite sure how to do it now?
The only good part of the night so far has been seeing my dresses in action. That’s something you don’t ever get to see as a dressmaker. You make beautiful gowns for special events in other people’s lives, but you’re never a part of the event itself. You take measurements, you sew until your fingers are blistered, you adjust and fit the dress to each person’s exact measurements, and you wave goodbye at the shop doorway. In the case of The Cinderella Shop and my aunt’s return policy, sometimes you get the dress back afterwards because the wearer hasn’t found love and you have to refund it and then it goes to live on the rails out the back because no one knows what to do with the returned dresses. But tonight, I’ve already brushed past a few of the dresses I’ve made in recent weeks, and each time, it reminds me of how lucky I am to get to make dream dresses for a living, and how devastating it will be if the castle is sold to a supermarket. Supermarkets have their own clothing ranges these days, and if they’re selling ready-made dresses for twenty quid, no one is going to come down the road and commission a custom-made one for hundreds of pounds. The Cinderella Shop will lose even more trade than it’s already losing. We won’t be able to carry on. What will I do? That shop is part of my DNA. I have no identity without it. I’ve never worked anywhere else, and I don’t know how to imagine a future where it is gone.
I take a breath and force myself to focus on the present moment rather than worrying about what’s to come. The ballroom is like a football pitch but bigger, and you can’t help but wonder how many chandeliers one room needs. There’s a thirteen-foot one hanging from the centre of the ceiling and smaller chandeliers forming a circle around it, and I pity the cleaner who had to get those free of cobwebs this week. Everything is the sumptuous deep colours of maroon or plum, and all the furniture and fittings are made of velvet and tinged with gold, and there are even stained-glass windows in the domed ceiling. There’s a live orchestra playing classical music in this room and couples are dancing together, twirling around the dancefloor, further pushing home my loneliness. I wish Scarlett hadn’t had to work tonight so I’d have someone to talk to. Who did I think I was going to meet here? Prince Charming? A handsome stranger to dance the night away with? If only real life worked like that. Handsome strangers have been scarce for me. In fact, most ‘handsome strangers’ have turned out to be frogs in disguise, and I’ve long since given up on the idea of Prince Charming actually existing.
The other half of the party guests were siphoned into a second ballroom on the opposite side of the main entrance hall, and I back out into the grand hall, intending to go in search of more single, awkward people like me, but I can’t help stopping to look around in awe. I didn’t fully appreciate it on the way in, but now it’s empty apart from a steady stream of waiters coming from a staff kitchen, the door to which is hidden under the grand double staircase leading to the higher levels of the castle. The ceiling is neck-straining to look up at, and painted with a cherubs-in-the-sky mural, and the imposing hall is lined by suits of armour that almost definitely come to life at night. If I spoke, there would be an echo. The wall to the left is covered with once luxurious but now faded wallpaper with peeling edges, and there are rectangles of grime around empty spaces of unfaded wallpaper, as though it once held portraits that have since been taken down.
The grand stairway is roped off, but it seems so much more interesting than another ballroom, and the rope isn’t much of a barrier… so before I know it, I’ve hiked my dress up and stepped over it.
I’m not doing any harm, I tell myself as I make sure no one’s seen me and hurry upwards. It’s not as if anyone’s going to be up here. I just want a little look around before the castle is gone for good.
At the top of the stairs, there’s a balustrade balcony circling the lower floor from above, closed doorways to multiple rooms, and hallways that lead further into the castle with rich wood-panelled walls and old-fashioned but luxurious carpets. Everything smells of polish and cleaning products, and Ebony would be disappointed to know there isn’t a bat in sight, not even in the furthest crevices of the high ceilings.
I don’t know which way to go and suspect I’ll be wishing for a trail of breadcrumbs to find my way back, but I follow one of the hallways and come to another set of dark wood stairs that twists around and seemingly goes back on itself, and I follow that upwards too, telling myself that I best not go much further. No one specifically said the rest of the castle was out of bounds, but one might deduce that from the rope barrier.
