Jane Linfoot - The Vintage Cinema Club

‘Okay, I’m finished, Steffie,’ Luce put in her last pin, and sat up. ‘Try a gentle swirl, and we’ll see if it’s level.’

Not that she was a religious person, but a tiny part of her was pleading to the god of beaded sashes that this was the last time she was going to be on her hands and knees in front of Steffie’s dress.

Luce half closed one eye, and studied the dress as Steffie slid across the carpet, hands clasping a make-believe bouquet in front of her waist.

Luce turned to Mrs Beeston. ‘What do you think, Betty?’

‘Yes, it’s lovely.’ Mrs Beeston was dabbing her eyes frantically again, as Steffie stopped in front of the full length mirror.

‘Steffie?’ Luce, smiled at Steffie’s reflection, and Steffie gave the kind of definite nod she’d given so many times before, but Luce had to sound optimistic here.

‘Well I reckon that’s a wrap. I’ll get the hand sewing done and you can pop around same time next week if that’s okay.’ Luce reined in her grin, and mentally punched the air, for now at least. ‘Lucky we’ve still got a couple of weeks before your big day. Fingers crossed we won’t need any more changes.’

‘I’m going to miss you once the wedding’s over.’ Luce folded out the screen for Steffie to change behind. ‘Wednesday evenings aren’t going to be the same without you two and your dress.’

No doubt about it, she’d also miss the money too. Another eeek to that, in the light of this afternoon and the ‘For Sale’ sign. Steffie and Betty’s mind changing had kept her and Ruby in luxuries this last six months. Hell, who was Luce kidding about the luxury part? In reality they’d probably kept them solvent. She’d dreamed of working with vintage clothes ever since she did her final degree show, which she’d somehow dragged together against all the odds a couple of months after Ruby was born, but the income was still precarious.

As she waited for Steffie to change Luce heard her phone ping, and looked at her watch. ‘Hmmm, nine o clock on the dot. That’ll be Dida, sending out the work rota.’

And how much longer would that be happening for? That thought alone was enough to make her heart jump against her rib cage, and kick up the beat rate to double speed. She tried to make her eyes less wide, before Steffie and her mum noticed she was sporting the saucer eyed loon look again. In the morning she’d meet up with Izzy and Dida, and together they’d find a way through this. But before then she had a whole night of worrying to get through. And for the first time since forever, she wished she didn’t have to spend the night alone.

Wednesday Evening, 4th June

XANDER & IZZY

His building site in Bakewell

A vandal would have been so much less trouble

‘At least lads would have legged it by now.’ Xander was muttering under his breath, not that it was helping any.

As he rubbed his hands absently on his biceps, he stared at the wobbling girl he’d just dropped onto the ground. Somehow he couldn’t shift the warmth of her off his skin. Broken glass might well have been preferable to a stroppy woman, who was so small and weedy she couldn’t even climb out of a skip. Given the appalling state of the house, a few more smashed windows would hardly have mattered anyway.

He’d bought what he thought was a house needing slight refurbishment, in an up market area on the outskirts of Bakewell, and thanks to the combined efforts of builders and vandals, he was now the proud owner of what passed at best for a shit heap. Even if Bakewell was on the Telegraph’s Top Ten Places To Live In The UK list, he was failing to see the attraction himself. Served him right for buying a place for the wrong motives, and shutting up your sister was no kind of good reason. Christina might be kicking his ass big time, but one land registry transaction was never going to transform his life from dysfunctional to socially acceptable. Although he hated to disappoint her, some leaps were too big to make.

He’d given up on relationships, stable friends, and places to live so long ago he’d forgotten what normal was. Glossy women throwing themselves at you came with the territory, when you were in film production and finance, but he had his avoidance tactics honed. One glance at the wasteland of a building site was enough to show anyone that even as a seasoned developer he was currently lacking the necessary motivation to push this large family house renovation to completion on his own behalf, let alone move into it. Now it was actually happening, it was going to be just another place to turn over, the same as all the rest.

‘Thanks for that.’ The words interrupted his thoughts. Her voice was smaller now, momentarily less objectionable.

Presumably she was referring to him putting her feet back on the ground. She was flapping her hands over her skirt, and the buttons on the front of her dress looked set to bust with every gasp. Worse still, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Today just got better and better. Not.

‘Okay, the show’s over.’ She said, attempting to straighten herself out. She then jutted her chin at him. ‘I’ll just get my shoes and I’ll be off.’

So that was good news. Right now his priority was to get her as far away from here as he could, and fast.

Shoes.

If he grabbed her shoes she could go. To his untrained eye, the pointy yellow heeled shoes he picked up looked completely inappropriate for scrabbling around on a building site, but what did he know.

‘There you go.’ He picked them up and tossed them in her direction, then turned away quickly.

‘Thanks.’

From the corner of his eye he saw her make a lunge to retrieve them. ‘Ouch.’

Xander heard her sharp cry, and pivoted in time to see her jack-knife to the ground.

‘Okay, what now?’ This time he made no attempt to hide his exasperation.

She crouched, then slipped back to sitting and grasped one bare foot, and a mile of thigh slid into view as her skirt bunched-up.

Christ. Not what he needed.

‘Damn.’ Her fingers were dark as she pulled them away from her foot.

He leaned in for a better look. ‘Is that blood?’

Ignoring both him, and the scarlet smears all over the lemon leather, she rammed her shoes on, got up, and began to hobble past him.

‘Wait.’ Somehow he’d already stepped into her path, and was barring her way. ‘Let me take a look?’

As she screwed up her face and hesitated for a minute he suspected she was about to argue. Then she thought better of it, and stuck out her foot.

He’d take that as an okay then. Crouching, he grasped her ankle, and her weight wavered against his arm. ‘You might want to grab my shoulder if you don’t want to fall over.’ Given her scowl, he’d let her decide for herself.

‘Right. Now bend your knee so I can see the bottom of your foot.’ Brushing away the blood with his thumb, he closed his eyes to the view straight up her skirt and focused on the wound. ‘It looks quite deep.’

‘I’m fine, it’s nothing.’ She was rifling through her skirt pocket now, sending a shower of sweet wrappers past his cheek. ‘You don’t have a hanky do you?’

‘Sorry.’ He gave a helpless shrug.

‘I thought men in suits always carried them.’ She let out a snort of disgust, and yanked her ankle away. ‘In that case I’ll go.’

He was on his knees, her dress so far in his face he was breathing in the scent of fabric conditioner, and more. No matter how much he wanted her gone, no matter how fast his heart was pumping, he couldn’t let her go when she was hurt.

‘No.’ He was already on his feet. ‘There’s a first aid kit in the car, I’ll get you a plaster.’