Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
I turned to Helen, my heart gaining weight with the words I was about to say. “I need to get changed and leave for a while. I have another show tonight.”
She hid the disappointment behind a smile. “Sure. Of course.”
“Can I borrow something of yours again? I didn’t hang the suit up or anything. It’s probably still wet.”
“Absolutely.” She stood up, looked to her friend. “We’re just nipping upstairs, okay? Won’t be long.”
The friend, Chrissie, twisted her lips into a wicked smirk. “Don’t rush on my account.” I’d known her only minutes, but she reminded me of Liam who played the keys in my backing band. Liam was a fun guy, good heart, but it often felt like he gave my middle finger a permanent erection.
Upstairs, I headed to the bathroom, washed quickly and swilled my mouth with mouthwash from the shelf above the sink, while Helen fetched me a pair of joggers and a hoodie. The pants were loose on my hips, so Helen took me into her spare room to run a couple of stitches through the waistband. The room brought a smile to my face. Every surface, every nook, screamed Helen Jenkins. The drawings pinned to the wall, designs scattered across the desk, fabric strewn over chairs. The lot was reminiscent of her old teenage bedroom, minus the posters of Amy Winehouse and Lily Allen. Organised chaos at its finest.
My fingers raked through the rail of completed designs and I found my head shaking in awe of her talent. I’d always admired the way she could add little pieces of herself to her work. Every outfit, every style possessed a certain flair that was uniquely her. The artistry that went into them, the asymmetry, contrasting stitches. She seemed to favour a more vintage style than she had in our youth. “I love this,” I said, pulling out a puffed-sleeved black jumpsuit. Hooking the hanger over my neck, I ambled to the mirror by the window.
Helen arched a brow. “That neckline is all shades of wrong for you.”
“You could fix that, no?”
Breaking away from the sewing machine, she walked over to me. Her hands grasped the shoulders of the jumpsuit, palms smoothed it across my chest. I studied her face as she studied my chest, watched with what I can only describe as adoration as she fiddled with the fine material. Stretching, she reached across to the window, plucked a couple of pins from one of the many jars that lined the sill. “I could join it here,” she said, more to herself. “Remove this lace and reposition it along the collar. I could sew in some pearls, maybe.”
I’d heard but hadn’t taken in a word of what she’d said, too preoccupied on her eyes as they blazed with concentration. “Sounds perfect.” She looked perfect.
She poked a leftover pin into the chest of a mannequin to my left and nodded to herself, like she approved of the plan she’d made. “You’ll likely need the waist taking out, too,” she mumbled around the pin. “I can fit a panel at the back. No problem.”
Whatever she’d said, I loved the idea. I loved it because I genuinely liked the jumpsuit, loved playing dress-up, experimenting with fashion. Clothes could be beautiful. Fun. Outrageous, even. And almost always better to look at than the world around them or the people hiding secrets beneath them. I loved this particular jumpsuit even more, however, because it gave me an excuse to return, a reason for Helen to believe I’d come back.
We couldn’t put off saying our goodbyes any longer. I had work to do, and likely a lot of apologies to make once I switched my phone back on, and Helen had company downstairs. After dressing in the sweats that smelled like Helen, I opened my arms and waited for her to fall into them.
She did.
“Come to the show tonight,” I said, caressing her back. “I can have more tickets waiting for you.”
The following silence unnerved me, made my heart beat faster. Please, Heli.
“That’s…I don’t know if I belong in your world, Hugo. I’m not like those people.”
Gripping her arms, I pushed her backwards so I could look her in the eye. “They’re just people. Ordinary, good-hearted people with flaws, same as the rest of us. You know me. I’m not cut out for anything else, for any kind of fakery bullshit. The guys out here on the road with me? They’ll love you as much as I do.”
A nervous but reassuring smile teased the corners of her pink lips. “Okay.”
Excitement bubbled in my chest, just like it used to when we’d make plans to skip school and hide out in the park. We’d listen to music all day. Act out our favourite movie scenes. We’d play hide and seek in the trees even though we were ten years too old for that shit. “Got your phone? I’m gonna give you a couple of numbers.”