Buyer’s Remorse Chapters 21 - 22 by Maeryn Lamonte Copyright © 2023 Still a little bad language, otherwise one more pothole in the road to happiness. Enjoy. Slight hiccup in the formatting forst time round. fixed now.

-oOo-

Chapter 21

Charlotte’s predictions proved to be right on the money. I’d barely walked back into the house after the following morning’s school run when there was a knock at the door. I opened it to find Hilary Blunt’s grimly satisfied smile facing me.

I sighed but found a smile of my own to offer her. “It really isn’t that convenient...”

“Don’t tell me you don’t have the time Ms Shaw, because I happen to know you were fired yesterday.”

“Oh? And just where did you come by that little piece of information?”

“That’s not important. What is important is you no longer have an income, which is sufficient grounds for me to give you this.”

She handed me a seriously official looking envelope.

“Thank you,” I said. “Is that all, or do you have any more questions for me?”

“Oh, I have more questions for you, Ms Shaw, but I think I’ll save them for the courtroom. You should open that,” she pointed at the envelope, “and cancel any plans you may have for tomorrow.” She spun on her sensible heels and marched off towards her car.

The contents of the envelope were a summons to a court hearing to ascertain my fitness to continue looking after my children.

I called Charlie.

“Three days in a row,” she greeted me. “People will talk.”

“I just had a visit from Hilary Blunt, to deliver a summons for tomorrow.”

“Yeah, well, I guess when I’m right, I’m right. What time?”

“Nine-thirty.”

“Shit. I imagine that’s deliberate since she knows we both have kids to get to school. Okay, what’s the earliest you can drop Michael and Steven?”

“Eight-thirty, I think. We don’t usually go that early.”

“Well tomorrow you’ll have to, and pre-book a taxi to pick you up at the school. I want you at the courthouse as early as you can get there. Dress smart. No trousers.”

“Seriously?”

“The summons doesn’t give the name of the judge, does it?”

“No, but...”

“It’ll be one of the dinosaurs, trust me. The sort who believes civilisation has been declining since women got the vote. A skirt won’t win you any good grace, but trousers will definitely lose it for you.”

“What do I need to bring, other than my A game?”

We discussed strategies for a while then I set about sorting things for the following day. I picked out a grey satin blouse and pencil skirt I’d bought as work-wear and tried it on, examining myself critically in a mirror, looking for loose threads and hidden stains. The hem of the skirt was beginning to come away in one place, so I put in a couple of minutes with a needle and thread to fix it before hanging it all back up. A pair of charcoal tights with a spare pack in my handbag in case of snags, and a fresh polish to my pair of two-inch black court shoes – named after the royal courts where they were first worn; nothing to do with law courts – and that much was done.

Next, I booked the taxi, stressing that it was to get me to a court appointment, so it couldn’t be late. I was assured it wouldn’t be.

I then put a call in to my soon to be business partner, or rather the person running interference for him. I hadn’t expected to be put through to him, but apparently my name was on his whitelist. I was asked to hold and heard faint strains of ‘Now I’ve Found the Real Me’ in the background for a couple of minutes.

The music stopped, followed shortly after by his cheerful greeting. “Hey Sandy, I was hoping I’d hear from you this week. How are things going?”

“Oh, well enough. I’m looking at a few places this afternoon to set up shop.” I’d been all for cancelling the viewings, but Charlie had said I’d have little enough to do by then and I’d need something to keep me distracted. She wouldn’t be available to join me as she suddenly had a lot of work to do in a very short time. “I was wondering if there was any way we could get the paperwork for our business partnership finalised and signed today.”

“My guy says it’s better to do it right rather than fast, and that Friday is the earliest he can manage. I won’t be able to free up the money any earlier than Monday as it is. I mean, isn’t what I paid you for the dress enough? I could forward you an advance of, say ten thousand if you need to start spending money.”

“It’s not the money, although yes, maybe a little advance would help. I need to be able to demonstrate to a judge tomorrow that I have an income.”

“I thought you did.”

“Not as of yesterday, no.”

“Would it help if I spoke to your judge? If you can video conference me, I’ll be recording all day tomorrow, but give me five minutes notice and I’ll be there for you.”

“That’d be great thanks.”

“I’ll arrange for the advance to go into your bank by lunchtime.”

My last call went through to Clark’s and Spencer's to Marjory, whose good sense and organisational skills I’d grown to appreciate.

“I was wondering if I could borrow you at lunchtime today?” More of a statement but the inflection made it a question.

“I imagine I could be available. I do have to be back in the office by two though. Mr Clark has called for a full staff briefing. I think he’s a little worried after our show of solidarity yesterday, and well he should be. What did you have in mind?”

“It’ll be something of a working lunch, I’m afraid. Sandwiches and a bottle of water sort of thing. We’ll be on the go for most of it, but I have a few decisions to make that would benefit from a second opinion, and I respect yours.”

“Colour me intrigued. Okay, when and where?”

I gave her a time and place and asked what she preferred in a sandwich.

I’d barely hung up when there was another knock on the door. A glance at my watch told me how much of the morning had already passed and that this was actually an expected visitor.

I’d spent some time the previous evening doing some shopping for the business. I opened the door to take delivery of several boxes of electronics. One smart little super-powerful laptop – small enough to fit in my cavernous handbag without bulking it out too much, and quick enough that I wouldn’t waste time waiting for it to start up. One docking station and ultra-wide monitor because I didn’t want to be straining my eyes when I didn’t need to. One ergonomic keyboard and mouse, one large, high quality drawing tablet and one large printer scanner. Large enough to handle A3.

Now all I needed was somewhere to put it. The flat pack desk I’d ordered was due sometime during the morning too, so most of it could wait. I gave some time over to setting up the computer then browsed for web design companies until the third knock on the door announced the arrival of my office furniture.

Time was running tight, so I called for a taxi, making it for my rendezvous with Marjory – via a nearby deli counter – with just a couple of minutes to spare.

One thing I hadn’t counted on with Marjory was her propensity for gossip. She kept a constant stream of titbits flowing through pretty much the whole hour, which didn’t bother me so much to begin with, since the places we looked at first had been picked bare and, if there had been any potential remaining, it was well hidden from my view.

The fourth place we looked at was very different though. It looked out onto one of the busier parts of the shopping precinct and it had a considerable amount of window space as well as a large storage area behind the shop itself.

“What do you think of this one?” I asked.

“This what, dear?”

“This property. For the shop? You know, what I was talking about at lunch yesterday?”

“Oh! Yes, of course. It’s a bit of a fixer upper, isn’t it?”

“They all are. This one less than the others we’ve seen.”

“Yes,” she sniffed, “well I’m not so sure. How much are they asking?”

The real estate agent who’d been showing us the place mentioned an amount. It was fairly eye-watering.

“And that’s per quarter, is it?” Marjory asked.

“Per month, but if you want it, you’d better decide pretty quick. I have someone else interested in it.”

“For that much? I should sign them up if I were you. I mean, if that’s what they’re ready to pay.”

I gave her a sharp look which she returned with a raised eyebrow. I’d already started planning how I was going to lay the place out in my mind, but I’d brought her along for a reason.

“I suppose you’re right,” I said. “I mean, it’s okay, but what were they asking for that first place we saw?”

We hadn’t even asked for quotes.

Marjory threw out a number that was about a quarter the agent’s asking price. It was all I could do not to react.

“I couldn’t go that low,” the agent said and shaved ten percent off his first price.

“No,” Marjory said and took my arm, leading me towards the front door.

“At least make me a counteroffer.”

“I might be prepared to if I thought there was any chance of you taking us seriously,” she said frostily. “Do you really think we don’t know how long this place has been empty? Do you think we’d arrange a viewing without doing a little research first?”

“I er...”

It was as well she had him flustered and on the defensive, because I was having some difficulty keeping my own composure. I’m not sure I’d have known where to start looking for that sort of information.

Apparently, Marjory did though. Either that or she was one seriously world class poker player.

“I know how much rent the previous tenants paid,” she said. “You want a counter offer? We’ll pay you ten percent less than that.”

“That’s my entire commission,” he moaned.

“You don’t have to take the offer.”

“Why would I?”

“Doesn’t your firm promise to pay compensation if you can’t lease within a couple of months?”

“I still have time.”

“Yes, eight days I believe. You have our contact details if you change your mind. Of course, the moment you let us walk out that door our best offer will drop to twenty percent below the previous tenant’s.” She steered me towards the door, against my wishes, but somehow I forced myself to go along. We were two paces from the door when he called us back.

“Wait. Alright, ten percent less. That’s...”

Marjory supplied him with the correct figure. “Shake the man’s hand Sandy. I think you’re right, this place will suit you nicely.”

There were a few formalities. Forms to sign that tied us both into a year’s contract. It didn’t take long to sign them and very abruptly, I was committed to the venture.

“How did you...”

“It’s the sort of work I do for Clark’s anyway, dear. It didn’t take much to add in a little bit of private research onto the things they wanted me to look into.”

“But I didn’t even tell you where we'd be viewing.”

“You wanted to meet on the high street which suggested local, and there aren’t many places big enough for what you have in mind. This was my favourite.”

“So all that gossip...”

“Oh, that’s all true dear, but if they think you’re a bit of a ditz they tend to drop their guard.

“Men are so easy when you know how. They’re so convinced they’re superior to us, they forget how vulnerable they can be when we’ve got them by the balls.”

“Would you like to work for me? I don’t know what I’d want you to do yet, but I’ll promise you as much responsibility as you feel you can handle and a salary to match.”

“Hold that thought. It’s about time I headed back to the office for that staff briefing. Do you have anything else to do right now?”

“Well no, I suppose. I'll have to catch the three o’clock bus if I’m going to get back in time to collect the kids, but apart from that...”

“Good.” She pointed at our usual lunchtime haunt. “Grab yourself a coffee and a cake – I recommend the choux buns – and I promise it’ll be worth the wait.”

There was a stationer’s next door but one. I treated myself to a sketchpad and a selection of quality pencils and settled into a quiet corner with my drink and cream treat and let my imagination roam free.

It has a tendency to stay in the conservative shallows in the pool of wild imagination, so there were no seriously wild flights of fantasy, but as my mind pondered the sorts of things the women I’d met at the after-show party might be interested, I discovered a flow of creativity that filled half the book in thirty minutes.

To me, masculine says no frills or flounces, plain colours, hard wearing fabrics. That much was easy, but to put that essence into something that expressed femininity as well, that was the challenge.

My first sketch would have looked as good on a man as on a woman, but it prompted new ideas by highlighting what was missing, so the series of sketches that followed lived up to expectations. I’d taken pictures of the women I’d talked to at the party. A quick look at each prompted my muse and sent my fingers flying.

I might have filled the entire sketchbook had it not been for the mass influx of women, all chattering away animatedly and sharing smiles and laughter. The staff behind the counter endured ten very busy minutes as the new arrivals ordered drinks then rearranged the furniture to seat themselves around my little corner.

I looked around the sea of shining eyes then shifted my gaze over to Marjory who seemed vaguely to be at the centre of it all.

“What you were talking about at lunch yesterday. We’re in. All of us, if you’ll have us. We just quit.”

…

That settled it. I had to make this work now. I looked around at all the eager faces and did some mental maths and the bottom line scared me. If I were to take them all on and pay them at ten percent above what Clark’s had, as I’d always intended, I only had a couple of months to turn a profit before the money ran out. I was basing all of our futures on the premise that there was enough of a market out there for what I had to sell.

“How much notice do you have to work?” I asked.

“I think we just did, didn’t we girls?”

General laughter and noises of agreement.

“I don’t follow.”

“Mr Clark told us if we walked out, he’d fire the lot of us.”

“He can’t afford to do that.”

“Yeah, well that’s his problem.”

Whereas mine was figuring out how to earn enough money to cover everyone’s salary.

Well if that was the case, better to start sooner than later. I phoned the estate agent to arrange for Marjory to pick up the keys to the new place then arranged for a large skip to be delivered into the loading bay out back. We hunted out the nearest hole in the wall and I withdrew a couple of hundred quid, which I also gave to Marjory.

“For cleaning supplies. Ladies. Work clothes tomorrow. I have a court appointment first thing, but I’ll join you when I can. First order of business is clear out what junk is in the place. Second is come up with some ideas between you what the place should look like when it’s dolled up.

“We’re going to need the back space for storage and manufacture, so since most of us are going to be spending most of our time in there, let’s make sure it’s a place we want to be. The shop I want on a different level. I want people looking through our windows and wanting to come inside. We’ll arrange a short conference mid-afternoon to discuss ideas and raise concerns.

“I’ll be straight with you all. I’ve never done this before, so I’m going to make a few mistakes. Bear with me and let me know your concerns when you first have them. Marjory’s in charge tomorrow until I join you, then we’ll see what we can make of it.”

I called my business advisor on the way home to advise him of developments and he promised to send me a checklist of things I needed to organise.

While Steven did his football practice, I went through the checklist and made a series of phone calls, arranging for utilities to be restored and for a firm of interior decorators my business guy had recommended to come by in the afternoon to talk about transforming the place into something we could use. I put in an order for a dozen heavy duty sewing machines and a couple of large cutting tables, both promised for a Friday delivery, and was halfway through compiling an order of fabrics when the team came jogging off the pitch.

Once we were home, I fed the boys a snack and let them loose on the construction of my desk, asking them to put it in the corner of the dining room nearest the window, for ease of access to kitchen and toilet facilities and for distance from the distractions in the living room.

Dinner, bath and story time later, I checked over their work, fixed a couple of relatively minor mistakes and tightened everything up before unloading the rest of my office.

That left me just about enough time to scan in my sketches and email them to the people I’d done them for before taking myself off to bed.

The following morning we were out of the house in time to join the early birds at school. A taxi was already waiting when we arrived, so I kissed the boys goodbye and approached the driver.

“Are you here for Sandy Shaw?” I asked.

He choked briefly. “Sorry love. I was sure this was a gag. That really your name?”

I shrugged and climbed in behind him.

“Courthouse, isn’t it?”

“Yes please.”

We pulled out into traffic and I texted Charlie to tell her I was on my way. She replied to say she was stuck in traffic and would join me when she could. I asked where and she gave me the road she was on. I told the driver.

“Yeah, dispatch already said. There’s been a nasty accident wiv a cyclist. Could be a while getting sorted.”

I texted the news to Charlie, who told me to sit tight and she’d get there when she could.

“Didn’t I see you on the box the other night.”

“I was in the audience at a talk show,” I said, not really feeling like talking.

“That’s right. You was that designer who made that frock for whatsisface. Do you really think you can sell dresses to blokes?”

“I don’t see why not. I mean don’t you think you’d look lovely in pink taffeta?”

He laughed, but a little nervously.

“It’s not for everyone, I realise,” I said, putting him out of his misery, “but then neither are trousers.”

“I don’t know. Pretty much everyone I know wears ‘em.”

“Yes, but that’s because women have the choice to do so and men don’t have the choice not to.”

“Yeah, but a bloke'd look stupid in a frock.”

“Is that what you thought on Friday? When he sang that song, where you thinking he looked like a plonker?”

“No, I’ll grant you that. You know how to take a sow’s ear and turn it into a silk purse.”

“Thank you, I suppose.”

“Denada.”

I watched the traffic roll by for the rest of the journey and tried to wrap my mind about what I was about to walk into. If Charlie didn’t make it on time, where would that leave me?

“Here we are, love.”

We were a little way from the main entrance, but traffic was pretty dense and it would help him if I jumped out here. I passed him a tenner, which covered the fare and his tip, and navigated through a tangle of stationary cars and up the steps.

The main desk directed me to the correct courtroom. I texted Charlie the information and let her know about the blockage out front. She sent me a grim face emoji by return.

I was half an hour early, but with nothing better to do, I turned off my mobile – as per the instructions at the entrance – and entered the courtroom, finding it empty but for a solitary security guard. He checked my credentials and waved me into any seat I cared to choose.

Miss Blunt turned up fifteen minutes later with George and Mr Simmons. She glowered at me. “No legal representation? I'd have thought you’d want it today.”

I ignored her and went back to my sketching. Another fifteen minutes passed and a bailiff walked in announcing the arrival of the judge. I stood with the others, glancing back nervously at the main entrance in the hope that Charlotte would arrive at the last minute.

“Mrs Bush,” the judge addressed me. It took a moment for me to realise this.

“Er, Ms Shaw, your honour.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Since my divorce I have gone back to using my maiden name, sir.”

“I see.” His expression told me he didn’t approve. Here was the anticipated dinosaur from the previous century. “Do you have someone to represent you, Ms Shaw.” He all but sneered the name.

“Yes, your honour, but unfortunately she has been delayed.”

“Miss Blunt made it on time. Mr Bush made it on time, as did his lawyer. Even you made it on time. Why, pray, cannot your legal counsel make it on time?”

“I believe there was a serious accident on her route into the city. She’s caught in the blockage.”

“If she had left to come earlier, this would not have been a problem.”

“Your honour, I was only given the court summons yesterday. Both Ms Greer and I are single parents and the small amount of warning we received did not permit either of us enough time to make alternative arrangements for delivering our children to school.”

“Precisely the reason why women shouldn’t be in business,” he said.

I bit back on every one of the responses I wanted to give. No sense bearding the lion in its den. I remained demurely silent, at least on the outside.

“We don’t have time to wait. Miss Blunt, would you care to outline your case.”

Hilary stood. I couldn’t fault her courtroom manner, as she was succinct and to the point. She outlined her plan to demonstrate my unsuitability as a mother, in large as my inability to control my sons and the inappropriateness of the measures I’d finally taken to overcome my older son’s excesses, that evidence from the boys’ own father would convince the judge that I should not be permitted to continue caring for my children.

“Ms Shaw. Care to respond?”

I glanced at the door again. No help coming. I took a breath.

“Up until a few months ago, my son’s and I lived in fear of that man,” I pointed at George. “While he lived with us, he was aggressive, threatening, demeaning, lazy...”

“Ms Shaw, my courtroom is not the place for you to vent your displeasure at your husband’s shortcomings. You will provide me with evidence, or you will be silent. Am I clear.”

“Yes, your honour. My counsel and I plan to present evidence to show that my former husband is not someone whose testimony is to be trusted. As for each of Miss Blunt’s accusations, I have evidence and witnesses to refute each and every one of them.”

“Very well. We’ll hear from those bringing the complaint first. Miss Blunt.”

She called George to the stand and led him through a well-prepared testimony. I wanted to object to it all, for the fabrication it was, but I didn’t know what grounds I could base it on. The judge didn’t offer any help and overruled me time and again, eventually admonishing me to be silent and telling me that if I should present another irrelevant objection, I would be removed from the courtroom and held in contempt.

I sat seething through the remainder of George’s smugly delivered tissue of lies and half truths.

“Ms Shaw, perhaps you have some questions for your husband?”

I stood nervously, trying to marshal my thoughts. Between Blunt and Simmons there would be so many objections, I wouldn’t get anywhere, not to mention that Charlotte had all the evidence we were hoping to present.

“Yes, I know court’s in session; I’m supposed to be in there. Now will you let me pass?”

I spun on the spot to find one of the double doors slightly ajar and Charlotte trying to fight her way past to of the security staff.

“Your honour, I would prefer for my lawyer to take over from here.”

Apparently, it was the thing to say. The judge would have been seen as highly prejudicial had he denied Charlotte entry. He waved her in.

“Your honour, forgive my tardiness. I...”

“I’ve been informed of the reason for your delay. You may take over from your client.”

“Your honour, may I have five minutes to go over the stenographer’s notes?”

“Five minutes Ms Greer. No more.”

“Thank God you’re here,” I whispered.

“You could have asked for a continuance.”

“I’m not a lawyer. I didn’t know what I could ask for. I kept trying to object, but must have done something wrong because he kept overruling me and eventually told me if he had to do so one more time he’d have me removed.”

“Is that so? Give me a few minutes.” She looked through the steno transcript, frowning from time to time. She reached the most recent part of the text and returned to the table, opened up her laptop and started fiddling. “So you've not asked him anything yet?”

“No. You turned up just in time.”

“Good. Show time.” She stood to indicate she was ready.

“Mr Bush, would you please retake the stand? I must remind you, you are still under oath.”

George stood back up with an annoyingly smug smile on his face. I hoped Charlie had the means to wipe it off.

“So, Mr Bush,” she clicked a button on the computer and an image appeared on the courtroom’s large monitor, “Is this one of your invoices?”

“Objection,” Miss Blunt and Mr Simmons said in unison. Hilary indicated for Mr Simmons, the one with the law degree to proceed. “Relevance,” he said.

“Your honour, this goes to the credibility of the witness. It won’t take long.”

“I’ll allow it this time, but see that it doesn’t. Mr Bush, please answer the question.”

“Yeah, that’s mine.” His smile had slipped a little, but more from confusion. It would have been hard for him to deny it, given the presence of the messy scrawl that was his signature at the bottom.

“And this one? And what about this one?”

“Ms Greer, I’m losing my patience,” the judge interrupted.

“Yes your honour.” She clicked on to the next slide which showed the three invoices side by side. “Mr Bush, will you confirm that the three dates are the same please?”

“Of course they’re fucking the same. Anyone can see that.”

“Mr Bush, please curb your language. Ms Greer...”

“Mr Bush, please read out the numbers of the invoices.”

The room fell silent. It didn’t take much brain power to realise that, while two of the invoices were sequential, the third was from an entirely different pad.

“I must have made a mistake,” George said without much conviction.

“Did you make a mistake here too, and here, and here?” Charlie stepped through three more slides, pausing long enough to show the dates were the same, but the invoice numbers... Some were close to the original group of numbers, the rest formed first one then several groups of their own. Charlie pressed a key on her computer one more time and the screen filled with groups of invoices overlaying each other until the screen was filled. “Your honour, I have copies of invoices covering the last three years, all of them relating to confirmed jobs that Mr Bush undertook. Less than half of them have the first series of sequential numbers that comprise the only invoices Mr Bush declared in his tax returns, according to my contact in the inland revenue.

“Over this three year period, it seems approximately two thirds of Mr Bush’s income was undeclared.”

“It’s unlikely that much additional money would have gone unnoticed.”

“No, except that we believe he made an arrangement with a bookie friend of his. They created a trail of winning bets after the fact which meant Mr Bush was able to keep his undeclared income as tax free winnings from his gambling, and his bookie friend was able to right off the same amount as taxable losses in his business.

“My client, Ms Shaw, discovered an amount of thirty thousand pounds in cash hidden in their home after their relationship broke down. Initially the IRS investigated Mr Bush and accepted his returns on face value. Since I presented them with this new information, they’ve reopened their enquiry and will be contacting Mr Bush very soon.”

“You fucking bitch!”

“Mr Bush, that is the last foul language I will accept from you. Ms Greer, I’m inclined to agree with you that this brings Mr Bush’s testimony into question, but it still doesn’t address the issues brought against... Ms Shaw.”

“Perhaps your honour would list those issues.”

“There’s the matter of one of Ms Shaw’s son’s allegedly attacking another child.”

“The child in question was my son, your honour, and he is now best of friends with both Ms Shaw’s sons. I know the actions Ms Shaw took in response to the incident. They were more extreme than I would have used, but they were effective.”

“Like forcing him to dress as a girl?”

“No, your honour. That was not Ms Shaw’s idea.”

“So what did she do?”

“She made her son cut up his prized Manchester United football jersey, then she reported both her son and the other boys involved to the school, resulting in all five of them being thrown off the school football team. That was the coach’s decision.”

“And this crossdressing nonsense?”

“The idea of the mothers of the other boys involved. They didn’t feel that Ms Shaw should be involved in the decision but she agreed to abide by the punishment they chose.”

“But there’s evidence of Ms Shaw’s son, of both her sons, being seen wearing...”

“Your honour, perhaps Ms Shaw might be permitted to respond.”

“Very well.”

Charlie looked my way. I felt like I’d been dropped in the deep end, which meant that my only option was to start swimming.

“Your honour, I made some statements about my former husband earlier this morning.”

“They’re called allegations, Ms Shaw.” There was a note of warning in his voice.

“Well sir, some of the strongest evidence for these allegations is in the nature of our children. I’m afraid I let my husband have the upper hand for most of our marriage and I wasn’t aware of the effect this was having on our boys until recently. Our oldest son, Steven – the boy you’ve been referring to – had become extremely angry and rebellious. He was beginning to challenge me in the same manner he saw his father doing, until I decided to stand up to him.”

“Who? Your son or your husband.”

“I suppose both things happened at about the same time. I believe Steven’s behaviour was an acting out of this anger, but then when he put on the cheerleading uniform I made for him for the first time, he said it was like the anger melted away.

“I never forced him to put on a skirt, your honour, but rather persuaded him to go along with the punishment that had been decided for him. When he found that dressing as a girl put him in touch with a gentler side of himself, I gave him the option to explore further, and I gave him the support he needed as he did so.”

“You turned him into a fucking poof, you stupid fucking cow!”

“Bailiff, please have Mr Bush remanded to one of the cells. Ms Shaw, please continue.”

“Steven showed signs of beginning puberty, so I arranged for him to see a specialist in gender dysphoria. I don’t think I actually believed he was transgendered, but I wasn’t prepared to make that decision on my own. I’m aware that puberty is when certain physical changes occur that are impossible to reverse and if he did decide that he should have been a girl, I wanted him to have the best opportunity for the future.

“The specialist informed us unequivocally that Steven was not transgendered and told me to stop wasting his time. Regardless of his gender, I felt that Steven still had issues to work through, so I asked for him to be referred to a child psychologist. We were put in contact with Doctor Paul Marsh, who worked with my son over several weekly sessions and encouraged him to explore the, shall we say, more feminine side of himself. For my part, I designed and made him a dress – that’s what he insisted on calling it – that encompassed both masculine and feminine elements in its design.

“My son has reached the conclusion that he is entirely a young man, but he sees no difficulty in expressing a part of himself that might be considered by most to be feminine. He has a girlfriend. On occasions they wear matching outfits. He is a lot calmer now than he was a few months ago, and a lot happier in himself too. Not because I forced him to do something he didn’t want, but because I allowed him to explore something he didn’t know he needed.

“When the ban on playing for the school was lifted – at Ms Greer’s son’s request – Steven chose to remain as the head cheerleader. He was the only boy in the squad and continued to wear a skirt while in the group. He has recently chosen to rejoin the football team.”

“I see. What of your younger son?”

“While I was still with my husband, he was timid, withdrawn and still wetting himself at night. He is now happy and outgoing and, do I need to say, going through the night without difficulty. If he wears a skirt from time to time, it’s because he wants to be like his big brother, who he idolises. Compared to a few months ago when he was scared of everyone in the house, I’d say that’s positive progress, and I’m not worried about his choice of clothes. He’ll either grow out of it or into it, and I’ll be happy whichever path he chooses, as long as it’s his choice.”

“Miss Blunt, I’m beginning to wonder why you brought this case to me. I was expecting Ms Shaw to be a very different individual from the picture you portrayed.”

“Your honour, she was fired recently. How is she expected to care for her family.”

“Is Mr Bush paying child support?”

“Your honour, I don’t want anything from my former husband except his continued absence from our lives.”

“So how do you intend to support your family?”

“I’m working on a new business venture, sir. I have a partner who is funding me and I just signed a lease on a high street property.”

“Do you have any proof?”

“The documents of the partnership are being drawn up and I expect to sign them on Friday. I can show you my bank account which shows a ten-thousand-pound advance paid into it in the last day or so, I can show you the preliminary agreement for the lease of the property, and my business partner has agreed to video conference with us if we give him five minutes’ notice.”

“None of which constitutes proof, Ms Shaw. I mean how will I know this man you’re proposing to put us in contact with is indeed in a position to be in business with you.”

“I think you’ll recognise him, your honour.”

So we had the video conference. My partner was as good as his word. Resplendent in his emerald gown – he was doing a video shoot for his song – he corroborated everything I said.

As a parting shot, I asked if he’d be available to talk later, and he agreed to take another call from me when the court case was wrapped up.

“I thought I recognised you, Ms Shaw. I think you’re taking something of a risk with this venture if all you’re doing is designing women’s clothes for men...”

“With respect sir, they’re not women’s clothes for men, but rather men’s clothes with a more feminine flavour to them, and they’re not all I plan to sell. I already have a number of female clients who’ve asked me to design something specific for them.”

“Three piece pin stripe suits with bowler hats I have no doubt.”

“Not quite, sir, but in essence, not far off. My intent isn’t to make women’s clothes for men or men’s clothes for women, but to reintroduce a little femininity into what men wear as well as a little masculinity into what women wear.

“Men and women have become more polarised in their opinions and attitudes in the last half century than at any other time in our history. So much so that both sexes are denying the aspects of their personalities that reach across the gender divide, and it’s having a detrimental effect on us all. What I’m trying to do is help to blur the lines a little. To help us all recognise that we are more alike than we realise. Maybe it’ll give us reason enough to stop fighting so much if we can see that we have more in common than we’ve come to believe.”

“Like the Christmas Truce in 1914?”

“Perhaps, but hopefully with a slightly longer lasting effect on the battle of the sexes, unless it’s a full-blown war by now.”

“Hm. Ms Shaw, I won’t pretend that I understand you, but I can see that you care very much for your children and it would be a travesty were they to be taken from you. I’m not sure I’m inclined to wish you well in your business venture. At my age, I’m not sure I’m ready to see grown men walking down the street dressed as your business partner was just now, but I do wish you enough success that you are able to support your family. Miss Blunt, this case is dismissed, and I won’t be pleased if I hear of you continuing to pester Ms Shaw. Do you understand.”

“Yes sir.”

“Then we’re done here.” He banged his gavel and half the stress I was carrying evaporated.

Chapter 22

“Is it too late to renegotiate our agreement?” I asked a vision in emerald green.

Following the judge’s departure, Charlotte and I had congratulated each other on our brilliance and she’d apologised and rushed off to rescue her little car from where she’d abandoned it on the way in. The only way she’d been able to make it as quickly as she had had been by pulling into a convenient parking spot and running to a parallel road where she’d hailed a cab.

After I’d watched her run off, I’d made my way down to the courthouse cafeteria and tethered my little laptop to my phone. I hadn’t managed to take a sip of my coffee before he answered my call.

His eyes turned flinty. “What do you mean?”

“I’m sorry, I’m not handling this well. We have an agreement and of course I’ll honour it, but I was hoping we could come up with something better. Something that would benefit us both more than what we have.”

His gaze softened a little. “I’m listening.”

“The two hundred thousand we’ve agreed would mean a relatively slow start to the venture. I’d be able to afford salaries for maybe half a dozen people including myself for maybe six or eight months, by which time I’d hope to have income enough to sustain us. I’d only really be in a position to take on more staff once we started making a decent profit.”

“Sure.”

“With half a dozen people, we’d be spread thin. Sales, marketing, design and admin wouldn’t leave much time for manufacture, so the amount of product we could put together and shift would be low to start, so that’ll delay how long it will take to reach the profit.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve recently found myself in a position to take on four times as many staff. It would make the work force more balanced and it would mean we’d be producing in bulk quicker, so we’d start to make a profit sooner. The only thing is...”

“Two hundred thousand wouldn’t pay two dozen people for very long.”

“Exactly.”

“So what is it you want and what is it you’re offering?”

“Enough of a stake to keep all two dozen of us going for six months. I make that double what you’ve already agreed to invest.”

“For which I get?”

“A quicker return on your investment and a bigger percentage – say thirty five percent. I’ll also agree to a couple more bespoke outfits per year.”

“I can’t deny your bargaining skills have improved, but you’re asking me to double my investment for less than double returns.”

“I think you’ll find that the quicker turnaround will make up the difference.”

“What if you agreed to go out with me?”

“You mean, like on a date? I think that would be a terrible idea.”

“Oh? And why’s that?” The flint was back in his eyes, but then I hadn’t been particularly diplomatic.

“It would be a memorable night...”

“Doesn’t sound so terrible.”

“But it would only be one night. Let’s face it. We don’t have a lot in common.”

“We have the same taste in clothes.”

“Which is a great basis for a business relationship, but once we’ve had our little roll in the hay, you’ll have scratched your itch and we’ll be stuck trying to make a business partnership work in the aftermath of a steamy, sordid, intensely pleasurable but ultimately short relationship.”

“So that’s a no then.”

Men could be so dense sometimes.

“I’m afraid it’s going to have to be a no from me on the new deal too.”

And so immature.

“And that’s your final word?”

“Unless you’ll go out with me. I mean, imagine us in matching gowns! We’d be a sensation!”

“Let me think on it.”

“It’s a limited time offer, sweetheart. Yes or no?”

“Just one date and you’ll agree to the new deal.”

“One date and we can talk about it. Or you can decide which five of your two dozen friends you like well enough to give a job to, and which nineteen you’re going to kick to the curb. I mean that’s what this is really about, isn’t it?”

“This was a mistake.” I’d bruised his ego and now he needed to hit back.

“I’m beginning to think the same. Maybe we should call the whole thing off.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“No? What did you mean?”

“I meant that this is the reason why I didn’t want to mix business with pleasure in the first place. You’re feeling insulted because I don’t want to go out with you, which isn’t true because I really do find you attractive...”

“Then why...?”

“Because in the space of a few minutes we’ve gone from being two perfectly rational human beings with an agreement that benefits us both, to two entirely irrational ones on the verge of throwing it away over a few words that I really don’t think we mean. I mean are you really the sort of person who would strong-arm a girl into a date by openly threatening to put her in an impossible situation?

“You want me to go out with me, you convince me you’re the kind of guy I want to spend time with.”

“Okay, then you stop being such a cock tease.”

“Alright, that I can do. The answer is no, I will not go out with you. The question that remains is do we still have our existing agreement? Before you answer, please remember that when you came to me, you were only interested in the clothes, and you still seem pretty pleased with how that’s turned out,” I waved at the screen, “and lastly, I’ve had a few ideas recently and thought I might make something new for you to wear to the grand opening of the shop when we’re ready in a week or so.”

Avarice overtook anger in his eyes. “Would this count as one of my three a year.”

“No, it would be a gift. A celebration of our partnership and a thank you for your involvement in the launch.”

“Tell me about the dress.”

So I talked of a russet, summery dress with a high neckline at the front but very little back, with slightly less than half length bell sleeves and a full skirt falling in loose pleats to just below the knee. It would have a subtle pattern to it that hinted very gently of flowers, but also of something more abstract, not unlike the mottling of colours in camouflage. I had him hooked by the end.

“Alright,” he agreed, “but I’ll need a date and time for the opening so I can fit it into my schedule.”

“Can we pencil in a week tomorrow? I’m not sure how realistic that will be, so let me confirm by the weekend.”

“Okay, good, but no more talk of changing the deal though.”

I let him have the last word and closed down the connection. I’d averted the disaster at least, but it didn’t help me deal with how I was going to pay for everyone’s salary.

My phone buzzed.

“Hi Paul, this is a pleasant surprise.”

“I wish that were true. I’m really sorry Sandy, I’m going to have to ask for a rain check on our date tomorrow. Something’s come up that I really can’t get out of. Could we delay by a week?”

“Of course.”

“You’re not disappointed?”

“Well, yeah,” I said in a matter of fact voice, “and you’re going to have to find some way to make it up to me, but that goes without saying, right?”

He laughed. “I shall make sure I do just that. What would do it? Expensive jewellery?”

“Oh heavens, no! You don’t fix a problem like this by throwing money at it. Maybe you could take some of next Friday off. I could do with a strong arm to lean on when we open the shop.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“If you can’t, you’ll just have to be extra-specially attentive on our date. You know, tell me how beautiful you think I look, laugh at my jokes, that sort of thing.”

“That I know I can do. You are a truly amazing woman, you know that?”

“That’s the kind of thing, but work on the sincerity.”

He laughed again. “Well, I can’t think of anything else I need to say, but I really don’t want to hang up just yet. I don’t suppose there’s anything else you’d like to talk about?”

What, like my ex-husband just tried to have my kids taken away? Like I very nearly blew my business deal before I’d even started? Like I have no idea how I’m going to tell my friends I don’t have the means to offer them all jobs as I’d hoped? I wanted him for a boyfriend, not a therapist.

“Well, it’s probably a good thing we’re postponing. I think I can feel my time of month coming on.”

He laughed again. “And I suddenly feel my need to keep talking evaporating. Sandy, you have an amazing capacity to do me good. I’ll let you know about whether I can make it to your grand opening in a day or two.”

I hung up and noticed I had an inbox full of emails. That was going to take a whole new cup of coffee and maybe some sugary goodness too. I’d have to watch the pastry intake though if I wanted to maintain my hard-won slimness.

They were all replies to the emails I’d sent off the previous day with the sketches, and they were all in a similar vein. “I’ll pay you two thousand pounds for it. Double if you can get it to me for Saturday evening.” “I want it, money no object.” “You are a genius. This is just what I’ve been looking for.” More of the same.

I emailed them all asking if it would be possible for them to call me when they had a moment. The calls started coming in almost immediately and I began making promises I hoped I’d be able to keep. I also outlined my dilemma with regard to staffing and received promises in return. Money wasn’t an object for most of them. If they could afford a couple of grand for an outfit, they could afford to loan me ten or twenty thousand easily enough. Interest rates, not an issue, but I made quite a few promises to design future wonders for them.

The coffee had made its way through my digestive system and was becoming fairly insistent about leaving by the time I finished my last phone call. I just about made it to the ladies in time, then cursed my way out of the tight skirt just in time to take care of business. A spot of blood in the knickers confirmed what I’d said to Paul earlier. I loaded up a torpedo to deal with it.

Having made myself fit for the world, I walked across town to where my friends were hard at work doing what I’d asked them. Between the heels and the tight skirt, the walk took longer than usual, but that gave me time to order my thoughts.

They’d taped over the windows so whatever was happening on the inside was hidden from view. I stepped through the door and stopped short.

“Hello Sandy,” a very dressed down Marjory greeted me. “You’ve come ready to muck in, I see.”

“I’m not sure I need to. I mean you’ve cleared the place. What more is there to do?”

“Well, you did say come up with some ideas for the layout and decor, so we’ve been working on that. Judy and Paula are giving the place one last sweep and Sally went to fetch some sandwiches.”

“Alright. I don’t suppose we have anything to sit on.”

“Apart from the floor, you mean?”

“There is no way I’m going to be able to get down onto the floor in this skirt.”

“Hang on. Linda, could you hunt through the skip and see if you can find something for our illustrious leader to sit on? It seems she’s too good to join us grubbing in the muck.”

“Oy!” I laughed. “That’s not fair and you know it.”

Sally returned with food and I gathered everyone around for the promised conference. Perched on my orange box throne, I munched my way through the tuna salad sandwich I’d been given and tried to put my thoughts in order.

“Before we start,” Marjory said. “I saw your expression when we all told you we’d quit yesterday. I did a few sums and I realise just how big the salary bill will be with all of us. We’ve talked it through and we reckon we could survive on a fifteen percent pay cut, at least until we’re on our feet.”

“Okay, let’s start there. I’d been planning on giving you all ten percent more, because that’s at least what you’re worth, but you’re right, money is a little tight with us all on board. I’ve secured us a little extra funding and I think we have enough to pay salaries and keep going for a few months, but we’re in this together. I’ll pay myself as much as the rest of you until we’re settled. The way things stand, I figure if I give you all that ten percent raise, we have eight months before we need to be turning a profit. If we take the fifteen percent cut then we’ll have closer to a year. Go with the same amount Clark’s paid us and we’re looking at maybe ten months. We don’t need to decide right away, so firstly, any comments?

They were, mostly along the lines of accepting the lower amount for the longer period, but there were one or two quiet ones who were eventually encouraged into saying the weren’t sure they could get by on less. Mainly young mums like myself, so I had some sympathy.

“Okay, we’ll put a pin in it for now and come back to it later this afternoon. I’m not dismissing your concerns, but I need to think on it a while. Next, a little organisation. Marjory, how do you feel about being office manager? Contracts, pensions, payroll, rotas, that sort of thing?”

“Well, it’s what I do so I’d be insulted if you didn’t ask.”

A few laughs and appreciative murmurs.

“Next, who amongst us is best with a sewing machine? I have a dozen workhorses coming in by the end of the week, so that’s how many of us will actually be making the clothes. Or we could rotate so sometimes you’re sewing, sometimes your cutting, sometimes you’re out in the shop.”

The division of labour produced a more animated discussion and soon everyone was feeling better, knowing where they were going to fit in the enterprise.

Lastly, and this was deliberate, getting everyone to feel more invested before letting them loose on it, how to organise our workspace.

We paced out the work area, positioning the machines and cutting tables. Someone produced a piece of chalk from somewhere and we began to rough out areas. Sweatshop – their choice of term – raw material storage, finished product storage, offices, then shop space. A little juggling until everything was balanced. Then discussion of what we wanted the place to look like. I shared my idea of Sandy Shore Couture as a business name – they insisted it should be Shaw rather than Shore – and a banner image of models walking along a beach suitably dressed. It would work for a shop sign and for a web page banner. The girls loved it and talked about designing the shop to look like a sunny day at the seaside. A further suggestion that we needed a mix of environments to display different colours and designs to different effect. Jamie, who was a little different from the rest of us, came up with the idea of display units on wheels that could be moved into the windows or placed around the shop floor. We could have one or two out back while new designs were being created and we could swap them out regularly.

This met with universal approval along with an impromptu vote that put Jamie in charge of displays. She looked both pleased and worried at the same time.

“I have a confession,” she said, raising her voice. The place quieted and all eyes turned on her. “I’m not like you lot. I was born a boy. I kind of lied about my sex when I took the job with Clark’s, but I want to be honest with you guys.”

I’d clocked her early on. I mean it takes one to know one, and I was sort of the same. “I think most of us know, Jamie. Maybe even Mr Clark knew and went along with it because it meant he could get away with paying you less.”

“I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Well, as far as I’m concerned, you’re just one of us girls, at least where it counts.”

Universal murmurs of agreement.

“Okay Jamie, you’re with Marjory and me when the interior designers come. The rest of you, these are our first priority.” I pulled out the sketches I’d made for the women who’d become my most recent investors and talked them through the materials and colours.

The designers arrived at shortly after one and stayed till two thirty. We pointed out the spaces we wanted. Sewing machines furthest from the shop floor and adequate noise damping. All work spaces climate controlled, all storage spaces sealed off from anything that might cause damage.

They said it would be possible to be done in time for the following Friday, but it would cost a bit extra. Not enough to put me off, so they were put to work.

The last half hour before some of us had to head off on the school run, we revisited the salaries.

“The normal concept of fair says everyone should get the same amount,” I said, “but we’re about redefining normal here, so perhaps true fairness should be about everyone getting what they need. Some of us are single with few overheads, and some of us are married with two incomes. Others of us are single mums, and I know first-hand how much of a struggle that can be. Most of us have said they’d prefer to take a pay cut so that we have a few months more to make this work, but who’d be okay about the one’s of us who are raising kids on our own keeping their old salary for now?”

Again, unanimously agreed, as long as I agreed that I fell into the same category.

Marjory gave me a spare set of keys and Jamie took the third. I told Marjory to identify the office equipment she’d need and buy it, then headed home to the boys.

…

It had been a long day and it wasn’t over yet. My phone buzzed while I was making the kids their snacks.

“You home yet?” Charlotte asked.

“Yes.”

“Turn on the TV, local news.”

I wandered through to the front room and flicked the TV on. It didn’t take long to find the news channel.

“...and finally, closer to home, local businessman, George Bush of Presidential Plumbing was arrested at the county court this morning on counts of tax evasion and tax fraud. Police have also arrested local legend, Billie the Bookie, on related charges. Neither individual chose to make a comment.” The camera shot showed George’s giant frame being wrestled by three police officers into the back of a patrol car, his face a livid puce.

“You should think of a way to break the news to your boys. It’ll be better coming from you than some asshole kid at school.”

I looked around at the door where two pairs of saucer like eyes peered in at me.

“Oh, I doubt that’s going to be a problem. I’ll call you back in a bit.”

I flicked the TV off and beckoned the boys over to me. Michael sat on my lap – and he was really getting a bit big for that sort of thing, especially since I had considerably less flesh on my thighs. Steven settled next to me on the sofa and snuggled in.

“The reason we went to school early this morning was because I had to go to court...”

“Again?” Michael conjured up a degree of indignation which made me smile.

“Yes Michael, again. Do you remember that woman from social services who wanted to talk to you a week or so back?”

“Yeah,” Steven said with some of his former anger. “She was a cow.”

“Between her and your father, they tried to convince the judge that I wasn’t fit to look after you two.”

“What!” Almost in unison and with genuine indignation.

“Charlie managed to convince the judge that what your dad said couldn’t be trusted by showing evidence of how he’s been cheating the tax man.”

“Dad always used to say that taxes were the government robbing the country.”

“I imagine he would say something like that, but it doesn’t matter what you believe. If you believe what your dad says, it’s still pretty stupid to steal from the biggest crook in the country isn't it?”

Michael snorted out a laugh, even though I doubt he came close to understanding what I’d said.

“What do you think, Mum?” Steven asked.

“Well, there is some truth that the government occasionally misuses tax money, but if we didn’t pay our taxes, then there wouldn’t be any money to pay for a lot of services we take for granted. The National Health Service for instance, so that time I broke my arm there wouldn’t have been anywhere for me to go and get fixed up without spending a lot of money. The police force is another, so there wouldn’t have been anyone to protect us when your dad broke into the house. Schools, bin men, street lighting. All sorts of things.”

“Well, it serves the fucker right. At least he won’t be bothering us again.”

“Not for a year or two at least, although they will let him out of prison eventually.”

“What happens then?” Michael sounded scared.

“Not something to worry about yet, but we have options.”

“Like what?”

“We could move.”

“What if I don’t want to move?”

“Then we won’t. We’ll improve security around the house, we’ll make sure we know when he gets out and get an injunction to keep him away from us...”

“That didn’t stop him last time.”

“I’ll take self defence classes, you’ll soon be big enough you won’t need them.”

“And Mikey?”

“Your father will only want to come after me.”

“What if he comes after you through Mikey?”

"That’s a problem for tomorrow. When tomorrow gets here, maybe the solution will too. For now, let’s just enjoy what we have.”

Friday, the decorators put up stud walls to separate the building into the different spaces we wanted and they decorated the sweat shop and material store. Our first delivery of materials arrived and went into the product store until the paint dried where they belonged. The machines and cutting tables arrived late in the morning and we set up the manufacturing side of the business. I also cut he materials I’d need for the one urgent commission I had. Friday night and most of Saturday morning was taken up putting it together. Ann called round to collect Steven for the football and I decided they’d be safe enough together. Just before noon I called through to the customer who’d promised to double my commission if I had the suit ready for Saturday evening. She drove over for her fitting and went away very happy, leaving me with four thousand pounds in cash.

Monday saw manufacturing begin big time, with the rest of the special commissions starting us off. I oversaw the work, which mainly meant showing people how to cut my patterns. I had no real clue how it was usually done, so had come up with my own method which I was told worked better, though they were probably just being kind. Anyone as yet unassigned was drafted into shifting the materials across to the material store. Since we were only making one of each of the bespoke stuff, we had a lot of time to put together examples of the things we intended to sell off the rack, and by end of play, we had enough to work with.

Last thing in the afternoon I called a few photographers and modelling agencies to ask if they might be free for a shoot the next day and enough said yes that we were able to set something up for early the following morning. I hired a small van for the day and loaded it with newly minted dresses, then I gave the van keys to Jamie, saying she should take one other person and go and get us a bunch of shots. I wanted one special one for the shop signage and website banner, and at least a dozen more for pictures in the shop.

“Play with negative space. You know, lots of bland, non descript scenery with a small or smallish contrasting image of one of our products prominently placed.”

“I get what you want.” She pulled up a few pictures of the sort I had in mind from the internet and to make sure we were on the same wavelength.

“That’s perfect. I need a lot of close ups too, for catalogues and the like. When you think you have the banner shot and the arty shots for the shop, send me thumbnails and we’ll get them to a printer.”

“My brother has a printing business.”

“If he does great quality at a fair price, I don’t object to a little nepotism.”

Marjory leaned in. “She means keeping it in the family.” At which Jamie’s face expressed a considerable amount of relief.

I mean, what do they teach kids in school these days?

The following morning I had the photographs I’d asked for before the school run. I’d wanted the photoshoot to start at first light, partly for the quality of the light, but at least as much so the beach would be empty.

The first picture was the money shot. A calm sea, a pastel sky and a single line of footprints leading to a seriously good looking young man in a brilliant red dress that looked just fantastic on him and stood out like it had been photo-shopped. The introspective look on his face was perfect.

The rest of the images she sent through were just as spot on

I texted Jamie. “Feel embarrassed to have asked to check. These are perfect. Image one for shop sign, the rest A1 framed photos.”

She sent back a smiley face emoji and a few questions. “Caption on shop sign? Colour? Font?”

“What do you think?”

“Sandy Shaw Couture, freedom to be you,” she replied. “text colour to match the dress, no nonsense sans serif font.”

“Perfect. You’re now in charge of creative expression.”

She sent me a poo emoji along with the one that looks a bit like Edvard Munch's The Scream.

Jamie was back at the shop before I arrived after dropping the boys off. I tried to tell her to take some time off, but she told me she had too much to do and she’d sleep when she was dead. She kept me out of the shop, which meant I spent the day in the sweatshop, working on the dress for our guest of honour while other forms of creation went on around me. I couldn’t ask for a lot of help with it since most of it was in my head, but by working through lunch, I just about had it finished by the time I headed home to pick up the kids.

Wednesday Jamie wouldn’t let me in the front and shooed me round the back where I found someone else had done all the tedious stitching to finish off the hem and the sleeves on the russet dress. When I asked about it, the Sweatshop Slave girls, as they were now calling themselves, said they needed me designing new stuff they could make since they were getting bored with the same designs, so I spent the day at my drawing board – a purchase Marjory had made for me without consulting – and set the crew to a whole new series of fabrications. I did take time to photograph the completed dress and send the images through to my very excited silent partner.

Thursday was my turn to be excited as Jamie finally let me in the front door. The windows were still taped over and would remain so until the curtains were in place for the grand opening the following day, but even under florescent lights, the colour blends were stunning, setting off the displays to perfection.

“What about the shop sign?” I asked.

“Oh shit! I forgot about that. Tell you what, just get me a roll of paper and some crayons and I’ll cobble something together. As long as it doesn’t rain, no-one will notice the difference. Whatever happened to, ‘You’re now in charge of creative expression’?”

“I think I’ve changed my mind.”

“Well you can’t, you bitch! Just come along tomorrow and enjoy the show. Assuming you can do that and wrangle that prima donna at the same time.”

“If you’re talking about my business partner, I’ll thank you to speak a little more respectfully about him. It’s largely his money that’s made this possible.”

“Sorry Sandy. I was hoping he might have a sense of humour.”

“Prima donnas don’t tend to,” I said with a twinkle in my eye. “Do you fancy picking anything off the rack for tomorrow?”

“Why would I want to do that? These are all men’s clothes.”

“I thought that might be your reaction. Follow me please.”

So she did, into the sweatshop where everybody stood about in, well not quite uniforms. I’d limited them all to certain materials and colours, but beyond that the only stipulation I’d made was that it should be sharp. I’d made Jamie’s, and there was no doubt from looking at it that it was intended for a woman. Not to be outdone, the girls had put something together for me using the same materials and colours, but somehow conveying the idea that I was in charge.

“We stole some ideas from those power suits you were making over the weekend,” I think it was Jodie said. “Not quite the big business in your face thing you managed to put into them, because, well, you’re not that kind of boss. It sort of says you’re one of us but still kind of in charge.”

It was only two o’clock, but there was nothing more of any consequence that we could do. We could maybe have finished a few more pieces, but they wouldn’t make enough of a difference.

“Well ladies, since I am in charge, I get to tell you all to bugger off home and get some rest. You’ve all earned it getting us this far, and I suspect we’ll all earn it again tomorrow. The ceremony is at ten, so let’s try and get in at least an hour before then.”

Mrs Nullis and Mrs Nix gave permission for the boys to take the morning off school, so at bedtime I asked them what they wanted to wear since school uniform was not compulsory for once.

“If I said I didn’t want to wear a dress?” Steven asked.

“Then you don’t wear a dress. Steven, the whole premise behind my business is offering a choice where there currently isn’t one. It would be hypocritical of me not to allow you the choice.”

“So you wouldn’t mind?”

“All I want is for you to be there with me, in whatever apparel makes you most comfortable.”

Once they were in bed, I actually allowed myself a night off. Whatever hadn’t been organised now was unlikely to be organised by ten o’clock, so I told myself not to worry about it, and to help me relax, I ran a bath and poured myself a glass of wine.

My monthly grottiness was showing signs of clearing up. With the extreme business of the week, I’d barely had time to notice what my body was doing, and now I felt the lift that followed a week of cramps and feeling bloated. All the good following none of the bad. It felt like a result.

I was towelling myself down when my phone buzzed.

“Hi,” said Paul’s voice. “I was just checking that we were still on for tomorrow evening. With all you’ve had going on, I wasn’t sure if you’d remembered.”

“Child minder is booked,” I told him. And would be confirmed as soon as I had a moment to call Charlie. “I’ll try not to bore you with all the minutiae of my week, but I have a feeling that it’ll end up feeling less like a date and more like either a celebration or commiseration over how tomorrow goes.”

“I think I can play second fiddle to a celebration. I seriously doubt it’ll go the other way. I mean you’ve worked so hard.”

“That doesn’t matter though, does it? If the public decide it’s not for them...”

“Well, you've always known your clientele is something of a minority in the world. You’ve been getting some good publicity from your pop star partner though, so who knows? Maybe enough of the minority will turn up tomorrow to make it worth your while.”

“It’s not just about tomorrow though, is it?”

“For heaven’s sake Sandy. Is there anything you can do now to make tomorrow go any better?”

“Pray maybe?”

“Well do that then. And when you’re done and there isn’t anything else you can do, choose to hope for the best. There’s no point stressing about it, is there? If it goes wrong, then believing it was going to go wrong ahead of time won’t make a bit of difference, whereas choosing to believe it’s going to go right will give you a little peace, and quite often will help to make it go right.”

“Is this the kind of nonsense you’ve been telling my son?”

“Are you calling my life’s work nonsense?”

We were still only joking, you could hear it in the smiles we both still wore, but it felt like the ice was cracking a little.

“I shouldn’t have said that, Paul, even as a joke. What you did for Steven wasn’t far short of a miracle.”

“Then have a drink of the same Kool-Aid.”

“I will, and tomorrow evening I’ll tell you all about how it worked out.”

“I look forward to it. Pick you up around six-thirty?”

“I’ll probably still be a good half hour away from making myself look beautiful.”

“You don’t need to do a thing to make yourself look beautiful, but I’ll hold off till seven if you prefer.”

“Seven then, and you can tell me whether or not the effort was worth it.”

“Oh, I know the answer to that one already. Goodnight Sandy.”

“Goodnight Paul.”

I hung up and called Charlie. “Just need to check there’s no last-minute hitch with tomorrow night.”

“Nope. Couldn’t get out of it if I tried. Jake’s been pestering me about it all week.”

“Great. Any chance you can make the opening tomorrow?”

“I’ll try, but with sorting out your legal issues I’m quite a way behind with my other clients.”

“I owe you so much.”

“Don’t I know it, girlfriend.”

“I’ll find out if Paul has any handsome doctor friends.”

“Don’t you dare! I’m quite happy sorting out my own love life and I don’t need no honky white chick interfering. Besides, who’ll look after your kids when I start tearing up the town.”

“I consider myself warned off. I’ll see you tomorrow, either in the morning or in the evening.”

“Yes you will. Sandy, it’s gonna go great tomorrow.”

“Yes, it will.” I hung up.

I wandered through to the living room. The red business card was still propped up on the mantle piece. I picked it up and stared at it a while. It wasn’t the same as praying, and it didn’t feel right. I dropped it back where I’d found it and threw out a few requests to whoever may have been listening.

It helped. At least it helped calm my nerves. Either that or the second glass of Chardonnay.