“I didn’t know what size I needed,” I retort. “And I didn’t know if I needed regular or long. Don’t blame me, Luke,” I add, warming to my theme. “Blame poor sizing standards in the fashion industry, which penalize the innocent consumer.”
“Hmm. What about those eight cushions?” says Luke, his gaze turning to yesterday’s delivery, stacked against the baseboards. “Sizing issues there too?”
“I couldn’t see the colors properly online,” I say defensively. “I had to order them all to have a proper look. I’m only keeping two; I’ll send the rest back tomorrow. Free returns. And do you know how much I saved on them? Fifty-two pounds!”
“Becky, I would pay fifty-two pounds for our house not to look like a bloody depot,” says Luke, eyeing all the boxes and packages filling the hall. “All we need is a guy in a brown overall with a forklift truck.”
“Ha ha,” I say, rolling my eyes sardonically.
“And when are you going to send back those statues?” Luke gestures at the life-sized statues of Aphrodite and Hermes which are standing at the bottom of the stairs, still half-wrapped in brown paper. “We’ve had them a week. They’re grotesque!”
“They’re not grotesque,” I say defensively. “They’re avant-garde. And I can’t send them back, because they’re ethical.”
“Ethical?” Luke stares at me.
“They were made by a disadvantaged youth group,” I explain. “Upcycled from bicycle parts and fridge components.”
I have to admit, they’re pretty monstrous. And I didn’t realize they would be so big. But how can I send them back? If I do, the youth group will be devastated. All their self-esteem will vanish, and it will be our fault for not being open-minded about their statues.
“Well, they’re giving Minnie nightmares,” says Luke flatly. “I had to put a bag over Aphrodite’s head.”
“I think she looks more sinister with the bag over her head,” I counter. “She looks scary. She looks like a hostage.”
“She looks even more scary when she’s gazing at you with her cold metal eyes.” Luke shudders. “Could we not just have given some money to the youth group?”
“That’s not how ethical shopping works, Luke,” I say patiently. “You have to buy the stuff. Anyway, I need to try these on. When are we leaving?”
“Eight minutes,” says Luke. “And counting.”
I dash upstairs, clutching the packages, and quickly try the first jumpsuit on. Hmm. Too long. I grab the regular and put that on instead—then stare at myself in the mirror. At last!
What happened was, last week I was watching a TV show and saw this really cool jumpsuit. So of course I instantly stopped concentrating on the show, grabbed my laptop, and started googling jumpsuits instead. It took me a while to find one that wasn’t sold out—but here we are!
I survey myself, trying to be fully objective. It’s a great fabric. The navy color is elegant, and the flared trousers are really flattering. It’s just the front that I’m peering at uncertainly. Or, rather, the lack of front. It’s even more revealing than the one on TV.
Can I get away with a jumpsuit slashed to the navel?
Can I?
Am I too old?
No. No! Fashion is timeless. You should be able to wear what you like, when you like. All the old rules are gone.
They wear outfits like this on the red carpet all the time, I remind myself, trying to bolster my own confidence. Ribs are the new cleavage. Besides, it’s not indecent. Not strictly speaking. I mean, you can’t see my nipples.
Not quite.
And, OK, so I’m not heading onto the red carpet; I’m heading for dinner with Mum and Dad at Luigi’s of Oxshott—but I can still wear something fashion-forward, can’t I? People will call me the Girl in the Iconic Jumpsuit. They’ll look at me in awe as I sashay past, wishing they could wear something so daring.
Exactly.
Defiantly, I grab a red lipstick and start applying it. I can do this. I can style it out. Go, Becky.
The November air outside is crisp and chilly and I can smell the tang of a bonfire. Across the road they’ve got fairy lights up already. It’ll be Christmas before we know it. At the thought, I feel a warm, happy sensation spread through me. Christmas is just so…Christmassy. The tree. Presents. The Nativity set we’ve had forever (except we lost baby Jesus years ago, so we use a clothes peg instead). Carols playing and Mum pretending she made the Christmas pudding. Dad lighting a fire,