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‘Sorry.’ The assistant pats her cheeks. ‘It’s just, as you can see, we have carpets here, not wipe-clean floors like H&M. The smell hangs around for days. And we don’t have the right clothes here for people withspecialneeds. Hardly any Velcro –’

‘Katerina?’

I flinch at a familiar, shrill voice.

Aunt Sylvia appears from behind a rail, arms loaded with pink clothing. ‘Darling, itisyou. I thought I heard your voice.’ She turns to the assistant. ‘Chloe, this is myniece. Isn’t she beautiful?’

Chloe looks distressed. ‘Hi Sylvia. This is your niece?’

‘Yes. Stunning, isn’t she?’

‘I was just telling her that we don’t have the facilities for the disabled people.’

‘We don’t use the word disabled anymore, Chloe,’ says Aunty Sylvia. ‘My niece has told me that many, many times.’

‘Oh. Yes. I meant the people with a disability –’

‘Katerina, what are you doing here?’ Sylvia trills. ‘In a clothing store! You never visit clothing stores. You should have told me you were having a girls’ day out. I would have arranged an afternoon tea and a pink taxi cab.’

‘I’m repackaging myself,’ I say.

‘So she can find a husband.’ Chloe gives Sylvia a smirk.

Sylvia turns to Chloe, arms crossed. ‘Chloe, I hope you’re being kind to my niece. Because she is an astonishing human being who has climbed many metaphorical mountains. Far more metaphorical mountains than a girl who spends her day running around with a tape measure, chirping about staff discounts and nail infills. And by the way, a girl your age does not need so much Botox. Or eyebrows like an Egyptian hieroglyphic. There’s a difference between nodding at fashion and being a slave to it.’

Chloe looks frightened. ‘I’m sorry. I just –’

‘Don’t be sorry. Be helpful.’ Sylvia gives a little hand clap. ‘You can wait on us, Chloe. We need clothes with frills around all key areas. Think cleavage and calves. Everything you have in a size ten.’ Sylvia gives my bust a pointed look. ‘I know you’re more of a 12-14 darling, but you can slim down for it. It will give you something to aspire to.’

‘How are you getting along in there, Katerina?’ Sylvia gives a sharp knock on my changing room door.

‘I’m just not sure if frills are me.’ I turn back and forth in the mirror. My reflection has a haunted quality.

‘Well, come out and let me see.’

I step out of the dressing room, smoothing down persistent, pink ruffles.

‘Oh, don’t you look lovely?’ Sylvia gushes. ‘So feminine! I love florals, don’t you? Now try these shoes. They’ll go perfectly.’ Sylvia proffers a pair of pink shoes decorated with hundreds of silk roses.

The shoes look like they belong on an old lady’s mantelpiece, but what do I know? Sylvia married two different men before she fell in love with Aunt Cara. She’s an expert husband trapper.

‘Those shoes aren’t my usual style,’ I admit. ‘But I’ll go with your advice. After all, you’re the marriage expert, not me.’

CHAPTER15

Freddy is in the middle of an important phone call when Kat comes striding into his office looking like a pink, paper doily. She slams a pile of banknotes on his desk. His banknotes, he guesses.

‘I didn’t need the whole five thousand pounds,’ Kat announces. ‘This outfit was significantly cheaper than your budget.’

Freddy apologises to the head of the State Bank of Indira and hangs up. ‘Yes. It looks it.’

‘But it wasn’t cheap,’ Kat insists. ‘The shoes alone cost two hundred pounds.’

‘My sock collection costs more than two hundred pounds,’ says Freddy. ‘And the idea is to find a husband. Not look like you’ve already been married for forty years. You’d be right at home in a bingo hall with all the other old dears. How on earth did you end up dressed like that? I didn’t think frills would be your thing.’

‘I bumped into my aunt in the department store, and she helped me find an outfit.’

‘Your aunt who dresses like a gangster or the one who dresses like a ballroom dancer?’