Page 27 of What Would Dolly Do?

T he first part of Laura’s plan was making fresh coffee for Ferg and Tom and letting them know they were in charge of getting Stevie and Reggie to school and nursery. Next, she told me I had half an hour to get myself together before we needed to leave the house.

‘Dress in something easy to get on and off,’ she instructed.

Tom’s eyes goggled as she said that and I had to bite back a smutty retort but neither of us said anything.

It appeared Tom knew better than to get in the way of his little sister when she was on a mission and I was too intrigued to question her.

We were on a bus heading to an unknown destination before Laura began to reveal any details of her grand plan. We were going shopping. I tried not to look too underwhelmed by this revelation.

‘We’re not just “shopping”,’ Laura said reading the look on my face correctly as she waggled her fingers in the air around the word.

‘We’re not having a girly day out looking for just clothes.

We are shopping for a new look, an image, we are about to create a completely new persona for you.

Clothes aren’t just something you wear, they are how you choose to display yourself to the world, they are your armour when you go into battle, your shield from the slings and arrows that might come your way.

Wear the right outfit and it lifts your mood, changes your attitude, gives you confidence to be a version of yourself you may never have been before.

It worked for Dolly, why wouldn’t it work for you? ’

She argued the case well I had to admit.

For too long the only clothes I’d really given much thought to were the ones I wore when I was imitating Dolly.

I’d let my own identity slide so far down my priorities that I’d forgotten how to showcase my own personality.

At least I’d remembered I still had one of those.

Being around new people who weren’t used to me had made me realise I could still be funny, spirited and yes, even sexy when I wanted to be.

It helped me realise how important it could be to come out from behind Dolly, before I lost myself altogether.

As the bus jogged along, Laura brought up a series of images on her phone, flicking through pictures of famous singers with their own distinctive looks, asking me questions about what I liked and didn’t like about their style.

I couldn’t help but be drawn in to comparing the merits of Stevie Nicks and Linda Ronstadt, Sophie Ellis Bextor and Taylor Swift.

I loved Stevie’s swirls of satin and lace, Linda’s cotton and denim combos, and the sparkle and sequins rocked by Sophie and Taylor …

maybe I could borrow a couple of ideas here and there but I was done with impersonating others: now I had to find a way to be me.

I looked at what Laura was wearing. She was in denim cut-offs and trainers with a long white floaty kaftan worn open thrown over a striped sleeveless vest, her bangles, necklaces and tattoos adding quirks of interest. She looked effortlessly cool compared to me in my boring jeans and t-shirt and I said so.

‘Ah thanks,’ she said. ‘But I wouldn’t necessarily dress like this if I was planning to perform on stage.

A version of it maybe … with a bit more colour …

bolder accessories, a smattering of glitter?

’ She thought about that for a moment before continuing, ‘I know you’ve never really thought about the image you want to portray on stage as you’ve always relied on Dolly to do all the work, but it’s exciting to now have a chance to show who you are. ’

She was right. About everything. And now I really thought about it I also knew I hadn’t given much thought to how I was dressed when I was off stage either.

I’d stopped thinking about my own appearance in any detail.

My hair was naturally light brown and I kept it shoulder length as it was easier to stuff under Dolly’s wigs.

I wore minimal make-up and dressed in simple combinations of jeans and tops.

I couldn’t even remember the last time I wore a dress.

‘There’s absolutely nothing wrong with the way you look, Rebecca,’ Laura insisted. ‘You are naturally gorgeous, you’ve got great skin, your hair shines and the way you fill those jeans and t-shirts certainly got Tom’s attention!’

I grinned at that and wondered if what had really attracted Tom’s interest was the moment he caught me in the back room of Sonny’s Bar midway between my two personas as I fought my way out of my Dolly costume and returned to being Becky Mooney.

I’d even thrown one of Dolly’s falsies at his head.

Funny way to get his attention … but it had worked.

Laura was still talking. ‘But jeans and t-shirt won’t work for you as a stage image.

You love performing, Rebecca, admit it …

you might think you developed your Dolly act just to help your dad but be honest, if that was true you would never have carried on after that one night.

You want to be on stage, you know you are good enough but you’re letting your insecurities spoil it for you. It’s time to get past that.’

No one had ever called me out on this stuff before. Laura was hitting so many nerves I was starting to feel like my skin was prickling all over. I was apprehensive but also excited. Was I on the brink of curing my stage fright?

I let myself be swept along in Laura’s wake as though I was a rowing boat being towed behind a galleon in full sail. Her white wispy kaftan billowed out behind her as she strode ahead of me through the streets and I followed.

Laura was like a pirate hunting for buried treasure, she could sense when something special was lurking among drabber items, plucking something gorgeous from a rail with a triumphant …

‘Aha!’ She had nose for which charity shops to scour, which high street shops might stock quirkier pieces that could pass for high-end designer and then to finish off she led me to a vintage store with three floors of crazy and cool fashion from every era.

I’d never experienced a shopping trip like it.

Our first purchases were a couple of waistcoats, one denim and the other black leather.

They were on a sale rail in a boutique and I flicked past them without a second glance but Laura seized on them immediately.

‘Well, well … what do we have here?’ She was holding the denim in one hand and the leather in the other jiggling one then the other as she asked, ‘A little bit country, a little bit rock ‘n’ roll, wouldn’t you say? ’

I was immediately on board with the idea of pitching my image somewhere in the middle of those two genres and went into the fitting room to whip off my t-shirt and give them a try.

They both fitted me perfectly, giving me a neat waist, and when worn with only a bra underneath they looked just the right amount of raunchy.

Or so Laura told me, insisting I buy them.

When she suggested I could also use them to rock up a flouncy skirt or dress it got me thinking about alternative ways of wearing more feminine clothes but giving them an edge. I loved that idea too.

The next find was a stroke of genius by Laura. We were in a charity shop when she spotted a flash of black and red tartan trouser leg and grabbed it immediately. ‘Just try them on,’ she wheedled as she clocked the dubious look on my face.

The trousers were vintage Top Shop, a nod to punk with a couple of zips and a touch of leather trim on the pockets.

They were a good fit and the slightly stretchy fabric meant they were easy to move in.

But I still wasn’t convinced. ‘Aren’t they a bit Bay City Rollers?

’ I said, pulling a face as I pictured the Scottish boy-band from the seventies.

‘I’d say they’re more Johnny Rotten than that,’ Laura said, before adding with a wink, ‘but forget the Sex Pistols, it’s about time a true Scottish lass gave tartan a hot new twist.’ Before I could protest further she ransacked the rails and found a black chiffon blouse two sizes too big for me and I watched in awe as she knotted it at my waist and pulled it slightly off one shoulder making it instantly asymmetrical and cool.

Worn with the trousers it was a definite vibe.

‘How did you do that?’ I had to admit it was a good look on me, edgy yet feminine, colourful but comfortable to wear.

I added both the trousers and chiffon blouse to my bag and we rewarded our success with a pit stop at a tiny cafe on the edge of an outdoor market where we refreshed ourselves sharing a pot of peppermint tea.

I was enjoying myself immensely. Laura was good company and we’d quickly managed to source some items that were giving me hope that a new stage image was within my grasp.

‘Thanks for this, Laura, I don’t think I would be brave enough to do this by myself.’ She waved away my gratitude but was looking at me with a furrowed brow.

‘What is it, have I got a mark on my face?’ I reached into my cross-body bag for a compact but Laura told me nothing was wrong.

‘I’m just wondering … leave it with me …

there was one more place I want to take you …

but I’m now thinking we may make an extra stop after Handbags and Gladrags,’ she said.

She looked at me with a face full of mischief that reminded me of Tom but I couldn’t help but be excited rather than alarmed that she was plotting something else. ‘Trust me,’ she said. And so I did.

Handbags and Gladrags turned out to be Laura’s favourite shop in the whole world and it was easy to see why. It was three floors of vintage clothes, shoes and bags but with every corner filled to bursting I was a bit daunted by the task ahead of us. Luckily, as always, Laura had a plan.