Free If the Dress Fits by Daisy James

calm before they return to their hamster-wheels in the city to churn out more money for their masters or their pension pots. Hannah despaired at every shop closure, every one a shining light extinguished along with the proprietor’s dreams. Our lives are wider than one, Callie.’
    When the sky dimmed, signalling the end of the working day, Callie smiled her gratitude to Delia as tears brimmed and choked her vocal cords. She waved her off and, as she secured the shop door behind her and pulled down the blind, took a moment to survey the careworn contents of the shop again. The only thing she wanted to do at that moment was abandon herself to the onslaught of nostalgia. The waft of her aunt’s favourite perfume still lingered amongst the multicoloured gems of angora and mohair, silk and cotton, jutting from the stands like jewels on a Fabergé egg.
    She mounted the stairs to her childhood bedroom, cloaked in a shroud of loneliness. Happiness was a mere apparition that punctuated her life with decreasing regularity. Instead, anguish and heartache stalked her daily path to sleep, the relief in its oblivion always a delayed destination.
    Fear gripped her heart as she realised she would now have to live her life without the safety net of her aunt’s, or anyone else’s, love.

Chapter Eleven
    Callie took a deep breath and pushed open the door of the Fox and Hounds, feeling like a seventeen-year-old about to order alcohol for the first time. The buzz of muted conversation and background music swirled through the air, producing a welcoming atmosphere. She had spent too many nights to recall drinking at the village pub and it was as familiar as an old pair of favourite boots.
    ‘Hey, is that you, Callie? You look like you just walked off the catwalk!’
    ‘Hey, erm…’
    ‘Juliette? We were in the same art class at school?’
    ‘Of course we were. How are you, Juliette?’ Callie cast her eyes over the barmaid’s fresh face, devoid of any scrap of make-up, her cheeks glowing with the flush of health and her lips a natural rosebud pink.
    ‘I love your top. Where did you get it? M&S?’
    ‘Erm, no, it’s one I designed myself…’
    ‘Ah, sorry, yes. I did hear you made clothes now. Callie, I’m so sorry about your aunt. She was a lovely lady and we’ll miss her in the village.’ Juliette reached over and pulled Callie into a hug. ‘Hey, you’re all skin and bone. Look at you, like a line prop, bones jutting from all angles. What you need is one of Gavin’s Yorkshire hotpots.’
    ‘No! Thanks. No.’ Callie hadn’t eaten meat since she moved down to London. ‘Ah, Nessa!’
    Relief at seeing her old friend swarmed through her veins. Callie took in Nessa’s familiar features as she pushed her way towards her through the regulars hogging the bar, her long auburn hair flowing free from its usual clasp in honour of her escape from the strict regulations placed on gym mistresses at St Hilda’s High School.
    ‘Hi, Callie, great to see you. Come on – Seb and Archie are in the snug playing snooker.’
    ‘Is… is Theo with them?’ She prayed that the hint of hopefulness in her voice wasn’t too much of a giveaway. Sadly, her friend missed nothing.
    ‘No, but he might join us later. He usually does whenever he’s home. You okay with that? He said you’d thrown him out of the shop when he went to see you.’
    ‘A bit of an exaggeration, but that was always one of Theo’s charming quirks. I didn’t throw him out.’
    ‘Oh, Callie, it’s so good to hear your accent’s back when you’re hyped up over Theo!’
    ‘I’m not hyped up over Theo, Nessa.’
    ‘Okay. What’ll you have to drink?’
    ‘I’ll have a vodka martini.’
    ‘Sure.’
    Callie waited whilst Nessa pushed her way to the bar and returned with their drinks.
    ‘What’s this?’
    ‘Pint of Theakston’s Best Bitter.’
    ‘But I asked for…’
    ‘We used to drink this stuff by the gallon, remember?’
    ‘Yes, but I… Oh, never mind.’