‘What’s happened to my window?’ Ebony wails when she arrives the next morning. ‘What on earth is that? Who gave you permission to make that?’
I’m instantly defensive. ‘Since when do I need permis—’
Scarlett jumps in before either of us says something we regret, and explains everything about Prince Charming and the missing Cinderella.
‘Oh, not more fairy tales. How many times do I have to tell you both to get your heads out of the clouds? This nonsense has no place in our shop. If you want fairy stories, go to the bookshop across the street. Losing a shoe at midnight is the behaviour of a drunkard, not a princess.’ Ebony turns to me. ‘This is that childish idealism again, just like your mother, always humming lullabies and dreaming of far-off castles and dashing knights. Life is not a fairy tale. In reality, you work hard all your life, your husband leaves you, then your sister dies and you end up as a single mother looking after her child as well as your own, not that I ever begrudged that, Sadie, but I wouldn’t have minded some handsome prince riding up to rescue me from the doldrums, but things like that don’t happen in real life. It really is beyond time for you to grow up. Now, take that out of the window and let’s get something high-brow back on display.’
‘No.’
‘No?’ She raises a plucked-to-perfection eyebrow.
‘No.’ I didn’t think that one little word could ever feel so good to say. It’s something I’ve almost never said to Ebony before, but I really believe in this. There’s no way I’m telling her it’s part of a plan to prove myself to her, but someone has to step in before she runs my beloved shop completely into the ground, and it’s about time that person was me. ‘We’re helping Witt to find his mystery princess. And that dress deserves to be on display. It’s already attracting more customers. We had loads more people in yesterday.’ I don’t add the fact that none of them bought anything because there’s nothing for the ordinary, everyday person to buy. Assuming ordinary people aren’t after tentacle-themed catsuits that leave nothing to the imagination, anyway.
‘People are already engaging with this story.’ Scarlett gets her phone out and shows it to Ebony. ‘Over two thousand people have looked at the website, and the dress photo has been “pinned” seventy-five times. I made a short video that’s been watched a few hundred times between all platforms. And it all only started less than forty-eight hours ago.’
Ebony nods approvingly. ‘Oh, well, in that case, let’s hope the missing woman stays missing for quite some time, we could do with numbers like that seeing our work.’ She goes and gets another dress from a rail – a skin-coloured latex thing that’s dripping in beads to make it look like the wearer is wearing only beads. ‘Could we not say the missing woman was wearing this one instead?’
‘No!’ Scarlett and I say in unison.
‘We need to mix things up,’ Scarlett continues. ‘Displaying dresses like this will appeal to more people. Normal people like Sadie, who want to believe they’ll still get to be a Disney princess one day.’
‘We don’t want women like you.’ Ebony frowns at me. ‘We want people who can afford to pay top dollar and tell their extremely important and rich friends about us. No offence, of course.’
I almost laugh. I don’t think Ebony’s ever uttered a sentence that hasn’t caused offence. ‘This is exactly our problem. You want to attract celebrities, but the people we don’t attract are the ones walking past every day. People look, but they see our price tags, or enquire about custom-made dresses and faint at the estimated costs.’
‘We’ve been through this. It’s about the exposure and the prestige of—’
The doorbell tinkling interrupts her and Ebony makes a noise of frustration. ‘Oh, what now?’
Witt pops his head in. ‘Is this a bad time?’
‘Who’re you?’ she barks at him and I can see he’s taken aback as I introduce them.
‘Oh, so you’re our prince, are you?’ She walks in a circle around him, as though she’s examining him, and then turns to me. ‘Do something about that grey streak and he might be okay.’
‘Ebony!’ I say in horror.
‘How old are you?’ she demands.
‘Thirty-nine.’ Poor Witt definitely wasn’t expecting this today.
She gives his arm a patronising pat. ‘Spot of hair dye and you won’t look a day over forty. It’ll be our little secret.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ I mouth to him.
‘Tentacle costume?’ Ebony clicks her fingers to get my attention because I’ve yet to stop smiling at him, and I rush out the back and return with the dreaded thing, wrapped neatly in tissue paper inside a white cardboard box tied with a gold ribbon.
‘I’ll get this shipped on my way to London. I’ve arranged a meeting with a clothing boutique in Regent Street. They might be willing to display a few of our pieces.’
‘Regent Street!’
‘I know, can you believe it?’ She makes it sound as though it’s a good thing.
‘I can’t make dresses for Regent Street as well. Some boutique in London is not where we should be focusing on.’
She opens the till and takes a few notes out to cover her petrol costs. ‘Do you know how many rich and famous people shop there? It would be such an accomplishment. I’d better go, I’ve got an appointment booked at a “hairdresser to the stars” right before the meeting so I look my best. We want to impress them, don’t we?’
‘No we don’t!’ I call as she swishes across the shop. ‘Ebony!’
The door slamming on her way out is my answer.
I clonk my head down on my arms with a groan. ‘She cannot be for real.’
‘Shall I come back later?’ Witt looks perplexed.
‘No, you’re fine,’ I mutter without looking up. At this point, seeing him is the only thing likely to improve my day.
‘Do you mind if I ask a question?’
Or, maybe not. Witt and questions probably aren’t going to lead anywhere good.
‘What exactly is a tentacle costume?’
I burst out laughing and look up at him. ‘It was this… You know what, as a gentleman, I think you’d rather not know.’
‘Finnish reality stars famous for falling out of clothes as opposed to wearing them,’ Scarlett clarifies with a handwave. ‘Lingerie with spider’s legs.’
He laughs at the mental image, and Scarlett claps her hands together. ‘Ah ha, you’re here to see if the mystery Cinderella has got in touch.’
‘I think he’s just here for the password so he can access it from his own phone,’ I say.
‘Oh, no no, that would be too easy. Sorry, Witt, you’ll have to check them from here.’ She pats the chair next to where I’m standing. ‘Right here.’
‘But…’ I start to protest as he walks over. Our computer is a big, clunky old thing built into shelves behind the counter, so I can easily check fabric stocks and swivel the monitor around to show customers potential options.
She winks at me without him seeing. ‘The account has been set up on our server. Jackson couldn’t grant just anyone access. It has to be done from here.’
Admittedly I don’t understand the tech stuff that Scarlett’s boyfriend does, but I’m certain there’s only one reason that Witt has to check it from here, and that’s because I’m here.
Scarlett pulls out the comfy computer chair with wheels and a back that reclines when you lean against it, and Witt sits down, so close that his arm brushes against my thigh, and his aftershave fills my nose. It’s not the same one he wore to the ball. This one is dark lavender and spice and smells warm and homely.
‘Right, there we go, Sadie will show you the rest.’ Instead of doing anything on the computer, Scarlett dashes out the back and returns with her hairdressing toolkit over her shoulder. ‘Must dash. Hair clients. Byeee!’
‘Wait, I don’t know—’
The door slams behind her. Why do people keep doing that?
‘—how it works either.’ I clonk my head down again in frustration.
‘I’m sure we can figure it out between us.’ Witt’s arm presses against my thigh in a comforting gesture.
Everything about him is reassuring. I should probably move away, but I like being with him. Everything feels better when he’s near.
He leans back to allow me access to the computer and I crouch next to him and try to figure it out. ‘Scarlett’s posting on The Cinderella’s Shop’s own social media accounts seeing as we already have a few followers, and this is the blog she’s set up to keep readers updated on the progress, and this must be the contact form where people can get in touch…’
He lets out a sigh as though he’s fed up of it already. Pictures of him that Scarlett took are all over the website with a sad-face emoji stamped on them, and Scarlett’s posted an update this morning saying some ‘potential princesses’ have already been in touch and we’re eagerly awaiting the results to find out whether they’re ‘the one’ or not.
I click onto our email account where Jackson has labelled a new inbox for incoming mail via the contact form. ‘Look, there are thirty-four messages already.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’ He leans forward so he’s pressed right against my side, and his closeness and aftershave make it difficult to concentrate on anything. ‘Thirty-four people who say they were at the ball with me on Sunday night?’
I step aside and he reaches out for the mouse and scrolls through the emails.
‘One of them is from Australia.’ His face gradually contorts in horror as he reads on. ‘One of them is eighty-nine! One is from a pair of identical twins saying they kept swapping throughout the night and are now offering me a threesome.’ He makes a frustrated noise and sits back, pushing a hand through his hair. ‘I thought it might work, you know? She said she wasn’t good at putting things into words, and I understand that all too well, and I thought getting in touch like this – quietly, privately, via email – would be less intimidating and give her time to think about what to say, but this is… a circus. Who are these people? Why say they’re her when they’re not? How can you ever trust anyone?’
I bend to take hold of the mouse and scroll through the slew of messages. There are endless emails from women, and men, claiming to be the one he’s looking for, including but not limited to a drag queen, a sixty-year-old who says she ran away because she didn’t want her husband to find out about her illicit affair with a prince, a chimpanzee trainer who had to get back to her chimps, and one who claims she was actually the real Cinderella and her footmen were already turning back into lizards and her fairy godmother was waiting at home.
I didn’t expect this. I know the internet is a hotbed of madness, but I thought Scarlett’s contact form was just a token. I didn’t think we’d actually get people pretending to be the mystery woman. ‘Everyone wants to believe the world is better than it is. Maybe people are just looking for a fairy tale.’
‘That’s a lovely attitude.’ He holds his hand out and when I’ve slipped mine into it, he tugs me closer to his side, making my breath catch and heat tingle inside me. ‘I wish I could see the world like that.’
‘This story has ignited a sense of childhood nostalgia in people. Everyone grows up hoping life will turn out like it does for Disney heroines one day, and somewhere out there, a real Cinderella story is unfolding in front of their eyes, and if it can happen to someone else, there’s still a chance for them too. I don’t think they mean any harm. I just think they’d like it to be them, even though it isn’t.’
He lets out a breath and leans his head to the side so it’s resting against my upper arm, and for just a second, I wonder if he’s as comfortable with me as I am with him.
‘I’m sorry about Ebony earlier, she doesn’t realise how offensive she can be.’ I look down at the top of his head. He’s sitting and I’m standing, and it’s the first time I’ve seen him from this angle.
His hair is dark and long enough that it’s starting to curl, in a way that suggests it would be a mass of curls if he grew it any longer, and I love that he’s got curly hair too. At the ball, he had product in it that kept it spiky, and before I realise what I’m doing, my fingers brush through the splash of grey at his right temple. ‘I like the grey streak, you know. Very distinguished.’
Oh my God, what is wrong with me? I freeze in horror. I need handcuffs on when I’m near him. I’ve just touched this man’s hair. Touched a total stranger’s hair without even thinking about it, like he is somehow mine to touch. I am a socially awkward monster who should never be allowed to engage with other humans.
I expect him to pull away, but he tilts his head back and smiles when he meets my eyes. ‘Thank you. It’s never bothered me. I’ll be forty next year, and it hasn’t been an easy life. A few greys are fair game at this point.’
It makes me want to slide my arms around his neck and hug him tightly, and with his head tilted up like that, he’s at the perfect height for taking his heart-shaped face in my hands and lowering my lips to his.
He squeezes my hand, and it forces out words that I had no intention of saying. ‘Everything about you is exactly as it should be.’
Instead of cringing in embarrassment, his cheeks take on a pink tinge and he smiles as though he couldn’t stop himself if he tried. ‘That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.’
It would be so easy to tell him everything, and that thought is enough to make me pull myself together and move away. ‘Sorry, I must get on. I’ve got a fitting for a rainbow chiffon prom dress this morning and I haven’t finished hemming it yet.’
‘Am I okay to stay?’
‘Yeah, sure, take as long as you need. How else are you going to pick her out amongst all the lonely soldiers and distant Nigerian relatives who’ve left you a fortune?’
‘Believe me, I’ll know the moment I see her again.’
It makes that annoyance prickle again. ‘Oh, you will, will you?’
‘I will,’ he says with a laugh. ‘I think we both know that the girl I’m looking for is not going to be found in this parade.’
I go to walk away and then turn back because I can’t stop myself prodding. Whatever I felt for him at the ball was something… magical, something I don’t think you find every day, and I’m fighting a need to know if he felt it too. ‘You’re going to a lot of trouble just to see a good side of the castle. Either you really need those extra brownie points at work or maybe it’s really about something more. Was there something special between you that night?’
‘Like what?’ There’s a challenge in his eyes. He’s pushing me to say it.
‘Well, you did kiss her. A person could be forgiven for reading something into that. It sounds like things got a little… romantic. Maybe you felt something. Something like love.’
‘Love?’ he scoffs. ‘There’s no such thing as love. I don't believe anything is given freely without an ulterior motive. People only love someone else if there's something in it for themselves. The concept of love exists only to be used as a manipulation tactic.’ The stutter is coming out as his voice speeds up.
I bite my lip in an attempt to stop the pervading sadness showing on my face. ‘How can anyone go through life not believing in love?’
‘If only we all believed a fairy godmother was about to pop out from around the next corner, eh?’ He doesn’t sound as though he thinks it’s a bad thing. In fact, he sounds like he quite wishes he believed it, and I can’t help wondering what someone has to go through to get that cynical worldview, and what it would take to change it.