an extra for the set of Mad Men. At least he didn’t smell like a dumpster anymore.
The girl knocked on the mirror and handed him two pairs of shoes, both extremely pointed. He chose the one he thought would inflict the least long-term damage and thanked her. She gave a smile that was at least 900 watts lower in intensity than Sidney’s.
He emerged, standing straight and looking sharp. The girl was suitably impressed, though Sidney paid him no attention.
Sidney took several patterned dresses into the changing cubicle and closed the rotating mirror.
The girl fussed over Piers’ suit. “It makes you feel happy, no?” said the girl.
Piers kept a straight face. “I guess.”
She walked around him. “We could take it in a little.”
“No, no, its fine.”
“Just don’t get it wet.” She wagged a finger at him. “No swimming.”
“I’ll try not to.”
The girl nodded approvingly.
A phone rang. His phone. The sound rattled from the changing room. Damn, he hadn’t emptied his pockets into the new outfit. Without warning his old clothes came flying over the top of the cubicle’s walls and clattered on the ground. His phone stopped ringing. He retrieved it from his pockets just as it rang again.
Sidney called, “It’ll be mummy.”
He looked at the display and flipped it open with a sigh. “Hello, mum.”
The girl turned away. He was sure he saw a smile creep across her face.
“Piers. You never called me back, dear. I waited and waited and you know I was worried but you didn’t call back.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“I know, dear, you said before. Very busy. Has that girl stopped crying?”
“Yes, mum. She’s stopped crying.”
“Well, I certainly hope you weren’t upsetting her.”
“No, mum, I wasn’t upsetting her—”
“Because it sounded like it.”
“I wasn’t upsetting her.”
Sidney spoke from the changing cubicle. “Not then, he wasn’t.”
“Mum, I wasn’t upsetting her.”
“I know, dear, you said.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Is this a girl you know?”
“Sort of, I guess.”
“Sort of? You don’t sound very sure, considering she was crying over you.”
“She wasn’t crying over me, mum.”
“Are we going to get to meet her, dear?”
“No, mum, no. No, I doubt it. She’s …”
“She’s what dear?”
“Ummm, she’s … she’s—”
“Oh, Piers! Don’t tell me she’s pregnant!”
“No! She is not pregnant. Definitely. Nothing like that.”
“Don’t lie to me, Piers.”
“Mum. She is not pregnant.”
The girl behind the sales counter quickly averted her gaze and busied herself with her paperwork when she noticed Piers looking in her direction.
“Well, this is a turn up. You go abroad and meet a girl who is crying to you and who isn’t pregnant.”
“She is not pregnant. You meet people, you know, and things happen.”
“Things? What things, dear?”
“Nothing, mum. There’s nothing to worry about. The girl’s not pregnant, I’m okay and there’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“So you said, but mothers worry about these things. Not that I’d expect you to understand a woman.”
“I do understand women.”
A bark of laughter erupted from the changing cubicle along with several indecipherable mutterings.
“I have to go. My, er … taxi’s here. I have to go.”
“A taxi? Where are you going?”
“Have to go, mum. Call you later.”
He pressed the off button with a sigh of relief.
The girl behind the counter was still busy with her papers, studiously avoiding eye contact.
The rotating mirror spun, and Sidney walked out of the changing cubicle. She wore a tailored floral dress with a medium neckline and short hemline. The material shimmered and bounced as she walked, propelled by every touch of her curves.
She rotated back and forth, admiring herself in the mirror, twirling the skirt, fascinated with the way it moved. Her smile evaporated the moment she saw Piers was just as fascinated.
“This’ll do,” she said.
“It’s wonderful,” Piers said.
She grunted. “Well at least you told her I wasn’t pregnant.”
“Oh, what, my mum?”
“Unless you’ve told anyone else that I’m not pregnant lately?”
“No. She was just worried. The previous call. The crying. The, you know, everything.”
“Everything? Everything such as there’s a fictitious taxi waiting for us? Or that you’re okay?”
“It’s complicated.”
“It certainly is. Everything with you is.”
“No, not everything is complicated, just some things.”
“Like the truth.”
“No. It’s just … white lies … to protect her … she’d worry.”
“Course she’s bloody worried, you’re lying to her all the time.”
“Not all the time. Just things she wouldn’t understand, like being abroad.”
“She can’t be frightened because you’re in Paris?” She spread her hands out to gesture to the city. “I mean, is the War of the Roses still going on?”
“The War of the Roses was in England. It was the Hundred Years War between Britain and France.”
“Oh right,