Page 42 of From LA to London, With Love

Because my arms were stuck above my head, to open the door, I had to bend my whole body and then feel around for the latch on the door and turn it.

Elliot gave a delighted squawk as they entered.

“Oh wow, I see what you mean,” Jenny said, her voice shaky. Was she trying to suppress giggles?

I wasn’t sure if she was talking about my underwear or being stuck, and I didn’t want to know. A surge of heat shot up my neck and across my face. I hoped my underwear wasn’t as bad as I remembered and that Jenny had shut the door behind her so I wasn’t exposed to the entire snooty staff and clientele of McKinnon.

Jenny tried to pull the dress over my head. She used a lot more force than I had, but it still wasn’t budging. My arms were aching, and my non-deodorized armpits were right near Jenny’s face. How humiliating.

After a few minutes of yanking, Jenny stopped and started giggling. “I’m sorry, Sophie. The champagne’s gone right to my head. I can’t get it off. I’ll need to get the shop assistant.”

My heart sank. Jenny left, coming back a minute later.

“So, the shop assistant is busy with a super intimidating, posh-looking woman. I actually think she might be royalty because I’m pretty sure the shop assistant called her ‘Lady’ something or other. I started to approach, but she gave me the death stare, so I panicked and walked back here. Will you be okay if we wait a few minutes before I try again?”

If Jenny, who generally seemed to give zero fucks about anything, was intimated by this woman, then she must be really something.

“Okay, thanks,” I said through the fabric and sequins. I shuffled uncomfortably on the seat, the sequins rustling next to my ears. Sharp pains were shooting through my arms. How much did this dress cost? Were they going to have to cut me out of it?

There was silence for a minute, and then Jenny started talking.

“I’m really glad you and Chris met. He’s been doing so much better since he moved to London, and I think you’re to thank for a lot of that. His eyes always light up when he talks about you and Elliot.”

That was nice. Calm washed over me momentarily, imagining Chris’s face lighting up. It quickly dissipated. Of course, now he had Clare. I’d been tempted to ask Jenny about what was going on with Chris and Clare all afternoon but hadn’t mustered up the confidence. Now, with my face covered, it seemed less nerve-wracking. One benefit of having a dress stuck over my head was that my facial expressions couldn’t betray me. I was just about to ask Jenny, when she spoke again.

“I was worried about Chris before he moved over. The whole thing with Vanessa and the photos really fucked him up. Vanessa once told me he had trust issues because of his dad leaving him as a kid. Well, she certainly didn’t help with that.”

I made some sympathetic noises through the dress. It felt strange having such a serious conversation while effectively blindfolded and exposed in my underwear. I’d gathered Chris’s biological father wasn’t in the picture but hadn’t realized his departure had been so traumatic for him. I wondered what had happened, but I didn’t want to ask Jenny. It was up to Chris to decide if he wanted to share something so personal with me.

“It’s also had a big impact on me,” Jenny continued. “I was feeling really out of depth in this role. I’d never done something like this before, I didn’t have any qualifications, and I felt anxious, made a few stupid mistakes and found myself in a spiral of being so anxious I kept screwing up. But since we’ve been in London, Chris has been really supportive—taking the time to give me feedback, sending me on that course—and I’ve been feeling heaps more confident and screwing up less. If you had anything to do with that, thank you.” Jenny squeezed my hand.

“Oh, I’m so glad to hear that you’re feeling better about work. That’s great Jenny,” I said, feeling touched. The discussion with Jenny had taken my mind off my current situation, but then another pain shot through my arm, making it impossible to ignore.

After a few moments of silence, I said, “Is it worthwhile checking if the shop assistant is free yet? I won’t be able to hold my arms like this for much longer.”

Jenny went to check. I didn’t hear the door click and really hoped she’d closed the door behind her.

“How are you doing, Elliot?” I said into the sequins, no idea where Jenny had put his pram. He giggled and made some babbling sounds, which suggested he was having a great time. I guess it wasn’t everyday he got to see Mum in a strange new outfit. He probably thought I was playing a long game of peekaboo.

I was considering lying on the floor, just to give my arms a rest, when a voice I didn’t recognize said, “Oh my!”

Please let that be the shop assistant and not a random person, or the posh lady. And please let her be referring to my predicament with the dress rather than the state of my underwear or smell.

“Dearie me, that does not look comfortable,” said another, posher-sounding voice.

Bollocks. Well, at least I knew she wasn’t talking about my underwear—they might have been ugly, but they were very comfortable.

“Let me just…” Someone’s hands brushed against mine and fiddled with the back of the dress.

Suddenly, the fabric released, and it came over my head with a swoosh. I blinked, drawing in a deep breath of fresh air and letting my aching arms fall to my side. The initial relief of being freed was immediately replaced with a rush of embarrassment as I registered my surroundings. I was staring at a beaming Jenny, the shop assistant, a middle-aged lady dressed as if she was about to meet the Queen—pink dress and jacket, pearl necklace and earrings, and a large pink hat—who were all staring back at me through the open door. The wide open door. Bloody hell. The store was busier than when we first arrived, and in the distance, I could see some other customers watching me sitting there, in my worst underwear. The mirrors in the change room reflected my underwear from every unflattering angle, over and over into infinity. Heat flooded my face. Oh god.

“You just hadn’t done the zip all the way down,” the shop assistant said with a judgmental purse of the lips.

Seriously, what is it with me and zips recently?

“Whoops! Thanks so much. I guess I should try on the other two dresses,” I said hurriedly, grabbing the red dress and holding it in front of me to hide my shame.

As soon as they left, I shut the change room door, let out a breath, and I looked at my sad-looking underpants and bra more closely, sighing. They were even worse than I remembered—I spotted another hole near the elastic and noticed the nursing bra was stained with Elliot spew from this morning’s feed. My ears burned with embarrassment.