‘What about this one?’ I suggest as I lift up a hanger attached to what I think is a pretty blue dress.
But Chloe’s facial expression tells me that I am way off the mark with this idea, so I quickly return it to the rack.
‘I still think you could wear one of these,’ I say, referring to the items in the bags I am still lugging around. ‘You’ve got some really nice things in here.’
‘But they’re not right for the party!’ Chloe replies, and I know to stay quiet now because she is obviously on the verge of a massive teenage tantrum.
Leaving her in peace to keep looking, I think about what could be causing my daughter to be so desperate to find the perfect dress for the party she is attending tonight. Like most young women, she is keen on fashion, but she’s not usually this worked up about it. The only explanation is that there will be somebody at the party who she is trying to impress. I’m sure that is it, but I’m not going to ask her.
I’m not that stupid.
Suddenly, Chloe darts towards the row of clothes to our left and I watch as she frantically rummages through the rack before pulling out a dress that I assume she has found to be in her size. It’s a black number that I worry might be a little too short, but Chloe doesn’t give me a chance to voice my opinion on the matter.
‘I’m just trying this on!’ she calls to me as she scurries away to the changing rooms.
I smile as I watch her go and keep my metaphorical fingers crossed that she has finally found the dress for tonight, subject to my final approval, of course.
Now all there is to do is wait, so I do just that, although I’m not on my own. I’m surrounded by women who are younger, slimmer and more energetic than me.
This really isn’t my kind of shop.
The loud music is only too happy to remind me of that.
2
CHLOE
Please let this be the one. I’m almost out of time.
Looking up nervously into the mirror before me, I get my first visual of how the dress appears now that it is on.
To my surprise, it actually looks pretty good.
The fit is just right. I love the style. And while I usually go for more colourful numbers, this black dress does look stunning.
I’m relieved. I think this is the one. I have something to wear for tonight.
I know mum might have some questions for me about the length of it, but I’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, it’s time to get changed again and get back home so I can start getting ready for this evening.
This party is a big one, although aren’t they all at my age? But this one will be special, or at least I hope it will be. That’s because tonight is hopefully the night when I get to do something that I have been thinking about for a long time.
Of course, it involves a boy.
His name is Rupert, although I don’t hold that against him. What he lacks in the name department, he more than makes up for in looks. I’ve had my eye on him for the last few months ever since he joined my sixth form college in the second year. I haven’t actually spoken to him before, only glanced at him awkwardly across the classroom or corridor a few times, but I know all about him.
He is from down south, and his family moved up here last summer. Apparently, his dad has taken a job in Manchester, but whatever happened, I’m just glad Rupert is here now. He has certainly brightened up the dull days at college ever since I noticed him walking around with his mop of dark hair and his impressive jawline. Now it is time for me to brighten up his days, and I am hoping that this dress will do the trick.
I have it on good authority that Rupert will be at the party tonight, and that is when I plan to make my move. He’s just the kind of guy I have dreamt about while I was growing up. Tall. Dark. Handsome.
I really hope he is my first.
The fact that I am this nervous highlights how inexperienced I am. I’m only young, so that explains it, but I am aware that I am growing up fast now, and it is time for me to become a woman.
It’s time for me to be more like Mum.
She would probably laugh if she knew that I aspired to be more like her. After all, aren’t teenagers supposed to hate their parents? But I don’t hate my mum. I love her more than anything in the world and not just because she is buying me all these clothes today. I love her because she has taken good care of me over the years all by herself.
I never knew my dad, and from what I’m told, that is a good thing. He was a big drinker apparently and tended to get a little rowdy after one too many. I’ve never made Mum go into too much detail about it because I know it upsets her, but I know she had some tough times when I was younger. Despite all of that, she has always provided for me, and I have never felt like I have missed
