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habit of wearing her failed creations – those too avant-garde or just plain weird to sell – and today was no
exception. Her skirt had once been a pair of jeans and a sequined dress; instead of a jumper, she was wearing an ex-apron embellished with pieces of a feather boa, and on her feet were a pair of
patchwork gladiator boots she’d practically lived in all winter.
    ‘It’s Zumba tonight, isn’t it?’ Mum asked brightly.
    Nell winced. To her total disbelief – and embarrassment – her mother had turned out to be a pretty good dancer. Very good, in fact. Ten minutes into the class last week and
she’d been swinging her hips all over the shop like a Lebanese belly dancer. When Nell had called her on it, she’d smiled mysteriously and said something about a misspent youth and
dancing being like learning to ride a bike. Angel hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her, even though Mum was twice his age and was wearing those awful Juicy Couture jogging bottoms Nell
had tried to throw out twice. If it were anyone but her mother, Nell would’ve wanted to rip her eyes out.
    ‘Mum!’ she exclaimed now, sitting up sharply. ‘You’re going out for dinner with Richard, remember? Your anniversary?’
    Mum waved her hand dismissively ‘Never mind that. It’s not a real one, just eight years since we met. We can go out another time. Richard won’t mind.’
    ‘Of course he will! He’s gone to a lot of trouble. He’s booked that new Italian you wanted to try and everything.’ She brushed a few stray purple boa feathers from her
mother’s shoulders. ‘And you might kind of want to tone down the hippie thing tonight. Just a bit. Maybe you could wear that jersey dress Richard likes? You know, the long grey one with
the silver belt? And perhaps some different shoes?’
    ‘I smell a rat,’ her mother said lightly.
    ‘Mum. Be nice.’
    ‘He’s going to ask me to marry him again, isn’t he?’
    ‘Would it really be so bad if he did?’
    ‘I like things the way they are,’ Mum said stubbornly.
    Nell rolled her eyes. ‘You can’t keep saying no, Mum. Richard’s got the patience of a saint but he won’t wait around for ever. And he’s so
nice.
I
don’t understand why you haven’t said yes already. He loves you. And you love him. Don’t you?’
    ‘I suppose so. No, that’s not fair. I
do
love him, yes.’ She sighed. ‘But
nice
isn’t always enough, darling girl.’
    ‘But Mum, you’re practically living together as it is. I don’t know what the big deal is about making it official.’
    ‘If it’s not a big deal, why do you keep pushing it?’
    ‘Because it would be nice to have the thing
settled
,’ Nell said. ‘Please, if he asks you again, can’t you just say yes? You need him.’
    I need him,
she thought. She loved spending weekends at Richard’s big, airy house, or curling up with him and Mum on the sofa in front of
Britain’s Got Talent.
Like
a
normal
family.
    ‘Sweetie, if we’re going to continue this conversation, I think I’m going to need one of your cigarettes.’
    ‘Mum!’
    ‘Come on, darling. You can’t be the only fifteen-year-old in London without a secret supply of Silk Cut.’
    ‘Marlboros, actually,’ Nell said sheepishly.
    ‘I don’t need to tell you these are for emergency use only,’ Mum warned, opening the tiny bedroom window beside Nell’s bed. ‘This is a very bad habit to get
into.’
    ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’
    ‘Your father used to smoke Marlboros,’ Mum said unexpectedly. ‘Only brand he ever liked.’
    Nell went very still. Mum hardly ever mentioned her father. Nell hadn’t even known his full name until she was ten, when Richard had persuaded her mother to share the basic facts with her.
Over the years since then, Mum had let slip rare nuggets of information when she was in a nostalgic mood, leaving her to stitch together a shadowy sense of the man whose genes she shared. She knew
her father was dead, that many of her questions