Page 45 of The Fall I Fell

‘Cringe,’ I squeeze out past my tears and push him softly on the shoulder. He only shakes his head and smiles before he, too, turns away to fetch the last box from the truck.

The wind flaps under the edges of the tent, its cold breath whipping at my ankles and wobbling a few of the tables. The rain doesn’t give up either; the thumping on the canvas only crescendos until the quiet mutterings of the other artists putting their exhibits together is almost completely drowned out. I falter at every step, second-guessing each pick and placement, but the boys steady me – in turns reassuring and stern, especially when I dally for too long on a particular decision.

Despite it all, however, the three of us soon add the finishing touches to the display, with all of my designs framing the centre title ‘Granny’s Garden’. Floral fabrics cover the table, along with photos of my inspiration in the eponymous garden, and the ones of Granny at her machine takes pride of place at the focal point of it all. Designs that marry beauty and femininity, with practicality and medical accessibility, fill my table and dress the mannequins on either side. For the first time, I can honestly say I’m proud of myself.

‘It’s perfect.’ Callum grins.

Jacob nods and wraps an arm around my shoulder. He doesn’t need to say any words, he presses me tight into him and that’s enough for me to know he’s proud of me too.

‘Come on, let’s go and get something to eat.’ I take them both by the hand and give them a grateful squeeze, before we try and brave the elements.

Racing back across the park through the rain, we’re soaked by the time we reach Jacob’s truck. With each passing moment, the little bit of bad weather teeters on the edge of a raging storm. From this distance, we watch as the marquee gets battered from every angle, the wooden stakes clinging on for dear life as the rain turns the ground to mush.

Lightning forks across the dark sky, fracturing the thick blanket of clouds and officially earning its amber weather warning.

‘It will be alright, won’t it?’ I chew my lip as we drive away from the park, the tent still in my sights. All the bodies that filled it before flee from inside and race to find shelter in their cars or nearby cafes.

Jacob looks at me in the rear-view mirror and gives me a reassuring smile. ‘Those marquees are designed to withstand all kinds of weather. I’m sure it will be fine.’

Famous last words.

Storm Brenda rattles through the county for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. Though her name would suggest a sweet older lady that would give you fifty pence to ‘treat yourself’, no trampoline, no wheelie bin, no ginormous tents are safe in the mouth of her wrath. Even the treehouse shakes with her wind, and all I can do is watch from the window as the rain slashes against the earth and darkness engulfs the day.

The council posts a photo of the aftermath the following morning. The exhibition is a wash out, with pieces of art littered across the boggy park, and my mannequins are three inches deep in mud, as though they’ve just crawled through No Man’s Land.

So, after a cry, and a lot of swearing, I find myself in the kitchen of Hope Farm to continue my sulking. I was hoping to find Jacob, but instead, it is Lizzie and Alfie I must turn to for sympathy. I have been complaining to them loudly about all the hours I put into the work, though I don’t mention that all that hard work also helped me avoid people and places I didn’t want to think about.

‘Bit of a stupid idea putting on an exhibition in a tent in November, though, isn’t it?’ Alfie mutters. Lizzie shoots him a look so black it makes him hold his hands up in surrender. ‘I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking!’

Lizzie looks as though she’s about to argue with him, but she must realise he’s making a good point as she shrugs and turns back to me.

‘They’ll be salvaging your actual dresses though, won’t they?’ Lizzie tries her best to comfort me as I groan over the breakfast spread.

‘I don’t know. There’s probably nothing left worth saving.’ I shove a croissant into my mouth in hopes that the buttery pastry will at least numb the pain for a little while, but it only ends up flaking all down my top and irritating me even more. ‘All my hard work down the drain.’ The more I think about it, the more it hurts. This was my last shot of making sure my place in Milan is secure, and now it’s ruined. How am I meant to start my fashion coursework from scratch this late, by myself? There’s no way I’m getting a passable grade after all this.

‘Can’t you just make some more?’ Alfie says with his mouth full. Lizzie and I both death stare him this time, and he takes that as his cue to leave us alone.

‘Where’s Jacob?’ I had assumed he was simply sleeping in, but as the day itches closer to noon, I begin to worry a little.

‘Oh, he went out really early this morning. Didn’t say where he was going.’

Probably with Pen, my pessimistic mind suggests in an attempt to keep my mood at its absolute lowest.

‘You know, the dress you made me for prom …’ Lizzie begins, uncharacteristically seriously. ‘That was the most confident I’ve ever felt. You’ve really got a talent for this, Ava.’

I know she’s only trying to make me feel better, but it’s working. I muster just enough warmth for a smile. ‘Thanks Lizzie, I’m glad.’

‘Would you make my wedding dress for me?’ she asks with full sincerity.

‘Have I missed a chapter or two?’ I reply with a nervous laugh.

‘No, no, I just mean if it ever happened. I’d like you to make my dress.’ She grows bashful, which is very much unlike the woman that has beaten up Alfie Thorogood and won since she was five years old. ‘We might be old ladies by then, but I don’t think I’d want to get married at all unless it was in a dress that you made.’

I stick out my little finger in her direction. She takes it in hers and squeezes tightly. ‘Then,’ I promise, ‘even if I’m eighty and can’t even see my pins and needles, I’ll make your wedding dress.’

‘Erm, sorry to interrupt.’ Will coughs from the door awkwardly. ‘But I think you might want to see this.’

Chapter 24