Please log in to recommend or discuss...
‘Absolutely no one shall go to the ball!’
I look down at the gold-edged ticket in my hand and try not to let the wave of disappointment show on my face. I’d known what my aunt’s reaction would be, but ever the optimist, I still thought it was worth asking when that fancy embossed card came through our door. It’s all I’ve thought about since we heard that they were going to open up the castle one last time for a masquerade ball. It felt like my heart turned grey when the announcement about it going up for sale was posted, and it didn’t start glowing red again until we received notice that the seller was going to hold a fairy-tale ball to showcase the castle to potential buyers and, as a gesture of goodwill towards the locals, everyone would be invited.
‘No one on Ever After Street is going to the ball,’ Aunt Ebony continues. ‘It’s the principle of the thing. Soulless, heartless millionaire businessmen thinking they can swan in here with their gimmicks and buy our castle. We’re all boycotting it. That includes you, Sadie!’
Rumours are swirling that an offer has been made on the castle by a business conglomerate who want to knock it down and build a supermarket in its place, which would be catastrophic for Ever After Street and all those who live and work here, like us. I’m a seamstress at The Cinderella Shop, one of many fairy-tale-themed shops on this street. We’re a dress shop with a unique guarantee – you’ll find love while wearing one of our dresses or get your money back.
‘We don’t know who’s buying it yet. The seller must be hoping this ball will attract more offers. And it isn’t our castle. It’s… well, no one knows who owns it or where they are, but—’
‘That’s not the point. The castle is a huge part of Ever After Street. There should’ve been some legislation in place that prevented it from being sold to whoever wanted it. This ball is solely to paper over the cracks where they’ll cut planning permission corners, you mark my words. This will be the end of Ever After Street itself. A fairy-tale-themed shopping centre in the foothills of an Aldi doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.’
‘It might be a Waitrose,’ my cousin Scarlett suggests. ‘We don’t know which supermarket has made the offer yet. It might be something posh that appeals to a different type of visitor.’
‘At which point, they will have spent all their money up there.’ Aunt Ebony waves a hand in the direction of the castle nestled in the green hills at the end of the street. ‘And will have none left to spend down here in our shops. And no one’s mentioned access roads yet! They’ll tear up half the trees and plonk their pollution-filled road right through the middle of the Full Moon Forest. A supermarket will be the end of everything that’s good about Ever After Street. We’ll be lucky if they don’t bulldoze the lot of us and turn us into a supermarket car park! None of us are going to play nicey-nicey with them at their silly ball. We’re not going to give them the satisfaction. We’re going to show them that no matter who owns that castle, they can’t throw a fancy ball
and then sell it to someone who will serve us all with eviction notices the next day. These shops are people’s livelihoods. A supermarket is not welcome here.’
Judging by how many dresses I’ve made over the last few weeks, a lot of people are going to the ball. I stand by the shop door and stare longingly down the road, towards the greenery of the forest and the castle hiding in the trees. I love that castle. It’s been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. My mum filled my childhood with stories of how she’d met my dad there many years before when she was delivering handmade dresses to the viscountess, and he was an accountant to the viscount who’d owned the castle back then. It’s been empty since I was a child, gradually falling into disrepair and being swallowed up by the trees that surround it on the hillside.
‘It will put us all out of business. This place is a quiet, countryside haven. Children can roam free because of the safety of the pedestrianised street. People can wander, meander around the shops and then head into the woods for a picnic or a paddle in the river, or hike up to the castle…’ Ebony is still ranting.
‘But it’s just a ball. It’s a nice gesture. A nod towards the origins of the castle and the importance of keeping the fairy-tale aspect of Ever After Street intact.’ I read that bit from the gold text printed on the card in my hand. ‘As far as we know, the sale hasn’t gone through yet. The supermarket moguls who are sniffing around and sizing up the area might go to the ball, realise their supermarket doesn’t fit here, and that will be the end of it.’ I sound far too hopeful for my own good. The castle is still up for sale. Any potential buyer could have a damning effect on Ever After Street and the lives of the people who own shops here.
‘Honestly, Sadie, you’re so naïve,’ my aunt snaps. ‘Life is not a fairy tale. This is not some magical ball where a pumpkin is going to turn into a glittering carriage and rodents are bibbidi-bobbidi-booed into becoming the four horsemen of the apocalypse. You’re not going to meet Prince Charming and live happily ever after. This ball is a con that serves no purpose except trying to curry favour when it comes to the local council deciding which shops will be demolished first when the supermarket needs wider access roads or extra parking space!’
‘I don’t want to meet Prince Charming. Cinderella would’ve been better off living a happy life with her animal friends than marrying a prince who only recognised her by her shoe size.’ I run my fingers over the thick white card. ‘I just want to see the castle. It could be my last chance. No one’s seen inside it for decades and no one ever will again if they knock it down.’
‘Sadie could go as a spy,’ Scarlett says. ‘Go undercover on behalf of the shopkeepers of Ever After Street so she can report back on what they’re up to. Maybe she could go as a saboteur. Chat to any businessy-looking types and covertly drop into conversations how quiet the area is, you know, terrible for business. Or lament loudly about a flood risk due to proximity to the river, ask everyone if they remember what they were doing on the day the sewers backed-up and the drains overflowed…’ Scarlett really is dedicated to the cause.
‘Absolutely not. I forbid it.’ Aunt Ebony stamps her foot for good measure. ‘All the shopkeepers on this street are standing against them as a whole. We will be noticeable through our absence.’
‘It’s a masked ball! No one will know who stands against them or doesn’t because no one will recognise anyone!’ Scarlett snaps.
‘I don’t care. We must all stand together.’ She’s one step away from ribbiting along to Paul McCartney and The Frog Chorus.
‘Loads of people are going,’ I say. Admittedly none of them work on Ever After Street though. ‘The unknown seller has invited everyone on this side of the Wye Valley. Everyone’s talking about it.’
‘Then there’ll be plenty of photos for you to look at online afterwards, won’t there? You can live vicariously through those.’
I seem to do nothing but live vicariously these days. For once I’d like to do something just for me, something that wasn’t dictated by someone else. ‘It’s not
the same. I want to experience it – to see the magic that my mum once saw.’
Aunt Ebony’s face softens at the mention of her late sister, and then quickly hardens again. ‘You’re too old to be like your mother was, Sadie. Always with her head in the clouds, sewing “love” into whimsical dresses and daydreaming of handsome princes and enchanted castles.’
‘The love she sewed into her dresses is our entire business model. You don’t usually complain. You made it into a guarantee – you’ll find love in one of our dresses or get your money back.’
‘Exactly. It’s the kind of whimsy nonsense that paying customers lap up, but it’s whimsy nonsense with a price tag, and you know me, I can get behind anything with a price tag. Now, come on, girls. No more daydreaming of armoured knights and fair maidens. That castle is nothing more than a tumbledown load of old stone. It’s been abandoned for so long that the ball attendees will be lucky if the whole thing doesn’t fall down on top of them. It’ll be mouldy and musty, undoubtedly haunted, and probably full of bats too. You’d be more likely to find Dracula lurking inside than Prince Charming. You don’t want to go there, Sadie.’
I look longingly through the door towards the hills again. For the first time in my life, this week the castle has been a hive of activity. Teams of workmen are up there preparing for the ball. The tallest trees have been cut back, the windows have been opened and cleaned, and the stone walkway jet-washed until it glitters in the late-April sunlight. Any lurking bats would surely have been chased out. I do want to go there. Even if Dracula is the most interesting thing I find. I can’t imagine the castle being demolished without me ever having seen inside. Disillusionment is creeping into everything I do lately, and the promise of a ball is the first thing that’s made life feel magical again, as though the fairy tales I used to believe in could come true after all, and I can’t give up on it that easily.
I’m so lost in daydreaming that I don’t notice my aunt has stalked across the shop until she whisks the invitation out of my hand with such force that it causes a papercut across my index finger.
‘I have an important business trip to prepare for. I don’t want to hear another word about this.’ She tries to screw the invite up but the cardboard is too thick so she shoves it angrily onto a shelf underneath the counter
instead. There’s a ceremonial burning of ball invitations by the shopkeepers on Ever After Street scheduled for next week.
And I get it, I do. The castle being demolished and a supermarket built in its place will be disastrous for Ever After Street. We’re the Disneyland of the retail industry. A cobbled traffic-less street filled with fairy-tale-themed shops; a perfect mix of entertainment for children and retail therapy for tired parents. Everyone who works here runs a shop inspired by a different story, like the Tale As Old As Time bookshop or the Colours of the Wind museum. There’s an area at one end with a carousel, face painting, craft stalls, and a magician to entertain visitors, but the biggest draw to our little open-air shopping retreat is the castle in the hills.
Steeped in mystery, turrets and spires visible for miles, like Disney’s Sleeping Beauty castle on your doorstep in the Wye Valley, complete with ghost stories and myths and eternal gossip about what happened to the viscount and viscountess who disappeared so many years ago. Until this week, there’s been no access to the castle, but the forestry that surrounds it is full of fairy doors and has a feel of tingling, twinkling magic, and twisting maze-like paths that lead through the woods and to a gently flowing river, and green fields of farmland on the other side. The perfect place to come for a day out. The demolition of the castle and the building of a supermarket will destroy the quiet little hideaway that is Ever After Street for good.
I shouldn’t want to go to this ball so badly, but oh, how I do. For years, I’ve looked up at the castle from the window of my shoebox-sized flat and imagined what it would be like to live in such a place. The glamour and the opulence – a world away from being hunched over my sewing machine into the early hours with a mannequin’s arm digging into my back because there isn’t room for it anywhere else.
‘Sadie!’ Aunt Ebony snaps her fingers as if she’s been trying to get my attention, and I blink to see Scarlett hiding a smirk at the faraway look on my face. ‘I said, have you got those samples I asked for? My flight is first thing tomorrow morning, there’s no time for dithering.’
‘Tell us again why you’re going all the way to Finland?’ Scarlett asks her mum as I go and collect an armful of garment bags from the back room that doubles as my sewing workshop.
‘There’s a Finnish reality TV star who might be interested in having some custom-made pieces for her wardrobe. I’d never heard of her, but apparently she’s very big in Finland. It’ll be great exposure for us.’
‘Judging by the lack of material in these outfits, exposure of a different kind might be on the cards for her too.’ I look at the zipped-up bags in distaste: Ebony’s designs based on outfits she’s seen this reality TV star wearing. Hours of pointless work when it would’ve been no less effective to show sketches, but my aunt is big on exclusivity and going the extra mile. Unfortunately the ‘extra mile’ is usually by first-class plane ticket via the business expenses account which could do with an injection of cash to boost it up as much as the bulbous ruffles in these garish garments. Every day, I question how my life ended up like this – sewing dresses I hate for people who don’t appreciate them, desperately wishing things were better, but without a clue how to make them so.
‘And that’s going to take a week, is it?’ Scarlett has the confidence to question, whereas I don’t. ‘Hand-delivering samples of our work is hardly necessary. You could’ve emailed her our brochure like any other dressmaker would have, and not forced Sadie into making those stupid samples which has put her behind on all her paid work.’
‘It’s fine.’ I wave a hand while trying to keep hold of the garment bags. I appreciate Scarlett sticking up for me, but the last thing I want to do is anger my aunt. This shop will be mine one day and I can run it however I want to, but until then, it’s best to stay on Ebony’s good side. I’m not one for rocking any boats.
‘You just got back from Dubai where you were trying to sell our dresses to some sheikha,
last month it was New York, in January you had to go to Turkey, December it was—’
‘I’m trying to grow our brand and take us global. She’s a very big star in Finland, and being seen in one of our dresses could bring us international acclaim.’
Unless she takes one look at these creations and recoils in horror. They look like the luminous orange and lime green love children of something that’s escaped from Lady Gaga’s wardrobe and mated with a clown. I used to love this job, but it’s been so long since I made a dress that I even liked. I’m not proud of my work any more. And with the threat of the supermarket coming and how much The Cinderella Shop is struggling to stay afloat as it is… Ever After Street is all about making our customers believe in fairy-tale magic, but it’s starting to feel like nothing magical will ever happen for me.
Scarlett goes to say something else, but Ebony cuts her off. ‘My sister tasked me with looking after the shop she started. It’s my responsibility to put my all into doing that. We deserve to be a household name. She deserves it as her legacy.’
My mum does deserve a legacy, but her sister swanning around every country under the sun on expenses, trying to persuade celebrities to endorse The Cinderella Shop, would never have been what she had in mind. Mum was happy here, making dresses for those who could afford it or doing alterations for those who already had dresses they loved but needed a better fit. She didn’t want global fame or to see her designs in the pages of OK Magazine – she just wanted the people she made clothes for to be happy.
‘And you.’ Ebony taps her hand on the counter and then starts wrangling the garment bags out of my arms and into her own. ‘No more of this nonsense. Get your head out of that castle and into your work or you’ll never get caught up with our paying customers.’
‘Yes, Ebony.’ I sound like a well-trained parrot. If parrots could use sewing machines, maybe that’s what I’d be.
I go and hold the door open for her; the garment bags are so puffy that she has to renegotiate the doorway a few times before she finally gets through it.
When she’s gone, I close the door and meet Scarlett’s eyes, and we both let out a sigh of relief. I love my aunt, but we’ve been at nothing but loggerheads lately, and no one can deny that life is a lot easier in The Cinderella Shop
when she’s away.
I’m majorly behind on work, so I leave Scarlett in charge of the shop and return to the sewing machine out the back to carry on stitching butterfly embellishments onto a floor-length navy-to-cream ombre dress made of silk-chiffon, a last-minute order for the ball next week. Yet another thing that keeps pulling my mind back to that golden card underneath the counter.
That night in my flat, I turn out the main light and sit on my window ledge with a book and a cup of tea. If I rest my head against the windowpane, I can see the castle in the hills. It’s a sight that’s always comforted me, even in the hardest of times. No matter how hard life seems some days, I can look at the castle and still believe that a fairy tale will find us all, someday. It’s a sentinel, looking over the street, protecting us. Solid and strong and never-changing, unlike so many other things in my life.
For the first time ever, the castle is glowing back at me, and I have to blink a few times before I realise what I’m seeing. There’s a light on. There’s never been a light on before. Someone must be staying there.
It’s strange, but comforting in a way.
Only a handful of the other shopkeepers live above their shops, and I always feel alone here at nights, but that glowing light from the castle makes me feel less lonely, and instead of reading, I rest my head against the window and look out, because there will come a day, really, really soon, when that glowing light is the fluorescent neon of a twenty-four-hour supermarket, and that’s just unthinkable. People say you get three great loves in a lifetime, and that castle is one of mine. The Cinderella Shop is another one. I haven’t found the third… yet.
‘You’re going to that ball.’
I lift my forehead from the front window and wipe at the smear it’s left on the glass as I look over my shoulder at Scarlett. ‘I can’t. You know that.’
It’s Sunday afternoon, and I’m hiding between the ruffles of the lurid dresses in the front window display and leaning so close to the glass that there’s a genuine possibility I’ll have fused with it by the end of the day. It’s been a week since the invitation arrived and Ever After Street has been buzzing with people going back and forth to the castle: teams of workmen and cleaners and decorators, caterers and wait staff preparing for the ball.
The big event is tonight, and I can’t stop thinking about it. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it all week, and I’m glad Ebony isn’t here to see how many mistakes I’ve made, how many stitches I’ve run off in the wrong direction and had to unpick and re-sew. The invitation is still under the counter, calling to me like the goldleaf itself is glowing, like Sleeping Beauty’s spinning wheel on her sixteenth birthday. Judging by the items we’ve seen being heave-ho-ed towards the castle, light-up acrylic pillars, crystal mountain ranges, and what appear to be life-size palm trees made of faux ostrich feathers, it’s going to be such an impressive party that it would put any Disney movie to shame. I make wedding dresses and prom dresses and special occasion dresses for a living, and yet I’ve never had a special occasion to wear one. I’ve never been to a ball before. Even if it wasn’t at the castle, it would still sound like a magical night. The kind of ball that every girl who grew up watching Disney’s Cinderella dreamed of attending.
‘Ebony’s due back tonight. At eight o’clock – exactly the time the ball starts. She’s going to expect me to be here.’
‘I’ll cover for you. I’ll tell her you’ve gone to bed early, or you’ve gone to visit your parents’ grave, or we could say you’ve got food poisoning and are “otherwise engaged” in the bathroom.’
‘She’s going to expect proof of that. If I’m not here when she gets back, she’s going to know where I’ve gone.’
‘Then we’ll arrange a tin of pea soup nicely in a bucket and leave it outside the bathroom door, she won’t be able to argue with that.’
I laugh at the mental image, but Scarlett and I both know that nothing will fool Ebony. ‘She’s going to hand the shop over to me this year. I can’t do anything
to jeopardise that now. She’s right on the brink of signing it over, she has to be.’
Scarlett scoffs. ‘Oh, please. How long has she been dangling that particular carrot? She’s not going to hand this shop over to you while there’s a business expenses account to wallow in. I love my mother dearly, but you have to stop trying to please her.’
‘Says the woman who won’t even tell her you want to leave this shop and go full-time at hairdressing.’
Scarlett only works part time at The Cinderella Shop, covering the shop floor and running the business side of things, and she spends the rest of her time working at Rapunzel’s hair salon down the street, except in this case, ‘Rapunzel’ is a long-haired man called Jackson who also happens to be Scarlett’s boyfriend. She’s been taking on more and more private clients and spends most mornings doing special occasion hair dos for wedding parties.
‘That’s different. She might disown me if she finds out I studied business management for years only to throw it all away to do “superficial hairdressing nonsense Jackson has talked me into”. Sadie, you’re incredibly talented. Your dresses are as beautiful as your mum’s were, but look at the hideous crap we’ve got on display.’ She indicates towards the front window, which has got three mannequins on one side, all wearing dresses Ebony has insisted I make. Flashy ruffles in clashing shades of neon pink, neon orange and banana yellow, with enough flounce to look like a hot air balloon has deflated on top of each mannequin. ‘People call us The Ugly Sister shop, not The Cinderella Shop. You can’t keep doing everything she tells you to in the hopes she’ll finally sign the shop over to you.’
‘I’m thirty-five, and she’s turning sixty-five in a couple of months. She must be wanting to slow down by now.’ I have to cling onto the hope that Ebony will give me the shop one day. I haven’t worked this hard, for this long, doing everything she asks of me, only for The Cinderella Shop to never be mine.
‘You’ve said the same thing at each of your big birthdays. Twenty. Twenty-five. Thirty. Even thirty-two because she mentioned wanting to take up golf and you thought it was code for retiring rather than just an excuse to do less work. It’s hard to imagine my mum doing less work than she currently does, but one thing we can be sure of is that she’ll find a way.’
‘But if I don’t do what she says, she’ll never sign the shop over to me. I need her to trust me. Every time I alter the window display, she puts it back to how it was. She yells at me for trying to put my tasteful dresses at the front of the shop. We’re barely doing any trade. People don’t come in because there’s nothing even vaguely appealing to entice them. Her insistence on celebrity endorsements is what’s going to
pull this place under. The creations that might appeal to slightly mad celebrities don’t belong on display here. They’ve been known to make small children cry. Even pantomime dames have looked in and recoiled in horror at the brightness. We’re losing customers because of her way of trying to gain customers, and she just can’t see it.’ I sigh in frustration. It’s heart-breaking to see my beloved shop floundering and the one person who can do something about it simply won’t hear it.
‘Say that to her. And quickly. We’re going under, Sade. Our outgoings are higher than our incomings for the tenth month in a row. There’s very little left in the coffers to keep us afloat. We need something to change, ...
