There was a deconstructed dress in the palest of millennial pinks, with a soft Lycra top and a parachute silk skirt in softest teal that looked far too floaty and strange for anything Flora would ever have picked up. It swirled with her as she walked and made her look, with her pale hair and white shoulders, like a mermaid.
There was a very pale-silver see-through dress with tiny, almost invisible sprigs of flowers embroidered on the outer layer. The inner layer was a heavenly comfortable silk sheath, and the outer layer hung to the floor. From the second Flora put it on she found herself walking differently; it made her willowy and elegant, rather than slightly too tall and Viking-ish – it was a vision of a different type of person than she thought she could be, particularly as Joel came over and untied her hair carefully until it fanned out over her shoulders.
‘Now you’re a sprite,’ he said.
The final dress was of palest green, in grosgrain, off the shoulder, slightly tighter and designed to be worn with heels. It was definitely a sexy dress.
‘Oh yes,’ said Joel appreciatively. He was sitting in a large armchair leafing through a magazine and glanced up as she left the changing room.
‘Really?’ said Flora, turning around. She blushed bright pink and Joel got an enormous jolt simply watching it happen. How he loved to raise that colour in her. He looked around to check how private the changing rooms were. The snotty-looking shop assistant immediately looked up as if she could sense what he had in mind.
‘Let’s go,’ said Joel in a hurry, glancing at his watch. ‘You’ve got time to go home and change.’
Flora checked the price tag. It was astronomical. ‘Ah,’ she said. Joel waved his hand.
‘Stop it, please,’ he said. ‘All of them,’ he said over his shoulder to the assistant.
‘No, Joel, don’t.’
He shook his head. ‘I want to.’ He pulled her close. ‘You are literally the only woman I’ve ever met who hasn’t asked for a thing.’
Flora swallowed. She knew he was complimenting her. But it felt like he was warning her too.
She shook that thought out of her head as she got changed, and the shop assistant bagged everything up for her, all wrapped in tissue, and they ran through the crowds as quickly as they were able. Joel started kissing her before they were even in the lift, and Flora looked around guiltily, then realised of course she didn’t know anyone here so who cared, and she kissed him back with abandon and he practically carried her into the lift and they were completely oblivious, even as the receptionist watched them jealously.
Marsha and Mark lived uptown. Flora and Joel were still rather giggly when they turned up, a little late, Flora with her hair still wet at the ends but glowing in her silver dress. Joel made a mental note to buy her some earrings to go with it.
The Philippoussises lived in a fancy apartment building with a doorman on the Upper East Side, and Flora was intensely impressed by the old oak lift and the beautiful parquet flooring, as well as the views of the park.
Marsha answered the door, and Flora liked her immediately. She was tiny, with short brown hair and a round figure dressed in something obviously expensive. There were large jars of lilies in the hallway and soft lighting all around. She had dark, beady eyes that took in everything – including the fact that the poor girl, she thought to herself, was obviously wearing a new dress. She wondered if Joel was up to his old tricks again, trying to control every environment he was in.
Joel leaned forward and kissed Marsha lightly, but he didn’t get away in time as she stretched her arms up and insisted on giving him a hug.
‘I swear you are still growing,’ she said.
‘Marsha, I’m thirty-five years old.’
‘Yes, well, even so.’
Mark came through, holding a wooden spoon with a tea towel over his shoulder. Flora felt Joel relax beside her.
‘Hello, sir,’ said Joel respectfully.
‘Come in, come in,’ said Mark, beaming. He had a trimmed grey beard and his eyes twinkled. Flora immediately felt their warmth and intelligence and felt envious of them both. ‘You must be Flora, our Scottish friend.’
He did not attempt a shot at the accent, as many Americans did, for which Flora was grateful.
‘You look lovely,’ said Marsha. Flora wasn’t at all what she’d expected. She’d assumed she would be another of Joel’s favoured willowy blondes. Although she had always suspected that it wasn’t that Joel had a type as such, just that those kinds of girls were considered by the culture to be particularly desirable so he had made his choice in the same way he chose his watch or his apartment or anything else: by what appeared to be the best available to him at the time.
But this girl wasn’t like that. She didn’t look like anyone else Marsha had ever seen, and she lived in New York where eventually you saw everyone, more or less. Her pale hair; her skin was practically albino; those strange silvery blue-green eyes … You didn’t quite notice her at first glance; she was average … then you took a closer look and she was extremely striking. Her voice when she spoke wasn’t always easy to understand, but it sounded to Marsha like music. Please, she thought to herself. Let her be kind. But not too kind.
‘So, how are you finding New York?’
‘Amazing,’ said Flora. ‘It’s weird – it feels like I know it already. And also: hot.’
Marsha looked puzzled. ‘Oh, I think it’s quite a cool spring.’
‘It’s hot compared to where I’m from.’
‘Well, don’t come back in July … Would you like a Martini?’
‘A small one, please,’ said Flora, as Joel smirked. ‘Stop it!’ she whispered to him, as they followed through into the large kitchen-diner with its extraordinary city views. ‘This is amazing,’ said Flora as they moved back out to the terrace. Joel had stopped in the kitchen, where Mark was making a moussaka, and was updating him on his new job. Mark was nodding solemnly.
‘So,’ said Marsha, drawing her in. Flora remembered what she’d heard about Americans: that they were perfectly upfront in asking direct questions. ‘You’re the one.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ said Flora, although she was thrilled by the statement, secretly – especially while sipping her Martini, which was incredibly strong but also rather delicious. She watched the long lines of the lights of cars, up and down the park.
‘You’re the only person he’s ever brought to meet us,’ said Marsha. ‘And we’ve known him since he was eleven years old.’
Flora kept staring out. ‘What was he like then?’
Marsha thought back. ‘Clever. Sad. So tightly closed in on himself, you couldn’t have peeled him open any which way. I’m not sure anyone ever has.’ She left the unspoken question in the air.
‘What happened … I mean, he told me he was raised in care. Why? What happened? He’s never said and it felt a bit strange to ask.’
Marsha shrugged. ‘I haven’t seen the files, of course. So I don’t know. I will tell you this. With other wards, when they turn eighteen, Mark legally asks them if they want to be reunited with their birth family.’ She sipped her drink. ‘In this case, never.’
‘And he never got adopted? Did no family want to keep him?’
Marsha shook her head. ‘The system doesn’t always work, alas.’
‘What about … do you have children?’
‘Yes,’ said Marsha. ‘Of course, we couldn’t have adopted Joel. Professionally, it’s unconscionable. And our own children were too young at that time. But we … we tried to do what we could for him.’
‘He is very grateful,’ said Flora.
Marsha grimaced. ‘I don’t want him to be grateful. I’d really like him to take us totally for granted, fling his washing down and turn up whenever he feels like it. I’d love a world in which we don’t have to beg to see him.’ She looked up.
‘But, Flora,’ she said. ‘You shouldn’t have to be asking me. You know that, don’t you?’
Flora nodded.