CHAPTER ONE
The Christmas Tree
At 4 a.m. on a wintry December in Glasgow, I thought it was a safe bet that no one would see me outside on the ledge above my shop putting up a Christmas tree.
It was a quiet night, the first of December, before the festive season kicked in and made every night busy with shoppers and revellers.
I’d been determined to put the tree up. I wanted to attract attention to my new shop, The Tea Dress Shop. I just didn’t want to attract any attention to myself while I fiddled with the lights and the sparkling star perched on the top of the fir.
‘There, very sparkly,’ I said, admiring my handiwork. I’d even managed to get one of the yellow fairy lights to illuminate the star rather than one of the red or green. I was aiming for all the dazzle I could get.
An icy wind blew through my light brown ponytail and I wished I’d worn a warmer top rather than a thin cream thermal, but I was almost done. A couple of tie wraps on the silvery baubles and I could scramble back in through the window without anyone noticing.
‘Are you all right up there?’ a man’s voice called to me.
I looked down and there he was, standing on the pavement, head tilted back craning up at me.
Shit!
‘Yes, fine, thanks.’
‘You could topple, and I doubt that canopy would break your fall. I could fetch a ladder and come up to help you.’
What? Did he have a ladder hidden inside his coat? It looked like an executive style black wool coat. His dark hair was being blown about by the wind as he gazed up at me, and he ran his hands through it trying to smooth it back from his concerned forehead.
Distracted by him, including his looks, because yes, I admit it, he was rather handsome, I nudged one of the balls and it fell, bounced off the shop canopy which I’d only recently had erected so it was taut and springy, hit him smack on the head without causing any harm, and then clattered on to the pavement.
‘I’m coming up,’ he shouted.
‘No, no, it’s fine. I’m all done here. I’m going back inside now.’
Edging back, my trousers got snagged on a nail sticking out of the old window ledge.
Go away, I urged the unwanted knight in expensive wool armour.
I looked down. He’d gone. I wriggled to free myself from the rusty nail and that’s when I heard the creaking sound. I stopped wriggling in case it was me, but no, the noise was coming from…no, he wasn’t climbing up a bloody ladder. Where the hell did he get it from?
‘Don’t move,’ he shouted, his voice buffeted by the wind that seemed to have picked up pace just to spite me in my predicament. It had been a calm but cold night when I’d first ventured out to decorate the tree. Now it felt like the arctic tundra.
I wriggled at twice the speed. Damn. My jeans were tough and were putting up a fight against the nail.
‘Jeez–oh,’ I said as his face appeared right next to me from the top of the ladder. His eyes were grey–green and filled with determination. I found myself wishing I had long, dark lashes like his. I envied the aquamarine flecks in the depths of his eyes. Yes, that’s how close he was. His face was angular with a firm jaw line that swept upwards, lifting his features into a handsome but rugged look. He’d taken his coat off and his shirt and tie was a fair match for his eyes.
‘Hold still,’ he said in a voice that sounded as if it was used to issuing commands.
I didn’t do as I was told.
Unperturbed, his hands reached around the back of my arse and fiddled with the offending nail. At least I think that’s what he was doing, though I could feel his hands on my bum.
‘Hold still woman.’
What?
He yanked at my jeans and…the zip broke.
That’s when any embarrassment from being seen up on the roof erecting a tree paled into nothing in comparison to flashing my twinkle at him.
I’m ashamed to say I’d gone commando under my jeans. The putting up the tree idea had been a spur of the moment thing. I’d been unable to sleep and was drinking a cup of hot milk, all cosy in my jim jam bottoms and thermal top, when the notion struck.
I didn’t have any knickers on under my pyjama bottoms. Well, you don’t do you? For quickness and adding to the spur of the moment thing, I’d slung my jeans on thinking that I’d be back inside within fifteen minutes. Knickers hadn’t seemed a necessity. It was four in the morning. No one was going to see me, let alone know that I had no knickers on.
But of course fate had a wicked sense of humour, so there I was baring my arse, and more, to a complete stranger who was trying not to laugh while pretending not to notice my…predicament.
‘I’m Jamerson,’ he said, introducing himself as if it was some polite dinner party.
‘Findlay.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Findlay.’ His tone was rich and smooth, one of those sexy Scottish voices I’d always found hard to resist.
‘There we are,’ he said.
Free from the nail, and from Jamerson’s probing hands, I smiled tightly and scrambled backwards inside the window.
His face appeared as I went to close it.
‘Have a cup of hot, sweet tea,’ he said. ‘You could be suffering from delayed shock.’
From him or from baring my bumbleerie?
It was easier to smile and nod. Anything to get him and his ladder to go away.
I heard the ladder rattle back down to where he’d found it.
I peered out the window to see where he’d gone. I saw him walking away along the street, hands thrust into his coat pockets. Where was the ladder? Probably lurking somewhere along with my self esteem.
I still couldn’t sleep for the excitement of knowing that I was due to open my shop up to customers.
Although originally from Glasgow, I’d relocated to Edinburgh for two years to live with the supposed love of my life. He worked in Edinburgh, as did my best friend. But everything changed last December when he’d surprised me by announcing that he wanted to get married — just not to me. To my best friend. They’d decided they were perfect for each other. Considering they were both two–faced lying bastards, I tended to agree. So I quit my job for an accountancy firm that the happy couple worked for too, and came back home to Glasgow. When I say home, I don’t mean family. I’d been brought up by my grandmother who’d long since gone and was the only family I had.
I found myself a room and kitchen near Sauchiehall Street. Keeping a roof over my head proved to be difficult and although it wasn’t expensive, I was soon dipping into my savings. Finding a job wasn’t easy, so I decided to use my hobby skills of dressmaking to help make ends meet.
I worked doing clothes alterations, and I also sold some of the dresses I made online. Soon I was earning enough from the dresses I made myself, or vintage ones I upscaled (repaired, altered) to work entirely for myself. Selling clothes online was hard work because some days I’d sell half a dozen dresses and other times not a single one, but my business was building month by month, especially when I got my own website. Every time I sold a dress, I had to start making a new one, either from scratch or by altering a vintage one.
Luckily, I love dressmaking, and I’d been sewing for years, having learned at a young age from my gran who could make the most marvellous clothes from patterns she created herself. I’d learned that the finish on a garment mattered; seams pressed flat, buttons sewn on properly. I’d acquired a large tin of assorted buttons that I used for the dresses to add individual touches of colour. I added velvet trims if it suited the dress, and appliqué. My trusty sewing machine served me well.
I specialised in making tea dresses, classic and contemporary styles, some new with a modern twist, others vintage based patterns, and original vintage dresses that I upscaled and renewned, even if it was only changing the buttons for shiny novelty ones in the shape of tea cups or flowers, and reinforcing the seams and hems that may have become a little tattered around the edges.
I never sold anything that was vintage but threadbare. Instead, I’d use the fabric to make other things, like belts or purses. The purses were easy to make. I’d bought a bundle of purse clips and I’d sew a little rectangle lined with a contrasting fabric and then feed the raw ends of the fabric into the metal clasps of the bag. And voila! A lovely little purse. These extra touches were, I’m sure, what helped to make my dresses popular.
I made new dresses using my own designs. I bought fabric, and I also designed fabric and had it printed with my original designs.
My wrapover tea dresses were particularly popular because they fitted most women size ten to size fourteen. I never skimped on the fabric. I always made sure there was enough to allow the skirt to move well, to have fluidity, and flatter the figure. This was something else that customers said they appreciated.
I’d tried making and selling other types of dresses but the demand for the tea dresses made me concentrate on those. They’d always been a favourite of mine, very wearable, and so adaptable to dress up or down for day or evening. Unlike cocktail or evening dresses, the tea dress could be worn again and again, often improving with wear, just like jeans, especially the cotton dresses. I reinforced the seams so that they could withstand being washed and worn regularly. Carefully washed, but nevertheless able to become everyday items. The cotton softened and the dress felt more fluid, skimming over the curves of the figure. The colours also had a tendency to fade from repeated washes and added to the vintage look. I used ditsy and floral fabrics and a few plain materials. I chose muted tones that blended with most things and had a classic quality. Mossy greens, dusky rose, autumn golds and ambers, creams and pale greys and eau–de–nil were the mainstay of the colour range. A silk ribbon in sea foam could lift the colour of a wispy green dress into another spectrum, and I’d pick out the colours in patterned floral fabrics such as amethyst with a matching ribbon trim.
I made various styles including rose designs and a bluebell range. I’d tried to scallop the hemline of the bluebell dresses (white, beige or light blue base cotton printed with bluebells) but it didn’t hang well. Instead, I used a technique I’d learned from my gran. When a dress needed a little pizzazz, she’d often add a cap sleeve that was scalloped or shaped like a leaf or petal. The pointed tip draped well on the short sleeve and emphasised the design. So for my bluebell dresses, I kept the skirt hem straight and made petal shaped cap sleeves, like those of a flower. These were a favourite of my range with customers. As were the rose designs.
From the New Year until the autumn I built up my dressmaking business online. I listed the dresses, included descriptions and photographs of the dresses, and posted them out to customers who purchased them.
I’d also enquired earlier in the year, in the spring, about getting premises, my own shop in Glasgow, but the cost of a lease was outwith my finances. However, the lease company said they would keep me on their list and if anything suitable (cheap or short term lease) came up they’d let me know. And they did. In November I got a call and an offer of a small shop in a prime area of Glasgow city centre.
I knew it was perfect the moment I stepped inside. The premises had been empty for over a year, and with the recession biting hard, the lease was far too expensive for any budding shop owner to afford, least of all me. I had some savings and was hoping that I could make my business work, but I’d thought that I’d never be able to afford premises in the city centre, in the hub of the main shopping precincts. Not ever.
But the cost of the lease tumbled during the year, and the lease company informed me that the shop was now within my budget. The leaseholders wanted the premises rented out. The shop had been empty for too long and there was a risk of damp and all sorts of things, so I got lucky. It was mine for two years if I wanted it. I definitely did. I paid two months rent in advance and they gave me the keys by mid–November.
The shop had previously been used as a boutique, and some of the shop fittings, rails, changing room partitions and mirrors, were included. The rest was gutted. Completely empty. A clean slate that I could build from scratch.
Polished wooden floors and cream painted walls gave way to an iron staircase in the centre of the shop. Apparently this had put prospective proprietors off, thinking it was taking up space. I saw only the benefits. This gave me a storeroom and a flat that I could live in upstairs, and it fitted the theme of my new venture. The metal was deep bronze and looked like it belonged to a bygone era. Vintage was to be part of my theme. Vintage blended with contemporary. All I had to do was put it together in time for the Christmas rush when women would be searching for dresses to wear to parties and as gifts.
One of my main expenses was the signage outside the shop and the canopy. It cost a packet, but it was worth it. All the shops in the street were attractive. There was a cafe bar, shoe shop, bakers, confectioners, and numerous others in a niche just off the main thoroughfare.
I gave up my room and kitchen and moved into the flat above the shop. It had one bedroom, a living room/kitchen, and bathroom. It was small but cosy and had a good feel to it, and it was so handy being above the shop because I could work late and then trundle up to bed and fall asleep happily exhausted.
One night while reading the fine print on the lease I realised that I was allowed to sell hot beverages and light snacks. I decided to offer tea, coffee and cakes to customers, and I bought three small tables and sets of chairs and allocated an area of the shop for tea and chit–chat. That was the plan anyway. I hoped that this extra service would welcome customers in, even those who were browsing and wanted a cuppa.
I’d become a bit skinny recently and had lost weight from all the work, and from the upset of splitting up with my boyfriend. But I was planning to build myself up. Tea, scones and cakes would help with that, along with my own home cooking.
Once the business was open, and I got into a method of running the online post and packaging, things would settle down. I had no ambitions of owning an empire or a chain of shops, but I hoped to make enough money from the tea dress shop to prevent me having to work in an office ever again.
I pulled the duvet around me and gazed out the window at the Christmas tree. My bedroom was sparsely furnished but everything in it was mine. It was clean and cosy. I’d bought myself a bed, a wardrobe, a lamp, and a large rug for the floor. I’d planned to make curtains for the window but I hadn’t had time, and besides, I liked lying in bed with the glow of the night shining in.
The tree sparkled against the backdrop of the city. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but I thought I saw a few flakes of snow in the night sky. It was certainly cold enough. I loved the snow. And I loved Christmas.
I snuggled further into the duvet and thought about Jamerson. The feelings of embarrassment had subsided and been replaced with curiosity. Who was this man and his trusty ladder? And would I ever see him again?
