the veil
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today was my first shift back at the bridal shop of the new year. the morning was freezing and was countered with a decaffeinated cup of tea and two crumpets that were everso slightly burnt. habitually the frost has taken to settling atop the neighbours' garden shed, and the dew now crystallises where it forms upon patches of grass. yesterday i purchased tons of new (old) clothes from several charity shops, and some reddening brown heeled ankle boots that i opted for when dressing ready for work seem to stand me in good stead. in favour of warmth, my pin striped trousers i paired with another striped shirt i copped for three quid, before realising that there were far too many stripes and changing the outfit completely.
it was karen and i on today, as is with every saturday, and those who have read this previous posts, you will know that she and i get on famously. over christmas, Karen had gone on a cruise with her partner Adrien, and she showed me pictures of the two of them beaming at the sight of a very large decorated tree and other such whimsical delights. she made me a cup of tea just the way i like it as she's very thoughtful like that. and then we looked at the computer to check the planner for today.
HORROR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
we were completely stacked with appointments; one after another after another.
the first lady who came in was lovely- a middle aged woman with four friends. she'd waited twenty two years to get married, and she was a nervous bride who didn't know what she wanted. we helped her, and she said yes to her dress.
the next girl was prom, and she tried three dresses. navy & sparkles, cherry & ruched, teal & plain. she couldn't find the right colour to fit in with her friendship group, and Karen took to occupying them with an array of £100 for sale dresses where the colour doesn't really matter because the price is so damn decent. i ferried my way to the other side of the shop and began organising the dresses pulled out from the previous appointment back into size order.
and then a woman who i would've guessed from appearances was around her late twenties, perhaps thirty at a push, but she later confessed to being 38, walked in. her heart-shaped face was flushed from the sudden temperature, half covered with a thick fringe fronting brunette hair that although appeared straight, sheltered a past life of frizz. her small mouth was not displeasing when in a tentative smile, and an obvious caution breached what i found to be a narrowing and wilful set of eyes.
a flurry of buzz words fled from her tongue through a thick accent- romania? slovakia? bulgaria?- and i managed to pick up a few in her haste; she was to have a summer wedding, she wanted a light and breezy dress, and she wanted it to be "elegance". i gave her some tags to hook over the hangers of her favourite dress, which to the average bride signifies that she should sift through them herself to find her personal preferences, but the bride-to-be instead seemed to enlist my help, pulling them out and saying "for me?" or "too much?" and pointing to specific parts of each gown for reference.
after a while, she had depleted her new stash of hangers and headed to the changing room wherein she immediately took her jumper off and started to untie her shoes in a display of total readiness, which i found to be both domineering and endearing at the same time. i swiftly whisked one of her chosen tunics into the cubicle with her and explained that when she needed doing up to just call me, I would come in and assist. she did not reply only as to flash me an anticipatory grin. i shuffled over to the computer to take a minute to breathe and have a swig of karen's delicious and now sadly lukewarm attempt at a new decaf coffee for me which had had it's heat leave it while i had left it unattended.
the harsh clinking of the curtain being dragged open from the changing room alerted me, and i hurried over to see classic swooshing that often happens in the first dress. her twirling seemed nostalgic though, and she kept her head lowered and eyes fixed to the hem. thin ruddy fingers pinching the excess fabric lifted the ivory material from the floor and she slowly rocked from side to side. as if finishing a long and exhaustive set of pirouettes, she folded herself onto the comfort of the sofa to take a seat. i watched, reproachful while remaining optimistic. but she shook her head. this dress was not to be.
we tried the next, and the shape fell the same way- a flattering waist band hugged her thin stomach, and her gaunt collarbones were prominent and on show without any straps. once again, she made a display of spinning softly before popping herself back down to sit and contemplate. she began outlining the successes of this dress in broken english, and the words although often mismatched still made complete sense. each sentence was begun grammatically poorly, but finished with a confidence that willed me to understand. i found myself allured by her accent, and trying to mentally note where her t's caught between her teeth and where her lips fell short of completing speech. the majesty of her pronunciation, the totality of her opinions, the brief fleeting smiles when she could no longer dictate her meanings. in my moment of weakness for her charm, i enquired about her acquiring of an accent so lovely. i'm from the ukraine, she said.
"oh, wow, well have you lived in England for long?" i asked.
"three years"
"that's quite a long time, is your fiancé from here or did he come with you?"
"no, no, he is English. i leave because of the, the war. it's lovely country, england is nice."
"yeah England's lovely, i'm sorry about what's happening. hopefully the war will stop soon. are your family all okay?"
"my mother and father are good, they live in city far from capitol. the war will not stop... they, the uh, trump, he and russia they will never stop... they will always want territory."
i let her continue. she kept her eyes fixed and directed at me. the white dress hung from her.
"we did not want this... we just want to live you know? it's fine for me, i move to England, i am woman and i uh i get married and live here now... but they send the boys, they send the ones with no children... with no life and no start in the world. they cut their fingers... they cut their heads. sometime, they send the uh the bodies back of the boys... to the familes... sometimes they have different uh how you say? like uh arms? feet?"
"limbs"
"yes, yes the limbs are, are different sometime... and they go missing there are many of ours missing... most of those who are dead are children they are just children. i had friend who, who live close to me in the ukraine and she text me in the morning about i don't know it was something stupid, and then in the night time she text me again to say that the sky was fire and the war was to start. and then two days, she was dead they had bombed her house. completely gone. and i never am seeing her again. it is just... it is just sad."
she turned to look at herself in the mirror. and she swooshed, back and forth. no tears had come from her, no anger was emitted. studying the dress with consideration, she asked for a veil. in stunned and apprehensive silence, i turned to the rack hanging behind me and chose a cathedral length veil with neat trimming, and tucked it into the hair at the top of her head. usually, i would give a bride some space in order to properly view themselves in their reflections without a lurking assistant bugging them and causing distractions, but instead i stood beside her and awaited her judgement, hoping she would see this as a show of solidarity.
she slowly turned to me, patting the dress down on her hips. quietly, she asked "what do you think?". i considered for a moment. "i think you look beautiful". she nodded solemnly.
"in the ukraine, we have tradition... the mother of the uh how you say? husband, take off veil after wedding."
"what do you mean?"
"the woman sit on husband's lap, in front of uh all the people, and the husband's mother pretend to take veil, once, twice, and third time she take it and replace with scarf, like you are becoming woman. and everybody clap, cheer, its very funny very stupid but it's nice." she was laughing, she seemed excited. i laughed too. i said it sounded great fun and she agreed. she asked if the veil could be tied up for dancing, and i said "certainly".
she strolled back into the changing room, signalling that the time for the dress removal was now, and i followed her in, closing the curtain behind me. she was quiet and so was i, and i undid each button with delicate and considerate fingers. i looked up for a moment to find her eyes back onto me in the mirror, and i paused for half a second in slight surprise. something in me halted, and my hands fumbled for the next button, refusing to peel my sight from her. i felt a knot in my stomach form.
"do you miss the ukraine?"
"yes." she was still. quiet. unflinching with her gaze. "yes, my home. i cry for her at night times."
i felt my hand reach out blindly, and watched myself lightly squeeze her shoulder. we maintained eye contact, and she put her own hand atop mine and squeezed back. she smiled sadly, blinked, and looked away. i went back to undoing the buttons.
after, we didn't speak too much, only to tell her what she should do if she were to come back and order a dress, and she thanked me heartily and left. i put back the dresses, closed the curtains, washed my mug, and tidied the desk. i waited for Karen to finish in silence, trying desperately to remember everything that had just happened. trying to understand how some people are lucky, and some people are not.
i checked the appointment form later and read that her name was Oksana.
in russian, that translates as Praise Be To God.
sincerely, the caravan girl.
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