Livora Gracely

She had nothing to wear. Her shadow disagreed.

Already Dressed

Vera’s shadow had chosen its evening dress while Vera was still wearing her apron.

The skirt spread across the workroom floor in a long black sweep. Above it, the shadow stood with one hand at its waist and the other holding a pair of scissors.

Vera looked down at her own scissors.

“I have nothing to wear.”

The shadow turned slightly. A pale line curved across its bodice, exactly where Vera had cut the neckline of Mrs Vale’s gown.

“That isn’t yours.”

The shadow lifted its chin.

Vera knew the gesture. Mrs Vale had made it at the final fitting, just before asking to see the back.

The Missing Line

The real gown had gone to the gallery that morning.

Beside Vera’s sewing machine lay a printed invitation to the opening, with a copy of the proposed display label. The exhibition brought together clothes people had kept for special occasions.

Evening gown. Lent by Mrs Helen Vale.

Below that were the year and a short account of the dinner at which she had worn it.

Vera had read the paragraph twice. It mentioned the flowers on the tables.

She set her scissors down.

The shadow’s scissors remained in its hand.

“You can’t take those to an opening.”

It lowered them, reluctantly, beside its skirt.

Vera picked up her phone and began a reply to the organiser.

Thank you for inviting me. I’m afraid I won’t be able to—

She stopped.

A reel of thread rolled beneath the table, drawing a thin line across the floor. Vera caught it with her foot and bent to pick it up.

The shadow bent too. Its long skirt stayed beautifully arranged.

Vera sat back at the machine.

“It took me three evenings to get that neckline right.”

The shadow straightened.

“And the skirt was my pattern. Mrs Vale chose the cloth, but I drew it, cut it, and sewed it.”

She looked at the unfinished message.

“It isn’t the clothes.”

Her Own Name

Vera deleted the last sentence and began again.

Thank you for sending the display label. Could you please add that the gown was designed and made by Vera Bell? I made it for Mrs Vale in the year you’ve listed.

She read it through. Then she added:

Could that description also be included beside my name on the invitation? I would like to attend as the maker of the gown.

She sent it before returning to the cuff waiting beside her machine.

For a while, there was only the small sound of her needle passing through cloth. Chalk dust marked one finger. She rubbed it against her apron and worked the last stitch.

When the reply came, she laid the cuff flat before opening it.

The organiser thanked her for pointing out the missing credit. A revised label was attached.

Designed and made by Vera Bell. Lent by Mrs Helen Vale.

Vera checked both names.

The invitation had been corrected too.

She put the phone on the table and looked towards the dark skirt trailing beside her chair.

“That will do.”

The shadow offered its scissors.

“No,” Vera said. “We won’t need another dress.”

One Invitation

Upstairs, Vera took her plain dark dress from the wardrobe.

She checked the hem, brushed a little lint from one shoulder, and hung it on the door. Her good shoes would need wiping. There was time for that after she finished the cuff.

When she returned to the workroom, the shadow was waiting in its gown.

“I thought you’d keep it.”

The shadow spread one hand over the skirt.

Vera untied her apron and hung it on its hook. She picked up her phone to confirm that she would attend.

The shadow leaned towards the screen.

There was her name, properly written, with her work beside it.

Vera began to put the phone away.

A dark finger tapped the empty space underneath.

She looked from the invitation to the enormous train across her floor.

“You want one as well?”

The shadow held out its hand.

Vera sighed.

“All right. But you’re coming as yourself.”