Without My Dress



  ‘WITHOUT MY DRESS’

  MIMI YEATS-PRHANAZ

  COPYRIGHT 2013 MIMI YEATS-PRHANAZ

  What people are saying about ‘Without My Dress’

  ‘This book was VERY odd. I do not recommend it to anyone. Just weird!’

  ‘Couldn’t even spell incredulous right. Seriously, it is not worth your time.’

  ‘Terrible, but I had nothing else to read.’

  Wait, where are you going?! Come back!!

  Chapter One

  A fresh-faced young girl stepped out of the early afternoon train in London. She was clothed in a polka-dot dress, and her dark hair was fashionably volumised. It was the 1st of April 1956, and Fiona Clay was embarking on her first journey of discovery. She was setting out to find out who she really was.

  It was a perfect spring day. The sky was blue, the spindly trees along the edge of the platform were covered with blossoms, and there were very few cigarette butts on the pavement. Less than usual, anyway. Fiona fetched her suitcase, which was polka-dot to match her dress. She flicked her unnaturally shiny hair and thought about the reason she was here…

  It was Fiona’s seventeenth birthday, and a package had arrived for her. It was wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, and the handwriting on the label was unfamiliar. Her father had tried to take it away from her, but she had been determined to keep it. Now her hands shook with anticipation as she ripped it open and caught sight of the fabric inside.

  The polka-dot fabric.

  She pulled out the dress, and as she did so, a card tumbled out of it. The outside was blank, but inside there was a mysterious message. It said, From your long-lost mother. And then there was an address in London.

  Fiona was extremely puzzled by this. “Who could it be from?” she wondered to herself.

  “Fiona,” said her father seriously, “I think this might be from your long-lost mother.”

  “Really?” said Fiona in wonder. “Golly gosh!”

  “This can only mean one thing,” her father continued, even more seriously.

  “What?” asked Fiona excitedly. “What does it mean?”

  Her father shrugged. “Search me,” he said. “I only said it meant something, I didn’t say I knew what it meant.”

  But to Fiona, there was only one possible course of action. So the week after, she put on her polka-dot dress, applied an entire can of hairspray to her head, said a joyful goodbye to her father, and skipped happily to the station. Then she remembered about her suitcase, and skipped back home again to get it, and then skipped back to the station again. By this time she had missed her train, so she waited two hours for the next one, and skipped happily onto it.

  That was the start of the most important journey of her life. And that’s how she found herself on the platform in London three hours later, ready to pursue her destiny.

  Fiona Clay was about to meet her mother for the first time.

  ***

  Fiona stopped at the house, checking the address against the piece of paper in her hand. It wasn’t what she had expected at all. It was a perfectly average red brick terrace house, with exactly six windows and exactly one door. It also had a chimney with two chimney-pots, a small front garden, and a flower pot next to the door which contained more weeds than flowers. It couldn’t have got any more ordinary, so Fiona wasn’t sure why it wasn’t what she expected. She walked slowly up to the front door and rang the bell. It played the tune to ‘Jingle Bells’. She waited in anticipation.

  Ten minutes later, she was getting tired of anticipation, so she rang the bell again. She rang it so many times that she also began to get tired of ‘Jingle Bells’. Finally, the door opened, and Fiona nearly fell over. This was because her heel was caught in the ‘Welcome’ doormat. She got up and nearly fell over again as she set eyes on the person in front of her.

  “My mother is a man?” she gasped in wonder.

  “Nein,” said the man in a German accent. “I am a only lodger staying here. You must be Cecilia’s long-lost daughter that nobody knew existed, yes?”

  “Yes,” said Fiona faintly, wishing she’d used more hairspray. Her hair had sagged to only three inches above her forehead. She was also feeling quite faint. It could have been because of the hairspray fumes, but she was quite sure it was because of the man. His blond hair was like a thickly-woven rug which had been glued to his head, and he had sideburns. This made him totally irresistible.

  “Who are you?” she asked in wonder. The man drew himself up to his full five feet eight inches.

  “I,” he said, “am Frederick DeNoüh.”

  Fiona blinked in confusion. “Eh?” she said.

  “My name,” said the man, “is… DeNoüh.”

  “You don’t know what your name is?” Fiona said.

  “No, I… oh, forget it,” said the man. “Just call me Fred.”

  “Frederick!” called a voice from inside. “Are you talking to the milkman again? How many times do I have to tell you, he’s not interested in philosophy? Or economics. Now can you please shut the door, my ankles are fr…” The voice stopped as the person entered the hallway and saw who was at the door.

  “Cecilia,” said Frederick. “Your secret long-lost daughter has arrived.”

  The woman standing in the hallway behind him shook out her long auburn hair. “How did you know about my daughter?” she asked in horror. “Have you been reading my diaries again?”

  “Nein, of course not,” said Frederick, going very red.

  “Is anyone going to let me in?” asked Fiona. “Only I’ve already been standing on this step for thirty-five minutes, and I’m getting pins and needles.”

  “Of course, how rude of me!” cried the red-haired woman. She stepped forward to embrace Fiona. Fiona choked violently, because her mother’s arm was around her neck very tightly.

  “Cecilia, I think you should let your daughter go,” said Frederick. “She is turning blue.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” said Cecilia impatiently. She removed her arm. Fiona gasped in air.

  “Fiona,” Cecilia said gravely when her daughter had recovered. “I have some rather shocking news for you. You see… I am your long-lost mother.”

  “I know,” said Fiona in confusion. “That’s why I’m here. I don’t just arrive at random people’s front doors with a suitcase.”

  “No sense of drama,” huffed Cecilia. “Just like your father. Come on, Frederick. Let’s go and make dinner. Fiona, go into the living room, you’re sleeping on the sofa. Frederick is using one of the spare rooms, and I’m using the other as an extension of my wardrobe.” With that, she strode dramatically out of the room. Frederick smiled apologetically at Fiona, before following Cecilia into the kitchen. Fiona found the living room, and put her bags on the sofa. It was a very narrow sofa – she wasn’t sure if there would be room for both her and her hair.

  Soon afterwards, Frederick stuck his head around the door. “FIONA!” he shouted at the top of his voice. “I HAVE MADE THE DINNER!”

  “Why are you shouting?” asked Fiona. “I’m only here.”

  “I am terribly sorry,” said Frederick. “You are so thin I did not notice you were there.” He winked at her. Fiona’s heartbeat accelerated, though she wasn’t sure if it was with excitement or fear. She went into the kitchen, where their meal was waiting on the table.

  “What is it?” she asked, looking at the plates with suspicion.

  “It is Battenberg,” answered Frederick. “A kind of cake. In my country, all we eat is Battenberg.”

  “What’s that next to it?” asked Fiona.

  “It is sauerkraut,” said Frederick. “Made of pickled cabbage. In my country…”

  “Yes, yes,” said Cecilia impatiently. “Don’t be rud
e, Fiona. Come and eat your Battenkraut.”

  “Battenkraut?” said Fiona.

  “A mixture of Battenberg and sauerkraut,” explained Frederick. “I invented it for your mother the day I arrived here, as a surprise. In my country…”

  “No-one cares!” yelled Cecilia in frustration. Frederick stared at her, hurt in his eyes.

  “I mean… there’ll be time for that later,” said Cecilia quickly. “After dessert.”

  “What’s dessert?” asked Fiona.

  “Sauerberg,” replied Frederick. “A mixture of sauerkraut and Battenberg.”

  “How is it any different to Battenkraut?” Fiona wondered out loud.

  “It is arranged the other way round on the plate,” said Frederick. “The best idea I ever had. It is a culinary masterpiece. I even measure the plates with a ruler to make sure they contain exactly 65% Battenberg and 35% sauerkraut.”

  “Actually,” said Fiona, “I feel a little queasy. I think I’ll go and lie down for a while.” She tried to lie down on her tiny sofa, but it was impossible to do so without squashing her hair, so she lay on the floor instead.

  Soon after, Frederick came in, carrying a glass of water.

  “Why are you lying on the floor?” he asked. Fiona tried to answer, but she had just noticed how beautiful his eyes were. They were like the sky on a cloudy day, filled with rainbows like an oil spillage on a damp road.

  “Are you alright?” asked Frederick. “Here, I brought you some water.”

  Gratefully, Fiona took a sip, then gagged. “It burns!” she gasped.

  “Oh mein gott, has vodka got into the water system again?” asked Frederick in horror. “I always tell Cecilia, you need to get your water pipes looked at. I never know how this happens…”

  “Frederick,” said Cecilia icily, entering the room. “There you are. Why don’t you come over here and tell Fiona the story of how you discovered me?”

  “Of course,” said Frederick, joining Cecilia on the piano stool, because Fiona was blocking access to the sofa. Her eyes were still watering from the vodka. Frederick cleared his throat and began his story.

  “I was lying in my bed one night in Germany,” he began, “gazing up at the full moon, because they were doing repairs on our roof and some of the tiles were missing. And I felt a deep yearning in my heart…”

  “For what?” asked Fiona in awe. “For love?”

  “No, for Battenberg, of course,” Frederick replied. “And I was just about to rise from my bed in pursuit of it, when I had a vision. A vision which told me one thing: I must come to Britain, and search for a woman, a woman called Clay. So I came here, and I combed the land until I found Cecilia.”

  “It’s so romantic,” sighed Cecilia in a very smug kind of way. She tossed her auburn hair over her shoulder. “It’s getting late, I’m going to bed now. See you in the morning.” She left the room, and there was an awkward silence.

  “So,” said Fiona, though her hands were shaking, as they did every time she spoke to Frederick, “what do you do for a living?” It was the only question she could think of to ask.

  “Me?” he asked, as if he was surprised by the question. “Me, I am… ah nein, I have forgotten the word. I… cut people up and take bits of them out. You know the word?”

  “Hmm,” said Fiona, thinking. “Axe murderer? Serial killer? Homicidal maniac?”

  “Nein, none of those,” said Frederick. “Ah, I have remembered! Surgeon, that is it. I am a surgeon.”

  “Wow,” said Fiona, amazed. “You’re German and you’re a surgeon? That even rhymes!”

  “Yes, but alas,” said Frederick grimly. “I have dark tragedies lurking within me.”

  “Really?” said Fiona, open-mouthed. “What are they?”

  Frederick opened his mouth to answer, but just then a voice called down to them. “Frederick! It’s past your bedtime!”

  Frederick rolled his eyes. “I must go,” he said. “Goodbye.”

  Fiona tried to say goodbye back, but her voice caught in her throat. She reached for her water and took a gulp, before remembering that it was vodka. She choked again as she lay down on her uncomfortable sofa. She had a feeling that it was going to be a long night.

  Chapter Two

  Fiona woke up on the floor of her mother’s living room. The cushions had fallen off the sofa when she had, and were smothering her. To her left, a hole had been burnt in the carpet where she had knocked the vodka over. It had taken her three hours to get to sleep, and her eyes felt like they were full of sauerkraut.

  “Gosh,” said Fiona to herself, “I didn’t imagine it quite like this.”

  Just then, she heard footsteps from the hallway. She recognised them as Frederick’s, and a moment later his face appeared in the doorway, rapidly followed by the rest of his body.

  “What happened?” he asked in puzzlement, looking at the pile of cushions and limbs on the floor by the sofa.

  “Mmfl,” Fiona said, trying to remove herself from under the pile. Frederick heroically strode into the room and pulled her out.

  “Why are you up so early?” she asked him, pleased that she’d managed to get out a full sentence while talking to him.

  “I like to walk in the sunrise,” he said. Then he lowered his voice. “Actually, it’s to do with my dark tragedy. But you can’t mention a word about that to Cecilia. She knows nothing about it. So I tell her I must walk by sunrise to clear my head.”

  “Golly gosh,” said Fiona, struggling to her feet. “Will you tell me about your dark tragedy?”

  Frederick looked around nervously. “Not now. Later, maybe. Now, I must go.” He ran from the room. Fiona thought he ran like a gazelle, though maybe he was more like a gazelle on steroids.

  Soon afterwards, Cecilia burst dramatically into the living room, wearing a leopard-print bathrobe. “Fiona,” she said. “My darling daughter. You don’t know how much you mean to me.”

  Fiona rubbed her eyes. “Is that why I’m sleeping on the sofa?” she asks.

  “Now, Fiona, don’t be rude to your mother,” said Cecilia. “So, is there anything you’d like to ask me?”

  Fiona thought about this. “Hmm,” she said. “I’d like to know why you abandoned me as a baby to live with my father who doesn’t really like me, condemning me to a painful childhood filled with trauma.”

  Cecilia rolled her eyes. “Oh, pick an easy one, why don’t you? I think I might have been wrong about you having no sense of drama. Fine, fine, I’ll tell you.”

  Fiona waited expectantly.

  “It all began seventeen years ago, in 1939,” began Cecilia. “I was seventeen years old, the same age as you are now. I had recently left my abusive parents behind in London, and gone to seek a better life.”

  “Where did you go?” asked Fiona.

  “Norfolk, of course,” said Cecilia. “Where else would you go in search of enlightenment? And while I was there, I met a young soldier and we fell in love. But then disaster struck. The second world war began, and the soldier went off to war. What he didn’t know was that I was a few months pregnant with his baby. Naturally I was in no condition to support myself, and after I gave birth I was forced to go back to my parents. But I couldn’t take my child - I left you with the soldier’s family to give to him when he got back, so that my parents wouldn’t know that I had…” she coughed, “…lost my virginity before getting married.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” asked Fiona. “As an open-minded member of society, I feel that…”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” snapped Cecilia. “That kind of attitude won’t be acceptable for at least thirty years, so just forget it.”

  “Something else I don’t understand,” said Fiona. “I didn’t think my father was ever a soldier.”

  “Well, you’re wrong, because he was,” said Cecilia quickly. “Now, I must go and drink my morning glass of…water. You think this perfect complexion just happens on its own?” She left in a huff.

  Fiona decided to g
o out in search of a job, because she didn’t like the idea of being in the house with Cecilia all day. She pulled on her polka-dot dress, since it was a symbol of so many things – it represented a new beginning and knowing who she really was, and, above all, her innocence. She wasn’t sure how polka-dots symbolised innocence, but it sounded very impressive.

  Fiona skipped around the streets, searching for posters advertising work. She couldn’t think why she was getting so many strange looks. She skipped for a full two hours, before seeing a poster which said, “Attractive secretary wanted for rich businessman. Must be able to read, write and use a telephone.”

  Fiona entered the building and stopped in the reception area. “Excuse me,” she said to the receptionist. “I’m Fiona Clay. I saw your notice outside. I’m interested in the job, although don’t you feel it’s a very stereotypical role for a young attractive girl such as myself? Surely we should be trying to rid our society of this typecasting and prejudice?”

  The young attractive receptionist blinked at her. “Look, do you want the job or not?” she asked. “Because if you don’t, you can stop wasting my time. I’ve got coffee to make.”

  “I’ll take the job, on the condition that you promise me there will be opportunities for me to showcase my skills in marketing, and ultimately fulfil my ambition of running the company,” said Fiona.

  “Yeah, yeah,” said the receptionist, rolling her eyes. “You work from nine to five in the office upstairs, starting tomorrow. Wear hairspray.”

  Satisfied, Fiona left the office building. She went in search of a shop which sold hairspray, because she was down to only seven cans, but as she crossed the street, she saw something which made her stop in her tracks.

  “That man with the sideburns and hair like a thatched roof looks like Frederick,” she thought to herself. “But that can’t be possible, because he’s walking next to a beautiful woman who isn’t my mother.”

  But as the couple drew closer, it became clear that it was indeed Frederick.

  “Golly gosh,” said Fiona in surprise. “I wonder who that woman is?”

  “Don’t talk to yourself, it makes you sound crazy,” said a passing randomer.

  “Sorry,” said Fiona. She watched as Frederick and the woman carried on down the street.