The Great Christmas Knit Off by Alexandra Brown Page B

teasing the brush free and scooping up another section and repeating the process all over again, each time gathering speed.
    ‘Voila! How’s that for madam,’ he eventually declares, grabbing a round mirror and holding it behind my back. I twist my head to get a better look, loving how he’s managed to get my bedraggled, snowswept curls cascading in a way I’ve never managed to before.
    ‘Oh, Lawrence I love it.’ I stand up and give him a hug.
    ‘It’s nothing,’ he says modestly, ‘as our Chezza says, it’s because you’re worth it.’ He hugs me back and then takes both my hands in his and squeezes them gently. ‘And don’t you ever forget it.’ He pulls a stern face, pretending to chastise me. I look into his eyes, thinking what a lovely, kind man he is. I’m so glad I came to Tindledale – I would never have met him otherwise. Maybe Cher not being here happened for a reason too – not that Lawrence is better than Cher, just different, and exactly what I needed today.
    There’s a knock on the door, breaking the moment, and a few seconds later the door swings inwards and a woman appears with a nonchalant look on her face. Tall and slim, she’s wearing a lemon-yellow padded ski jacket and denim Daisy Dukes over thick opaque tights with knee-high wedged boots. She has scarlet shoulder length hair set in a Dita Von Teese style, her face is a flawless powdery white and she has cherry red lips and smoky grey eyes. She’s breathtakingly beautiful and so sexy looking. Luminescent. Oh God, I think I may have my first girl crush – I have to forcibly resist the overwhelming urge to stroke her hair.
    ‘Hello, Lawrence,’ she says throatily, and even her voice sounds super sexy.
    ‘Ruby, this is Sybs. Sybs, this is Ruby, she owns the vintage clothes shop on the High Street,’ Lawrence says by way of an introduction.
Ah, of course she does.
We smile and shake hands. ‘Did you bring the clothes?’ he asks. I grin awkwardly, bobbing from one foot to the other as she casts a lazy look over my body.
    ‘Of course. And in a range of sizes too.’ And she turns and sashays back out of the room, leaving me to wonder what her verdict is.
    ‘Don’t mind her, she’s a poppet really. We’re the best of friends and I knew she’d help you out with some clothes.’ Lawrence picks up a silver-embossed cigarette case, selects a cigarillo and lights one up before offering it to me. I shake my head. ‘Are you sure? I find them very restorative.’ He smiles.
    ‘No, really, thank you,’ I grin, inhaling anyway. There’s just something about the nostalgic waft of a cigar – it reminds me of my granddad, he was a big cigar fan too. Keeping the cigarillo for himself, Lawrence pushes open a window to puff the smoke out into the cold snowy air. ‘You won’t tell anyone will you? Only it’s not
really
a public place this room,’ he says, draping himself across a padded window seat before flicking the ash outside. He winks at me before pulling his cigarillo hand back in to brush a smattering of snowflakes away. I shake my head and smile in agreement.
    Ruby returns with a pile of clothes under her left arm and holds a pair of skinny jeans out towards me, dangling them by the belt loop on the end of a pillar-box red polished fingertip. I peer at the jeans suspiciously, as they look very small.
    ‘Try them. They’re your size.’ She dips her head slightly to one side as reassurance. I hesitate. Lawrence and Ruby are both staring at me, so I slip my soggy Converse off. And oh my God, what is that pong? Oh no. To my shame I realise it’s the trainers, still damp from the snow and sweaty like an old wheel of Brie: my feet officially reek like a thirteen-year-old boy’s bedroom. Eewww! Lawrence thoughtfully sweeps the offending shoes across the floor and straight into the naughty corner.
    ‘Here,’ Lawrence gestures to a curtained section of the room, ‘you can change behind there.’
    ‘Thank you,’ I say,