Threads by Sophia Bennett

me.’
    Granny smiles a huge smile and practically kisses Crow, who's succeeded where all my other friends have failed. She and Granny have a friend in common. And not only that, but a friend who reminds Granny of the happiest time in her life, before all her family money was spent on her mother's boyfriends, death taxes, repairing the roof, and educating Mum and Poor Uncle Jack (who lives in a bungalow in East Anglia, mends MG sports carsand is rumoured to Take Drugs), as we are so regularly reminded.
    At this point, Mum arrives with a tray laden with china cups and saucers, teapot, milk jug and sugar bowl (Granny doesn't take sugar but is appalled if the bowl isn't included). Granny waves her away.
    ‘Your delightful guest and I are going to visit the workroom. We have lots to talk about. Please don't disturb us.’
    And off they sweep, Crow happily trailing in Granny's wake. Mum and I look at each other in mild disbelief and I help her take the tray back to the kitchen.
    As usual when Granny visits, she takes over all our lives. Luckily for him, Harry's travelling in India, so he's spared the normal inquisition about his studies and his love life. Mum, however, is investigated at length about her love life (lack of) and pronounced SO disappointing. I'm allowed not to have one, for the time being. Instead, I become the family fetcher and carrier and have half my wardrobe vetoed as too weird or too tarty. Crow is treated like the family star.
    Granny takes us all to the Ritz and gets Crow to invite Florence and Yvette Mansard too. For someone who spends a large proportion of her life complaining about the absolute lack of family funds after they were ‘frittered away’ by her parents and children, she always seems to have a surprising amount of cash stashed away for slap-up meals, the latest shoes and glamorous jewellery (or, asshe would say, ‘the basic essentials’).
    Yvette, it turns out, has been living quietly for years in London after moving here to live with a girlfriend when she retired. Yvette is totally cool. If anything, she is more amazing than Crow suggested. She and Granny reminisce for hours about the clients, the fittings, the suits, the dresses and little places in Paris they used to know. Crow laps up every word and hardly eats. Then Yvette says that Crow is one of the most talented seamstresses she's ever encountered, as well as being able to produce original designs, and Granny couldn't be nicer to her if she were a visiting maharaja.
    There's a pause during the meal when the older members of the group take to sighing and looking nostalgic.
    ‘What happened to all those clothes?’Yvette murmurs sadly.
    ‘Oh, I've still got them,’ Granny says. ‘Mine and my mother's. They're heirlooms. I wasn't giving those away.’
    Mum and I look startled. Mum's probably thinking of the millions of occasions she could have done with borrowing something couture-ish before her modelling career enabled her to buy some of her own. I'm thinking of all those wasted childhood holidays when I could have been checking out the clothes for ideas. Crow and Yvette look reverent, as if she's mentioned a bunch of sacred relics.

    ‘Can I see them?’ Crow whispers so quietly the words hardly make it out.
    ‘Come and stay,’ Granny says imperiously. ‘Bring Nonie for company. I haven't looked at those things for years, although goodness knows my banker tells me to sell them often enough. I've got a couple of evening gowns you might find interesting. Some jackets. Some Ungaro and a bit of Chanel. Saint Laurent, of course. Unlike Mother, I wasn't always faithful to Dior. You like studying techniques, don't you, darling child? I'm sure you'll have some fun.’
    Crow says nothing else for the rest of the meal. I can tell she's busy trying to imagine Granny's cache of couture. I don't think Florence says a word throughout. Mum and I are quiet too because spending time with Granny is always a bit exhausting for us. But Granny