WordSmith: Two dresses and the humming sound of doubt

As soon as I saw the dress I knew it was the one. I lifted it from the rail and checked the size – perfect.

I’d been searching for the right dress for a while, so to find it at the eleventh hour felt like a minor miracle. As I stood appraising it, I became aware of a couple watching me. Sensing their curiosity I said, “It’s not for me.”

The woman smiled, “If it is, what do we care?”

At this point I probably protested a little too much, “No honestly, it’s not for me!”

Their exchanged glances, accompanied by smiles and subtle eye-rolls, suggested I hadn’t convinced either of them the magenta-pink dress wasn’t destined for my wardrobe. Flustered, I hung it back on the rail and left the shop. Later, I went back and bought it.

I’ll return to that pink dress shortly, but first I need to tell you about another dress-related story that the incident brought rushing back. It was the festive season, and our extended family had assembled in Cavan for the week. Christmas Day started with a few seasonal grumbles, which soon escalated into rowdy rumbles. Then, as the spuds boiled over so too did long-simmering tensions. A startling revelation landed in the middle of the dinner table like a hand grenade. Come pudding, the turkey wasn’t the only thing carved up – it was Family At War!

St Stephen’s Day was the wane after the war. But it was an uncertain wane as Maria and I sheltered from post-war shrapnel in her bedroom. As always we talked and circled the room, hoping to right the wrongs of the previous day, trying to make sense of the secrets spilled on a sacred day; but we couldn’t.

I looked forward to getting back to London to escape it all; and during a welcome silence ‘work’ entered my mind. My eyes settled on the open doors of Maria’s wardrobe, I walked towards it and began looking at her clothes with an eager eye.

Maria, noting my enthusiasm asked, “What’re you looking for?”

My answer was curt, “A dress!”

Maria joined me as I took from the rail a green frock with sequinned collar and cuffs, “Can I borrow this?” I asked. She put a supportive arm on my shoulder, “You can have it, Gerard.”

There was something in her response that suggested my sister was getting the wrong side of a stick, so I replied, “I don’t want it, it’s for an advertisement photoshoot at work, it fits the brief perfectly,” I explained. Maria gave me the side-eye and replied with that humming sound which is questioning code for ‘I’m doubting you’ – “Hmmmmm?”

She sat back on the bed, “It won’t fit you perfectly, it’s a sixteen, I’d say you’re a size twelve.” I looked at her in disbelief, “Maria, what’re you talking about?” She had a familiar look in her eyes, one of caring support for her kid brother, “Gerard, you don’t have to hide from me, if you want to wear women’s clothes I don’t care; just let’s keep it from Dad for now, it’ll be too much for him to take after yesterday’s revelations.”

I burst out laughing, “Maria, I have no desire to wear women’s clothes; I’ve got a photoshoot when I get back to work and that dress would be good for one of the characters in the ad…”

She cut me off with that sound – “Hmmmmm?”

Anyway, back in London the stylist on the photoshoot rejected my stylistic input in favour of her own. I always called Maria on my way home from work and on this occasion she asked, “How did that photoshoot go, I’d love to see the ad, did the dress look good on the woman?” I replied in-truth, “They never used it, the stylist preferred her option.”

Maria replied – “Hmmmmm?”

You know something, I never did convince Maria that the green dress wasn’t for me – she died convinced I was a secret cross-dresser.

Now, back to that pink dress purchased in a Cavan pre-loved shop. The truth is I’m helping out on a film project, and part of my remit is sourcing costumes. One of the main female characters needed a 1980s-style dress and the pink number was perfect. The director approved it, the actress dazzled in it, and I was delighted with my find. The only people unconvinced were the couple in the shop, who almost certainly still believe the dress was for me.

Leaving the shop with the dress in my backpack, the sun burst through the clouds. I looked up and smiled. For a moment I’m convinced I heard my dearest Maria humming from heaven above – “Hmmmmm?”