Queen of the Night Read Free

billboard dominates the top half of the brick wall. Doctor Gregory looks soulfully into the distance. Fluffy clouds float around his head. ‘Dream a little dream…’ is printed in large type, along his line of vision. The new poster must only be days old because the Kidds haven’t been along to paint KIDDS RUSH IN across it. Though the Kidds have gone quiet recently.
    I scowl at Doctor Gregory’s orange tan, pomaded hair and sultana eyes, as irritated as if he was standing right before me. He’s the worst Shyness has to offer. I have to remind myself that even though his face is plastered all over he can’t get to me unless I let him.
    I flip him the finger and walk away.

2

    I can tell straightaway I’m
    dealing with a high-maintenance customer. Strolling the aisles in click-clack heels, picking at the clothes with a look on her face that says none of it’s good enough for her. I busy myself with Dulcie the mannequin, struggling to pull a ski suit off her armless body.
    There’s a delicate cough behind me. I ignore it, and concentrate on pulling a blouse over Dulcie without snagging any sequins. Coughing in my ear doesn’t exactly equal asking for help. It’s amazing how many people don’t realise that.
    ‘I’m going to leave my bags here, okay?’ the girl says belatedly, after she has already dumped her twenty billion shopping bags on an armchair.
    I nod. She’s obviously been on an all-day shopping frenzy. She’s around my age, so god knows how she can afford all that stuff.
    ‘Have you got anything in smaller sizes?’
    I sigh and abandon Dulcie, who looks pissed off that I’ve left her with one plastic boob out and no arms. ‘That whole rack at the end is Japanese vintage. You’ll find most of it is pretty small.’
    I leave her to browse and peer over the edge of the balcony. Ruth is dusting the record shelves downstairs. It must be nearly closing time. She’s dressed head to toe in autumn colours to match her red hair. She sees me and waves me down with a Chux. I try to mime to her that I have a customer upstairs.
    ‘What?’ she yells. ‘You have a pet moose?’
    I make a pair of antlers out of my fists and position them on either side of my head. Then I grab Dulcie’s loose arms and slap them together in front of my body, making my best walrus sounds.
    ‘Where’s your change room?’ asks Miss High Maintenance behind me.
    I point to the far corner of the mezzanine with a plastic arm, refusing to lose my dignity. The girl hauls an armful of clothes into the cubicle. ‘Can you watch my bags?’
    As if I don’t have anything better to do. I decide to leave Dulcie au naturel overnight, and instead straightenthe racks near the change room. I’m just wondering if I can peek inside Miss High Maintenance’s designer bags, when she struggles from behind the curtain. I have to swallow a gasp.
    She’s wearing the Japanese Princess Dress.
    The JPD has hung, unwanted, on the racks for the entire time I’ve worked here, which must be four months now. No one has ever looked at it, except to laugh at how OTT it is. It’s a riot of salmon taffeta, with a high neck, puffy sleeves and a waist that makes a deep V. There are ruffles on the skirt hem, lace windows at the collarbone, and the whole thing is scattered with seed pearls and crystals.
    ‘You don’t have a mirror?’
    I drag the standing mirror out into the open. I’m enjoying the sight too much to take offence at her demanding tone. To my surprise she swivels in front of the mirror, gazing at her reflection approvingly. I bite my lip to keep from smiling. The colour is terrible on her. She could have been dead for ten days. In the water.
    ‘I don’t know…’ she says. ‘I love it, but I don’t normally wear skirts this full.’
    ‘It’s all in the accessorising,’ I tell her, snatching up a nearby belt and looping it around her. ‘You have a tiny waist so you should pull it in tight, like this. You look great. Not many people can