look at the clothes. Theyâre all neatly folded, and some of them are wrapped in tissue paper.
I take out a pretty blue cardigan. Iâm careful, because Iâm worried it might fall to bits since itâs been in that suitcase for so long. It was obviously hand-knitted, and has some lovely pearl buttons. It feels so soft, but it smells so horrible it makes me cough.
âEeoogh, that stinks!â
âMothballs,â says Great-aunt Eleanor, still looking at the papers.
âThey keep the bugs out, love,â says Gran. âThese are good quality clothes and mothballs keep âem safe. Otherwise the mothsâll eat their way through this lot.â
I shiver at the thought of insects crawling around in the suitcase
âRight. Nice.â
I lay the cardigan carefully over the back of a chair, and pick up the next thing â an old-fashioned cotton nightdress. Itâs white, with tiny flowers embroidered in pinks and purples around the neckline. It stinks as well, but I turn my head away, and take a deep breath before I hold it up against me. It covers me from neck to toe.
âOh, wow! Did people really wear stuff like this?â I ask.
Gran smiles and nods. âAh, thatâs lovely,â she says. âAnd cosy too. We didnât have no central heating back then. A nice long nighty was just the thing to keep your bum from getting frostbite.â
âGran!â I laugh. What is she like?
âWell, itâs true. Blooming freezing, this old house was. We had big candlewick dressing gowns too, and bed socks. Didnât we, Nell?â
âMmm?â Great-aunt Eleanor was busy studying the papers, but looked up when Gran said her name. âBed socks. Yes.â
Sheâs staring at me again. I feel cold all of a sudden. I turn round and stuff the nightdress back into the case.
Gran tuts. âNo, come here, Rosie. Donât do it like that, love. Let me fold it proper.â She picks it up and sorts it out. But before she puts it back she gets all the other stuff out. âYou should try some of these on.â She picks up a tweed skirt, shakes the creases out and passes it to me. âI reckon theyâre about your size.â
I hold the skirt against me. Itâs a lot longer than I usually wear, ending below my knees.
âAn excellent idea,â says Great-aunt Eleanor. âI believe the fashion these days is for âretro.ââ She makes quote marks in the air. âYour grandmother will be able to style your hair as well.â
Gran nods, clapping her hands together. âOoh, yes! I used to love hairdressing, didnât I, Nelly? With all that long dark hair, I can give you some really fancy doâs. Itâll be fun.â
Iâm not so sure. This feels freaky. âActually, itâs vintage.â I say. âAnd itâs not my sort of thing, thanks.â
Gran looks disappointed, making me feel mean. I really donât want to play dressing up with a load of old clothes. But I donât want to upset Gran either. Great-aunt Eleanor just looks annoyed.
âNonsense,â she says. âJust about everything you young girls wear these days is a copy of fashions your mothers wore in the 60s and 70s. You might at least try these on.â
I want to stick my tongue out at her for real now, but donât dare. Instead, I bite my lip. It just feels wrong, thatâs all.
âYou donât have to if you donât want to, love,â says Gran, making me feel even worse. What else can I do?
âOh, all right,â I say. âIâll give it a go.â
Immediately, Gran cheers up, and old Nelly nods, satisfied. I pick up a pale pink blouse to go with the skirt. With any luck they wonât fit.
The skirt and blouse do fit, perfectly. I canât believe it. I go and show the old women, trying not to gag as I get a waft of Eau de Mothballs as I move. Theyâre in the kitchen, brewing more tea.
Tanya Barnard, Sarah Kramer