The Epiphany
At arrivals Riley was at the barrier wearing a yellow bobble hat and holding what looked like yards and yards of yellow ribbon. I spotted Mother and Father and ran to them.
‘I’m okay, I’m fine,’ I told them. Mother had tears in her eyes.
‘Thank goodness you’re home.’ She hugged me as did Father, making a Magenta sandwich out of me. Joining the group hug was Riley, wrapping us all in yellow ribbon and sobbing.
‘Free at last, thank God, you’re free at last,’ she said.
The group untangled itself.
‘Thank you for coming, Dr King,’ I said turning to Riley. ‘And I think yellow ribbon is for people who did time.’
‘I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t sleep all night worrying about you,’ said Riley.
I squeezed her arm. ‘It was lovely of you to come, Riley, but please tell me you were able to cover up for me with the two designers I didn’t get to meet with.’
‘Yes, all taken care of.’ She tapped the side of her nose and I didn’t dare ask what excuses she’d made for me.
‘I hope it wasn’t a completely wasted journey,’ Mother said as we all made our way to the exit.
‘Not at all,’ I said. ‘I did have one very successful meeting. There’s a designer I’m dying to work with but I’ll have to see if I can reschedule with the others.’
‘Have you ever thought of using your own designs?’ Mother said. She linked my arm as we walked.
‘But, Mother –’
‘No, think about it, Magenta. For the past year you’ve done nothing but deal with designers for the man bags. You must have learned a thing or two by now. The same thing happened with me and the lingerie. You know I designed a few of our ranges back in the day? You get a feel for what people want and you, Magenta, are an artist. You know what looks good and you know what sells because you know handbags. Just look at your wardrobe: it speaks volumes. And look at how easily you did that design for my wedding dress.’
We were outside of the airport. Indigo was negotiating a couple of taxis and Riley was looking for a place to dump the yellow ribbon.
‘But that was just a rough drawing,’ I said. ‘I’ve been having to sit with a real dress designer to make it happen.’
‘So why can’t you do the same thing with a design of your own for a handbag?’
‘Mother, are you just saying this to distract me from my recent traumatic experience? You know this is likely to scar me for the rest of my life. I’ll never look at Prada in the same way and I’ll be looking over my shoulder every time I reach for the Aspirins in Boots.’
‘Not a distraction, just something I believe you would have decided to do yourself in time. For an artistic, fashion-conscious person such as you are, it’s a natural progression.’
As our taxis pulled up I stood and pondered the idea for a moment. It had never occurred to me to design a bag myself, not properly. I mean I’d noodled man bag ideas several times without thinking much about it so it wasn’t a completely absurd idea. Only yesterday I’d struggled to find my wallet when I went to pay at the café and at the pharmacy. On the flight out I couldn’t put my hand on my passport quickly enough, either. What if I were to design the perfect handbag, the handbag I would defy anyone to lose anything in again? Lipsticks, pens, Oyster cards, whatever. Maybe I could consult with a designer I already did business with. It wasn’t a bad idea at all.
‘I think you’ve hit on something, Mother,’ I said. ‘No seriously, I think I could come up with some designs. I’m going to sit with it. Thank you.’
‘Like I said, you would have thought of it sooner or later.’ Mother kissed my cheek and she, Father, and Indigo boarded the first taxi. ‘All you need is the confidence and you’ve got that in spades.’
I was almost tempted to tell Mother that I’d pass on all the great advice she ever gave me to my own children but Anthony and I had decided to wait before telling everyone the good news. Besides, it would be better if my brush with a life of crime died down a bit first. I had visions of becoming a person of interest for intelligence agencies across the globe and they’d stop and search my Babybjörn baby carrier whenever I was out walking in the park with Anthony junior.
Riley, Anthony, and I jumped into the second of the taxis and dropped Riley off so she could continue by tube back to the office. On the way home, I thought about the possibilities of sharpening my design skills as well as hiring a real-life Frank Farmer from The Bodyguard to protect me and the baby. But Mother was right: it was likely I’d want to get into the nitty-gritty of designing one day. That day had arrived.
I sat in the bath for ages when I got home. I’d been trying to eliminate the stench of my former jail cell from my pores and the water was going cold. I’d also been in planning mode, thinking about the rebranding idea and then about becoming a designer in my own right, whether that be for clothes or accessories. Or both.
As far as a rebranding went I had to make a big splash and I wanted to do it soon. I wondered if I could gather enough publicity to make everything happen before my parents’ wedding the following May. I was sure I could. I’d even create a unisex range – I often used our Shearman man bags myself.
Ideas began to flow. It had been a while since I organized a show and I was longing for a chance to do it again. It would be a year of celebrations. I looked at my tummy and smoothed my hand over it.
‘A rebranding, a wedding, and you’ll be celebration number three,’ I thought and did a quick calculation of when the birth might be. I’d get a doctor’s appointment and confirm my due date. I couldn’t wait.
The bubbles were melting away fast and the water had become too cool to sit in any more so I got out and got dry. Anthony was back at the gallery and I was too tired to go back into the office for the afternoon.
Still in my dressing gown, I went downstairs to find a pad of paper and a pencil. I began designing a new name for the company. I felt that Shearman was synonymous with man bags and that something ought to change in the name when the women’s line launched.
In a similar style to the Shearman logo I scrawled an ampersand beside the company name. Shearman and what? I asked myself. I wrote Shearman again but without adding an ampersand. Beside it I wrote Bright. Our two names together made perfect sense. A marriage of two brands just as one day Anthony and I might be married.
I giggled at the thought. In the same way we’d never spoken about children, neither had we discussed marriage. Maybe it was time.
By the evening I’d given in to my tired and soggy brain. I’d been in planning mode all day and before I knew it, it was dark outside and Anthony was back from Slater’s. He’d brought wine and a takeaway and I was happy to veg out on the sofa and tell him all about my plans. I showed him how I’d married our names together and he thought it was great.
That night I dreamt that he’d proposed to me. I would have said yes, easily if he’d proposed right after we’d taken the pregnancy test. He had been engaged once before so I knew he wasn’t averse to the idea of marriage. At least I hoped his ex hadn’t put him off.
Of course the city of love had been tainted in my book and I no longer wanted to return to Paris for a romantic getaway with Anthony in the spring. But had Anthony proposed to me straight after we’d seen the results of the test, Paris wouldn’t have seemed so bad.