Esther Chilton

This weekend, it’s time for the story which was awarded second place in the themed competition I held at  Swanwick Writing Summer School. Entrants had to write a story between 1000-3000 words on any of the following themes: 

LIBRARY, JOURNEY or LOVE.

Travelling With Sarah

By

Sally McMahon

‘Look at that gorgeous shawl, Mum. It’s just perfect.’

I shiver in anticipation as the young woman carefully picks me up and places me next to a midnight-blue velvet evening dress, peeping from her shopping bag. As she considers us both, her head dips to one side, a curtain of blonde waves kissing her shoulder.

‘It’s lovely, Sarah. I don’t think I’ve seen a shawl like it. I think it might be silk tulle.’ Sarah’s mother runs her fingers down my subtle turquoise, purple and pink swirls. Luckily, at that moment, the sun shines through the shop window, and my silver threads shimmer beautifully. Sarah smiles and touches the tiny beads threaded onto my fringe.

‘These beads match the daisies on my dress.’

She pulls the dress a little further from its bag, and I can see glittering chains of tiny flowers running down the bodice.

‘It’s so delicate and light, Mum. I must have it.’

She lifts me up, holds me against her cheek and I know that I am hers.

To my excitement, within days of moving in with Sarah and her husband, Paul, we go on a cruise to celebrate her thirtieth birthday, and I am thrilled to learn that I have been bought specifically for formal evenings, when the restaurant and ballroom sparkle with women in evening gowns and men in tuxedos.  I quiver in joy as I arrange myself elegantly across Sarah’s chair, watching her twirl and spin in Paul’s arms, her blue eyes shining with delight. I glance around the room and see many other shawls and wraps. Some are sequined, a little vulgar I think, and some are hand knitted or crocheted, looking more suitable for an evening by the fireside. Others, like me, are more uniquely designed, and anxiously I study the velvets, chiffons and silks adorned with silver or gold threads, beads, or diamantes. A breeze softly lifts my fringe as the door from the deck opens, and as it closes again, I settle gracefully back into my place. There is nothing to compare with my poise and refinement. Sarah returns and slides lightly onto my chair.

‘Paul, that was marvellous.’

He kisses her hand, and shivering slightly in the air conditioning, she folds me around her shoulders. The scent of her vanilla perfume winds its way through me, and I shine, putting all my rivals into the shadows.

This first trip is thrilling, as before meeting Sarah I had never left the shop of my creation, let alone the country. Whilst Sarah and Paul spend their days sightseeing in the warm winter air of the Canaries, I lie across the arm of the sofa in their stateroom, gazing at the various ports we visit. I long for Sarah to take me with her, to share in her adventures, but sadly I am a creature of the night, born to twinkle and sparkle as darkness falls, and I soon learn that it’s not all glamour and parties. My new life is often lonely, and I spend many weeks in the darkness of a drawer, only set free to preen and pose when Sarah chooses me for a party or a holiday. On one occasion I attend a fancy awards ceremony; something to do with Paul’s work, and during the evening I am even photographed for the local newspaper. However, I must be honest and say that I am not keen on Paul, as he does not give me the respect I deserve. For instance, whilst on an overnight train journey to Switzerland, Sarah takes me with her to the dining car.

‘How can this thing keep you warm? It’s too thin,’ Paul laughs, holding me at arm’s length between a finger and thumb.

‘It just does, Paul. I can’t explain it, but it does.’ Sarah snatches me away from him and places me next to her heart. A victory for me, but I can’t forgive him.

Our next cruise is several years later, to celebrate the Millenium, and I am in heaven as there are parties every night, where I adorn a series of ball gowns and cocktail dresses of different shades of blue and mauve, all bought to compliment my colours. I am exhausted, but it’s terribly exciting. The most magnificent party is in Madeira on New Year’s Eve, and Sarah has been dancing all evening. I am, as usual, draped across her chair, soaking up the glamour and unfortunately, the occasional spilled drink. I am just happily appraising a somewhat garish, green velvet wrap at a neighbouring table, when I hear Paul’s voice.

‘Let’s go out on deck. I could do with a breath of fresh air.’

Sarah picks me up.

‘Surely you don’t need that. It’s so hot in here. Look, I’ll keep it for you just in case.’ Paul stuffs me into his jacket pocket, and I feel myself crush and crease. I wriggle in the confined space, my fringe clinging desperately to the outside of the pocket, and I recoil in horror as I find myself covered in fluff, sweet wrappings and a grubby handkerchief. How could he do this to me? He’s jealous of me, that’s it! I curl up in the dark and seethe. 

‘Over here, Sarah. Let’s stand by the rail. We’ll get a fantastic view of the fireworks.’

I feel Paul’s arm curl around Sarah’s shoulders, and I want to scream and wrap myself tightly around his neck, squeezing the life from him. Sarah and I would be perfectly happy without him. The fireworks begin; bangs and whistles explode around me, and flashes of light penetrate the jacket pocket, illuminating my beads. I let out a sob of frustration; I want to see too.

‘Paul, can I have my wrap please?’ Sarah’s voice trembles in the chilly night air.

Her hand slips into the pocket and pulls me free. Thank you, my darling girl.

‘Paul! Just look what you’ve done. It’s all creased.’

She smooths me against her body, and I sigh with relief as she drapes me around her shoulders. Don’t worry, Sarah, I know how to keep you warm and make you look beautiful. I shimmy a little, and one of my fringes falls from her shoulder towards her waist, threads and beads twinkling. I hold the pose and glare malevolently towards Paul.

‘You look stunning, Sarah, and that wrap does look gorgeous,’ he concedes apologetically; perhaps, he’s not that bad after all. The three of us remain at the rail, marvelling at the firework show and welcoming in the new century. I am now beside myself with happiness at the glamour of the evening. It is where I am meant to be.

The years go by, and I remain content and confident in my importance. However, I do wish Sarah would attend a few more parties, as I can feel my fibres stiffen a little with age, and I crave light and movement to stay supple and fresh. At least I am carefully wrapped in soft tissue paper these days, which helps immensely. Sarah and I are growing older together; indeed, there are times when I notice tiny, but growing lines beside her eyes and mouth, together with silver threads, so like my own, running through her hair. It doesn’t matter. To me she is still beautiful, and we are happy, even during the dark, drawer days of the pandemic.

Then comes the inevitable day when it all changes. It starts as I overhear Paul and Sarah discussing her sixtieth birthday.

‘How about another cruise? We haven’t been on one for a few years. What about the Eastern Mediterranean? You love Venice and Florence.’

Paul has grown on me a bit over the years. He does have the occasional good idea, and I am willing Sarah to say yes.

‘Also, I think you should buy a new dress for your special day,’ he adds.

‘A cruise would be pretty special, Paul.’

He laughs.

‘Phew! That’s a relief. I’ve actually booked it already, so all we need is the dress.’

Sarah laughs in delight.

‘There are some beautiful dresses in the new boutique in Market Street.

I lie happily in my drawer. I love a new friend to adorn and decorate.

A little later, I am roused from my dozing by the slam of the front door, and I sense that something is different.

‘I’m going to try it all on, just to be sure.’

Sarah bursts into the bedroom, and I gather my folds prettily, waiting to meet the new dress.

I hear chatter and the rustling of tissue paper.

‘Darling, you look gorgeous. Red really suits you.’

I freeze. No, Sarah. No. You can’t wear red. Red doesn’t go with me at all! Panic and fear erupt as I hear what Paul says next.

‘Try the shawl, Sarah.’

There is a short silence and then…

‘Paul, it’s lovely. You are right; my old one won’t go with red.’

So now I’m the old one. Sarah, how can you be so cruel? I take care of myself and look much younger than my years; I’m vintage, classic, unique. Anyway, you’re much older than me, I think spitefully. My world collapses into one of misery, with no future apart from the darkness of a drawer and my final exit to the charity shop.

The drawer opens, and Paul pulls me roughly from my wrappings. I lie dully on the bed, staring venomously at the pink and red striped wrap adorning Sarah’s shoulders. I notice flowers of golden thread sewn randomly into the silky stripes, and a long fringe of tiny gold beads glistening and shimmering in the light. Who would have thought that pink matched red? I don’t want to admit it, but Sarah looks stunning. She glides over to the bed and lowers herself elegantly beside me, her hands stroking me gently.

‘Paul, I’m taking the daisy dress too and this wrap. I still love it, and we have history. I don’t think I could ever part with it.’

My soul lifts, and I choose to ignore the gaps in my fringe where the beads have dropped off, and the occasional silver thread that is coming adrift. Sarah still loves me, and I just need to learn how to share her with a younger model. I glance at the red and gold shawl.

‘Watch and learn,’ I sigh. ‘You may be beautiful, but you need class too.’

So here we are on the evening before Sarah’s birthday, and the daisy dress and I are shimmering in the warm breeze on the promenade deck. I accept, with grace, that the red and gold usurper will take my place on Sarah’s actual birthday, but I have tonight, and she thought of me first. She pulls me close around her shoulders.

‘I cannot believe that we’ve been together for thirty years, and you are still gorgeous, despite a few missing beads.’ Sarah laughs and holds me to her cheek, as she did in the shop all those years ago.

I fold myself a little tighter around her shoulders, willing to overlook the remarks about my beads. After all, she’s got a bit of wear and tear herself.

‘Sarah, I have champagne!’

She turns quickly towards Paul and holds out her hand to take the crystal flute. I slip a little, and a gust of wind whips around me, pulling me away.

Sarah, save me!

She drops her glass and tries to grab me, but it’s too late. I am lifted high into the air, my folds twisting, turning and furling in the night air, glittering beneath the stars. I stare down at my beautiful Sarah, who is becoming smaller and smaller, her arms outstretched and her face white with horror. The wind drops, and without its cushion I am falling, but not into Sarah’s embrace. I sigh and settle onto gently lifting waves, smelling the salt of the water as it seeps coolly into my fibres. The sea cradles and soothes away my fear with its hypnotic rhythm. The ship is slipping further and further away, and I can no longer see Sarah. I hope she’s not too cold; she has no wrap to match the daisy dress. I hope the red, pink and gold usurper takes care of her. My colours seem to match my new world perfectly, and for now I belong to the sea. Where am I going? Who will I meet? What will be my next great adventure?

At least I’m not in a drawer.

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I always advise writers to put themselves in their characters’ shoes as they’re writing and Sally has certainly done that here with her main character. I could believe in the shawl and imagine it delighting in being close to Sarah. I almost gasped aloud when it was whipped up into the air. I didn’t want them to be parted, though it’s not a sad ending but an uplifting one – the shawl clearly has more adventure to come. It’s always refreshing to read something different and I can safely say I’ve never read a story written from the point of view of a shawl! And it’s all done so beautifully.

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