Short Story: The Black Velvet Dress

Short Story: The Black Velvet Dress

She wore a black velvet dress with black stockings covering her legs, and raven dark hair piled high on her head. The little to be seen of her face displayed a sallow complexion masking emotion, with thin carmine stained lips pursed into a formless expression that gave no hint as to the complexity of emotion she endured. She took a seat at the back of the church during the service, and as no one had seen her before speculation became rife as to who she might be.

All eyes remained on her as the vicar read the final rites above the coffin, and when she came forward dropped a single white rose into the grave where the others had deposited soil. Up close her eyes were red rimmed, and it was clear she took less care with her appearance than might have been assumed. Afterwards standing at a distance, the relatives regarded her uneasily.

The small party of mourners moved off towards their cars leaving the woman in black standing alone in the churchyard. It was a cold day and she didn’t remain long, drifting towards the war memorial with its shredded wreaths to spend a cool few minutes studying names before walking away. She exited the cemetery gates, heading into the warmth of a café to order coffee. Badly needing to smoke, she revolved a gold plated lighter with its single line inscription between gloved fingers while sipping from the coffee cup.

What had brought her all this way? A chance remark her mother had made two days before after reading the notice in the press; the long drawn out confession of an affair years before; the disregarded pregnancy; the opportunity to confront or meet those that may have been her relatives. He wasn’t a wealthy man, and this was never about getting revenge or what may or may not have been rightfully hers. She wasn’t that type of woman. Besides her life, her real life, centred on what she had made for herself. This was the unknown and she trod warily.

She came to see the other side; his wife and daughter. Perhaps that was enough. She could return to her mother equipped to report all she’d experienced, but sitting there felt unable to describe more than the cold sensation that invaded her bones as they lowered the coffin into the ground. Inside she felt neutered, and that wasn’t ordinarily like her. Perhaps it would wear off? Perhaps she might begin to feel something vital once she had warmed up, but even this seemed unlikely?

The café began to fill up, mostly with men gorging on brunch as the air became saturated with the smell of fried food while they read their papers in dogged silence, eating mechanically. She didn’t feel hungry and the sight of so much food made her nauseous. Paying, she went outside where the air remained stiff with cold, lighting up before shivering at the bus stop until the 32A arrived. Sitting astride the top deck she bade farewell to cemetery, to graveside, and to a father she had never met, intending to talk to her mother at length when she got home. It was time she understood, but time also to take possession of the life she had been bequeathed by this unknown quantity.

The bus rolled on and as it did she gradually thawed, reading posters along the road. The morning had already taken on an element of unreality, as it may when a person experiences something outside the bounds of their comprehension. To ease her mind she smoothed the black velvet beneath her fingers where it had gathered along her thighs, wondering if she would ever want to wear the dress again. It seemed a shame to put it away when she had spent so much to look right for the funeral, but then perhaps the simple act of looking right was enough. She tried to imagine his relatives discussing who she might be; a creature of mystery, and hoped no one had been alarmed by her presence. And if they were, then let them discover her as she had been forced to discover them. She didn’t feel angry about it, or bitter. In point of fact it left her feeling weakened to believe she was anything other than she had been all her life.

She stood to ring the bell, centred on the swaying motion of the bus as it took a corner. For a second she thought she might fall, but then a hand gripped her arm and she turned to find an elderly lady supporting her. The woman smiled and she grinned back before descending the stairs at a considered pace. The street felt bitterly cold after the relative warmth of the bus and she huddled into herself as she continued her journey home. Already she anticipated her mother’s upturned face as she entered the lounge.

“How was it?”

She had no ready-made answer. Her mind felt blank and as she breathed out, a huge cloud of warm air dissipated before her. She touched the lines of her black velvet dress as she walked. It really was gorgeous.