Sequin and Stitch Read online

  For Luna

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  I live in Primrose Mansions.

  It doesn’t look like how a real mansion is meant to look. It’s tall and cold and grey and split into lots of small flats.

  If you look at our building from far away, it looks like a remote control for a giant’s TV – a big rectangle standing up on one end, covered in teensy window buttons.

  And we live all the way up on the twelfth floor.

  Me. Mum. And my baby brother, Stitch.

  Up here I can pretend I’m the princess of the city, sitting on my throne. Looking down on the world from my high tower.

  We are safe up here. Hidden in our fortress. Mum and me and baby Stitch.

  And our home is a special palace.

  It is.

  I’ll tell you why.

  Chapter 2

  My mum is probably one of the most important people on the planet. But it’s difficult because she doesn’t even know it. You see, my mum is a “maker” and that means she “makes” stuff with her hands. She makes clothes. And not just any clothes. She makes magnificent ball gowns and glorious frocks, fancy three‑piece suits and decorated quilted coats.

  You know those amazing outfits that famous people wear on the red carpet at film premieres and award parties? Guess who makes them?

  My mum!

  Have you seen the dresses the women in perfume adverts in magazines wear as they spread out across sofas? Guess who makes them?

  Yep, my mum!

  She works so hard, night after night, crouched over her desk under the peachy lamp in our living room. She sips tea after tea, sews stitch after stitch, bead after bead, embroidering and braiding, lacing and hemming and bordering. She works until her fingers bleed and her back aches and she is so tired she says she can “see stars”.

  The beads and sequins on the clothes make me feel as if I’m surrounded by a princess’s precious jewellery. So, to me, our flat is a palace. And it’s perfect.

  Well, all apart from our annoying downstairs neighbour, grumpy Moany Bony Mr Tony (I’m not allowed to call him that to his face). He smokes one billion and five cigarettes a day and makes our palace stink with the stench of them. He used to smoke indoors and that was bad because the smell seeped in through the ceiling. So then we asked him to smoke on the balcony and it got even worse as we can hardly ever open the windows now. But we’re too scared to tell him because he’s so miserable. Moany Bony Mr Tony absolutely hates life (and us) and always bangs on our floor with a broomstick when we have the TV too loud or do too much dancing or jumping.

  He shouts, “WILL YOU KEEP THAT BLEEDIN’ RACKET DOWN?!”

  And we shout back, “SORRY, TONY!”

  Even though he should really be the one saying sorry to us for making our home smell like an old boot.

  I said to Mum that Moany Bony Mr Tony should give up smoking because it’s really bad for him. But Mum said that sometimes people need something bad to make them feel good.

  And I said, “What? Like me and sweets?”

  And she said, “Exactly – like you and sweets.”

  “I think Moany Bony Mr Tony fancies Mum,” I whisper to Stitch. But Stitch is just a baby, so he says nothing back.

  Not that it matters. Mum would never ever ever fancy Moany Bony Mr Tony’s old wrinkled face and his bloodshot eyes. Not to mention his smelly old beard that is kind of white but stained brown like it’s been dipped in a cup of tea.

  Chapter 3

  The dresses that Mum makes are my favourite.

  The more sparkly and magical and fairy‑tale‑like the better.

  The colours of the fabrics that she uses are so amazing that I completely forget I’m looking at a piece of clothing. Instead the folds of emerald and jade velvet and silk transport me to a rich tropical rainforest.

  When I see the dresses being made from scratch, it’s like watching a jungle grow from just a tiny seed before my very eyes. I know it sounds silly, as they are just dresses, but it’s true. Layers and layers come together to make something so real and magnificent. It’s easy to get attached to the clothes, as if they have personalities.

  And then all of a sudden the outfits are ready, after they’ve lived in our flat for all this time.

  They must leave us and Primrose Mansions.

  And it’s like they never existed at all.

  It’s a bit like losing a friend really.

  And I can’t think of many things sadder than that.

  I’m sure there are sadder things.

  I just can’t think of them right this second.

  I often say to Mum, “I love this one so much. Can’t we keep it? Please?” and she just laughs and says how expensive the dresses are. We would never be able to afford one of those dresses, not even if we saved up for our whole entire lives.

  When Mum has finished an outfit, it’s my job to find as many photographs of the person wearing the dress or suit as I can. I look in magazines and newspapers and cut them out and pin them on the wall.

  Our wall is covered with pictures showing Mum’s years of work. It’s like an archive – a record of everything she’s made. It’s an art gallery containing all that is amazing about my mum’s clever brain.

  I always search for her name in the magazines … but I never see it, ever.

  Only the designer’s name appears.

  That’s who Mum works for.

  I don’t know how the designer can live with that. It’s a bit like taking somebody else’s drawing and writing your name on it, pretending it was drawn by you.

  And so the world will never know that it isn’t the designers that make the beautiful clothes.

  It’s actually my mum.

  But I know.

  And so does Stitch.

  And now I guess you all know too.

  And that is why my mum is my inspiration.

  Chapter 4

  I am Sequin.

  And I am nine.

  And everything I’ve just told you was a speech I gave at school.

  I read it out in front of everyone in my class.

  Which is brave for me because I don’t like talking out loud in front of everybody, especially not at school.

  But I did it because at school we are learning about inspiration.

  Inspiration is a pretty difficult word to explain but it’s a good word to know. When you are inspired by something or someone, it means that you are so impressed by their amazingness that it makes you want to do something amazing too.

  Our teacher Mr Moore asked us to think about what inspires us. And then we were asked to give a presentation on it.

  Alice said her inspiration was her grandma. She is now an old lady but when she was young she was a nurse. Zaynab chose a YouTuber. Teegan said her inspiration was Mr Moore (because she is an annoying teacher’s pet). David Fisher chose food. Sophia chose the pyramids in Egypt. And Amir chose his great‑great‑great‑uncle who was a scientist.

  Mum blushed like a grape and shook her head when I first said I was going to do my inspiration presentation on her.

  But then she realised that I was serious and helped me look in her wonde
rful scrap box. This is a big plastic box full to the brim of odd bits and offcuts of material: silk, cotton, lace, velvet, Lycra, crepe. I wanted to make a big collage of Mum’s fabrics to show everybody at school. We rummaged in the box like we were digging for treasure, to find tabs and rags and squares of fabric. We stuck them on a big roll of display paper that was so big I needed Mr Moore to help me hold it up.

  While we were sticking the fabric down, all I could think about was how much my class would not believe their eyes or ears when I told them how clever and creative my mum was.

  How we had so much fabric at home!

  How my mum made dresses for people in magazines and famous people on red carpets too.

  They would not believe me at all.

  Chapter 5

  After my presentation, Teegan from school calls me a liar in front of everyone.

  She says in this horrible little voice, “I asked my mum about you, Sequin, and your weird mum. She said that if your mum really made all of those dresses for all them famous people, then you lot would be millionaires living in a real mansion, not some rubbish estate like Primrose Mansions.”

  I shake my head and say, “That’s not true, Teegan.”

  Now Fatima joins in. “Do you have any idea how much those dresses cost, Sequin? Like thousands and thousands and millions of pounds. Your family would be rich if you were telling the truth.”

  “I am telling the truth,” I reply, defending myself, my mum, Stitch and all of the dresses too. Wet gluey tears build in my eyes and my knees feel weak and wobbly.

  “Well, anyway, it’s not good to be a show‑off.” Fatima talks down to me like a teacher.

  “Yeah, nobody likes a show‑off,” Olivia pipes up. “Just saying.”

  Oh, shut up, Olivia, I think.

  “I wasn’t showing off!” I argue. “The presentation was for school!”

  “It was for school,” Teegan mimics me.

  Everyone knows you only mimic someone when you can’t think of anything else to say.

  Olivia sniggers to impress Teegan.

  “Maybe Teegan’s right, Sequin,” Fatima says, and shrugs. “Maybe you are a liar.”

  “NO, I AM NOT!”

  “Yes, you are!” Teegan snarls. “Or then why are you so poor?”

  I say nothing and look down at my beaten‑up shoes. I should have said, Well, why are you so horrible? But I think of that too late.

  Teegan’s face is going purple – the same purple as the heart‑shaped beaded bodice my mum made the actress Swana Lee for the premiere of Love Loss. Teegan spits, “I reckon you just pretend your weird mum does all of that sewing stuff because your stupid name is Sequin and you’re just embarrassed. Or maybe your mum’s just mad?”

  This stings.

  I feel like I’ve been slapped right round the face, yet nobody has even touched me. My face tingles with blood but it feels like electricity and my eyes water. The words hurt. People have called my mum “mad” before, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. They are only stupid rumours. Mum’s not mad. She’s just shy. That’s all.

  “My mum isn’t mad,” I tell them. “And she’s not weird.”

  “Then how come she never leaves the house?” Teegan demands.

  OUCH.

  I don’t know the answer to that.

  She just doesn’t like to leave the flat. What’s the problem with that?

  I suppose sometimes it is weird.

  I’m never allowed any friends over. Everything has to be ordered online and delivered. Mum never comes to meet me at the school gates. She’s never come to the Christmas play.

  I say nothing.

  “Yeah. Thought so. Weird.” Teegan smirks and walks away.

  Nobody sticks up for me.

  Everybody is too scared to stand up to scary Teegan.

  Some people in my class feel sorry for me, I can tell. But I don’t like it when people feel sorry for me. It just makes me feel worse.

  When I really think about it, our flat is a palace to me … but for Mum it’s a prison, with the windows sealed shut. It’s like she’s chained to the walls. The chains are invisible yet they’re stronger than any metal and I can’t think of how to break her free from their grasp.

  Chapter 6

  Stitch is happy I am home from school. I scoop him up and sit him up on my lap. I squeeze his plump cheeks and blow noises on his round tummy and kiss him to absolute death. He always knows how to make me feel better because I can say things to him I can’t say to anybody at school. He understands even though he’s just a tiny baby.

  Mum has got some news.

  “Sequin,” she says, “sit down. I have some really exciting news to tell you.”

  I hold my breath, then gasp, “What is it?”

  “We’ve got a new job.”

  “OK …”

  I can tell this is going to be good …

  “It’s a big one,” Mum says.

  I get excited. This is probably the best bit about Mum’s job. Finding out what she is going to make next!

  A feathered corset for an actress’s fancy dinner party? A frock for a jewellery advert? A shimmering fairy‑tale ball gown? A ballerina’s skirt?

  “Sequin … I have been asked to make the PRINCESS’S WEDDING DRESS … for the royal wedding!”

  WHAT?

  “MUM!” I jump up and down.

  I lift Stitch up and swirl him around in the air; he gargles with delight.

  “WOW! WOW! WOW!” I say, and hug Mum tight. “This is the dream job for you! Ahhhhh! What are the ideas? What colours? What shape? I can’t wait to see the drawings. When do you start?”

  “Calm down!” Mum giggles. “I will show you everything, but it’s a big job. It’s going to take a lot of work and a lot of time. I am going to be very busy, so I wanted to make sure you’d be OK with that.”

  “Mum, yes! Of course I’m OK with that. I can help.”

  “Ah, I know you will. Thank you, Quinny.”

  “I will,” I say. “I’ll help with threading the needle and all the delicate bits and picking up any tiny pins—”

  “OK, my lovely.” Mum smiles. “That will really help.”

  “And I’ll take care of Stitch too, so you don’t have to worry about him.” I run over to Mum’s wall and start looking at ideas. “Oh, Mum, this is so GREAT! I can’t WAIT to tell everybody at school that you’re making the real‑life royal wedding dress for the actual princess!”

  “Ah, that’s another thing,” Mum says. “We aren’t allowed to tell anybody about this one.”

  “Ohhh. Why not?”

  “It’s very private and special, Sequin. I know we’re excited but it’s traditional for a wedding dress to be kept a secret.”

  “But, Mum … it’s the princess,” I say. “I have to tell someone!”

  YEAH, LIKE ANNOYING TEEGAN!

  “This is the royal wedding dress, Sequin. People will try to get a sneaky peek of it however they can. If even one photograph of the dress gets out, the whole thing will be ruined. It’s very important that the designers trust us, that it remains a secret. So we have to be patient, OK?”

  “OK.” I slump down at the table.

  “Promise?” Mum asks.

  “Promise.” I begin to fiddle with the stem of an apple from the fruit bowl.

  “Will your name be mentioned?” I ask. I sort of know this question will annoy her but it would give me proof that Mum does really make all the famous people’s clothes. Then everybody would know that I’m not a liar. They’d know that my mum is actually important.

  Mum raises her eyebrows and gives me a knowing look.

  “Sequin, not this again,” Mum says. “You know it doesn’t work like that. It’s the designer’s name they want in the magazines, not mine.”

  “Yeah, but you’re the one that does all the work! Mum! Come on, it’s the royal wedding dress! You deserve to be mentioned. At least think about asking them.”

  “OK, I’ll think about it.” r />
  “Promise?” I ask.

  “Promise.”

  “Well, that’s a promise each then.” I nod, then bite into one of the apples. I spit out the mouthful fast. Mum frowns at me.

  “What? It was mushy and brown tasting!” I say.

  Mum points to the bin and I plod over and do as I’m told.

  “How did your inspiration presentation go at school?” Mum asks.

  I hesitate. I want to tell Mum about Teegan but I don’t want to make her feel bad and spoil her good news. “I think everybody was inspired by you, Mum,” I say. “You’re so amazing, they almost couldn’t believe it.”

  She laughs. “I don’t know about that.” She strokes my hair and adds, “You’re very sweet to do the talk about me, Quinny. It means a lot to me. I love you.”

  “I love you too, Mum.” I can’t help but yelp out another squeal of excitement.

  “MUM! YOU’RE MAKING THE ROYAL PRINCESS’S WEDDING DRESS!”

  We jump up and down all over again.

  And then we hear the broomstick beating on the floor. Moany Bony Mr Tony from downstairs shouts, “WILL YOU KEEP THAT BLEEDIN’ RACKET DOWN?!”

  “Sorry, Tony!” we sing, and then we giggle and poke our tongues out at the floor.

  *

  When I’m rocking Stitch to sleep later on, I imagine the princess coming to collect me from school with Mum. She gives the door a high kick in her beautiful wedding dress and shows them all that everything I’ve said about Mum is true.

  That would shut up Teegan and her annoying mum.

  Then they’d be sorry.

  Chapter 7

  Over the next few weeks, our doorbell rings constantly with deliveries of materials and tools for Mum. Opening each box is like the best surprise ever – over and over again.

  Mum is so busy, she barely has a chance to look up.

  She’s already made the wedding veil. It is like a huge fishing net that you might catch a gigantic blue whale inside. It has millions of individually stitched petal shapes scattered all over it – pink, coral, yellow and lavender. They are detailed and delicate, like blossom. Mum and I shake the veil out and it spreads across our whole living room, floating in the air like a rainbow.