"I know what you're thinking. They're not real."

Pip's been my Mr. Miyagi today, answering all my stupid questions about what it's like being 'high society'. So far, I've learned that 'blotto' means drunk, Sir Paul McCartney's been uninvited to Eric's birthday dinner because he's had a falling out with Nelly, and being a Macklin makes you just enough of a socialite that a small crowd of press and paparazzi pop up whenever you leave the house. Most recently, I've learned that Kitty's cleavage isn't real.

"Oh, I wasn't- I didn't-," I fumble for words, opening and closing my mouth like a fish to find some other gracious explanation for staring, but there isn't much use. Pip doesn't seem too bothered. He whispers it facetiously, still diligently picking at his dark nail polish.

I mean it's... sort of hard to miss. Kitty's notably slender, like a woman whose only pressing appointment is Saturday Yogalates, but her chest billows out in the shape of pricey, surgically enhanced balloons.

Pip laughs at my stammering, and, thankfully, saves me from further embarrassment.

"Relax, Evangeline. It's why she got them done." He shrugs, and I don't know whether I should be worried or impressed that he's so blasé about it.

"Looks nice..." I'm not sure if I mean it, but I don't think I'm supposed to anyway.

"That camera guy's been knocking on the window for, like, 15 minutes now." I remark a little louder, desperate to move onto a topic other Eric's mum's chest.

"Golly, are they still out there?" Kitty tuts, although her eyes don't leave her reflection in the shop mirror, as she smooths a slinky bubble-gum pink dress against her body. "Magnus, I thought you'd had the road cleared."

The navy-suited tan-shoed man behind her keeps his eyes straight ahead when he answers, except for a brief glance downwards at the billowing balloons.

I hadn't noticed it until now, but the tan-shoed men seem to follow the Mackling everywhere they go. Two are planted at the door of the boutique, and this one sticks with the family at all times. When I asked Pip what they were there for, he said "attempted assassinations" without looking up from the bookshelf he was rifling through, and I really, really hoped he was kidding.

"Did, madam," Magnus says, "this is a new lot."

"Hm, a new lot," Kitty repeats slowly, the crisp 't' sound bouncing off of her tongue. She sounds pleased, but I'm learning that Kitty Macklin is a difficult woman to read when she wants to be. She comes across as some sort of capricious ice queen, warm one moment, withering the next, and something utterly unpredictable in between. Yet somehow, it's captivating. People are just... drawn to her. On the car ride over, Pip told me she had the magic ability of opening doors with just her eyes. I only understood what that meant when we arrived: all it took was a glance at the sterling silver knocker, and young men in awe scrambled to pull the 'push' door. Even still, their red-cheeked smiles said that they were honoured to have the chance to embarrass themselves in front of Mrs. Kitty Macklin.

I can't quite say the same. Is it weird that I sort of want to shrink and disappear? The Macklins own the town – literally – but they stand out like red roses in a daisy patch.

"Right – opinions," Kitty announces, with eyes still on her reflection. "Evangeline, what do you think?"

"Me?" I ask stupidly. "I think it's gorgeous."

"Really..." She's using her 'is-that-so' tone again. Was that the wrong answer?

Pip coughs roughly,

"Blue." He coughs again, and when I catch his eyes, they dart viciously to the blue dress amongst Kitty's 'might buy' selections.

"A-although," I start again, uncertain, "I think the blue was my favourite."

"Really?" Kitty says again, and her frosted lips are stretched into a delighted grin as she looks at it. She grabs the electric blue dress, whisks the dressing room curtain closed and sweet Jesus, I think I'm in the clear.

I pull a face at Pip, shaking my head in disbelief: how did you know? He shrugs smugly, and when he grins, he looks like Eric. Just knew.

"Do you shop much, Evangeline?"

When I hear her voice, I jump, instinctively looking upwards, and Pip starts dying of silent laughter. I punch his arm before I respond to the curtain,

"Um, I try to keep it to a minimum, but yeah, from time to time." I run a self-conscious hand up and through my hair, forgetting that she can't see me.

"Aw, splendid. With your mother?"

"Yeah, sometimes! My mum's a big thrifter, heh." My hands are fidgeting, scratching my nails and twirling my hair, and I snap them back to centre when I notice it. I think I underestimated how intimidating a voice could be.

"Really... What does she do, your mum?"

"She's a writer. She's done a few things, but she writes for TV shows, mostly."

"Well isn't that interesting..." As she drawls, her tone's dripping in something I can't quite read, but, somehow, I don't think that's the curtain's fault. "What have I seen by her?"

"She's writing for a show called Derry Girls right now – on BBC. It's this, um, sit-com, about these schoolgirls in the 90s?" This interaction feels like an interview or confession or something, and my nerves are starting to manifest as a grating upward inflection at the end of my sentences, like everything I'm saying is a question? And it's starting to annoy even me?

"Oh, I love that programme!" Jono exclaims, and, really, I forgot he was here. He's been dutifully holding his wife's 'no' pile with one hand and scrolling on his iPhone 11 with the other. "Always gives me a good chuckle. Your mother must be an awfully funny lady."

"Very funny," I gush, "and she'd be chuffed to hear that you like it!"

"That's a regional programme, isn't it? 'Derry Girls'?" Kitty says, and when she stresses the words, her distaste is clear. I don't think it's just in my head, either. Pip's eyes snap up from his phone, and Jono tuts, muttering something under his breath.

"Well, the show is British, but, um, yeah, it's set in Northern Ireland. My mum grew up there, before she came to university here."

When she whips the curtain back, she's in the low-cut blue dress. It fits her oddly, sitting shapeless around her abs and thighs, but her chest is perfectly packaged, and her poised shoulders tell me that might be why she likes it so much. She looks me dead in the eyes for her final comment, and her smirk is condescending and, if I didn't know better, catty,

"Oh, how awfully funny."

"Don't, Mum."

"That's enough, Kitty."

Pip and Jono both chide her at once, and the disappointment in their voices says that whatever this is isn't uncommon with her. Kitty, however, widens her outlined eyes innocently, before deciding she's bored of the discussion. What the hell was that?

"Jono," she calls, spinning playfully out of the changing room, "what do you think of this colour? Don't you think it looks lovely on me?"

She's answered her own question, but Jono doesn't hesitate to lavish blank-faced praises,

"So lovely, darling. So lovely."

"Pippy, what do you think?"

Pip laughs humourlessly, but, like his dad, gives her the affirmation her wide eyes are so desperately seeking.

"S'nice, Mum."

"Oh, Jono, Pippy says it's nice!" She's beaming, and I've noticed how she hangs on Pip's every word – not that he gives her much to hang on. She glows when he gives her his opinion, agrees with him on almost everything, and only tuts with mock disapproval when he tells dirty jokes around her. I couldn't understand why he was so reluctant to properly engage with her. Perhaps I'm starting to.

"We'll take this one, Sarah." Suddenly the ice queen's warm again, and she's fetching her purse out of her Hermès clutch with an air of ease.

Sarah the salesgirl can't be more than 20, and is as eager as everyone else – the man at the door, the photographer at the window – and she shakes her head as she insists,

"Oh no, Mrs. Macklin, that's alright! It looks immaculate – we couldn't accept anything for it." She whispers the last bit as though it's her gracious decision, but Kitty's hand has been filing through the clutch for a minute or two, and it seems unlikely she expected she'd have to pay at all.

"No! Are you sure? Oh, you are lovely. Pippy, isn't this lady lovely?" The salesgirl's eyes drop shyly when Pip gives her a once-over and winks. He has his father's eyes.

Kitty's moment of gratitude is over, and she's already thrown on her large fur coat over the dress and pulled her hair out from underneath it. The salesgirl is poised with clasped hands, ready for her to turn and say, 'thank you again!', but Kitty's far too busy securing her obnoxiously large sunglasses and asking Jono what Ana's doing for dinner.

"These godforsaken paps, I swear..." Kitty mutters, zhooshing her hair as tan-shoed men open the double-doors.

"Bye," I smile with a shy wave, and the girl's enthusiastic look softens as she nods a little goodbye back. I think her eyes are the most artless I've seen since I've come.