Parade Des Fleurs

6

Sophie felt the wind slowly picking up speed - at first a faint tickle, progressing to a flurry of wandering hands that picked at her hair, running across her bare shoulders. She shivered, clasping herself with her hands as the wind carried on whipping around her, looking towards the colossal pile of luggage in the corner of the courtyard. She needed a jacket, but it was in one of the many suitcases. She sighed, and dragged herself towards her luggage, staring it down ... before plonking herself on top of the nearest suitcase. She was never really that strong, although she could hammer a volleyball like no one's business. I guess that's not really gonna help me out now, huh.

The wind began to hammer at her back, so hard it began hurling leaves towards her face. She was quite content sitting on her luggage, huddled into herself, until she opened her mouth to yawn and almost choked on a twig that came flying into her throat. Okay, that's it! Sophie stood up, sighing with irritation, about to walk back into the shop and admit defeat to ask Alistair to help with her bags. It's not like he didn't offer, I bet he was just waiting to do it once I'd gone.  She was just about to open the back door, before she realised - she'd just stormed out. I can't go back in after I walked out! I've obviously upset him enough.  She looked despairingly at the luggage. Oh well, if I'm going to carry everything myself, then I should get over my laziness and get ready to wrestle with the army of clothes I'm about to unleash. 

Wait, she thought to herself, did I even bring a proper jacket? There wasn't really a need for heavy coats in Verona, and the most she ever wore was a thin army jacket covered in patches. Come to think of it, Alistair gave that to me ....

It had been his, and neither of them had the faintest idea where it had come from when they found it, disheveled rags in his parent's storage closet. It had been a few months before Sophie left for the music academy. 

***

"Is it safe?"

"What's that supposed to mean, Soph?"

"Well," She peered into the dark, shining her phone torch, poking the crumpled pile with her bare foot, "You guys only every open this thing when you need cleaning supplies, or something. For all I know it could be infused with windex and therefore be toxic."

"I think Britney would agree with me when I say that nothing can become toxic from windex."

"Okay, but still."

"Still?"

"C'mon Al, you can't just wear stuff you find in the storage closet! It's gross!" She wrinkled her nose.

"Hm," He leant down, knocking over various cleaning supplies as he grasped the jacket, pulling it out and shaking the dust off. Sophie wrinkled her nose, worming away from the clouds of dust. "It's not that bad!" He eyed the green jacket, "I mean, it's fairly fitted, and look!" He tugged at the sleeves, "The material's pretty sturdy... canvas I think." He skimmed his fingers over the brass buttons. 

"Don't do that! There's gunk on them, and it's ripped round the seams, see? You have enough jackets." Her lip curled, and she poked Alistair. "You should just throw it out. It's ancient, and doesn't really serve any practical purpose since it rains twenty four seven around here. Besides, it's so... old." 

"All that can be fixed though, don't you see Soph? You call it old, I call it vintage - isn't that the kind of thing people pay crazy money for?"

"No, vintage is what you find in vintage stores. Not storage cupboards."

"Where d'you think they get their stock from? Plus," He tilted his head to the side, holding the jacket in front of her frame, "I think it'd look pretty cute on you." He smiled at Sophie, who just laughed and tossed her hair.