In our quiet Yorkshire village, where gossip travelled faster than the morning post, I believed my dream of attending the prom had vanished before it could even begin. But on that fateful morning, a crimson Land Rover pulled up to our cottage, and everything changed.
At seventeen, I was a sixth-form student in a place where the butcher knew your favourite biscuit and the vicar could recite your A-level subjects by heart. Between school and my part-time job, I saved every penny for a prom dressonly to discover my stepmother had taken the money. Just when I thought all hope was lost, that Land Rover arrived.
In our village, nothing stayed secret for long. The greengrocer knew your tea preferences, and the librarian could likely list your GCSE results without asking.
I worked evenings at Boots, stacking shelves during the week and tidying the makeup aisle whenever the spectacled pharmacist misplaced his reading glasses again. On weekends, I babysat the Thompson twins down the lane.
Every pound note, every bit of change from customers who said, “Keep it, love,” went into an old biscuit tin hidden beneath my bed. That tin wasnt just full of moneyit held my hopes.
Since Year 10, Id imagined my prom dress, scrolling through Pinterest and saving images of lace and silk. I didnt want anything extravagantjust something simple and lovely, something that made me feel as though I belonged in a world where dreams could be real.
My mum, who passed when I was twelve, used to say, “Life should have a bit of shine.” I liked to think shed be watching from above, pleased to see me in something that sparkled. Ever since, Id chased that shine like it was the finish line of a race.
Dad remarried when I was fourteen, and thats when Judith came into our lives. She carried herself like a duchess, always perfectly poised, her voice dripping with condescension. With her came Emily, her daughtermy agewho moved in during Year 12.
We werent enemies, but we werent friends either. We existed side by side, like passengers on the same train heading in opposite directions.
When spring arrived, so did prom fever. Girls at school formed WhatsApp groups about dresses and playlists, sharing Pinterest boards like treasure maps.
Even Judith caught the excitement. She pinned a “Prom Planner” to the fridge as if it were a royal decree, filled with checklists: venue, nails, shoes, hair trials, corsages.
Emilys name was written in gold gel pen, underlined with flourishes. Mine? Nowhere to be seen.
I didnt mind. I was saving quietly.
By March, the biscuit tin held £265. I counted it twice that morning. Enough for a sale dress at Debenhams, a modest pair of heels, and perhaps a curling wand if I found a bargain.
On my phone, my own checklist waited:
Dress: under £150
Shoes: maybe from TK Maxx
Hair: DIY curls from YouTube
Makeup: high street foundation and my one decent eyeshadow palette
Buttonhole: for Oliver, my neighbour and prom date
Oliver and I werent a couplejust mates whod agreed to go together. He was the sort whod bring his spaniel to the park just to make children smile. Kind, funny, uncomplicated. I liked him.
Then came that Thursday. I opened the door to the scent of fish and chips and Emilys laughter. Shoes kicked off, bag dropped, I followed the sound to the kitchen.
Emily stood on a stool, twirling in a sequinned lavender dress that shimmered like frost. The price tag dangled from the sleeve. On the table lay a garment bag from a boutique I recognisedthe sort where they offer you champagne while you browse.
“Do you like it?” she asked, spinning. “Mum said every girl deserves her dream dress.”
I forced a smile. “Its lovely.”
Judith turned to me, her expression falsely warm. “And you, dear, can borrow one of my cocktail dresses. We can alter it, make it special. Practical, isnt it?”
“Ive been saving for my own,” I said, raising my brows.
Judith blinked, then offered a smile that made my stomach twist. “Oh, darling. I thought you were saving for uni. Prom is just one night. Degrees last a lifetime.”
My heart sank.
“I still want to choose my own dress,” I said firmly.
She waved me off like a child begging for sweets. “Youll thank me one day.”
Upstairs, my chest tight, I reached under my bedonly to find nothing.
I checked again. Still empty.
My hands shook as I searched the room. Wardrobe? No. Desk drawers? No. Behind the bookshelf? Gone.
“Dad!” I called. “Have you seen my biscuit tin? The red one?”
He appeared from the lounge, looking weary, tie loose. “What tin?”
“The one under my bed,” I said, voice rising as I hurried downstairs. “It had all my savings.”
“Has anyone seen my red biscuit tin?” I shouted, hoping Judith or Emily might answer.
Judith appeared, as if shed been waiting. “Oh, that! I meant to tell youI borrowed it earlier.”
I froze. “Borrowed?”
“For the electricity bill,” she said smoothly. “We were short this month. Your dads bonus hasnt come through yet. Youll get it back.”
Dad frowned. “How much was in there?”
“Two hundred and sixty-five,” I whispered.
Judith didnt flinch. “We needed it. We bought Emilys dress. And really, youre being dramatic. You dont need a fancy dress. Besides, your dads away that weekendwhod take your photos?”
I clenched my jaw.
Judith tilted her head. “Youre a sensible girl. You understand sacrifice.”
I glanced past her at Emily, still twirling in the hallway, rhinestones catching the light. From Judiths handbag peeked a receipt: £385.
“You used my money for Emilys dress?”
Judiths smile stiffened. “Its family money. We share in this house. Youll be grateful in ten years when youre not drowning in student debt.”
Dad rubbed his temples, the weight of it pressing on him. “Well sort it,” he muttered.
“When?” I asked. “Proms in nine days.”
“Well talk,” he said. Dad-code for nothing changing.
That night, I cried into my pillow. Not over fabric, but over the shine I thought Id lost.
Later, Oliver texted: Got our tickets.
I stared at my phone before replying: Think Im skipping.
When he asked why, I blamed money and family, adding a shrug emoji to keep it light.
He replied: Sorry to hear. If you change your mind, Im still your date.
The week dragged. Girls swapped nail salon recommendations like golden tickets. Emily floated through school in a bubble of excitement. Judith buzzed about spray tans and lash appointments.
I stocked shelves and pretended prom was just a film I hadnt been cast in. The night before, I told Dad, “Im not going.”
“Sure, love?” he asked.
“Yeah. Its done.”
Judith nodded, pleased. “Sensible.”
Prom morning, sunlight woke me. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, imagining the night happening without melike a fireworks display Id chosen to miss.
Thenhonk!
Not a quick beep. A bold, cheerful blast.
I peered outside. A crimson Land Rover. A woman stepped outbraided hair, sunglasses, jeans.
It was Auntie Margaret.
“Get dressed!” she called, grinning up at me. “Weve got places to be!”
Margaret is Mums younger sister. She smells like lavender and fresh-cut hay. We mostly exchange birthday texts, never about prom.
Half in pyjamas, I hurried downstairs. “What are you doing here?”
She grinned. “Heard someone needed rescuing.”
“Auntie Margaret, you didnt have to”
She opened the car door. “You can scold me later. Right now, three stops: coffee, magic, and payback. Move it.”
Stop one: a café in the high street. She handed me a cup. “Chai latte. Your mum always pretended she liked black tea, but she didnt. Said chai made her feel fancy. Dont ask me why.”
My throat tightened. “How did you?”
She shrugged. “Your dad rang me last night. Sent a photo of you on the sofa looking like Christmas was cancelled. I asked questions. He answered some. I asked better questions. He answered the rest.”
My eyes burned. “He shouldnt have”
“He shouldve,” she said firmly. “Months ago.”
Stop two: Mrs. Patels dress shop. The bell chimed. She peered over her glasses. “Is this her?”
“This is the girl,” Margaret said.
In the back stood a mannequin in soft ivory lace, delicate pearls at the waist. It didn
