**Diary Entry: 16th May**
Honestly! The sheer nerve of her!» Samantha Bennett slammed her cloth into the bucket so hard water sloshed over the side. «Carrying on like the Queen of Sheba! And *that* dress… Good Lord, the things people waste their money on!»
«Do keep your voice down,» Margaret Clarke hissed, glancing nervously towards the stairs. «She’ll hear.»
«Let her!» Samantha carried on, waving her mop with vigour. «Can’t speak the truth? We’ve lived in the same terrace a decade now. I practically knew her from nappies. Now she’s too high and mighty for a simple hello!»
Sarah Harris, climbing the stairs to her second-floor flat, slowed her step involuntarily. The neighbours’ voices carried clearly up from the entrance hall; every word felt like a slap. She gripped her shopping bag tighter, willing herself to pass by unnoticed.
«Sarah!» Margaret’s head popped around the corner. «You’re… how are things?»
«Fine,» Sarah answered shortly, not stopping.
«That dress… it’s very smart,» Margaret added with a strained smile. «Cost a pretty penny, I imagine?»
Sarah turned. Margaret’s gaze held not admiration, but something else. Cold. Appraising. Envious.
«Just a dress,» Sarah shrugged, hastening upstairs.
Whispers started again behind her, quieter now, but no less poisonous.
Back home, Sarah hung the white dress in its wardrobe, gazing at it. Simple. Elegant. Definitely not cheap. She’d bought it for the school reunion next week – the first gathering in years. She’d been buzzing for it.
Since the divorce, life had become a grey treadmill: work, home, home, work. Rare supermarket trips. No treats, no sparkle. Even for her daughter Lily’s birthday last year, she’d worn an old skirt and blouse from years back.
But the reunion felt like a symbol. A sign life wasn’t over. That she could still be attractive, interesting, desired. That’s why she’d spent half her monthly salary on the dress, good shoes, and a proper hairdresser.
The phone rang just as the kettle boiled for tea.
«Mum, hi!» Lily’s voice chirped down the line. «How’s it going? Prepping for the big night?»
«Trying to,» Sarah smiled. «How are you, love?»
«Alright. Listen, Mum… is it true you bought some really expensive dress? Aunty Susan called, said the neighbours are all talking about it.»
Sarah felt her insides clench. Susan, her sister, lived nearby and often perched on the estate bench with Samantha.
«Lily, what have the neighbours got to do with it?» Sarah sighed wearily. «It’s just a nice dress.»
«Mum, don’t be cross. It’s just… well, maybe it wasn’t wise? Money’s tight enough as it is.»
After Lily hung up, Sarah sat at the kitchen window. On the bench across the green were familiar figures: Samantha, Margaret, and a few others. They chatted animatedly, occasionally throwing glances towards her windows.
Sarah used to join them sometimes before. Chatting about the weather, supermarket prices, bin collections. Ordinary conversations. After the split, she’d withdrawn, closed herself off. Now a simple dress purchase was fuel for gossip.
Running errands the next day, Sarah bumped into Samantha by the mailboxes.
«Oh, Sarah Harris!» Samantha exclaimed with false cheer. «I was just wondering – perhaps you could tell me where one finds such outfits? My granddaughter’s getting married. Fancy something special myself.»
«The high street,» Sarah replied, sensing a trap.
«And how much, if you don’t mind?» Samantha squinted. «Just seeing if it’s within reach.»
«Why do you need to know?» Sarah tried to move past, but Samantha blocked her path.
«Just curious. We girls were chatting, heard dresses like that go for eight hundred quid. True?»
Sarah felt heat flood her face. It was expensive, but her money, her choice.
«Excuse me, Samantha, I’m in a rush,» she said firmly, stepping around her.
«Oh, no need to be like that!» Samantha called after her. «Only asking nicely!»
That evening, Sarah met Margaret struggling with heavy bags at the entrance.
«Need a hand?» Sarah offered.
«Thank you, I can manage,» Margaret replied coolly. «Not like I can afford taxis for the shopping. Some spend on dresses what others don’t earn in six months.» She adjusted her bags pointedly and headed for the lift. «Then moan about making ends meet.»
«When did I moan?» Sarah asked, bewildered.
«Come off it,» Margaret waved dismissively as the lift doors slid shut. «We all remember you after the divorce, weeping about the pittance in child maintenance, scraping by.»
Alone in the hall, Sarah leaned against the wall. Yes, she *had* complained about finances. Right after the split, adjusting to less money. Things were stable now – a better job, Lily’s university bursary. Life was easier. But the neighbours only recalled the struggles, baffled by the expensive dress.
Back home, Sarah took the dress out again. White, flowing, beautifully cut – it *was* lovely. She tried it on. The reflection showed an elegant, attractive woman, not the exhausted divorcee. But the joy was spoiled. Every neighbourly encounter felt like judgment.
Her sister Susan dropped by the next morning.
«Alright?» She barged straight into the kitchen, not bothering to take her shoes off. «Let’s see this famous dress then.»
«Why?» Sarah asked warily.
«Half the street’s buzzing. Samantha was holding court on the bench yesterday, saying you shop at Harrods now, must have a hidden nest egg.»
«A nest egg?» Sarah was indignant. «I saved for a month for this!»
«Dunno,» Susan shrugged. «People draw their own conclusions. Reckon maybe your ex settled big?»
«Settled what?» Sarah laughed bitterly at the absurdity. «He pays the court-ordered child support, and that’s erratic!»
«Sarah, love, I’m not accusing,» Susan said placatingly. «Just reporting. Maybe flaunting it wasn’t wise?»
«Flaunting? I walked across the garden in it *once*!»
«Well yes, but it is… noticeable,» Susan glanced towards the bedroom. «Can I see?»
Reluctantly, Sarah showed it. Susan scrutinised the fabric, checked the label.
«Not cheap, right enough,» she pronounced finally. «Why bother? You won’t wear it to the office.»
«For the reunion,» Sarah said quietly.
«Ah, got it.» Susan smirked. «Showing them you landed on your feet.»
«What’s that supposed to mean?» Resentment boiled inside Sarah. «I just wanted to look nice!»
«Suuure,» Susan headed for the door. «Just remember what folks are saying. Samantha was hinting yesterday… some sort of *specific* evening work.» Sarah paled.
«Oh don’t fret,» Susan added airily. «Idle tongues wagging. That’s all.»
After Susan left, Sarah sank onto the sofa and cried. *That’s* what they thought? That she’d stooped to something sordid? For wanting one nice thing? She remembered the joy of finding the dress, the careful saving. Now it felt like a nightmare.
The phone rang late that night. Her coworker, Claire.
«Sarah, sorry it’s late. Just saw your Facebook photo in that gorgeous white dress! It’s stunning! Where did you find it?»
«Photo?»
Eleanor straightened the white dress on its hanger, her reflection calm now in the mirror, knowing that while the whispers of envy in Cheltenham might linger like the damp autumn fog outside, wearing it tomorrow was an act of quiet defiance, a simple reclaiming of joy after years of grey; she would hold her chin high at the reunion and smile, for the dress was hers, the choice was hers, and their whispers could never touch the fragile peace she’d found within herself simply by choosing to feel beautiful again.