The long wooden table in the production office felt cold under Yaz’s fingertips as she set down the stack of books on Tudor clothing, a collection of sketches, and notes. The room was filled with the hum of tension as the meeting began. Charlie had already prepped the producers, but Yaz could feel the weight of the room shift as they looked over the designs she had meticulously crafted.

Her heart raced slightly, but her exterior remained calm, almost detached. She glanced at Charlie who gave her a subtle, approving nod before turning to face the producers, all of whom seemed to have varying levels of skepticism etched across their faces.

“Alright Miss Khan,” Charlie said, his voice smooth but serious, “Let’s get into it.”

She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. "Good morning gentlemen"

The producers looked at her expectantly. She started by laying out the first few pages of sketches, the royal wardrobes for Queen Catherine and King Henry, each drawn with painstaking detail, including fabric choices, jewelry designs, and the symbolic color schemes that reflected historical accuracy.

“I’ve put together not just Queen Catherine’s costumes, but a full vision for the court from the noble ladies to commoners,” Yaz began. “I want you to see the entire world of the Tudor court as it was, not as some Hollywood approximation.”

The producers exchanged a glance, one frowning, the other raising an eyebrow. “You understand,” one of them said, “this is a historical epic, which means there’s a lot of pressure to get things right. We want accuracy, but we also have to balance it with our production budget and time constraints.”

Yaz met his gaze firmly. “I understand, but historical accuracy is non-negotiable. The costumes are the foundation of this world, they’re not just decoration, they’re storytelling. This isn't just a ‘historical’ film, it’s an epic. I want people to feel like they’re stepping into the past.”

She opened one of the books, flipping to a page of intricate illustrations of 16th-century attire, and placed it in front of the producers. “These are the references I’m using. From the rich tapestries to the embroidery, the jewelry, the undergarments, everything is designed with historical integrity. We can’t build a Tudor court with flimsy fabrics and plastic crowns.”

Charlie spoke up at that point, offering support. “She’s right. It’s what she does best, and she’s poured her heart into this. If anyone can deliver this level of detail while keeping the production intact, it’s Miss Khan.”

The producers, who’d remained quiet up until now, exchanged a few murmurs. “The issue,” one said, “is the time. We’re on a tight schedule. And you’re already signed on for another project with Paramount. Can you honestly manage both?”

Yaz didn’t hesitate. She’d been preparing for this moment for days. “I can manage,” she replied, her voice steady but firm. “It’s not the first time I’ve worked long hours and sacrificed sleep for a project. We’ll handle the schedule. I’ll be here every day, working with my team to make sure everything is done on time. We won’t sacrifice quality. We’ll work smarter.”

“Smarter?” Another producer raised an eyebrow. “How?”

“By streamlining the process,” Yaz said, opening a separate set of sketches for the commoners’ costumes. “We can reuse fabrics, use less intricate designs for the lower ranks without sacrificing the authenticity of the period. Time can be managed. We just need to allocate our resources wisely. My team can handle the pressure.”

They were quiet for a moment, studying her. It was clear they were skeptical but Yaz stood her ground, her fingers lightly tracing the edges of the sketches she had put together. “Look,” she said, her voice now a little sharper, “I know what this project demands, and I know the pressure of working in tight timeframes. But I’m not going to let it be half-done. If you want a film that makes people feel the history, we need to build this world properly. No shortcuts.”

A silence filled the room. The producers glanced at each other, then at Charlie, whose expression had softened into something almost approving. Charlie nodded slightly, as though he’d seen this side of Yaz before. He’d been confident in her abilities, but now, he was watching her convince the room and he couldn’t be prouder.

“Well,” one of the producers said slowly, “if you’re sure you can handle both projects, and if the schedule really isn’t an issue, then we’ll move forward with this.”

“I can handle it,” Yaz said, her voice quiet but assured. “I’m giving you my word.”

There was a long pause before they nodded, reluctantly at first, then with growing certainty.

“Alright, then,” the producer said, breaking the tension. “We’ll move forward with your vision. We’ll take a look at the budget and see where we can make adjustments. But we’re going to need to finalize these decisions quickly.”

Yaz let out a breath, not realizing she’d been holding it. “Thank you,” she said, her tone softening. “I’ll make sure it’s worth it.”

The producers stood up, closing their folders. “We’ll send over the revised budget. Just make sure you don’t run into any more problems with that schedule, Miss Khan.”

“I won’t,” she replied firmly.

Once they were out of the room, Charlie let out a long sigh, then grinned at her. “You did it. That was a fight, but you came out on top.”

Yaz shook her head, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips. “It wasn’t easy, but I wasn’t about to back down.”

Charlie chuckled, shaking his head in admiration. “I think you deserve a drink. My treat.”

Yaz laughed, feeling the weight lift from her shoulders. “You’re on,” she said.

Charlie patted her on the back as they left the office. “I’m proud of you. You’ve got the guts to go for what you believe in.”

Yaz smiled, feeling the fire that had driven her in that meeting burn a little brighter. She wasn’t just a costume designer anymore. She was the costume designer, and this project, this epic was going to be her masterpiece.

.....


The house was quiet except for the clatter of pans and the steady hum of the oven. Lily sat at the kitchen table, her crayons scattered in front of her, drawings of suns and horses and lopsided flowers covering the place mats. Her tongue poked out slightly as she concentrated on the shape of a bird.

“Can I help?” she asked after a moment, watching the older woman bustle between the sink and the stove.

Betty didn’t even look up. “No.”

Lily blinked. “I can stir things. I help Susan stir sometimes.”

“I said no.” Betty turned sharply, wiping her hands on a tea towel. “You’ll just be underfoot. Go on...take your little papers and go play in your room. This isn’t a crèche. Besides, you'll be going to your class soon so you better get ready...Don't wanna be late the first day, would you.”

Lily’s mouth turned down slightly, but she nodded, carefully gathering her drawings with small, clumsy hands. One slipped to the floor and she stooped to pick it up before padding off down the hallway.

.....

The room buzzed with easy chatter and the soft clink of porcelain coffee cups. Sunlight streamed through the Venetian blinds, casting striped shadows across the long mahogany table cluttered with typewritten scripts, half-burnt cigarettes smouldering in ashtrays, and a plate of pastel-frosted sponge cakes brought in by Joanne, one of the supporting actresses, for her birthday.

A plump silver coffee percolator hissed softly from a side table, next to a stack of saucers and sugar cubes in a crystal bowl. The scent of fresh coffee mingled with cigarette smoke and sweet icing, giving the whole space that peculiar, familiar aroma of mid-century Hollywood at work.

Frances sat near the middle, a sharpened pencil tucked behind one ear, her script folded back and annotated neatly. She wore a smart day dress, navy cotton with a belted waist and her hair was pulled back from her face in soft waves. The atmosphere was relaxed and for once, she felt like just another actor in the room.

The director, Paul, a tidy man in his forties with thick-framed glasses and a constant amused expression, leaned forward in his seat.

“Okay, page thirty-four. Let’s roll from where you find the cufflink under the rug, Frances. You follow.” he turned to the man sitting next to Frances. George Taylor, the leading man, tall and broad-chested with a booming laugh and a permanent tan from Palm Springs.

As she started to read, the room quieted, then chuckled in the right places as the double-edged dialogue began to dance. The thriller had a clever script, rich with noir tension but laced with biting, absurd humour. Frances delivered her line with a deadpan tone as if she was already in front of the camera

“Well, if it’s not yours, I’ve got more than moths to worry about in this carpet.”

"You wound me, darling. Do I look like the type to leave evidence?" George continued

Frances flipped the page "You look like the type to monogram his own underwear, so forgive me if I have doubts."

George, pretending to be offended, "I’ll have you know, I do no such thing. Mother handles that."

The room erupted with laughter. Joanne snorted her coffee and dabbed at her nose with a napkin.

"Alright, let’s keep that energy." the director chuckled as he jotted something down in the margins. "Frances, you nailed the delivery."

“God, Frances," George laughed "you'd be good for radio dramas,”

Frances smiled genuinely. “Radio doesn’t pay for my daughter’s art supplies, I’m afraid.”

There was something refreshing about the energy in the room, no posturing, no veiled rivalries. Everyone was here for the work. Even the producer, Mr. Shields, an older gentleman with a sharp moustache and soft-spoken demeanour, was content to sit back and let the scene unfold without interjecting every five minutes.

Joanne passed the cake plate again, offering a piece to Frances. “Birthday calories don’t count,” she said with a wink.

"Thank you" Frances took one, licking a bit of frosting from her thumb, and leaned over to whisper to George, “She’s dead by page fifty-five and we’re eating her cake. Is that morbid?”

He smirked. “If we don’t, the gaffer will.”

Outside the door, someone walked past whistling. A secretary poked her head in with a message for Paul, but he waved it off for later.

As the reading continued, Frances found herself at ease in a way she hadn’t been in months. No pressure to perform for the tabloids, no awkward tension with a co-star, no script full of tired clichés. Just good writing, good people, and the satisfying click of a scene that worked.

She made a mental note, This one might actually be fun.

.....

Betty stood in the kitchen, her movements efficient as she sliced an apple into neat pieces, wrapping them in wax paper. She placed them next to a small sandwich, white bread, no crusts, just the way Lily liked it. The snack and a tin of coloured pencils were tucked into a little bag alongside Lily’s sketchbook, which had a few dog-eared corners and a proud crayon drawing of a cat on the cover.

“Right then,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron and glancing toward the clock. “Time for your tablets, missy.”

Lily sat quietly on the edge of the chair, swinging her feet in nervous little arcs. She opened her mouth obediently as Betty handed her the pill and a small glass of water. She took it without complaint, her expression distant.

“You’ll be just fine,” Betty said, a touch gruff but not unkind as she handed Lily her little handbag.

Outside, the low hum of a car engine cut through the quiet morning. Betty peered through the lace curtain and gave a nod.

“Time to go.”

The car rolled to a smooth stop in front of the house. Danny, stepped outside, his frame filling the driveway like a great, gentle oak.

“Good morning, Lily!” he called cheerfully. "Morning ma'am"

Lily stepped out of the doorway, clutching a handle of her little bag and arm of a rag bunny Yaz made for her, which dangled as she walked, uncertain, hesitant.

But Danny smiled warmly, then reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and ta-da, pulled out a single small pink rose.

“For you, Your Majesty,” he said grandly, bowing low with exaggerated grace. “Your carriage awaits.”

Lily blinked, then giggled, her nerves forgotten. She took the rose like it was spun from glass. Danny took her bag and a bunny and offered his hand. Without hesitation she placed her little one in his palm, dwarfed but secure.

“You ready?” he asked gently.

She nodded. “Yes.”

As he opened the car door for her, helping her climb in carefully, Betty, standing in the doorway, let out a laugh and shook her head. “You’ll have her thinking she’s royalty.”

“Well,” Danny said, eyes twinkling, “she is, isn’t she?”

“I’ll have her back before lunch,” he added, then turned to Betty. “You need anything? I can pick something up on the way.”

Betty shook her head. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

Lily sat perched by the window, her little bag and bunny in her lap, rose still in hand. She gave a small wave, but Betty had already turned and shut the door behind her.

Lily turned her face toward the breeze through the open window, a little smile disappeared as the car rolled forward, carrying her into the day.

.....

The studio cafeteria buzzed with noise, clinking cutlery, voices overlapping, trays sliding down the counter. A haze of cigarette smoke drifted lazily above the tables. The scent of meatloaf, coleslaw, and brewed coffee filled the room, competing with the faint metallic tang of hairspray from the nearby soundstage.

Yaz sat at a corner table near the open window, unwrapping her sandwich, when Tim dropped into the seat opposite her with dramatic flair, tray clattering, scarf flapping like he’d just flown in on a gust of wind.

“Well, well, well,” he said, squinting at her with exaggerated suspicion. “If it isn’t Madame Budget-Buster herself.”

Yaz snorted. “Oh, piss off. It was one meeting, and I didn’t bust the budget. I simply... elevated it slightly in the name of artistic integrity.”

“Slightly,’ she says,” Tim said, lifting a spoon like a conductor’s baton. “And next thing you know, we’ve got ermine-lined gloves for the servant in scene three!”

Yaz laughed, shaking her head. “You're just bitter cause I made a better case for fabric imports than you did.”

Tim gasped. “So it’s true. You’re staging a coup! Next thing I know, you’ll be rearranging the costume room and having me press your collars.”

“I've been doing it for the past year,” Yaz smirked. “You just never notice cause you live in that delightful chaos pile of swatches and unlabelled buttons.”

“I call it ‘creative order,’ thank you very much.” He leaned in, whispering theatrically, “Be honest. Are you my boss now?”

Yaz took a thoughtful bite of her sandwich. “Mmm... let’s see. If I were your boss, I’d start by banning mustard stains on costume sketches.”

Tim looked down at his sketchpad, where, sure enough, a faint yellow smear taunted him. “That’s dijon, for your information. It adds character.”

They both burst out laughing. Around them, a few familiar faces from the costume department gave them amused glances. Yaz and Tim were well-known for their lunchtime theatrics.

Tim picked up a crinkle-cut fry and pointed it at her. “Fine....You win this round, Empress Yaz. But don’t get too comfortable with power. I have a secret weapon.”

“Oh yeah?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

He grinned. “I know where they keep the good scissors. And I’m not sharing.”

Yaz razed her brow "Bottom left underneath the cutting table"

Tim tossed a napkin at her, laughing. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet...so charming,” she grinned stealing one of his fries.

.....

The car hummed along the sunlit boulevard, the city already buzzing with the ease. Lily sat tucked into the back seat of the glossy black Buick. She was unusually quiet, her gaze flicking from the window to her little bag and back again.

Danny glanced up at the rearview mirror and caught her expression, a mix of nerves and uncertainty. He gave a little smile, then pointed his finger toward the broad, ornate facade they were just passing.

“Hey, kiddo. See that place?” he said, his voice warm and friendly.
Lily leaned over the wide seat to look. Her eyes widened. “It looks like a palace,” she breathed.

“Well, close enough. That’s Grauman’s Chinese Theatre,” Danny grinned. “Your mum had her big movie premiere there. Red carpet, flashbulbs, screaming people, it was a whole circus.”

Lily’s mouth opened in admiration “Really?”

“Sure thing. She looked like a queen. All the fellas nearly walked into traffic just tryin’ to look at her.”

That earned him a tiny giggle. Encouraged, Danny flicked on the radio, twisting the chrome dial until the soft crackle gave way to the upbeat rhythm.

“You like this one?” he asked, drumming the wheel gently with his fingers.

Lily gave a shy little nod, the corners of her mouth lifting. “Mummy plays it when she’s making breakfast.”

“She’s got good taste.” Danny said with mock seriousness. “Hey...Don’t you worry about that class, alright? You’ll do just fine. Probably come home with a masterpiece.”

Lily settled back in a seat a bit calmer now, her eyes drifting to the window with more curiosity than worry.

The car rolled on, past palm trees and shopfronts, toward the little studio on Melrose where a new chapter, if a slightly wobbly one, was about to begin.

.....

Frances, fresh from her table read, had wandered into the studio to find Yaz.

When Yaz opened the office door, she paused in the doorway, a grin spreading across her face. Frances was already there, lounging in her chair with her legs propped up on the desk, shoes off, a magazine held open in front of her. She looked entirely at home.

“Look at her,” Yaz said, laughing, “as if she owns the place.”

Without lowering the magazine, Frances replied coolly, “You never know. I might one day.”

Yaz raised an eyebrow as she strolled in. “Give her a new house, a wife, and a daughter, and suddenly she’s got the confidence of the Queen of England.”

She nudged Frances’s feet off the table with mock indignation. Frances smirked and folded the magazine shut, tossing it onto the desk.

“What can I say?” she said, her eyes twinkling. “I’m a new woman.”

She caught Yaz by the wrist and pulled her gently down into her lap. She didn’t resist, settling in comfortably with an arm draped around Frances’s shoulder. They kissed slow, familiar, tender.

“Are you done for today?” Yaz asked, brushing a hand lightly through her curls.

Frances nodded. “Mostly. Just a press interview later.”

“Have you heard from Lily?”

Frances’s smile softened. “She’s in her art class. I’ll give her a ring when she’s done.”

“I keep thinking about her,” Yaz admitted. “I know she’s in good hands, but still…”

Frances exhaled. “Same. It’s been sitting in the back of my mind all day, no matter what I’m doing.”

She looked up at Yaz. “So..mwhat happened with your meeting?”

Yaz’s face lit up with a quiet, triumphant grin.

Frances sat up straighter, eyes wide. “Wait...did you get it?”

Yaz nodded.

Frances let out a joyful laugh and pulled her into a tight hug. “Oh my God darling, that’s incredible. I’m so proud of you."

She held her a moment longer, then leaned back just enough to look at her face. “Tell me everything.”

Yaz laughed, a little breathless from the excitement still buzzing under her skin. “God, I was so nervous. My hands were sweating. I thought I was gonna spill tea on my own sketches.”

Frances smiled, brushing a thumb over the back of her hand. “But you didn’t.”

“No. Because I wasn’t gonna back down,” Yaz said, her voice steadying. “Not after everything I’ve done to get here. They looked through the whole portfolio and they loved the sketches. Properly lit up when they got to the last few.”

Frances beamed. “Of course they did. You’re brilliant.”

Yaz’s grin widened, then she rolled her eyes slightly. “But...there’s always a ‘but,’ isn’t there? They’re worried it’s too much work for the team. Too many pieces, tight turnaround, all that.”

Frances tilted her head. “And what did you say?”

“I told them it’d get done. I guaranteed it,” Yaz said with quiet fire in her tone. “No delays, no excuses. I said I’d manage the workload, split it where needed, stay late if I have to. I told them they wouldn’t regret trusting me.”

Then, with a cheeky smile, she added, “And if I can’t pull it off in time… well, I’m absolute toast.”

Frances laughed, eyes crinkling. “I’ll butter you and serve you with tea.”

Yaz nudged her playfully. “You better be...You’re meant to save me.”

“I’ll save you and gloat afterward,” Frances said, pressing a kiss to her temple. “But honestly, darling … I’m so proud of you. This is the beginning of something big. I can feel it.”

Yaz let the laughter fade as she exhaled slowly, her fingers curling into Frances’s hand.

“But… if I’m being honest,” she murmured, “now that it’s all settling in, I’m starting to panic a bit.”

Frances pulled back slightly, her expression softening with concern. “Talk to me.”

“It’s just...this historic epic is massive. The costume list alone is pages long and now I'm in charge of it. Then there’s still the part-time work with Paramount, and the summer collection for my own line…” She trailed off, eyes searching Frances’s. “I’m worried I’m stretching myself too thin.”

Frances didn’t brush it off. She nodded slowly, thoughtful. “Okay. Then let’s make it workable. What if you take on one more girl? Just for your private work. You've got the bigger studio now, and it’s right there at the house, no commute, no fuss.”

Yaz considered that, brow furrowed.

“You’d still be the lead on everything,” Frances added, “but you wouldn’t have to do everything alone.”

Yaz took a long, deep breath, then leaned forward and pressed her forehead gently against Frances’s.

“I might do that,” she whispered. “I’ll think about it. Either way, I am happy, you know? Just… as long as I still have time for us. For Lily. For Susan.”

Frances wrapped both arms around her and held her close. “And we’ll make that a priority...Alright?,” she said softly. “Everything else can fall into place around it.”

Yaz let her eyes close, just for a second, resting in the warmth of Frances’s embrace, feeling the pressure in her chest ease ever so slightly.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she murmured.

Frances smiled against her hair. “You’ll never have to find out.”

Yaz let herself relax into Frances’s arms, her heart still racing with the thrill of it all, fear, hope, pride, all tangled together. And somehow, with Frances holding her, it all felt a little more possible.

.....


The art studio sat on the corner of a quiet street just off Melrose, tucked between a dance school and a dusty little bookstore. It was a modest building with wide windows and cheerful hand-painted signs that read Children’s Creativity Circle . Crayon flowers and smiling suns decorated the glass.

Danny parked and came around to open the door for Lily. She stepped out slowly, her bag hugged close to her chest, and looked up at the entrance like it was a castle gate.

“Alright, Princess,” Danny said gently, taking  her bag “Don’t worry about a thing. If you don't like it, we get the hell out if here in a heartbeat"

Lily didn’t reply, but she followed him closely, her hand brushing his coat sleeve as they climbed the short steps.

Inside, the room smelled faintly of tempera paint and old books. Wooden easels stood in a neat row along one wall, little aprons hung on hooks, and a paper banner read Welcome, Artists! in big colourful letters.

A woman in her early forties looked up from setting out brushes. She had auburn hair pinned back in tidy rolls, horn-rimmed glasses, and a warm smile. She straightened and walked over, wiping her hands on her apron.

“You must be Mr. Moran,” she said, offering Danny her hand. “Miss Louise told me you’d be bringing little Lily.”

“That’s right,” Danny said, giving her a friendly shake. “And this here’s the young lady herself.”

Lily took a tiny step back behind Danny’s coat, peeking out with big, wary eyes.

“Well, hello there, Lily,” the woman said gently, crouching slightly so she wasn’t towering over her. “I’m Miss Delaney. I’ve been saving a special spot just for you today.”

Lily didn’t speak, just nodded very slightly.

“No rush, sweetheart,” Miss Delaney said kindly. “We’re just going to have some fun today. There’s no wrong way to paint a sky, you know.”

She turned slightly to lead the way in, giving Lily room to follow if she wanted to.

Danny crouched beside her, smoothing a hand over her hair. “I’ll be right outside, alright? Just down the hall. You wave if you need me.”

Lily looked up at him, still unsure. “You’ll be there?”

He nodded and smiled. “Cross my heart.”

With a quiet breath, Lily took a step forward and followed Miss Delaney across the room toward a seat at the back, her little bag clutched tightly.

As she walked, she looked back three times.

Each time, Danny was still standing there in the doorway, giving her a reassuring little wave and a point toward the hallway where he’d be waiting.

And by the third time, Lily almost managed a smile.

.....

 

The classroom door swung open with a clatter, and Lily came tearing out like a bullet from a cannon, bag bouncing on one shoulder, sketchbook paper flapping in the wind, and Bunny dangling comically from one floppy arm. Her cheeks were flushed pink with excitement, and her hair had come slightly loose from the neat plait Betty had done that morning.

“Danny!” she called, her voice ringing out in the hallway like a bell.

Danny, leaning casually against the wall with a folded newspaper in one hand and a coffee cup in the other, grinned wide as he straightened up. “There she is! Like a rocket, this one.”

Lily skidded to a stop in front of him, catching her breath with a big proud smile and thrusting the paper toward him.

“I drew this! Look!”

Danny took it gently, eyes widening with theatrical awe. “Would you look at that? Well, I’ll be… is that a bunny at the seaside?”

“It’s me and Bunny,” she said with a giggle. “On a beach. That’s the sun. And those are seagulls.”

“I thought so,” he nodded, still holding the paper like it was a museum piece. “And look at Bunny there, living his best life with a sandcastle.”

Lily beamed, shifting Bunny into the crook of her arm. “He liked the class.”

Just then, one of the little girls from class was walking out with her nanny, her short curly hair bouncing as she turned and gave a shy little wave. Lily waved back eagerly with her whole hand, nearly knocking Bunny into Danny’s leg.

“That’s my new friend,” Lily announced proudly. “She let me use the blue crayon when I couldn’t find mine.”

“Well that was very nice of her,” Danny said, slipping the drawing carefully into her bag.

Lily nodded seriously. “I’m gonna sit next to her next time.”

He offered her his hand. “Shall we?”

She slid her hand into his and they began walking down the hallway together, her skipping a little as they went.

“Did I tell you there was apple juice?” she said suddenly.

“You didn’t,” he said. “But I’m not surprised. Only the fanciest art schools serve apple juice.”

She giggled again. “It was in a paper cup!”

“Oh-ho! Even better. That’s high society right there.”

And with that, they walked off, her chatter spilling into the hallway as she told him all about the paints and crayons and the moment when Bunny nearly got his ears dipped in glue.

....

Later, at dinner time, Lily sat at the table, plate on was too high for her at first, so she tugged a chair closer and climbed up, knees knocking against the wood. Roast beef, potatoes, a mound of peas, it smelled good. But the slices of meat were thick and hard to manage. She gripped her knife and fork the way she’d been taught at school, tried to saw through it like she’d seen Yaz do.

Her hands slipped.

She tried again.

And again.

Then she set the knife down gently and looked up.

“Betty?” she asked, softly. “Can you cut up my meat, please?”

Betty snorted, not even turning around. “What are you, helpless?”

Lily’s face flushed. “It’s just hard…”

“Life’s hard,” Betty snapped, finally glancing at her. “Get used to it.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Betty gave a dry chuckle. “Well… maybe it won’t be for you. I suppose people like you don’t have to try too hard. Someone’ll always be there to do it for you.”

Lily didn’t answer. She just looked down at her plate, her little shoulders rounding inward, hands frozen on either side of her knife and fork.

She didn’t cry.

She didn’t say another word.

She just sat there, blinking hard, and tried again.

.....


The house was quiet, the soft hum of the evening settling in. Golden glow from the setting sun filtering through the Spanish-style windows, making everything feel soft and cozy. The air smelled faintly of the rosemary growing by the front door, carried in by the breeze. It was peaceful, but not for long.

Lily sat cross-legged on the floor of her room, the gentle clink of porcelain filling the air as she carefully placed her dollhouse furniture, arranging tiny pieces with the concentration of someone much older. Her dolls, lined up neatly in a row, waited for their next move, a game she played in silence, her mind lost in the world she’d created.

The soft hum of an engine in the distance made her pause, her fingers hovering over the tiny chair she was about to place. She tilted her head, listening carefully. Then, the familiar sound of the car pulling up to the driveway reached her ears, and her heart quickened with anticipation.

Without thinking, she stood up abruptly, her dolls momentarily forgotten. She ran to the door of her room, yanked it open, and rushed down the hall, her small feet barely touching the floor as she bolted toward the sound.

She passed Betty in the hallway almost slaming into her, but didn't care, her heart raced as she shot next to her. The little girl didn’t slow down for a second, she hurled herself into Yaz’s arms, colliding with her full force.

Yaz let out a surprised laugh, steadying herself before lifting Lily into her arms with ease. “Whoa, there!” she said, chuckling as she kissed Lily’s cheek. “You trying to knock me over, love?”

Lily wrapped her arms around Yaz’s neck, holding on tightly as though she never wanted to let go. Her legs clung to Yaz’s waist, her face buried against her shoulder, her small body trembling with pure joy. “I missed you so much,” Lily mumbled, her voice muffled but full of affection.

Yaz smiled, her heart full as she held the little girl close. “I missed you too, poppet,” she murmured, brushing a kiss into Lily’s hair.

From the kitchen doorway, Betty’s voice interrupted the quiet moment. “Evening, ma’am.”

Yaz turned her head, still cradling Lily. “Evening, Betty.”

“Dinner’s in the oven,” Betty added, her tone clipped but polite.

“Oh, that’s brilliant, thank you,” Yaz replied warmly. “We won’t need anything else tonight. You’re free to head off...I think we’ve got things covered from here.” She gave Lily a gentle bounce on her hip. “Don’t we?”

Lily nodded eagerly, her grin wide and bright.

“Thank you, Miss,” Betty said as Yaz walked past, tipping Lily back over her shoulder in a playful swoop. The little girl squealed with laughter, the sound light and unrestrained, echoing through the house like music.

Yaz carried Lily into the kitchen, setting her down with a final playful bounce. But as she moved toward the counter, something tugged at her attention. The table looked strangely bare. She glanced over it again. No coloured pencils. No half-finished drawings. No open sketchbook with crayon smudges curling at the edges like usual.

She turned, brushing a hand over Lily’s hair. “Where’s all your stuff, poppet? Your drawings and crayons?”

Lily’s expression dimmed just a little. “Betty says I’m not allowed to draw in the kitchen,” she said quietly, eyes dropping to the floor.

Yaz didn’t let the moment linger. She kept her tone light. “Well then,” she said, opening the oven door and peering inside, “guess your mummy’s gonna have to have a little word with her.”

Inside, she found a modest dinner—just enough for two people. She pulled the tray out, setting it down. Lily, already tugging at the hem of Yaz’s blouse, looked up hopefully.

“Can I have some too?”

“Of course you can,” Yaz said, crouching to grab a plate. But her brow furrowed as she glanced down at Lily. “Wait, didn’t you have any dinner earlier?”

Lily shook her head, unbothered. “No.”

Yaz didn’t press it. Lily could be difficult with food sometimes—especially with unfamiliar people. She simply smiled and started dishing out portions onto two plates, adding a few olives and a dollop of hummus from the fridge. “Well, more for us then. Lucky us.”

She began chopping tomatoes and red peppers for a quick salad, calling over her shoulder, “So how was your day, darling?”

Lily’s eyes lit up. “I did a drawing in art class! A big one! I’ll show you!”

She turned and dashed out of the kitchen before Yaz could respond, her little feet pattering across the tiles.

Still smiling, Yaz gathered the vegetable peelings. She opened the bin—and paused.

There, right on top of the rubbish, was a large piece of roasted beef. Still warm. Barely touched. Her smile faded slightly, confusion slipping into her features. Before she could make sense of it—

“Mummy, look!”

Lily burst back in, waving a large sheet of paper in her hand, so proud she was practically buzzing.

Yaz blinked, caught completely off guard—then burst out laughing. “Did you just call me mummy?”

Lily’s cheeks went pink in an instant. She giggled, trying to hide behind her drawing, but Yaz was already leaning in, gently poking her in the ribs.

“Did you?” Yaz teased, eyes wide with mock shock as she tickled Lily’s side again. “You cheeky little thing!”

Lily squealed, curling in on herself with laughter, the drawing flopping against her chest as she tried to escape Yaz’s playful fingers.

“I didn’t mean to!” she giggled between breaths.

Yaz smiled, her teasing slowing as she brushed a strand of hair from Lily’s face. “It’s alright, love. I didn’t mind.” She pressed a kiss to Lily’s forehead. “Just maybe don’t say it in front of other people, yeah? We don’t want to confuse them.”

Lily nodded quickly, still smiling. “Okay. Just for us.”

“Just for us,” Yaz echoed, giving her one last gentle nudge before sitting back and holding out her hand. “Now, let me see this masterpiece you made.”

Lily beamed, holding out her drawing like a treasure

....

Frances turned in through the private gates of the villa, giving a tired but warm wave to the gatekeeper as she passed. Her car rolled to a quiet stop on the gravel driveway, the sound crunching beneath the tires. The evening was cool and still, stars just starting to glimmer above the terracotta roofline.

She stepped out, her heels clicking once before sinking slightly into the gravel. With a small sigh, she reached into the back seat, gathering her things, the latest draft of her script, a structured handbag, and a crisp white shopping bag with delicate pink lettering from Tiny Trousseau, the upscale children’s boutique tucked just off Rodeo Drive. Inside was a soft cotton summer dress and a little matching cardigan with embroidered daisies. She’d seen it in the window on a way from a meeting and couldn't resist.

It was already half past nine. She felt the fatigue in her limbs, a familiar hum that came from long hours of interviews and studio meetings. Unlocking the front door, she stepped inside and closed it softly behind her. The scent of home wrapped around her like a shawl—lavender, something roasted earlier, and the faintest trace of Yaz’s perfume.

She kicked off her heels with a sigh of relief, leaving her things gently by the door. The house was unusually quiet.

Frances padded barefoot through the hallway following the noise coming from the living room, the soft lights casting a warm glow on the Spanish tile. As she turned the corner a soft smile tugged at her lips.

The television, turned down low, flickered softly in the darkened room. And there on the sofa, curled beneath a blanket, were Yaz and Lily, fast asleep. Lily lay nestled against Yaz’s chest, thumb tucked near her lips, Yaz’s arm cradled around her protectively. Their faces calm, their breathing in sync. A bowl of popcorn sat forgotten on the coffee table.

Frances felt her heart leap into her throat. It was so simple and yet so perfect.

This. This was the kind of life that not so long ago she had thought out of reac, peace, laughter, a family of her own. Her chest tightened with the ache of it, the joy and disbelief twining together.

.....

The morning sun filtered through the gauzy curtains, casting a soft golden hue across the kitchen tiles. The villa was quiet, save for the light clink of dishes and the occasional hum from the old fridge. Lily was still asleep, her bedroom door cracked slightly, a sliver of her quilt just visible from the hall.

Frances stood barefoot in her robe, buttering toast with methodical focus. Her hair was loosely pinned up, a few curls escaping. Across the kitchen, Yaz moved with her usual quiet energy, slicing strawberries and bananas into a little ceramic bowl shaped like a bunny, Lily’s favorite. She paused for a moment, glancing toward Frances.

"I need to talk to you about something,” she said gently, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “It might be nothing, but I thought I should mention it.”

Frances froze mid-swipe with the butter knife. Her gaze flicked up instantly, worry blooming behind her eyes. “What is it?”

Yaz kept her voice calm. “Lily told me Betty doesn’t let her be in the kitchen.”

"What?" Frances frowned. “Why on earth not?”

“I don’t know,” Yaz said, trying to keep things light. “Could be a lot of reasons. Betty’s got a lot on her plate. Maybe she finds Lily distracting, or she’s worried she might get hurt, burn herself or knock something over.”

Frances sighed, straightening. “That’s possible. Still, I’ll have a word with her. Lily should feel like she belongs in every room of this house. I'm not having that.”

“There’s something else,” Yaz said gently. “Last night, I found a whole bit of roast beef chucked in the bin. Not touched.”

Frances frowned, brushing it off. “She’s fussy with food sometimes. Maybe she just didn’t fancy it.”

“No, love, you’re not getting it…” Yaz said, a bit firmer now. “It wasn’t even cut up.”

“What?”

“Exactly. It was just a lump of it. She can’t cut it herself, can she? So why didn’t Betty sort it for her?”

Frances went still, her brows knitting and Yaz could see anxiety rising inside her.

She stepped closer, reaching for the butter knife in Frances’s hand and gently setting it down on the counter. “Don’t panic. I just thought you should know.”

Frances nodded, eyes unfocused. Her voice was quieter now. “I'll have a word with her. It's just that…” Her voice broke slightly. “This is so hard. I’m never sure if what I’m doing is okay, or enough, or even… right.”

Yaz stepped in close, her hands resting gently on Frances’s arms as she turned her to face her. “Oi, look at me,” she said, voice soft but steady. “There’s no right or wrong way to go about this, love. No manual, is there? We just do the best we can. We’ll get things wrong now and then, course we bloody will. But that’s what being a parent’s all about… right?”

Frances blinked quickly, tears catching in her lashes. She reached up and cupped Yaz’s cheek with her palm, her thumb brushing over soft skin. Her other hand slid around the back of Yaz’s neck as she leaned in, pressing a kiss to her lips, deep, soft, lingering. A kiss filled with gratitude, love, fear, and everything she couldn’t quite put into words.

From down the hall came the soft patter of small bare feet against tile. A moment later, Lily appeared in the doorway, still in her pyjamas, pale pink cotton with tiny stars along the cuffs. Her hair was tousled from sleep, her cheeks warm and puffy. She clutched her stuffed rabbit, the ear trailing along the floor.

Frances and Yaz broke apart at the sound, turning just as Lily blinked up at them.

“Morning, sweet pea,” Yaz said, her voice a little husky with emotion.

Lily shuffled forward wordlessly and made a beeline for her, wrapping her arms around Yaz’s waist. Yaz smiled and bent down to lift her up onto her hip.

“Morning darling. You're up early,” Frances said, stepping in to kiss her on the forehead. “Still sleepy?”

Lily nodded, her head nestling into Yaz’s shoulder.

“Want some brekkie, darling?” Frances asked softly.

Lily stretched out her arms toward her, clearly wanting a cuddle. Frances chuckled as she scooped her up. “Someone’s feeling cuddly this morning.”

Lily gave a sleepy smile and nestled in closer, not letting go.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get some food in you.”

Just then, the doorbell rang. Frances glanced at the clock on the wall. “Damn, it’s Nicole.”

“I’ve got it,” Yaz said, grabbing a strawberry from the counter as she headed for the door.

....

“Morning!” Yaz greeted as she opened it.

“Morning, honey,” Nicole beamed, leaning in for a quick hug.

“Sorry, we’re still mid-breakfast mode.”

“No worries, I’m early.”

“Come on through, we’re in the kitchen. Fancy a bite?”

“I’m good, thanks. But I’d kill for a coffee.”

“You’re in luck.”

Nicole followed Yaz in and grinned at the sight before her, Frances balancing Lily on one hip while buttering toast with impressive skill.

“Look at you,” she teased. “Proper mum mode.”

“Morning, darling,” Frances said, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

“Hey, sweetheart. You look half-asleep,” Nicole said to Lily with a smile.

“Lily love, you remember Nicole, Mummy’s assistant,” Frances said gently.

Lily gave a shy nod. “Hello.”

“She’ll come round,” Frances murmured, brushing her hand through Lily’s hair with a smile.

.....

The women settled around the table, Lily, now fully awake, had taken over her corner, legs tucked up beneath her as she focused on spreading jam on her toast with great care, tongue peeking from the corner of her mouth in concentration.

Yaz poured out mugs of coffee, passing one to Nicole before sitting down with her own, half-eaten toast still in hand. She took a bite mid-pour, humming at the taste as she leaned across the table to snag the sugar pot.

Frances, sti in her robe and slippers, leaned back against the chair and lit a cigarette, taking a long, thoughtful drag before exhaling slowly. “Alright, run me through it,” she said, her voice still husky with morning.

Nicole opened her leather-bound planner, flipping briskly. “You’ve got that radio interview at ten, only fifteen minutes, pre-recorded. Then we head straight to the lot. They’re finalising script revisions and want your notes. Table read continues tomorrow, same time. Then lunch with Maurice and that Paramount exec, don’t be late, he’s old-school. Oh, and Yaz... wardrobe want to start early prep, even though rehearsals don’t kick off till next week assuming no delays."

Frances gave a dry smile. “There’s always delays.”

Nicole nodded with a smirk. “I’ll pad in the usual six days.”

“Good woman.”

Nicole turned her attention to Yaz, her tone shifting just slightly, friendly, but professional. “And for you, Frances’s first wardrobe fitting, measurements and all that, is pencilled in for next Thursday. Will that work?”

“Yep, got it,” Yaz replied, brushing a few crumbs from her sketchbook before pulling a small pocket calendar out of her bag. “Today I’ve got the introduction meeting with the costume team, nothing too dramatic, just a hello and run through the design brief. After that, I’ll be hopping between the studios and the workroom.”

“Busy bees,” Nicole smiled. “They’re already buzzing about you, by the way. One of the tailors called you ‘the Brit with the clever hands.’”

Yaz laughed, feigning offence. “Clever hands? That sounds like something out of a dodgy cabaret act.”

Frances chuckled, lifting her coffee. “He’s not wrong.”

Nicole just grinned knowingly and flipped the page. “Oh, and press want a photo of you for the upcoming charity gala. Just a casual one, nothing posed.”

Frances gave a nod.

Lily love, you want some more strawberries?” Yaz asked, reaching toward the fruit bowl.

Lily shook her head, mouth full of toast. “I’m drawing now, after,” she mumbled.

“Course you are,” Yaz smiled, brushing her fingers gently through Lily’s hair before turning back to her coffee.

Frances, perched beside her, lit a cigarette with one hand while holding her coffee in the other, casually flipping through the notes Nicole had just handed over.

“Also, you’ve got the sponsor’s luncheon pencilled in for Thursday,” Nicole said, tapping her calendar, “and the studio wants to do another table read before rehearsal starts. Friday, ten a.m.”

Frances rolled her eyes. “Another one? Honestly, we’re gonna know those lines better than the writers do.”

Yaz smirked. “Isn’t that the point?”

Before Frances could reply, the doorbell rang again. Yaz, already halfway up to refill the coffee pot, wiped her hands on a tea towel. “I’ve got it.”

When she opened the door, she was met by the familiar face of ever-stylish Rose, all red lipstick, tight curls, and perfume that smelled faintly of gardenias. She carried her kit in one hand and a small pink box with a white ribbon in the other.

“Morning, love,” Rose beamed. “Hope I’m not too early.”

“Not at all,” Yaz said warmly, stepping aside. “Kitchen’s chaos, come in.”

As Rose entered, her eyes widened slightly at the sight of Lily, perched at the table. “Well now, who’s this little treasure?”

Frances looked up and smiled. “Lily, darling, this is Rose. She makes mummy look like less of a raccoon for interviews.”

Lily gave a polite nod. “Hello.”

Rose knelt slightly and presented the pink box with a wink. “These are for you, sweetheart. Thought you might like a treat.”

"Thank you" Lily’s eyes lit up. “Are they from Susan’s bakery?”

Frances burst out laughing, reaching to kiss the top of her head. “No, baby. Not this time.”

"Can I keep the box Mummy?" Lily asked solemnly, carefully untying the bow.

"Yes of course you can darling," Frances  chuckled "they’re all yours"

Just then, the front door opened without a knock. “Morning,” Betty’s voice called cheerfully as she stepped in, already pulling off her gloves.

“Kitchen,” Frances called, stubbing out her cigarette.

“Morning Betty!” Yaz said, already halfway across the room. She glanced back at Lily and gave a gentle nod. “Alright, come on, munchkin. Let’s get you cleaned up and changed.”

Lily obediently slid off her chair, still holding her pink box of chocolates. “Do I get to wear the dress with the pockets?”

“We’ll see,” Yaz teased, guiding her out. “Depends if you brush your teeth without making a fuss.”

As they disappeared down the hall, Rose leaned toward Frances with a smile. “She’s brilliant with her.”

Frances watched them go, her heart softening. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “Lily adores her.”

....


In the hallway, the noise of the kitchen faded into a quiet hum behind them. Yaz walked beside Lily, who clutched her box of chocolates like treasure, her small slippers padding softly against the floorboards.

“You alright, love?” Yaz asked, nudging the bathroom door open with her foot and flicking on the light.

Lily nodded. “I like Rose,” she said, hopping up onto the stool beside the sink. “She smells like flowers. Is she mummy’s friend too?”

Yaz smiled as she turned the taps. “She is, yeah. She’s done your mum’s hair and makeup for ages. Bit of a miracle worker, that one.”

Lily began brushing her teeth as Yaz reached into the cupboard for a fresh towel. She watched her in the mirror as she was getting dressed herself, toothbrush going in slow, sleepy circles, foam gathering at the corners of her mouth.

“You want that blue dress with the pockets, don’t you?”

Lily nodded enthusiastically, spitting into the sink. “Yes, please. It’s comfy. And it’s got that secret one inside the big one.”

Yaz laughed. “A secret pocket inside a pocket? How are we supposed to compete with that?”

Back in Lily’s room, Yaz pulled the dress from the wardrobe and laid it gently on the bed, alongside a pair of white knee socks and her little Mary Janes. She helped Lily into a clean vest and underwear, then gently eased the dress over her head, smoothing it over her shoulders and buttoning the back.

Lily turned to face the mirror, checking herself out mimicking her mother. “Do I look alright?”

“You look lovely,” Yaz said warmly, brushing her hair gently. “And very grown up.”

Lily sat on the edge of her bed to put her socks on. “Are you coming with mummy?”

Yaz hesitated for a beat. “No, I'm not. I have to go to work. Just helping out a bit.”

Lily looked up at her. “Do I have to say you’re just mummy’s friend?”

Yaz paused, kneeling in front of her. “Only if someone asks, alright?”

Lily nodded solemnly, seeming to understand in that quiet, intuitive way she often did. “Okay. You’re still Yaz, though.”

“That I am,” Yaz said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “And I always will be.”

From downstairs, Nicole’s voice called up, half-laughing, “Yaz! Frances says Lily’s tutor is here!”

Yaz rolled her eyes playfully. “Come on, Miss Pockets,” she said, helping Lily up. “Let’s go face the circus.”

They made their way back, the scent of hairspray now mingling with coffee and toast. Lily skipped ahead and Yaz followed with a fond smile, already preparing herself for the whirlwind day ahead.

.....


The breakfast rush had finally quieted. Nicole had gone to take a call in the front room, and Lily was now sitting with her tutor in the study across the hall, her soft voice carrying faintly through the open door.

Frances sat by the bay window in a low chair, a silk dressing gown wrapped loosely around her, as Rose sectioned her hair with careful hands. A soft haze of hairspray hung in the air, mingling with the aroma of coffee and the last scraps of toast on the table.

Yaz returned from the study, gently closing the door behind her and giving a small nod. “She’s settled. They’re starting with reading today.”

Frances glanced at her in the mirror. “She alright?”

“Yeah. She asked if you’ll come in later to give her a kiss before you leave.”

Frances smiled, the kind that crept up slowly. “Of course I will.”

Rose stepped away for a moment to heat a fresh roller, giving them a brief pocket of privacy.

Yaz crossed to the vanity and leaned on the edge, arms folded loosely. “Alright I'm heading off soon. They’ve asked me to swing by the design office before lunch. Just a meet and greet.”

Frances nodded, reaching for her coffee. “When?”

“Two o’clock. Apparently they’re very precise. I’ll probably come by to see you if you got a break”

Frances chuckled into her cup. “I'll make them take a break. We can skip for lunch if you want?”

Yaz rolled her eyes affectionately. “Like I'm gonna say no to that.”

"Just don't worry" Frances said, lowering her voice slightly. “I’ve seen the sketches. They’re lucky to have you.”

Yaz stepped closer, brushing a stray curl from Frances’s forehead. “I’ll see you later if not then tonight, alright?”

Frances caught her hand and held it for a second longer than necessary. “I’ll talk to Betty. I’ll find the right time, but I won’t let it fester.”

Yaz nodded. “Just be calm with her. For now until we know what’s going on. Don't want her taking it out on Lily"

“I will,” Frances said. Her voice had that familiar steel, softened at the edges by something more fragile. “And Yaz?”

“Mm?”

Frances tilted her head slightly, watching her through the mirror. “Thank you. For caring. For seeing it.”

Yaz gave a small shrug and smiled. “Don’t be daft. That’s what we do, right?” she popped a kiss to her temple and left.

Frances didn’t answer, not with words, but her gaze followed Yaz to the door, lingering as she disappeared into the hallway.

Rose returned with the roller and smiled to herself, her eyes kindly as she picked up the next section of hair. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to.

.....


Yaz stepped out of the car a good block from the studio gates, adjusting the strap on her bag and checking over her shoulder once to make sure no one had clocked the black car disappearing around the corner. The driver had been polite as always, and she was grateful, but it still felt too much to arrive like some studio head’s wife. She wasn’t about to have her coworkers raise their eyebrows before the day even started.

As she entered the studio courtyard, the California sun was already climbing, washing the lot in that warm golden light that made everything look like a movie set.

“Morning, Yaz,” someone called from the art department cart, rolling past with boards and props.

“Morning,” she smiled, nodding as she kept moving.

Another pair of stagehands passed, giving her a polite “Ma’am.” She nodded again, feeling like she was only half-present, still buzzing from the chaos of the morning at home.

She was just a few doors away from her office when Charlie appeared out of nowhere like a ghost out of a noir film. He stepped into her path, eyes serious, almost grim.

“Yaz,” he said sharply, eyes flicking to the hallway. “Need a word.”

She blinked, instantly alert. “What’s wrong?”

“Not here.”

Her stomach dropped. Not here never meant anything good.

She followed him down the corridor, heels clicking against the polished floor, her mind racing.

Charlie shut the door behind them and crossed to his desk. He didn’t look at her straight away, just yanked open the bottom drawer.

“What? What’s happened?” she asked, already half-convinced someone had died.

“We got it.”

“Got what?”

He took out a thick file, dropping it onto the desk with a satisfying thud. Then he looked at her, deadpan. “Budget’s approved.”

Yaz blinked, confused. “Wait...what budget?”

“Read it.”

Yaz took the folder with trembling hands, still halfway convinced this was going to turn out to be another pile of bureaucratic nonsense. But as her eyes ran over the first few lines, her breath caught.

“Wait,” she whispered. “Is this... real?”

“It’s real.”

Her eyes shot to the page again, lips moving silently as she counted the zeroes. “Hundred thousand?” Her voice cracked with disbelief.

Charlie grinned.

“You’re having me on... a hundred grand?!”

“It’s a damn coronation,” Charlie said proudly. “They want gold, jewels, fabrics, real horses, and a moat. You really thought the studio’s gonna half-ass a royal epic after that meeting?”

Yaz looked back down at the figures. Her mouth dropped open. “You....you absolute bastard,” she burst out, half laughing, half shouting. “You scared the bloody life out of me!”

She smacked his arm with the folder, grinning like a child on Christmas morning. “You told me nothing was likely, you said it was a long shot!”

“Yeah, well. I like watching people sweat,” Charlie grinned already reaching back into the drawer, pulling out a bottle of Canadian Club and two glasses. “And you fell for it like a tourist. Now drink.”

“I don’t drink,” she reminded him breathlessly, still clutching the papers like they were a winning lottery ticket.

“I don’t give a shit. You can toast with your damn lips. Gimme that hand.”

She held out her glass like it was a Holy Grail.

They clinked.

“To corsets and crowns,” Charlie grinned.

“To fake rubies and real budgets,” Yaz laughed, still too stunned to believe it.

“And to you kiddo,” he added, a bit more seriously. “Because without your design packet and your persistence, they never would’ve gone for it.”

Yaz blinked hard, overwhelmed. “I could kiss you.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “You could. But that’d be a whole other rumour.”

They both laughed, loud, relieved, exhilarated and Yaz leaned back against the desk, the weight of stress briefly lifted off her shoulders.

.....

 

Frances was ready to leave. Her hair was set in smooth, perfect curls, makeup flawless, coat folded neatly over one arm. But instead of heading straight for the door, she turned and made her way to the kitchen. Her heels clicked softly along the hallway floor as she stepped inside.

Betty looked up from the sink. Her hands were wet, sleeves rolled up, cheeks flushed from the stove’s heat.

“Oh, ma’am,” she said. “Is everything alright?”

Frances closed the door behind her with a quiet click. Her smile was tight, polite. “Would you sit down for a minute? I’d like to have a word.”

Betty blinked, clearly thrown. She dried her hands on a dish towel, then lowered herself into one of the kitchen chairs. Her fingers twisted the cloth in her lap. Something in Frances’s tone made her uneasy.

Frances didn’t sit. She stood across from her, composed but unyielding.

“Did Lily eat her dinner last night?”

Betty hesitated. “Well… no, ma’am. She’s been a little picky with food as you know...”

Frances nodded slowly. “Yes. I know.”

She let the silence hang for a beat before continuing. “And the roast I found in the trash this morning?”

Betty sat up straighter, flustered. “I gave it to her, Miss, but she wouldn’t eat it. I didn’t think...”

“Betty,” Frances cut in, voice cool, “I was very clear. We went over exactly how Lily’s meals need to be prepared. I showed you the schedule, her preferences. I explained she needs help. You said you understood.”

Betty opened her mouth, but Frances raised a hand, stopping her.

“And then there’s the matter of her being told not to be in the kitchen. May I ask why?”

“It was only because I was cooking. It wasn’t safe...”

“This is her home,” Frances said, her voice like glass, clear, cold, and sharp. “It’s as much her home as it is mine. Unless there’s a real safety concern, she should be allowed wherever she wants. She should never feel like she’s in the way.”

Betty was starting to wilt, but she still tried to defend herself. “I just didn’t want her to get hurt… I didn’t...”

“Betty, stop,” Frances snapped. “Come on. You and I both know she’s perfectly fine sitting at the table with her crayons. So don’t twist this.”

“I’m sorry, Miss, I...”

“I hired you to help look after her because you asked me to. And I agreed to pay you generously for that. I thought that’s what you wanted?”

“It is, Miss.”

“Then why are we having problems on the first day?” Frances demanded, her tone still level, but with a razor’s edge beneath it. “Taking care of my child doesn’t mean leaving her alone for hours. And it sure as hell doesn’t mean throwing her dinner because you couldn’t be bothered to cut it up for her.”

“No, ma’am, that’s not what....”

“Do not insult my intelligence, Betty.”

Her voice was low, steady. The kind of quiet that felt louder than shouting.

“If this is too much, if you’re going through something, or don’t have the patience right now I understand but I need you to be honest with me.”

Betty’s eyes filled with tears. “No, please, Miss. I need the money. I swear, it won’t happen again.”

Frances studied her for a moment, then sighed and smoothed down her skirt. “I’m not gonna lie... I’m disappointed. I’m trusting you with the most precious thing in my life. Now… I don’t expect you to love her, or even like her. But I’ve held up my end of the agreement. I treated you with utmost respect. I expected the same in return.”

Betty nodded quickly, blinking fast, her voice barely audible. “Yes, ma’am. I understand.”

Frances turned toward the door, reaching for her gloves. “I have to go now. I’m already running late. Please make sure she eats.”

“I will, Miss.”

Frances paused with her hand on the doorknob. “I’ll be honest...your position in this house is very shaky at the moment. But given how long you’ve been with me, I’m giving you the chance to prove otherwise.”

She slipped on her gloves and opened the door. “Have a good day.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I will. I promise.”

Frances didn’t raise her voice, didn’t slam a thing, but when she left, it felt like a cold wind had blown through and made one thing perfectly clear,

She was the one who ran this house.

....

Frances stepped out of the kitchen, taking a quiet, steadying breath as she pulled her gloves on properly. The brief confrontation had left her chest tight, but she let it go with a slow exhale as she turned and crossed the hallway toward the study.

She paused at the door and gave a soft knock before easing it open just a crack.

Peeking in, her expression softened.

Lily sat at the table, legs swinging beneath her chair, deeply focused on the worksheet in front of her. Beside her, the young tutor, early twenties, warm-eyed, and endlessly patient offered gentle encouragement as Lily traced her pencil over a line of letters.

"Hi" Frances pushed the door open a little wider and smiled. “I won’t interrupt,” she said warmly. “Just wanted to say goodbye before I head out.”

The tutor returned her smile. “Of course. Come on in.”

Before Frances had fully stepped into the room, Lily was already up from her seat, her pencil dropped and arms thrown around her mother’s waist.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Frances murmured, crouching to return the hug, wrapping Lily close and kissing her on the cheek. Then she gently took a tissue from her handbag and dabbed at the faint mark her lipstick had left. “There. Perfect.”

“When are you coming home?” Lily asked, eyes wide, clinging to her sleeves.

Frances reached up and smoothed her daughter’s hair, tucking a strand behind her ear. “In time for your bath and story. I promise.”

Lily nodded, content with that answer, but Frances bent closer, her voice gentle. “And I spoke with Betty, honey. You can do your drawings in the kitchen. Don’t worry about that anymore, alright? Just don't bother Betty when she works sweetheart. She's not Susan, she has her job to do here, okay? Just do your drawings or watch tv, or you can go and play in the garden.”

Lily’s face lit up with relief. “Okay.”

"Alright sweetheart " She gave her one more kiss on the forehead, then glanced at the tutor.

“I’ll let you both get back to it. I’ll call later, darling.”

“When?” Lily asked, already turning back toward the table.

Frances smiled. “Right after your drama class ends. You can tell me all about it.”

Lily nodded, satisfied, and returned to her seat.

Frances gave one last glance to the tutor. “Before I forget, could we have a quick meeting tomorrow morning before I leave for work? Just ten minutes or so.”

“Of course,” the tutor replied. “Anytime you need.”

“Thank you,” Frances said with a grateful nod. "Alright  girls, have a nice day. See you later darling"

Lily waived haply

She lingered a moment longer, watching as Lily picked up her pencil again. The tightness in her chest eased. Then she slipped out quietly, the soft click of the door following her down the hall.

.....


The morning air was crisp as Frances stepped out of the house. The black car waited at the curb, engine low and steady, the driver already standing by to open the door.

Nicole was seated in the back, a diary on her lap, coat draped loosely over her shoulders. She looked up as Frances slid in beside her.

“You okay?” she asked, eyes narrowing just slightly as the car pulled away.

Frances didn’t answer right away. She stared out the window, watching the rows of houses blur past as they turned onto the main road. Her reflection hovered faintly in the glass, thoughtful and still.

Then she sighed and turned to Nicole with a faint smile. “Do you ever wonder if you’re a good mother?”

Nicole’s face softened instantly. “All the time,” she said with a little laugh, as if the question was both familiar and deeply understood.

Frances let out a quiet breath, her fingers trailing over the edge of her coat. “Does it ever get easier?”

Nicole reached over and took her hand, giving it a small, steady squeeze. “No. Not really,” she said. “But for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing a great job.”

Frances looked down, the corner of her mouth twitching, then back at her friend with tired but grateful eyes.

Nicole continued gently, “It’s never gonna be easy for us, balancing everything. Our work, the pressure, the hours...it’s hell of a lot. But if your kid knows that you’re always coming home… that you’ve got their back no matter what, and that you’ll listen even when you’re exhausted… that’s what counts.”

Frances exhaled slowly, her shoulders loosening just a bit. She leaned her head gently against Nicole’s and murmured, “Thank you.”

The two of them sat in silence for a moment, the hum of the city growing louder, but inside the car it was calm, two women, holding the quiet understanding of mothers doing their best.

.....

Yaz perched on the edge of her chair, phone tucked between her shoulder and ear, nibbling a biscuit she definitely shouldn’t be eating over fabric. She dialled Mildred with one hand, brushing crumbs off her sketchbook with the other.

The line clicked.

“Hello?” came Mildred’s voice, a little breathless.

“Hi, it’s me.”

“Yaz! Oh my God, this place is gorgeous! I mean, it’s like working inside a movie star’s penthouse. We’re obsessed.”

Yaz laughed. “Me too. It’s not bad, is it? I feel like a movie star myself" she laughed "I’m just calling to say sorry I can’t be there. First day and I’m already skiving off...what kind of boss does that make me?”

“The kind with excellent taste in wallpaper and biscuits.”
“You found the biscuits?”

“Oh yes,” Mildred burst out laughing. “You did say to make ourselves at home.”

“As long as you don’t burn the place down… or mark that sofa.”

“Ah. About that…”

“Mildred… that sofa cost more than two of my monthly paychecks. If anyone so much as looks at it with a cup of tea in hand, I’m stitching them into every hem I ever sew.”

“Understood, boss,” Mildred giggled. “We’re on our best behavior. Promise. We even saw Frances leaving this morning!”

“Oh no,” Yaz groaned dramatically. “You waved, didn’t you?”

“Just a little!”

“Please don’t tell me you all stood there gawping like fangirls.”

“We were very subtle about it.”

“Subtle?” Yaz scoffed. “You lot? You probably had a sign.”

“But seriously, it’s stunning here,” Mildred said warmly. “We can’t believe we get to work in a place like this. We miss you already. Honestly, Yaz, you’ve thought of everything, the snacks, the setup… it’s the best first day we’ve ever had.”

“I’m glad,” Yaz said, softening. “Really. You girls work your socks off, you deserve something lovely. And if anything goes wrong, call me straight away. Unless it’s spiders. You’re on your own for those.”

Mildred snorted. “Copy that. Boss’s orders.”

“Alright, love, I’ll let you get back to lounging, sorry...working,” Yaz teased. “I’ll swing by tomorrow and ruin all the fun.”

“We’ll be waiting...with glitter cannons.”

“Don’t tempt me, Mildred. I’ll show up in curlers and a dressing gown, just to establish dominance.”

“Oh please do.”

Yaz grinned. “Right. Try to behave yourselves. Kind of.”

“Bye, hun!”

Yaz hung up, still smiling. The girls were happy. The studio was alive with chatter and laughter. And for the first time in a long while, everything felt like it was exactly where it was meant to be.

.....

Yaz slipped into the wardrobe department’s main meeting room, brushing a stray thread off her trousers and quietly taking her usual seat near the end of the long room. Around her, the familiar faces of the team buzzed with quiet conversation, designers, tailors, seamstresses, and even Joseph from inventory, who always brought the world’s noisiest pen.

Charlie stood at the front of the room, clipboard in hand, glasses perched low on his nose.

“Alright, everyone, let’s settle,” he said, his voice calm but carrying just enough weight to hush the room.

Yaz sipped her tea from the chipped mug she always used, half-listening as he started. She wasn’t expecting anything major, just another budget discussion, another list of what they could and could not do.

“We got it,” Charlie said plainly. “Full approval. Budget increase confirmed. One hundred thousand dollars.”

The room erupted.

Gasps, laughter, cheers and even a wolf-whistle from behind the cutting tables that made everyone burst out laughing.

Charlie held up a hand, grinning. “Now before anyone starts kissing me, I’m not taking the credit.”

He looked toward Yaz.

“This happened because someone wouldn’t shut up about how much we needed it. Someone who chased me, chased the producers, and wouldn't take no for an answer...Yaz”

A few people clapped. Ellen gave Yaz a proud little smile. Then someone, probably Frank, let out a loud “YEAH YAZ!” that made everyone laugh again.

Yaz flushed, shaking her head. “I just… nagged creatively,” she mumbled, and the room chuckled.

Charlie’s smile softened, but then he set his clipboard down with a faint thud and his voice shifted.

“Which is why,” he said, “I’m doing something I’ve never done before. For this project, this massive, glorious headache of a production...I’m handing the reins over.”

A few heads tilted, unsure what he meant.

“I’ll be here as oversight. I’m not disappearing. But the lead, creative and practical...is going to Yaz.”

"What?" Yaz lifted her head in disbelief. She looked around the room, her eyes wide, heart pounding in her chest

The room went silent for a moment.

Then the clapping started, genuine, warm applause. Hands thudding on the table. Ellen was first on her feet, and then others followed. Yaz sat frozen, eyes wide.

"No, are you serious?" she shook her head

“Come on,” Charlie said gently. “Up here. Let’s hear what you’ve got.”

Yaz stood slowly, dazed. “I... I don’t know what to say.”

"Go girl!" Tim whistled

And then it hit her. Right in the chest. She covered her mouth as tears filled her eyes and spilled over before she could stop them.

“Oh, bloody hell,” she muttered, voice cracking. “Sorry...”

Ellen rushed over, arms wide, pulling her into a hug. “Don’t apologise hun. You deserve this. Every damn bit of it.”

Yaz laughed through tears. “I was just gonna sit at the back, eat my biscuit, maybe argue about fabric...”

“Well now you get to argue officially,” Charlie teased.

The room chuckled again, the mood bright but touched with something more, genuine admiration.

.....


The kitchen was quiet but busy, sun slanting in through the window and catching on the polished countertops. Betty stood by the counter packing Lily’s snack bag, peanut butter sandwich, apple slices, napkin folded into quarters. She checked the clock on the wall and sighed through her nose.

Behind her, Lily sat at the kitchen table, legs swinging, pencils scattered across the surface. Her tongue peeked out in concentration as she added the final touches to her drawing. She was using a new technique taught in her art class, cultured pencils.

“Alright, kiddo,” Betty said without turning around, zipping the lunch bag. “Wrap it up. Danny’ll be here any minute, and we don’t wanna be rushing.”

“Okay!” Lily chirped. She hurried to gather her pencils into a tin, then hopped down from the chair with a soft thump and ran over. “I made you something.”

She held up the drawing with both hands, her eyes bright.

Betty turned, eyebrows raised. “Oh yeah? What’s this now?”

“It’s you,” Lily said proudly. “In the kitchen. See? That’s the stove. And you’re stirring soup!”

Betty took the drawing and blinked at it, her lips twitching. The figure had big round curls, a big spoon, and wild colors that leapt off the page. She gave a short laugh.

“Well,” she said, holding it up, “for a second I thought it was scarecrow. But hey, I guess I see it now.”

Lily giggled faintly, though the spark in her eyes dimmed just a little.

“I worked really hard the way my teacher showed me,” she said, still hopeful.

Betty nodded, folding the drawing in half without looking. “Well, that’s sweet. Not everybody’s gonna be a famous artist, but it’s nice you gave it a shot.”

Lily’s shoulders dropped slightly, but she nodded.

“You should go grab your cardigan,” Betty added briskly. “It’s chilly out there, and you know Danny’s not the waiting kind.”

Lily stood still for a second, then quietly turned and padded toward the hallway.

“And don’t dilly-dally!” Betty called after her, dropping the drawing on the counter like a receipt. “I’m not explaining to him why we’re late.”

She glanced at the picture one more time, smirked to herself, and moved on.

.....


The room in the Wardrobe Department of Paramount studio smelled faintly of pressed wool and coffee,  a familiar mix to anyone in the costuming world. Yaz stepped in, portfolio under her arm, and took in the sight, bolts of fabric stacked neatly against one wall, two large cutting tables pushed aside to make room for a cluster of chairs, and a few framed sketches from past productions hung with pride. It was as if she was in her home studio but in some other dimension.

A small group of people were already seated, mostly studio staff from Paramount’s in-house wardrobe team, senior tailors, a couple of assistant designers, the department’s administrative coordinator, and the head costumer, Mr. Walter, a crisply dressed man in his late fifties with a ruler-straight posture and a pocket square that screamed old-school Hollywood, complete opposite from her Charlie.

Yaz found an empty chair and offered a polite smile as she sat, feeling the weight of curious glances around her.

Walter stood at the front of the room, clipboard in hand.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat in that booming, theatrical way of men used to being heard. “Thank you all for coming. I know this is a bit outside our regular scope. As you’ve heard, this is a loan-out picture, Miss Frances Louise is coming over from MGM to headline The Silver Moon for us. And as per her contractual clause, she’s bringing along her personal designer.”

A few eyebrows lifted. That was uncommon, not unheard of, but definitely rare. Stars had sway, but bringing their own people into the wardrobe department? That meant trust. It meant influence.

Walter gestured toward Yaz. “This is Miss Yasmin Khan, or Yaz, as I believe she prefers to be called.”

"Nice to meet you all" Yaz stood briefly, smiling. “Just Yaz, please. I respond to anything except ‘oi, you.’”

A soft ripple of laughter went through the room, the tension easing a notch.

Walter nodded with a small, polite smile. “Yaz is not a Paramount hire, but she’ll be working closely with us for the duration of this project. Miss Louise insisted, very strongly, I might add that she’s to be the designer for all of her wardrobe in the film.”

He turned back to Yaz. “And from what I’ve seen of your portfolio, I can understand why.”

Yaz offered a modest smile. “Thank you,”

The corners of his mouth to twitch upward in a subtle smile.

“She’ll coordinate with our construction team and have access to our facilities. Naturally, studio policy still applies, you’ll report through our channels for scheduling, fittings, and cost estimations.”

“Understood,” Yaz said.

A younger assistant raised a hand. “Is Miss Khan going to design only for Miss Louise or…?”

“Only Miss Louise,” Walter confirmed. “The rest of the wardrobe remains in-house. But Frances’s costumes are going to be central to the visual arc of this picture, so we’ll be supporting Miss Khan wherever needed. Miss Khan, feel free to add anything.”

Yaz took a small breath and stood up to speak more freely.

“I know it’s unusual,” she began, “but I want to assure you I’m not here to step on anyone’s toes. Frances and I have worked together long enough that I know how to design for her, what shapes move with her, what fabrics suit the camera when she’s in motion amd what her preferences are. But that doesn’t mean I’m not open to collaborating. If anything, I’m really looking forward to it.”

Someone in the back nodded in approval. Another tailor gave her a friendly smile.

“Any early thoughts on direction?” Walter asked.

"Yes, loads actually" Yaz tapped her folder and opened it, revealing a few sketched silhouettes.

“Alright,” she began, tapping the top sketch with her pencil, “Frances’s character, well-off, elegant, suspicious her husband’s up to something shady. She’s a woman who knows the rules of her world and how to play within them... just enough to bend them when needed.”

She pointed to the first sketch a fitted, dove-gray tea-length dress with a structured waist and subtle sheen. “This one’s for the garden scene. Soft silk taffeta, conservative neckline, but the tailoring’s sharp. The kind of look that says, 'Yes, I bake lemon tarts... while plotting your downfall.'”

The room chuckled.

She moved to the next idem, a warm cream blouse tucked into tailored navy slacks, accented with a slim leather belt and a silk scarf loosely tied at the neck. “This one’s for when she starts poking around, we need her to look polished, but mobile. Think Grace Kelly if she had a dark sense of humor.”

Yaz flipped to the final sketch an evening look, a fitted black dress with a square neckline, short sleeves, and delicate buttons running down the back. “Dinner party scene. Sleek, minimal glamour. No sparkle, no fuss. She’s not trying to be the center of attention… but she definitely is.”

She looked up and added, “The feeling across the board is controlled elegance. We want her to look like someone who’s been playing the role of perfect wife so long, even she doesn’t know where the act ends. A little Hitchcock, a little noir, but still modern.”

One of the younger tailors raised their hand. “What’s the fabric for the evening dress?”

“Wool crepe,” Yaz replied immediately. “It holds shape, moves well on camera, and we can get that perfect, clean silhouette without relying on corsetry. Understated luxury.”

Another hand. “Will she have a coat for that scene?”

“Oh yes....just a sec" she said flipping through her sketchbook and took the drawing out "Here...Black cashmere swing coat, bracelet-length sleeves, wide lapels. No buttons, just a belt tie. It’ll open just enough as she walks to show the dress underneath. A little drama. But not too much.”

The room nodded and scribbled notes, already catching the vision. Yaz gave them a small, crooked grin.

“This is our lead. Her wardrobe has to tell the audience everything they don’t trust her to say.”

“Absolutely,” Walter said. “You’ll have access to our textile library and storerooms. Speak to Lois in procurement, she knows every drawer in this building.”

“Perfect,” Yaz said brightly. “And if anyone here wants to nerd out about anything else, I’m your girl.”

A quiet laugh rippled again. The atmosphere had warmed. Even Walter looked mildly impressed.

“I think this’ll go smoothly,” he said. “Alright then, folks. Let’s get back to it. Yaz, welcome to Paramount.”

She smiled and gave a polite nod, hiding the grin that threatened to spread across her face. It was official. She was in.

....


The lunch rush had just passed, leaving the little restaurant on Melrose Avenue quiet and sunlit, the clink of cutlery and low jazz from the radio filling the space. Frances and Yaz had claimed a corner table near the window, checkered tablecloth, a tiny vase with daisies, and a basket of crusty bread between them.

Frances raised her glass of white wine, her smile bright as ever. “To you,” she said, tapping Yaz’s orange juice with a soft clink. “The new queen of costume department ”

Yaz rolled her eyes but grinned, cheeks glowing. “Oh, stop.”

“No, seriously,” Frances sat back, proud and glowing. “I’m just so damn proud of you, you know? You worked your tail off for that project. You deserve every bit of it.”

They clinked again, Yaz’s juice glass this time half-empty and tucked into their plates, something light with herbs and lemon, the kind of lunch that felt fancy but still homemade. After a minute or two of peaceful chewing, Yaz dabbed her mouth and said, a little offhandedly, “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Lily called me ‘Mummy’ last night.”

Frances froze mid-bite. Her fork paused in the air. “She what?”

Yaz smiled, her eyes warm. “Yeah. It sort of... slipped out. She was dead chuffed about this drawing she did in class. Bless her, it just came out, like it was the most natural thing in the world.”

Frances put her fork down and covered her mouth with both hands. Her eyes went glossy. “Oh... my God, Yaz.”

“I know,” Yaz chuckled. “She got all shy right after. Hid behind her picture like she hadn’t meant to say it.”

Frances let out a gentle, teary laugh. “That little peanut. My heart’s in pieces.”

Yaz reached across the table, gave her hand a squeeze. “I thought maybe... dunno...you’d feel weird about it.”

“Jealous?” Frances shook her head firmly, her voice thick with affection. “Not even a little. That means she feels safe. That she knows she’s loved.” She paused, eyes sparkling with mischief now. “As long as she doesn’t say it in front of priest or the studio press officer, we’re in the clear.”

Yaz burst out laughing, nearly spilling her juice. “Oh, could you imagine?”

“She’d blow our cover wide open. ‘Yes, this is my mummy and my other mummy,’” Frances said in her best Lily impression, then covered her face again, cracking up.

They laughed together, the kind of shared laughter that made strangers glance over and smile at them, not knowing why. A moment of pure lightness in the middle of their whirlwind lives.

Frances leaned back, her eyes still shining. “She loves you so much.”

Yaz nodded, “And I adore her.”


.....


Later that day Yaz sat hunched over her desk, a cluster of fabric swatches fanned out beside her like a painter’s palette. She flicked through each one with practiced fingers, occasionally jotting tiny color codes and notes into the margins of her sketchbook. A pencil rested between her fingers, tapping lightly as she frowned at a swatch of dusky rose satin. She was so deep in concentration she barely registered the soft knock at her office door.

“Come in!” Yaz called, her voice half-distracted as she jotted down some notes beside a rack of fabric swatches.

The door creaked open, and there stood Susan, smiling with a mischievous glint in her eye.

Yaz’s whole face lit up. “Susan!” she gasped, already on her feet. She practically leapt across the room to hug her. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“I brought dinner,” Susan said, completely nonchalant as she strolled inside and began unloading neatly packed Tupperware from her handbag onto Yaz’s cluttered desk. “Figured you haven’t eaten anything decent all week.”

Yaz burst out laughing. “You’re unbelievable. You know that, don’t you?”

Susan shrugged like it was nothing. “Also,” she added, softer now, pausing as she set down the last container, “I missed you.”

Yaz’s expression melted. She wrapped her arms around her again, a tighter hug this time. “I’ve missed you too, terribly.”

Susan gave a dramatic sniff. “Liar. It’s only been a week. You two are probably still on your honeymoon.”

Yaz giggled, pulling away just enough to look at her. “Still very much married, thank you. Just working far too many hours.”

“Mhm. Don’t think I didn’t hear the giggling when I called the other night,” Susan teased, wagging a finger. “Like teenagers.”

Yaz rolled her eyes with a grin and perched on the edge of her desk. “Anyway, you bringing food means I have to share it, right?”

“Of course. I made enough for all of you and three departments. But if anyone comes sniffing around, I’m denying everything.”

They both laughed, and Susan perched herself comfortably in the spare chair.

“Oh, before I forget,” she added, waving a hand, “how would you feel about Sunday lunch at mine?”

“I’ll talk to Frances, but if it’s up to Lily and me, she's already outvoted,” Yaz smirked. “Two to one. Sorry but not sorry.” she laughed

Susan chuckled. “Tyrants, the both of you.”

“You love it,” Yaz said, nudging her playfully.

“I do,” Susan admitted. “And I’ll be at the house around two tomorrow, by the way.”

Yaz blinked. “Two? That’s early.”

“I’m taking Lily to the zoo,” Susan said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Yaz smiled so wide her cheeks ached. “Oh she’s gonna be chuffed. Don't think she’s ever been"

“I thought so ,” Susan replied with a wink. “That’s the whole point.”

Susan leaned in her chair "Alright, come on then. How are things really going?" Susan asked, voice gentler now.

Yaz hesitated. Her fingers fussed with the hem of her sleeve. “We’ve had a bit of a situation,” she said finally.

Susan narrowed her eyes. “With what? Or who?”

Yaz exhaled through her nose. “Betty.”

That was enough to make Susan blink. “What sort of situation?”

Yaz leaned forward, quieter now, careful with her words but the frustration evident. “She’s... rigid. Told Lily she couldn’t draw in the kitchen anymore. Wouldn’t cut up her meat for her at dinner just chucked it out. So Frances had to step in. She had  a word  with her this morning.”

Susan stared at her. “What a bitch.”

Yaz burst out laughing. “Susan!”

“What? She is!” Susan looked genuinely affronted. “What sort of grown woman behaves like that with a child? A sick child...disgusting.”

“I don’t know,” Yaz said, smiling fading. “But honestly... between us, I don’t think it’s gonna work. Her ideas about how a child should be raised...let’s just say... it’s not how Frances sees it, and definitely not how I see it either....So I don't know...I think we're gonna have to get a nanny. To be honest we're bot worried she's gonna take it out on Lily. And if that happens I'm gonna take it out on her."

There was a beat of silence, thick with shared concern.

Then Susan straightened. “Right. You tell that fella...what’s his name again, Danny?”

Yaz nodded slowly, a bit thrown by the sudden energy shift.

“You tell him to bring Lily to my house every day after her classes.”

“What? No...Susan, no, you’ve got your own responsibilities.”

“Let me worry about my responsibilities,” Susan said, firm. “But I’m not having that child be mistreated. Not while I’m alive. You hear me? She can draw in every room in the house if she damn well pleases.”

Yaz stood up, shaking her head and laughing through misty eyes. She wrapped Susan in a tight hug and kissed her on the cheek. “What would I do without you?”

Susan smirked, brushing imaginary dust from her shoulder. “You’d be in trouble. All of you...as you are.”

Yaz laughed. “Alright. Let’s talk about it properly on Sunday, yeah?”

Susan gave a satisfied nod. “Sunday it is. I’ll make pudding....Also, isn’t Lily’s birthday coming up, we need to talk about cake”

.....


The living room glowed softly in the amber light of a side lamp. The clock ticked gently from the mantel while a warm breeze moved the sheer curtains just slightly at the window. On the floor, near the coffee table, a soft woolen blanket had been laid out as a makeshift play mat. Scattered across it were little square cards facedown, some already flipped into matching pairs.

Frances sat cross-legged, barefoot, in a pair of comfortable pajama bottoms and one of Yaz’s oversized jumpers. Her hair scooped up in a messy bun, the odd curl falling on her face. Across from her, Lily knelt in her pajamas, cheeks rosy from the bath and full of energy.

“Alright, sweetheart,” Frances said, watching her daughter intently. “Your turn. Let’s see if you can remember where the other elephant is hiding.”

Lily bit her lip in concentration and turned over a card slowly. It was a rabbit. She huffed.

“Ah, not quite,” Frances said, gently turning the cards back over. “But you’re getting close.”

Lily tapped the cards with her fingers as if to scold them.

"So tell me about your drama class. Is it fun?"

"Yes!" She turned her face up to Frances with a bright smile. “We had rehearsal today.”

Frances smiled, warmed by the sound of the word. “Did you? And what part did you get, darling?”

“I’m one of the mice!” Lily said proudly, bouncing a little. “I get to help Cinderalla with her dress. We dance around and squeak and help her clean the house!”

Frances clapped her hands together, laughing. “That’s perfect. You’ll be the most wonderful little mouse they’ve ever seen.”

Lily puffed her chest out proudly, then picked up two more cards this time flipping a matching pair. She let out a delighted squeal.

“Well done!” Frances grinned, reaching over to tap her on the nose. “That’s another match. See? You’ve got a proper memory in there.”

Lily nodded, then added in a dreamy tone, “I made a new friend. Her name’s Sally. She’s one of the evil sisters but she’s nice in real life.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Frances said, starting to gather up the cards. “You’ll need nice friends if you’re going to rule the stage one day.”

"Mummy"

"Yes darling?" Frances said flipping two cards

Lily hesitated, her voice shy. “Can I invite her to my birthday party?”

Frances paused and looked over at her, heart swelling. “Of course you can. I’ll speak to her mum. We’ll make sure she gets an invitation.”

"Thank you!" Lily beamed, crawling over to Frances and leaning against her side.

"That's okay sweet pea" Frances wrapped her arm around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I'm really happy you're making new friends"

.....

 

It was late, and Yaz was yet to return from her work. Frances sat curled on the sofa, a script in her hand and a half-full glass of wine perched on the coffee table. She traced lines as she read, mouthing dialogue under her breath. From the radio, Ella Fitzgerald’s voice spilled gently into the space. 

 

Outside, the low hum of a car pulling into the drive broke the stillness. Frances glanced up twards the window, and gently pulled back the curtain. A slow smile spread across her face as she spotted the familiar figure stepping out. 

 

Moments later, the front door opened with the soft rattle of keys, and Yaz stepped in, hair a little windswept, her coat hanging open and a tote slung over one shoulder. She left the bag on the floor and kicked off her shoes. 

 

Frances rose at once, the script forgotten on the sofa. “It’s almost eleven,” she said as she stepped in the hallway, concern laced in her voice "God darling...you look like you've been through the wringer" 

 

Yaz let out a groan but smiled as they met halfway, their kiss tender and familiar. I'm done in,” she admitted, “but a happy kind. The costumes are really coming together. I think Charlie’s actually trusting me not to set fire to the whole thing.” 

 

Frances gave her a proud look, brushing a stray curl from her face. “I never doubted you.” 

 

Just then, Frances caught sight of something on the floor. She peered down at the heavy-looking tote bag resting near Yaz’s feet. “Wait, what’s this? You bring me a present?” 

 

Yaz chuckled as she slipped off her coat. “Susan...She popped by the studio... She's  convinced we're starving and that I lost weight" she laughed "There’s Kentucky fried chicken in there if you’re hungry.” 

 

Frances’s eyes lit up like Christmas. She dropped down picking up a bag like it was sacred. “Are you kidding me?” She sniffed dramatically at the top of the bag. “I think I died and gone to heaven.” she sighed dramatically already heading to the kitchen. 

 

"That was a joke" Yaz doubled over laughing as she followed. “You’re not seriously gonna eat that now, are you? It’s practically tomorrow!" 

 

“You bet’ya I am,” Frances said, already heading toward the kitchen like a woman on a mission. 

 

Yaz followed, trying not to laugh too loudly. “Save some for the kid!” 

 

“No promises,” Frances called over her shoulder, already rummaging for plates. 

 

Frances plopped herself down on the kitchen chair, one leg propped on the edge, the other flat on the floor, as she eagerly tore into the various containers Susan had packed. She opened each one with a satisfied grin, like a child uncovering treasures. There was chicken, creamy mashed potatoes, a bowl of coleslaw with a tangy dressing and buttery corn on the cob. 

 

Frances pried open another container and let out a soft, dramatic sigh as the buttery scent hit her. “Ohh, now we’re talking…” 

 

Yaz glanced over from the kettle, curious. “What’ve you found now?” 

 

Frances held up one of the golden brown rounds. “Biscuits.” 

 

Yaz blinked. “Those are biscuits?” 

 

Frances smirked, already tearing one in half. “Yup. Fresh, fluffy, perfect biscuits.” 

 

“They’re scones, Frances. That’s a scone.” 

 

Frances laughed, mouth already full. “Nope. Definitely a biscuit.” 

 

Yaz rolled her eyes and shook her head, muttering as she turned back to pour her tea. “You Americans are a weird bunch, honestly.” 

 

Frances called after her with a grin, “Takes one to marry one!” 

 

Yaz grinned to herself, taking her mug. “Yeah, yeah. Remind me again why I put up with you?” 

 

“Cause you like my biscuit” she winked taking a bite 

 

Yaz choked on her tea, spluttering. 

 

Frances waggled her eyebrows and took a smug bite. “Touché.” 

 

Yaz pointed a stern finger at her, trying not to laugh."You’re a real potty mouth, you know that?" 

 

Frances grinned wider. “And yet, here you are, still married to me.” 

 

Yaz shook her head, giving up. “God help me.” 

 

She leaned against the counter trying not to laugh at the sounds of Frances practically purring over her food. “Did you have a good day?...How did it go with Betty today?" 

 

Frances grinned, a full mouth of food, and looked up. “Fantastic.” She took another bite of mashed potatoes, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “She managed to make Lily cry for a change. It’s a real achievement.” 

 

Yaz slammed the mug down a little too hard on the kitchen counter. “Are you kidding me?” Her brows furrowed in disbelief. “Now what?” 

 

Frances rolled her eyes, sinking back into her chair as she picked up a piece of fried chicken. “Lily made her a picture today. A really sweet one, too. But guess what she did?" 

 

"Do I wanna know?" 

 

"She used it for potato peels... I could’ve killed her I swear, Yaz.” 

 

"What's her bloody problem?” Yaz yelled 

 

"I don't know but I'm gonna be her problem...I'm done with her." Frances took another bite, chewed, then spoke through it. “So, that’s it. We’re getting a nanny.” 

 

She paused dramatically, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “And a new housekeeper, at this point. Unless I feel extremely merciful tomorrow morning, but honestly? Right now? I feel like I might just snap her neck.” 

 

"I might join you" Yaz stared at her, utterly speechless for a moment before she let out a sigh. 

 

“Sometimes I wish I could just multiply myself, take over all this shit, and still have a shred of sanity left." She spoke through a bite of coleslaw, stabbing her fork into the air. "I swear, the nicer you are to people, the bigger assholes they turn out to be. Maybe I should stop being so damn nice and be a bitch for once, might actually get some fucking respect.” 

 

Yaz sat down across from her with her mug of tea, her brow furrowed, mouth drawn tight. "I knew this isn’t gonna work. She’s just a mean, spiteful old bat, and no amount of time’s gonna fix that. I swear she gets off on making Lily feel small. That’s someone rotten to the bone." 

 

Frances gave a dry laugh, reaching for another biscuit. “It’s like the second you show any decency, people think they can walk all over you....Why?" 

 

"She’s jealous, plain and simple. You can smell it on her, that green-eyed bitterness. It’s seeping out of her every pore and Lily’s the one catching it." 

 

The silence settled thick between them, heavy with anger and disappointment. 

 

Yaz leaned against the table, her fingers wrapped around the warm mug. She blew on her tea, took a small sip, then finally spoke, her voice low but certain. 

 

“We’re not gonna need a nanny.” 

 

Frances paused mid-bite, her mouth full of chicken, eyebrows raised. Yaz couldn’t help but snort. 

 

“Wow. Look at you, glamour incarnate.” 

 

“Mood-of-the-day glamour. " Frances pointed her chicken leg at her. "Don’t deflect, what do you mean we’re not gonna need a nanny? You planning to bring Lily to the studio?” 

 

Yaz moved folding one leg under herself. "Neah...Susan properly kicked off. Said she’s taking the reins." 

 

Frances blinked. “What?” 

 

“She said she wants Danny to bring Lily over after lessons every day. She was dead serious. Said she'd bring her back after dinner or we just scoop her up after work.” 

 

Frances slowly set the chicken leg down, her shoulders slumping, chin wobbling. One hand stayed on the table while the other flew to cover her eyes, and then she burst into tears. 

 

“Oi, what’s this all about?” Yaz said, instantly on her feet. She crouched beside her, gently pulling the chicken out of Frances’s hand and setting it aside. Then, with a little grunt, she grabbed Frances’s legs and spun her in the chair to face her. 

 

Frances let out a shaky voice through her tears. “I just… feel like a damn failure. It hasn’t even been a week and I already screwed it all up." 

 

Yaz cupped her cheek, wiping away a tear with her thumb. “You haven’t messed up a thing. Come on, love. Things happen. We knew it wasn’t gonna be plain sailing from the start." 

 

“But Lily....” 

 

“Lily adores you. You’re doing your best, and that’s more than enough. Betty’s the issue, not you. This is what happens when people hire staff based on references rather than basic human decency." 

 

Frances gave a watery smile as Yaz tucked her hair gently behind her ear. 

 

“Everything’s gonna be fine love” Yaz said softly. “We’re managing, alright? One wobble doesn’t mean we’re off track.” 

 

Frances let out a long breath and nodded, finally beginning to calm down. “I love you.” 

 

Yaz smiled. “Course you do. I’m bloody amazing." 

 

They both laughed, Frances sniffing back the last of her tears.

"Come on...finish your midnight feast and let's go to bed..." she leaned in plopping a kiss to her lips "Love you" 

 

.....