The Hatter’s Art

Grand Designs

Cast away on the top floor of the stucco-fronted house sat a woman, lost in thought, as, like a dolphin, her millinery needle swiftly dived and emerged through small waves of gauzy sea blue fabric.

Naomi had always loved hats. Fascinated by fascinators, berets, beanies and the bizarre, the colours, the shapes, and the quirky possibilities of designs limited only by her imagination. For Naomi, though, they meant so much more.

She knew the perfect hat for its perfect person had the power to change their life. And not a day went by when Naomi didn’t feel privileged to be part of that.

She was lucky, she thought, that people believed in her enough to wear her creations.

Jennifer Stenwal knew she was lucky to have stumbled into The Hatter’s Attic, because she was one of those people whose life had changed forever.

Naomi hadn’t even heard the creaking of the heavy, old front door opening, she’d been so immersed in her work. It wasn’t until Jennifer was stood just feet

away, in a trance, the door still open, that Naomi sensed her presence, a light breeze brushing through her hair. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting anyone.” Naomi’s soft voice pressed against Jennifer’s ear, guiding her gaze in Naomi’s direction.

“I think I’ve been given the wrong address,” blurted Jennifer.

Naomi silently disagreed. She was sure the woman was in the right place.

She had long, dark hair covering one side of her face, tied loosely in a side ponytail, trailing over the front of her shoulder. She was tall, curvaceous and elegant. But there was a hint of self-doubt. A mist behind the woman’s eyes, stopping the world from seeing the real her.

Naomi smiled. “Why not take a look around, as you’re here?”

Jennifer seemed startled, but her eyes, magnetically drawn to the bright fabrics and beautiful embellishments sparkling around the hatter’s attic, relaxed, and she nodded compliantly.

Naomi returned to her work. Within seconds her nimble fingers were stitching sequins to chiffon.

Jennifer wandered around the attic studio, unable to stop her hands from reaching out, running them over the sumptuous fabrics. They felt cool against her clammy skin. The colours were calming to her anxious eyes.

Then she stopped dead in front of a bolt of blood-red silk.

Jennifer never wore red. It was a heady colour. Revealing, attention-seeking, bold. Everything Jennifer had tried to avoid.

“That colour is your perfect match.” Naomi’s soft lilt floated across the attic. Jennifer spun round, her face flushing. “No. Not red. I never wear red.” “But it would look so beautiful against your dark, glossy hair.”

Reflexively Jennifer touched her long, sleek ponytail. “I don’t think it would suit me. I prefer more muted colours.”

“Why do you wish to vanish yourself into the background?”

Jennifer was taken aback by Naomi’s bluntness. She didn’t like to talk about it. She looked back at the rows of fabric, playing for time.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. Maybe I could design you a hat – do you have any occasions coming up?’

Jennifer bit her lip. She did. Her friend’s winter wedding.

A wooden chair scraped the

floorboards. “It wouldn’t hurt to look at some designs, would it? As you’re here.”

Jennifer walked hesitantly across the attic and accepted the seat Naomi offered.

Naomi smiled, picking up her pencil and sliding an open sketch book along the table towards them.

Jennifer was mesmerised as the graphite drawings came to life. Swirls and swishes, ribbons and bows, corsages and curves. Even just as simple pencil designs, they were simple splendour.

She gazed enviously at a particular hat drawing which seemed to come to life as a figure of eight, adorned with precious gems and regal feathers. It would sit perfectly, veiling one side of her face.

The side her long hair covered. The side with the scar which made her feel ugly and insignificant and sapped every ounce of her self-esteem every time she glimpsed it.

“This one. I’d love you to make this hat for me, please. To wear to my friend’s wedding.” Jennifer’s eyes shone. Naomi nodded. “What happened?” Jennifer frowned with confusion. “Why do you hide a face as beautiful as yours beneath your hair?’

Jennifer gaped. No one ever asked her outright. They just stared, or whispered behind her back, making her feel a freak.

Naomi waited, her round, blue, button eyes full of kindness.

The words tumbled out before Jennifer could catch them. “An accident when I was a teenager, trying to help someone. I fell from some rocks. Jagged rocks. They left a mark on my right cheek.”

Naomi nodded. Not with sympathy or pity. But with understanding.

After Jennifer had confirmed her order – the figure of eight hat in a discreet, dark colour, tiny anthracite crystals scattered sparingly on the rim of the crown – Naomi closed the door to the attic, and sighed.

What she was about to do would initially cause her customer great distress, it always did. But once they dared to place their bespoke hat upon their head, it became a source of magic for them.

The morning of her friend’s wedding had sprung upon Jennifer as quickly as autumn had turned to winter. Frost adorned the views like sprinkles of

diamonds, bursts of snowflakes floating through the sky like confetti.

Gently Jennifer lifted the lid of the dovegrey hat box, which Naomi had sent by courier that morning.

The hat was protected by layers of grey tissue paper, and Jennifer briefly closed her eyes in anticipation. She had been imagining this moment for weeks. Visualising herself raising the asymmetric creation into the air, gasping with delight. Feeling the soft, dark, felt curves of the figure of eight, the tiny gemstones adding a shimmer of celebration to her outfit.

Jennifer opened her eyes, and carefully unwrapped the tissue layers. Immediately she felt a jolt of panic, glimpsing a flash of red through the gaps in the paper. Naomi hadn’t sent her the wrong hat, surely?

Her hands tugged at the paper, and sure enough, it was Jennifer’s figure of eight hat. But instead of the muted colours she had carefully chosen, this hat gleamed with a wave of black and anthracite gemstones of varying shapes and sizes, fluttering with black feathers, and it was made from the striking red silk fabric she’d lingered in front of, the day she stumbled into the hatter’s attic.

Unable to stop herself, she lifted the hat from its box. Its beauty was undeniable. So bright, so powerful. Curious, she couldn’t resist the temptation to try it.

She moved it towards her head, turning towards the mirror. She stopped. That couldn’t be right? She lowered the hat, rotating it within her trembling hands. She tried again.

A single tear rolled silently down her cheek and over her scar. Naomi had constructed the figure of eight to cover the left side of her face. Jennifer’s facial scar would be more exposed than ever before.

How could Naomi have made such a huge mistake?

In a rage Jennifer flung the hat across the room, sending it spinning onto the floor, just a flash of red angry feathers and fantasia. Her fairytale day was gone in the blink of an eye.

Most of Naomi’s clients did this upon receipt of their headpiece. Like those people who pre-judged them from just a first glimpse. Those people who increased their insecurities and self-doubt. Those people didn’t take a moment to stop and think, to realise that there was a kind, wonderful person behind the scars, or the unconventional clothes, or shy personality.

But Naomi always knew that her clients would take a second look.

They had shared their story with her, and she had made a promise to them.

Jennifer dried the tears, her eyes sliding towards the hat she’d rejected minutes earlier. Something drew her back to it. A feeling. A belief. Hope.

She picked it up, mesmerised by its dazzling colours and textures. Her eyes followed the curve of the brim, just as they had followed the pencil line drawing Naomi had created that day in the attic.

As she turned the hat in her hands, something caught her eye in the shaft of daylight bursting through the window. Where the inside of the brim had been stitched to the inside of the crown with red ribbon, tiny writing was embroidered on it.

Ladyinred.Bebold.Bebrave. Bebeautiful.

Jennifer blinked, her heart lifting as she stood up and placed the hat on her head like a crown. It fitted her perfectly. She turned her head to take in the striking colour and embellishments, then lifted her chin, angling her head to the other side.

Her scar, she realised, represented her courage. She should be proud, not ashamed. As she gazed at her reflection, Jennifer had never felt more beautiful.

IN A RAGE she sent the hat SPINNING across the floor, A FLASH of angry red