Threads (Threads: Book 1)

We’re standing in a fashion designer’s studio in Hoxton, admiring ourselves in the mirror. At least, Jenny’s supposed to be admiring herself in her red carpet dress. Or she would if it didn’t make her look like a cherry tomato. Edie and I are just tagging along, but the mirror takes up the whole wall and it’s hard not to take a bit of a peek.
Apart from the mirror, the studio’s big and bare. Lots of brick walls and tall windows and clothes rails. My mother would call it ‘industrial chic’. I would say it was in need of some love and upholstery.
I’m looking at my Converses, which got their first outing today after a bit of customisation with some TippEx. They’re only mild French swear-words (and one in Italian that I got from my pen pal, Marco). I know much worse ones. I thought they were funny and Jenny laughed. Edie is above such things.