The sleeves of her yellow kimono top (over a purple satin tulip skirt, over orange lace leggings, scarlet killer heels, a combination which shouldn’t have worked but just did) billowed and flapped. ‘Oh now this is a gorgeous space! I’ve seen smaller village halls!’ She abruptly stopped twirling, adding very quickly, ‘As a child, I mean. Ballet class and Brownies, that sort of thing. Haven’t been near a village hall in years. Obviously.’ She shivered slightly, as if the very idea of being more than five miles beyond Notting Hill was too hideous to contemplate. Bella tried to imagine Daisy at a ballet class: she’d have been sure to have perfectly colour-co-ordinated ribbons rather than the usual random what’s-available ones sewn on the hem of her character skirt, and to have been the one girl in the class whose wrapover cardigan was cashmere. ‘So – this room will be just the thing, with a bit more gussying up!’ Daisy continued. ‘And how clever of you, Bella, to resist having an island unit in here!
