Mother bought Julia white T-bar shoes when she was eleven. They were the first ones to have a small wedge heel. That day, she moved out of a child’s world and got a sneaky peek at the universe of adults. There had been no spaces in the children’s section and Mother’s face had a kind of haunted expression about it, a lost look, as they stood in the entrance, waiting. A lady approached and whispered, ‘Try over the road, love. They’re nice and cheap.’ That day she discovered other shoe shops existed – those with no proper foot measures, and store assistants who looked at you as if you were going to make a run for it with the items nearest the door, and where no one cared if you scuffed the toe ends of the display models. That day she knew she’d found the real place where grown-ups go. Where y
