A Brit Player

by Brenda St John Brown

  Shit. What if I trip and everyone laughs? Worse, what if no one bids on me?

  That won’t happen because Scarlett will get Bradley to bid. But what if he’s the only one? I don’t want to do this, but I don’t want to flop either. Especially not in front of Max.

  I’ve been avoiding even thinking his name and it makes my hands clammier. He’s going to bid on me. I’m sure of it. I should have asked Bradley to make sure he outbids Max no matter what, but I didn’t. I thought about it but didn’t actually say the words.

  Now it’s too late because I hear Hannah saying, “And next up we have Tara Kapoor. Tara is an architect from London and one of my daughter’s oldest friends, so I can personally vouch for how charming and lovely she is. Let’s give Tara a warm welcome and start the bidding.”

  Miss Sparkly Dress gives my lower back a little nudge and I start walking, a smile pasted on my face. Here goes nothing.

  Chapter Six

  I focus on Scarlett and Tilly as I make my way onto the small catwalk because suddenly the crowd that seemed relatively small when I was part of it is now overwhelming when I’m in front of it. My heels feel wobbly and I have to resist wiping my palms on my dress.

  “Who’s going to start the bidding?” Hannah’s voice is bright. She’s in her element here, I can tell.

  A memory flickers across my mind of Scarlett complaining about her mum jumping in to help organize our sixth form leaving do. She was so cross, but Hannah was brilliant and even Scarlett agreed in the end that we had a nicer evening than we would have otherwise because her mum helped. My mum helped, too, and she was dazzled by Hannah’s organization and determination. She was also a little intimidated, although that didn’t last because Hannah’s as nice as she is efficient.

  “One hundred pounds. Brilliant. That’s way too low for this lovely lady. Do I hear two hundred?” Hannah asks.

  I risk a glance at the audience to see who bid on me, but whomever it was has lowered their paddle already. However, I don’t miss a paddle going up in the back for the two-hundred-pound bid. Is it Harris? He’s standing right next to Max, who has his arms crossed over his chest. I don’t dare glance up at his face because he’ll either be scowling in irritation or grinning because he’s egging Harris on. Either expression will make me stumble.

  “Three hundred pounds? Do I hear three hundred?” Hannah asks, then pauses, glancing around.

  My heartbeat starts a steady thrum in my chest. I don’t want to go out with Harris. I mean, I don’t want to go out with anyone but especially him. He’s Max’s teammate and that’s too close for comfort.

  Bradley raises his paddle in the front and I shoot him a grateful look. I need to send him and Scarlett something as a thank you. Maybe some fancy tea?

  “One thousand pounds.” A voice calls from the back.

  I freeze on the spot. I know that voice. I don’t dare look at him, but I feel Max’s eyes trained on me, willing me to glance up.

  I don’t. I won’t. Instead I pivot my head towards Hannah, who’s looking a bit dumbstruck until somebody in the audience whoops.

  I recognize that voice too. It’s Scarlett. I feel my face flush, but then everyone laughs, and Hannah recovers enough to say, “Well, one thousand pounds. Do I hear eleven hundred? I know this young lady is more than worth it.”

  There’s silence and I spy a lot of glancing around out of the corner of my eye, but I can’t imagine anyone bidding higher. If Harris the hottie went for six hundred, no way little old me is going to go for almost double that.

  “Okay, going once.” Hannah pauses. Her gavel is poised over the wooden podium as she says, “Going twice.”

  I feel like I might sink through the floor. These are the longest minutes of my life.

  “And sold to the gentleman in the back!” Hannah brings the gavel down. The bang makes me jump even though I watch her do it. She grins and holds out an arm to motion me closer.

  I shuffle sideways and Hannah places her hand on my forearm, which is the grounding I need to be able to finally look up at the audience. I still can’t bring myself to look at Max, but Scarlett, Tilly, and Bradley are grinning at me like I’ve won the Euro Millions.

  “Congratulations,” Hannah murmurs to me. “One more date to go and you can go meet your high bidder.”

  Yay.

  I offer a weak smile and make my way backstage, where Miss Sparkly Dress is waiting to go on. “Nice result.” Her appraising look is a lot less judgmental this time. “Ye know who bid on you, right?”

  “I was a little dumbstruck, to be honest. I didn’t really see.” I have no idea why I’m lying, but it feels easier than admitting I know Max.

  “Max Foster.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Ye do know who he is, right?”

  “I do.” I nod, but I can tell from the look on her face that my reaction isn’t nearly over the top enough for her.

  Thank God Hannah calls her name – which is Carrie – saving me from further questions and/or exclamations.

  Scarlett and Tilly’s exclamations are more than enough when I’m back in the marquee ten minutes later.

  “Oh my God,” says Scarlett. “I know we’re not talking about your past with Max Foster, but you so have a past with Max Foster.”

  “He bid a thousand pounds on you,” Tilly whisper-shouts. “That’s insane.”

  “I assumed you didn’t need me to outbid him?” Bradley asks.

  To tell the truth, it would have made my life a hell of a lot easier, but I shake my head. “No, but thank you for your bid. It’s surreal being up there.”

  “I can imagine.” Bradley’s tone is sympathetic, which I appreciate.

  “There’s the meet and mingle in the bar, don’t forget,” says Scarlett. She keeps her voice low as she says to me, “Are you going to chat with Max?”

  “No. I think I’m going to head upstairs. I have a bit of a headache.” This is half true. My shoulders are tense and sore, and the pain is creeping up the back of my neck.

  “Oh, come on. Come for one. A glass of fizz will be good for what ails you,” says Scarlett.

  “I need to lay down and close my eyes for a bit.” I offer an apologetic smile. “If I’m feeling better, I’ll come back down in half an hour.”

  Headache or no headache, Scarlett and I both know I won’t come back downstairs until the coast is clear. She stares at me and I wait for her to call me out. But her voice is soft when she says, “What do I tell Max when he asks where you went? He’s going to want to arrange your date.”

  “I doubt he’ll ask.” My tone is dismissive.

  “Uh, judging by the way he’s staring at the back of your head right now, I’m pretty sure he will,” Tilly says.

  Instinct tells me to turn around, but I stop myself just in time. Although I do throw my shoulders back and flex my calf muscle because it’s been years since I’ve been on the receiving end of Max’s attention, but apparently old habits die hard. Aloud I say, “Can you give him my number and tell him I had to make a phone call or something?”

  “Are you going to go out to dinner with him tonight if he asks?” Scarlett asks. “Remember, Bradley and I can come, too.”

  “And me,” says Tilly. Then she furrows her brow. “Or not because I’d be a fifth wheel and that would be weird.”

  For the first time since I saw Max, I feel a genuine smile on my lips. But I’m as surprised as Scarlett when I shake my head and say, “No, it’s fine. If he asks, of course I’ll go.” I pause. “But if he asks about me, stay thin on the details. Please.”

  “Yes, of course,” Scarlett says. “What you want to tell him is completely up to you and you alone.”

  “Thank you. I know. I didn’t think you’d tell him my whole life story, but just in case?” I offer a weak smile.

  “Are you going to tell him?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrug, but I’m saved from answering further by a woman coming up and taking Scarlett’s attention. I use Scarlett’s distraction to slip away,
the clicking of my heels on the hardwood floor swallowed up by the laughter and talking filling the air. At the entrance to the marquee, I can’t resist turning around.

  Scarlett and Tilly laugh with Hannah and another older woman dressed in a Chanel suit. Bradley nods at something Scarlett’s father, Paul, says. Harris smiles shyly as a gorgeous woman hangs on his elbow.

  Then there’s Max next to him, his eyes focused solely on me. His mouth is turned up a little in a grin and his stance is relaxed. But his eyes belie all of it because that gaze of his?

  That could burn me alive.

  Chapter Seven

  Twelve years ago

  I pull down the V-neck of my jumper to check out my cleavage, but it’s non-existent, even with a push-up bra. I let out a sigh and turn around to see my mother leaning against my door frame, her arms crossed over her very ample chest.

  “Mum. Hey. What are you doing?” I feel like I got caught – I did get caught – and my tone is defensive.

  “I came to see if you’re eating with us.” Mum raises her eyebrows at me. “The better question is what are you doing?”

  “I’m working tonight, remember?” I hope the mention of my new job will be enough to distract her from whatever it is she thinks I’m doing. She’s proud that I’ve been hired to work part-time at the jewelry store in the mall on nights and weekends. Most high school students don’t work during Year Eleven because end-of-year exams are too important. But I was top of my class in the fall mock exams, and Rina helped me to convince my parents that there was such a thing as over-studying, so my time would be better spent earning some money. Not unsurprisingly, Rina and I convinced her parents that she’d be fine working, too, although I couldn’t get her in at Bailey’s, so she’s waitressing.

  “You look like you were showing off your body,” Mum says. Her tone hasn’t changed, but neither have her arms crossed over her chest.

  “What body is there to show off?” I point to my chest. “I’m sixteen and barely need a bra. It’s embarrassing.”

  “More embarrassing is trying to be provocative, no?” Mum raises her eyebrows again. Modesty is a virtue of the highest order in our house.

  “I’m not trying to be provocative, trust me.” I roll my eyes and slip past Mum, out of my room. “I need to go. I’ll get something at the food court during my break.”

  “Be careful, Tara,” Mum calls after me. “You don’t want to get a reputation.”

  A reputation for what? Being an A-cup in a world full of Cs? It’s a good thing Mum can’t see me because she’d probably threaten to slap my face for the disdain she’d see all over it in response to her warning. Ever since my conversation with Max last week, his words echo in my head: “You’re so caught up in being the good girl, I wonder if you’ve stopped to ask yourself if that’s who you want to be.”

  I was mad when he said it, but not nearly as mad as I’ve gotten since then thinking about it. Observing other girls at school. Observing other girls at school around Max.

  Yep, that’s irritated me, too.

  Sometime in the past week, I’ve come to the realization that Max and I are time-and-place friends. We walk home together most days and text daily about homework, but in the hallowed halls of Bishop’s Blue Coat? He’s surrounded by the beautiful people and I’m not even in his peripheral vision.

  Not that he ignores me. Max Foster is a lot of things, but a deliberate jerk, he is not. He simply doesn’t see me. Amidst the girls with their breasts straining against the buttons of their blouses, hair swinging and shiny, and ready laughs showing off perfect white teeth, I’m invisible.

  I don’t like it.

  I think about it all through my shift at Bailey’s Jewelers, catching glimpses of my reflection in the mirrors dotted around the store. I hardly know what I’m doing until my coworker, Alice, says, “I wish I had your hair. It practically begs for fingers to be run through it.”

  Alice is in her mid-thirties, I’d guess. We’re not friends, but we’re friendly because Mrs. Leopold, the manager, often schedules us together. Alice’s hair is blonde and short, with so much product it looks glued in place. It’s not the most flattering style, but she gets it cut the same way every four weeks, so obviously she likes it. I smile and thank her, and she continues. “Why don’t you wear it loose?”

  “Um, we have to wear it tied back at school,” I say. “Plus, it’s so long it gets really snarled up.”

  Alice shakes her head and makes a clucking noise with her tongue. “If I had your hair, the minute I walked out of the school gates, my hair would be blowing in the wind.”

  “Really?” I’ve never given my hair much thought. My mother has similar hair, but hers is always tied up, away from her face except for special occasions.

  “Definitely,” Alice says. She glances around the store, which is empty tonight. It’s always dead after Christmas and, according to Alice, there won’t be much traffic for the rest of the month. “Can you take it out of that braid?”

  “Uh, sure. I could?” Do I want to? Not really.

  But the look on Alice’s face is so eager that I start undoing my plaits as she beams and says, “I knew it. Gorgeous.”

  It takes me a few minutes to get my two French braids undone and longer to comb through my thick black hair with my fingers. But when I’m done, Alice claps her hands together and says, “Now disagree with me. I dare you.”

  I turn towards the nearest mirror to study my reflection and I’m about to shrug because, honestly, I look like me, except maybe slightly more disheveled. But then Mrs. Leopold walks in behind me and does a double take, stopping to say, “Tara, have you done something different with your hair?”

  I whirl around to face her. “Um, no. I mean, I let it down. Usually, I tie it up. I can put it back if you prefer?”

  “Oh no. Please, don’t worry about it.” Mrs. Leopold smiles. “It looks fabulous. Very flattering.”

  Oh.

  Well.

  “Thank you. That’s nice of you to say,” I tell Mrs. Leopold.

  She smiles and walks back towards the office as Alice whispers, “See? I told you so.”

  I grin and turn back to the mirror, flipping my hair over my left shoulder, and an idea is born.

  Chapter Eight

  “Is that what you’re wearing tonight?” Scarlett asks as I come out of the bathroom wrapped in one of Castle Calder’s white fluffy towels. One of the best things about my turret room is the huge bathtub and White Company toiletries – neither of which I have in my flat in London. My bath felt downright luxurious, even if it could have been more relaxing. But the fact that it wasn’t is on me and my stupid brain that won’t turn off. I even tried to read and lasted two pages before giving up.

  I put my hand on my hip and say, “Maybe. What do you think?”

  Scarlett flounces down on my unmade bed. “I think it would make a statement, but your purple jersey dress is better.”

  I have my purple jersey dress – it’s my go-to going-out dress, which Scarlett knows – but I shake my head. “I’m not sure that’s the kind of statement I want to make either.”

  “What’s your other option?” Scarlett asks.

  “Jeans and a cardigan?”

  “Well, that could work, too.” Scarlett leans back into the pile of pillows on my bed. “Why don’t you tell me about you and Max so I can help you decide?”

  “There’s nothing to tell.” I shrug and pull my hair out of the clip on top of my head. “We went to high school together and I haven’t seen him since.”

  “I went to high school with a lot of people I haven’t seen since, too, but I feel like you two have history?” Scarlett puckers her lips and taps a black-painted fingernail against them. “There are things you’re not telling me here.”

  Oh, Scarlett. So many things.

  “Max and I were friends in high school and now we’re not.”

  I’m leaving out a few thousand details and Scarlett is smart enough to know that, but thankful
ly she doesn’t push it. “In that case, the purple dress is mandatory because nothing will make him regret not staying in touch with you more than showing him what he’s missing.”

  Except I was the one who didn’t stay in touch with him. For reasons he knows nothing about.

  I’m not sure regret is really what I’m going for tonight, but I’m not the girl I was in high school anymore. High school me would have debated my choices endlessly with Rina, then shown up in jeans and a cardigan anyway. “Fine, the purple dress it is. Will you do my eye make-up?”

  “Of course.” Scarlett jumps off the bed and goes over to the dresser to rummage through my make-up bag.

  “I want to look understated but elegant.” Basically the opposite of frazzled is my goal.

  “Got it,” Scarlett says. She gestures to the chair in the corner of the room. “Have a seat and we’ll work some magic.”

  I sit, still wearing my towel, and close my eyes while Scarlett gets to work. She hums softly under her breath while she sweeps sponges and brushes over my skin. It’s so soothing, she catches me off guard when she says, “I had a nice chat with Max at the reception after the auction. He seems like a nice guy.”

  My shoulders stiffen but I force myself to keep my eyes closed. “He is nice. What did you talk about?”

  “I tried to get him to talk about you, but he wouldn’t bite.” Scarlett lets out a low laugh. “After that, football.”

  “Oh God, did you have to talk about his stats?” I allow myself a little grin.

  “No, thank God. We talked about the team, mostly. I think he would have broken out the stats talk, but he was smart enough to see my eyes glazing over.”

  “Max always did know how to read people.”

  “Mmmm.” Scarlett’s tone is noncommittal, then she says, “Are you sure you don’t want to tell me the real story about you two?”