Celebrity Bride

by Alison Kervin

  We walk into the James family home, and as soon as Jan answers the door I realise this is all wrong. She takes in my ultra-glamorous appearance and super sexy designer gown and smiles. 'You've been somewhere else first?' she asks. She's wearing jeans and a white shirt. Designer jeans, of course, and the shirt looks like it was made from angels' wings, but she's not wearing a dress that would be better suited to the red carpet, nor does she have the crown jewels hanging from her ear lobes. God I feel a fool. 'I think I'm a little overdressed,' I say, rather unnecessarily, but Jan's not paying too much attention. She's rather distracted by the sight of Elody in the doorway.

  'Oh, it's you,' she says, her words twisted with bitterness. 'What made you think you were invited?'

  'I'm sorry,' I say, interrupting. 'She came with me. I didn't realise it would be a problem.'

  'Of course not,' says Jan through gritted teeth.

  'Look . . . Elody's come too. How nice,' says Jan, addressing the collection of people gathered in the sitting room. Elody blows an air-kiss out to the guests and the air seems to freeze as she does so.

  'I'm sorry we're so late,' I say as Elody glides into the James's sitting room, whispering, 'Stop apologising, Kelly,' as she passes me. She instructs some poor minion to bring her the very best champagne which, judging by the sour look on her face, angers Jan even more. I'm torn between feeling embarrassed about Elody's domineering nature and incredibly impressed at how confident she is when she's clearly not welcome here at all.

  'Meet Zadine,' says Jan, taking my arm and directing me gently towards a small blonde woman with quite alarmingly large breasts (and I speak as one who knows about these things).

  Oooohhhh . . . I've always wanted to meet Zadine.

  The lady herself steps forward and puts out a small, slim hand. She has sparkling blue eyes, honey-coloured hair streaming across the smallest shoulders and bandages around her head.

  'Did you hurt yourself?' I ask, feeling dreadfully sorry for this tiny birdlike creature whom Sophie, Mandy and I have been mocking since time began. 'Was it a car crash?'

  She smiles and her entire face lights up. She's nothing like I thought she'd be. She's like a little girl, smiling sweetly and explaining that she had 'some work done'. Jan takes me aside later and, along with Isabella, explains that no one has ever seen Zadine in the flesh without bandages of some sort on.

  'It's an addiction,' says Isabella, giving me a big hug when she realises how concerned I look. 'She's the most adorable creature but desperately insecure. When she's not on television on some sort of terrible game show, she's booking up with Edward to have operations to help her look better in time for the next terrible game show. In between all this, she works tirelessly in the hope of impressing her husband who's six years younger than she, and is rumoured to be sleeping with every young model, male and female, in the business.'

  'Why does he keep operating on her if it's a mental problem?' I ask, adding quickly: 'Sorry if that sounds rude.'

  'No, don't worry. The truth is that it's difficult to turn her away when you know she'll go somewhere else and get it done. Edward did refuse to operate on one occasion and she went abroad. They made a real mess of liposuction and Edward had to do two follow-up operations to get her right again. After that, we thought we'd be better off looking after her ourselves. At least that way we know she's as safe as possible.'

  I don't think I've ever felt sorrier for anyone in my life than I feel for Zadine right now.

  'Anyway, how are you?' Isabella asks. 'Are you coping OK without Rufus? I called a few times this morning but couldn't get hold of you. I just wondered if you fancied going for a coffee, or having lunch some time?'

  'I'd love to,' I say. 'Are you around tomorrow? We could meet up for coffee in the afternoon?'

  'That would be great,' says Isabella. 'I'll mention it to Jan, shall I?'

  'Yes do,' I say, delighted.

  'What's the gossip?' Elody appears and stands unnecessarily close. She has a habit of doing that with me, but after seeing the sadness in her eyes when she told me about Jon and how she feels responsible for his death, I guess I can understand why she likes to keep her friends close by her side.

  She's clutching the bottle of Cristal champagne, and tips it to fill my glass to the top, then refills her own. 'This is what life's about,' she is saying in a slurred and affected voice. 'It's all about the quality of the drink. Cheers!'

  As she chatters on in her friendly but increasingly drunk fashion, I can't help but be reminded of our motto in the flat: 'It's not the quality of the drink that counts, but the quality of the friendship.' How different this world is from the one I've left behind.

  I wish the girls were here right now – we'd have such a scream. You know, even though we've got up to some stupid things together over the years, and are always on the edge of trouble and the edge of bankruptcy, I still feel more embarrassed about Elody's behaviour tonight than I ever have of anything either of my mates has done . . . and that includes pouring red wine all over Luke's head, or climbing out of the toilet window on that double blind date because neither of them could face the guys they were with.

  I excuse myself and head off into a corner of the white-walled room where I pull out my phone. Still no missed calls. I don't understand.

  'Don't call them,' says Elody, appearing at my side. I should have known she'd follow me; she seems quite determined that I shouldn't be ringing them. 'Leave it for tonight; they're probably out anyway. We'll make a plan tomorrow if you're worried.'

  And the thing is, even though she's starting to get on my nerves now, with the way she's always telling me what to do (or 'helping' as she would call it), and the way I seem to have become her special little project, I still put the phone away. She's so extraordinarily persuasive. She also has this aura around her that leads you to assume she's always right.

  I smile my way through most of the evening in Zadine's tender company. The woman's so sweet; the hours slip by.

  'Can I get you a drink?' she asks, with a smile. 'What sort of wine would you like?'

  'Um . . . white?' I suggest.

  'French?' she says. 'Or there are some lovely New World wines.'

  'Um . . . whatever you're having,' I respond.

  'Sure,' she says. She disappears off and comes back with a gin and tonic. Shit, I hate gin. I wish I knew something about wine. I must get Rufus to teach me. I always let him order the wines and I have no idea what we've been drinking.

  Zadine and I chat in whispers, so that Elody doesn't hear from her position by the mirror where she's simultaneously checking her hair and quaffing large quantities of Cristal. Elody looks beautiful tonight. She's dressed in black, as always, wearing a ballerina-style dress over leggings and with the highest shoes I've ever seen in my life before. Zadine's dressed all in pink. She looks like a little marshmallow. Her tiny frame is swamped by a pale-pink sweatshirt, and pink denim hot pants worn with cowboy boots.

  I tell her about Mandy and Sophie, and how I fear that I let them down. 'They're my best friends in the whole world and we swore that when I moved out and moved into Rufus's house we'd stay the closest of friends but that hasn't happened. It's all been so much harder than I thought it would be, and I just haven't seen them and I can't ring them while they're at work and I can't get through to them on the home phone. I feel awful. Seeing you has really brought back how much fun we used to have together in that flat because we'd always watch the reality programmes that you were in. We always voted for you, you know.'

  'Did you?' she asks, and the thing is – we did!

  'Then let me call them!' she says. 'I'll tell them that you're really sorry and you love them and can't wait to see them. It'll be funnier if I do it; it'll take the edge off things and save you having to make an embarrassing call. Go on; let me.'

  'That would be so cool,' I exclaim. I don't tell Zadine that we mock her relentlessly in the flat and have had more fun at her expense than we've even had at the expense of the wors
t boyfriends we've encountered.

  'Shit. Answerphone!' she declares. 'I'll leave a message, shall I? What are the girls called again? Oh shit . . . Hang on. I'm through . . . Hi, this is Zadine Collins,' she says, her voice rising to the girly squeal her TV fans have come to associate with her. 'Just wanted to say that I'm here drinking with your beautiful friend. We have the finest champagne in the world and she looks gorgeous. Bet you wish you were here!'

  She puts down the phone and gives me a little hug. I try to picture the girls in the flat on this cold night, wrapped in duvets on the sofa because they can't afford to keep the heating on and drinking tea in front of the TV. They'll pick up that message and laugh their socks off, squealing with delight. I can't wait to see them. I have so much to tell them about.

  'We should go,' says Elody, appearing at my side. It seems we've only been there five minutes. 'We have some fabulous parties to go to tonight . . . We can't hang around.'

  'Oh.' Do we? I thought this was the only place we were going.

  'Yep, come on. I'm introducing you to everyone who's glamorous and important in London tonight. Let's go.'

  We kiss everyone goodnight and Zadine says, 'I hope your friends like my message,' with such kindness that I could hug her. 'Come to mine next Friday night. Everyone welcome!' she declares. She glances at Elody and glances away. Elody's clearly not welcome but I know in advance that that won't stop her.

  Chapter 11

  We're back at the wardrobe . . . again. Now I love clothes, like most girls, but this utter obsession with them is something entirely new. I don't mean to sound ungrateful, and I think Elody's amazing when it comes to styling, but I just don't feel that I need a 'glove draw' or someone to come in and organise my jewellery collection. I want to go and sit in the Rose Garden and dream about Rufus but I can't. There's no escape from the dreaded mistress of the wardrobe. She says we have to address the issue of my 'severe clothing deficit' as a matter of absolute urgency, as if we're talking about child poverty or a threat to national security.

  'Did you never go out before?' asks Elody, pulling out my lovely little white dress (one of my very best). 'I mean, this is stuff you would not want to be seen wearing in public; let's be honest. Perhaps you were burgled and all your nice clothes were stolen.'

  'I do have nice things, and I love that dress,' I say. I can feel tears burning in the backs of my eyes. Why does everything have to be so brutal? She takes clothes so seriously. I guess that's her job, but honestly, they're just clothes. If I happen to like different ones to her, why does that matter?

  She's fiddling with that gorgeous necklace of hers as she speaks, clinking the two large diamond-covered stars together. There's always trouble when she's wearing that; it's like her war paint.

  'Listen, you wanna sexy white dress, babe, you'll have the sexiest white dress that money can buy, but it'll be one made of the finest materials that will hug you and flatter you. No more Topshop shit for you, lady. It's all designer dressing from here on in.'

  'There's nothing wrong with Topshop,' I say. I'm slightly reluctant to take on Elody when it comes to matters of a sartorial nature, but some of the best-dressed people wear Topshop clothes and some of their stuff 's quite cutting edge. Christ, half of it was designed by Kate Moss, and you don't get much better dressed than her, do you? I just can't imagine going into a designer shop and have snobby sales assistants look me up and down and declare there's nothing in there that's suitable for me.

  'All I'm saying is that you can do better, and I will help you do better,' says Elody, sinking onto the chaise longue next to the vast wardrobe. 'There is nothing to fear; I will teach you everything. In fact, I will teach you everything today.' She looks up suddenly and I expect a light bulb to appear above her head. 'Let's go shopping now.'

  The prospect of getting out of the house is very appealing, and I would like to learn as much as I can from Elody before Rufus comes back, but I made half a plan to meet Jan and Isabella for coffee. Perhaps if I text them, and suggest meeting later, say 6 pm, at mine, then I can do the shopping trip and an enjoyable girly chat after. Ideal!

  'OK,' I say. 'I'll just get my coat.'

  'You'll do more than get your coat. You need to dress to shop. If you want the assistants to take you seriously, you need to be properly attired; you need to be better dressed than they could ever be, only then will you be taken seriously.'

  Oh Lord. This is hard work. She spends an hour dressing me up and making me look like a film star before I'm allowed to leave home. She slips large black sunglasses onto the end of my nose, in case the paparazzi are out in force, and we're off. 'Head up, shoulders back,' she orders as we march out to the car. She'll be making me salute her next.

  I have to say that shopping with Elody is a fantastic experience. When we walk in through the doors of shops that I was scared even to look through the window of before, she is greeted as if she were Princess Diana risen for one last trip to the boutiques of West London.

  'My God!!!' they exclaim. 'Wow. It's you. But. Wow. Come in. Come in.'

  They treat me like I'm a supermodel, too, telling me how beautiful I am, rushing around to get me a seat and showing me all the latest clothes. Elody is desperately rude to them, but it seems the ruder she is, the more these women dote on her and seem to want to help her. 'Diva rules' as Elody calls it.

  'Have you not been shopping at all since you moved in?' asks Elody.

  'Yes,' I say. 'I went out and bought loads of plants and flowers to put into the snug to make it beautiful.'

  'No, not that – clothes shopping.'

  'Oh, no. I haven't had the time yet,' I explain.

  'There is always always the time for clothes shopping,' she insists, giving me an almighty hug.

  I must admit that before this moment, I was really going off Elody. I thought she behaved appallingly at the party last night, and her dismissive departure was awful; she made up some story about us having so many other parties to go to, but we didn't have any other parties at all. I thought it was odd; for all her talk, all her fame and Hollywood connections, Elody does not have people running around desperate to invite her to parties. Instead, we went home, and Elody went onto the internet and looked through the websites, howling with laughter at the catwalk items on sale. 'Look, look, look,' she cried. 'They've chosen the blue shift dress. How funny is that? Blue!!! This season??? Crazy!'

  This morning, though, I'm seeing her through different eyes as we wind our way through the streets of Richmond, tearing past the shops I'd normally go into, and heading straight for the ludicrously expensive ones. I buy a terrifying amount of stuff egged on by Elody at every turn, of course, and thus I blame her entirely for my excesses. The clothes are all given to me at half price or less. Despite the hefty reductions bestowed on us, I still manage to spend more money on clothes than I have in my life before. I hand over my credit card sheepishly, convinced that it will be rejected every time.

  'What will Rufus say?' I ask Elody. 'Won't he be cross?'

  'You can't spend enough to make him cross,' she says. 'He'll make more every time he smiles in this new film than you could spend in a lifetime. Lady, you're going out with one of the richest men in the world; enjoy it, for God's sake.'

  She has a point. I decide to enjoy it. When I get home, I'll go through the bags and take back any clothes that are too expensive. I don't want Rufus to think I'm taking advantage of him. I'd hate it so much if he thought that.

  'OK, I've got an idea,' says Elody, looking at me quizzically. 'What are you like at gambling?'

  'Gambling? I've never been gambling in my life before.'

  'Well then, today's your lucky day. I'm going to introduce you to the best sort of fun you can have with your clothes on. Follow me.'

  Elody leads me up Richmond Hill a little way, towards a small lane on the left. I've been here before; there's a bar at the end called The Anglers where we went with Sebastian for a drink when he first joined the theatre. I'd never noticed before
that, halfway down the lane, there's a discrete black door with a large brass knocker. Elody knocks it twice, and a man in a tuxedo answers and greets her warmly. I'm desperately nervous. What am I doing here? I'm just not the gambling type.

  'Elody, I don't think this is my thing,' I say.

  'Coat over there,' she responds, indicating the cloakroom.

  'I don't want to stay.'

  'You'll love it,' she insists. 'I promise you. It's fantastic fun. You're going to totally adore it. No question. Coat over there and follow me.'

  To be fair to Elody, we do have a fantastic time, tearing through the place, clutching handfuls of brightly coloured chips as we bet on a random collection of games. I fall hopelessly in love with the roulette wheel, while Elody is far more taken with poker.

  'Try it, you'll love it,' she insists, but it seems all too hard-core for me. You have to actually think about it and, if I'm going to have to think about things, I'd rather save myself for work or reading newspapers. Instead, I settle myself in at roulette, avoiding the eyes of the men who circle round me, looking me up and down and trying to engage me in conversation.

  'A drink, perhaps, pretty lady?' asks one man. He's twice my age and looks way too much like Jimmy Lapdance for me to take seriously, with that pitted skin that comes from spending too much time indoors clutching a glass of whisky, and not enough time in the fresh air. I hold up my hand in a rather juvenile fashion as if to say 'talk to the hand'. It's a gesture he seems familiar with, as he nods and backs away. I look up and see Elody looking over at me. 'OK?' she mouths, thoughtfully. 'Fine,' I reply, with a smile, feeling an unexpected warmth that she's been paying so much attention to me, and looking out for me. Things happen from time to time to remind me that she's actually a very good person, even though there are occasions when she's mortifyingly embarrassing. I guess everyone's like that. I'm sure I say and do things all the time to cause embarrassment.

  I've decided to throw myself wholly behind the number 29 on the roulette wheel, because it's come to represent so much to Rufus and me. The day we met . . . the day we moved in together . . . it means everything. I stuck just one chip on the first time, prompting the croupier to give me a rather patronising smile. I decide that if I am to disabuse him of the notion that I don't have a clue what I'm doing, I'll have to play big-time. I've got £200's worth of chips in my hand. (Elody has £2000 but she's way out of my league; I feel bad enough spending a tenth of that!) I push all the chips along the green carpet-style covering, towards the number 29.