by Jules Wake
‘Oh,’ I said in a very small voice.
‘Next time he offers, say yes.’ said Midge urgently. ‘I’ll come. I’d dress in drag just to see a match.’
‘Really. Can’t you just buy tickets to see a game?’
Gram put his head in his hands while Midge sighed heavily and glared at me.
Ned explained. ‘These days you need to be a season ticket holder to get to a decent game. A season ticket costs a couple of grand at the new Emirates stadium. There’s no chance.’
‘Duh.’ I felt unusually stupid. ‘Maybe next time I could see if I could wangle an extra ticket or two.’
When I looked up at them, the starving dogs were back and all three of them were nodding their heads earnestly. From the looks on their faces, it wouldn’t have surprised me if either Gram or Midge had nudged Ned in the ribs and said, ‘Struck gold there, mate.’
As evenings went it was OK. Without being patronising, they were very sweet but as my lack of knowledge about football so clearly illustrated, I could have come from Mars the amount we had in common.
They weren’t really quite sure what to do with me, which made it impossible to relax. In the end after pint number three, I decided to put them out of their misery, even though I was starting to enjoy the proprietary warmth of Ned’s hand on my knee.
‘It was great meeting you both,’ I said, as Ned escorted me to the door, which opened with a loud squeak.
Outside the temperature had dropped and I gathered my jacket together. ‘Right then, I’d better be off,’ I said brightly, waiting for him to offer to walk me down the street to the tube.
‘They really liked you. Perhaps we could do something next week?’
‘Um, yeah.’ This was it. I knew the first kiss was coming. Nerves took charge. As usual I talked. ‘You never know I might get offered some football tickets.’
‘That would be brilliant,’ he said quickly. He took a step forward and put a hand on my shoulder, pulling me towards him. Uh oh, kiss time.
Lips first. Not to bad. Not too prolonged. Phew, no tongues. And sadly no sparks. Not a one.
I stepped back out of reach and muttered, ‘Night then,’ and scurried off without looking back.
I heard the pub door squeak again. Ned must have gone straight back inside.
Just my luck. I arrived back at the same time as Emily. I was hoping to avoid her. We’d had a row that morning, when she’d accused me of borrowing and losing her favourite cashmere scarf.
To be fair, Emily was always lending me things. We were in and out of each other’s rooms borrowing things frequently. The scarf was one I borrowed a lot, the deep red looked fabulous with my favourite jacket.
I honestly thought I’d left it draped over the newel post at the top of the stairs two days ago, but it wasn’t there now and she was adamant she hadn’t moved it. I had a nagging sense of guilt. What if I was wrong and had left it somewhere else? So that night, as I trudged up the stairs behind her, I decided to do what I always did – make the first move and apologise.
If Kate had heard she would have bristled and turned an apoplectic red. She was always telling me how I should be more assertive but I couldn’t bear the atmosphere any longer. Since my temporary promotion had been announced, I’d had four days of the silent treatment at work and at home. It was too much. I wanted things back on an even keel, even if it did mean me doing some crawling. That earlier glass of wine bolstered my courage.
Pushing open the closed door of Emily’s bedroom with my elbow, a glass of wine in each hand, I poked my head in before she had a chance to answer.
‘Emily, I need to talk to you. I know you’re pissed off with me and I completely understand. The job should have been yours.’
The sincerity of my tone won Emily over immediately. I was telling her exactly what she wanted to hear. I handed her a glass and sat down on her bed next to her.
The pursed mouth of righteous indignation which had been part of her permanent expression for the last few days, relaxed and the temperature went up by five degrees.
I knew truce negotiations were well under way when she took her first sip of wine.
‘It was just such a shock, you getting Fiona’s job. I still don’t know why it wasn’t me. You don’t know anything about the products or the industry – it’s a mystery,’ said Emily, justifying why she’d been such a cow.
It wasn’t a mystery to me. Having worked with the four of them for a week, I now knew exactly why I’d been brought in. Desperate to bring a little harmony back into my life though, I flannelled a bit. Lied like crazy would be more accurate.
‘It was nothing to do with your abilities. David wanted to shake things up. It was probably financial. The company couldn’t justify having two of us working on the construction side – it was either me or Max joining your team.’
‘Max?’ she said in a strangled voice. ‘That would have been even worse than you.’ Ignoring the implied criticism, I laughed and to my relief she joined in.
‘Come on. Let’s go and sit in the lounge. I’ll fill you in on my evening in the Nag’s Head.’
Emily pulled a face. ‘Nag’s Head. Yuk. Was it as bad as it sounds?’
I laughed. ‘Not bad. Entertaining.’
Later I apologised to her about the scarf, even though I wasn’t convinced it was me that had lost it. As she wasn’t the tidiest of people, I was hoping she might say she’d found it. But she hadn’t.
‘Where’s it got to, then?’ she asked puzzled. ‘I do remember seeing it on the post the other day. You didn’t wear it again?’
‘No. Look, if it doesn’t turn up, let me buy you another one.’
‘You can’t. It was a one off. That’s why it cost so much.’
Great. Make me feel worse.
‘Don’t worry,’ she added. ‘It’s not like you to lose things. It will turn up.’
After that, there was a distinct improvement in relations, which was just as well because things were hotting up with Miranda and I needed all hands on decks.
Chapter Ten
To my surprise I was getting the hang of things on the beauty team and even starting to enjoy it. At first the incompetence of some of the girls on the magazines amazed me.
‘Hi, it’s Trudy, on Babe mag. I need another sample of the Sunset Pink lipstick.’
‘But I’ve already sent you two.’
‘Yah, but I left one at the shoot and well the other … yah, the photographer stood on it. Be a poppet and send another … two. You know. Just in case.’
There must be a black hole in Soho full of make-up and skincare products.
By the end of the first week, I was an old hand and didn’t bother asking what had happened. I just gaily shoved more products into horrifically expensive padded envelopes to bike round to them. Our budget for sending out make-up and moisturiser was twice the national debt of a small dictatorship.
As I learnt the ropes I was relieved to find diplomatic relations were holding up, although Emily was no help at all. It wasn’t deliberate, she was just incompetent – spectacularly so. None of the things that she was supposed to do ever got done.
Luckily Cara had warmed up and was quite helpful. I suspected that her cheerful attitude today had something to do with Arsenal winning their latest match. Her mood did tend to depend on their results.
Most of the time she was quite cheery so I guessed they were quite good. Her supporting them might come in handy, as I could get the inside track on this football business. Which reminded me. I’d promised Ned I’d speak to Jabba about tickets to the box and a game.
Everything was going well until two days before the premiere. Miraculously Miranda and Rowan’s relationship had lasted longer than their dual celebrity average had suggested – but then he’d gone and blown it, which I only discovere
d when Emily had burst into the flat the previous night clutching the Evening Standard. ‘I don’t believe it. Look what’s happened. Miranda’s going to go ballistic.’ She looked positively gleeful about it.
Apparently while celebrating his number one, Rowan had got roaring drunk and seduced a nearly sixteen–year-old schoolgirl who then sold her story to the Sun. Judging from her grainy portrait, the girl could have passed for a twenty-year-old hooker quite easily. Miranda promptly dumped him and was now milking Rowan’s betrayal for all she was worth. Telling her heartbroken tale to the Mirror took precedence over coming to try the dress on. The headline read, ‘Chart Break for Miranda.’
While the publicity was great it did leave a slight problem. With less than forty-eight hours to the premiere, it was now down to me to conjure up a man, and quickly. Short of nipping down to the nearest fire station, I was running out of ideas. Fiona had taken her handy little black book with her. After all, it wouldn’t do for me to be too successful.
Then I had a brainwave. Sebastian. Daniel’s brother. He would be perfect.
I hadn’t seen or spoken to Daniel since that awkward moment the morning after my accident and I’d been trying hard not to think of him. Every time I did, my brain tied itself up in knots trying to figure out whether I might have given myself away that night. Did he have any inkling how I felt about him?
I chickened out and got Emily to phone him. By the end of the day everything was sorted and we had an escort for Miranda. Sebastian would be meeting us at the hotel the following evening.
One more problem down. All I needed to do now was get Miranda to the sodding dress fitting.
By the time we left the office that evening it was late and I felt as if I was coming apart at the seams, but thankfully nearly everything was in place. I’d even managed to sort out tickets for Ned and me to go to a football match as a guest of Collingwood Construction next week. He was thrilled to bits. I still wasn’t sure.
In the meantime, the premiere was front of mind. This time tomorrow I’d be there, as long as I remembered to pick up my dress from the dry-cleaners and go to the doctor’s surgery. I was hoping the nurse would down grade my bandage to a smaller dressing otherwise I’d be having a severe wardrobe crisis.
In the course of arranging the evening, Emily had managed to wangle official invites to the premiere in a ‘swanning-down-the-red-carpet’ capacity for us. The gilt-edged invitation was taking pride of place on the mantelpiece in the flat.
‘Remind me, Olivia, to dig out my strapless bra tonight,’ said Emily, as we stepped into the lift on the way home. ‘I don’t want to get to the hotel tomorrow and not have the right underwear.’
Judicious juggling with the Luscious Lips budget and some hardball negotiation with the hotel had ensured that Emily and I had a room to get ready in. With kick-off at seven there would be no time to go home to change. It was the least the hotel could do. Miranda’s suite was costing £1500.
Later that evening while I was going through my notes for the hundredth time, I came across the stylist’s list of accessories, including a frightening-sounding flesh-toned, super-booster bra. That reminded me.
‘Emily. Bra,’ I yelled to her. At my shout she wandered into the room looking puzzled.
‘Olivia, have you borrowed anything?’
Not the scarf again, please.
‘Like what?’
‘Underwear,’ she said hesitantly.
I stared at her, she looked serious. I snorted. ‘You are joking.’
‘No,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I can’t find a couple of things. Knickers. My Janet Reger bustier.’
She was definitely joking. Even with a pair of grapefruit, umpteen rolled up socks and an entire box of Kleenex, my meagre bust wouldn’t have come near to filling that thing.
‘Really?’ I asked disbelievingly. She must have misplaced them or put them somewhere else. ‘You haven’t left them anywhere?’
She glared at me. ‘Well, let me think, I’ve been sleeping my way across London with gay abandon – silly me they could be anywhere between here and Watford Gap. I’m not some floozy you know.’
‘I wasn’t implying anything. It’s just … you do lose things,’ I said apologetically. A polite euphemism for ‘You never put anything away’. I was the housework fairy. ‘Have you left them at …?’ I couldn’t bring myself to say Daniel’s name just in case a big arrow lit up above my head and a voice boomed, ‘She fancies him’.
‘No,’ she said crossly. ‘I haven’t been there for weeks. They’re not there. Are you sure you haven’t seen them?’
‘What?’ I didn’t mean to say that out loud. So she hadn’t been to Daniel’s for weeks and he hadn’t been here overnight since the accident. The thought that perhaps they weren’t sleeping together was enormously cheering.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ she snapped.
From her room I could hear bad tempered thumping as she resumed her search. Then I heard an angry, ‘Bloody hell.’ She came storming out clutching a framed picture.
‘Do you know anything about this?’ She tossed it onto the sofa cushion beside me. The glass was broken. It was her favourite; one of those cloudy portrait shots of her coyly peeping up at the camera. The studio photo shoot and makeover had been a birthday present from her mother. My idea of hell but Emily had loved it. It was a stunning picture, although I thought it was a bit artificial and over-glossed. Shame, really because she was very pretty.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Er, it’s broken.’
A twinge of injustice stirred my mettle. I drew myself up. ‘And what’s that got to do with me?’
‘Sorry, Olivia,’ she said more calmly, realising that perhaps this time she’d over stepped the mark. ‘You’re right. It’s just because … well … you’re the only other person who lives here.’
‘I didn’t break it.’
‘It must have been the invisible man, then,’ she said sulkily.
My mind immediately homed in on the memory of that wet footprint. She frowned at my expression, wagging her finger belligerently.
‘Don’t start that nonsense again,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ve not heard from Peter since the last email. Your cousin probably sorted him out. Honestly, Olivia, you are completely neurotic.’
‘So would you be if you ended up with a dozen stitches in your arm,’ I retorted dramatically. Since my chat with Ned about Peter, I harboured some worries.
‘Perhaps it just fell,’ I said, ignoring the scaredy cat voice at the back of my head saying ‘What about your necklace? The one that was on the floor instead of your jewellery stand’.
The sensible voice in my head reminded me that with the launch tomorrow, I didn’t know my arse from my elbow at the moment. I’d probably just knocked it off the stand in my hurry to get to work this morning.
I needed to slow down. After this bloody launch was over I could relax. The Old Bodgers’ cricket match was coming up. Bliss. I hadn’t seen Mum and Dad for ages. A weekend at home was something to look forward to.
That’s not all you’re looking forward to whispered a treacherous little voice in my head.
Rubbish. I wouldn’t see much of Daniel. As captain of the opposition he’d be out on the pitch and I’d be in the kitchen making sandwiches. It was highly unlikely I’d see him for more than a few minutes.
‘So, how’s it going with Miss Babelicious?’
Daniel threw his brother a dry resigned look, used to Sebastian’s humour.
‘Don’t call her that. Her name’s Emily.’ He checked his watch. They’d be on time if they left now. With the trains into London up the spout and knowing that Emily was relying on Sebastian turning up tonight, he’d volunteered to be chauffeur. Now he wondered if he was going to regret it.
He hadn’t seen Emily, or Olivia for t
hat matter, since the night of the glass injury. Work had been full on, true, but the whole episode had left him feeling discontent, so he’d deliberately immersed himself in work to give himself some thinking time.
‘Why not?’ Sebastian grinned, sliding his jacket on and giving himself a satisfied once over in the mirror. ‘She’s a babe … although why she’s going out with an ugly mutt like you I’ll never know.’ He shot an amused look Daniel’s way. ‘Not your usual type.’
He stiffened. ‘I don’t have a type. Are you ready?’ He jangled the car keys in exasperation to try and speed his brother up.
Sebastian finally took the hint, and headed towards the front door, smoothing down the lapels on his James Bond DJ. ‘’Course you do. And blonde and fluffy is not your usual type.’
‘Rich coming from you,’ Daniel observed sarcastically, following Sebastian out of the door, feeling uncomfortable with his comments but not really sure why.
‘Aw, but bro, I’m as shallow as a puddle – remember?’
They crossed to the car and Daniel gave his brother a reproving look. Apparently double firsts in Maths just didn’t cut it with ‘the chicks’. He sometimes wondered if maybe his brother wasn’t hanging around with the wrong chicks. But Sebastian was honest and, despite his hefty IQ, he was shallow as a puddle in drought and lived life short and sharp, fast and loose. He took after their mother – with the attention span of a toddler in a supermarket.
Except Sebastian never lied to any of the girls he saw or two-timed them. It was something both of them hated. Their mother lived in Kent now, with her new husband, Martin, and two new children.
He and Sebastian had seen at first hand the destructive force betrayal wrought when Martin’s wife, a haggard blonde, had turned up on the doorstep of their family home, insisting Dad make his wife behave and leave her husband alone.
Daniel could still remember the shock etched into his father’s face reminiscent of Munch’s painting, the moment of horror penetrating as he realised that his wife had been having an affair.
