In Fashion

by Jody Klaire

  Frank nodded. “Yeah. What d’you say?”

  “Does that mean I have to use them and not write with anything other than a pencil?” She cocked her head. She was going to frame her pencil, not use it.

  “Yes, and preferably drop it into every conversation.” He chuckled. “You lost your sense in London? Just pose for photos and say you like us.”

  “I do like your pencils.” She held up her finger and flicked through her phone. She was sure she had a shot. Yes, there. She held it up and Frank walked around to look at it. “Complete inside information, but Darcy digs your pencils, mate, big time.”

  He cheered. “I knew it!”

  “Sure you want me?” She shrugged and took the phone back. “I doubt I’m going to speak to her again.”

  “Yes, we want you. You fix the photocopier.” He frowned and then wagged his finger. “I’m not buying it. We all watched the show.” He grinned. “Told you that you’d look good in a lacy bra.”

  She rolled her eyes, gripped him into a hug, and walked out into the office. Every desk had a balloon with “we love Kate” on and every staff member, including Rog, had a T-shirt with Mikey the Sproutman on it.

  She walked to the photocopier, yanked open the bottom, then looked back at Frank and shook her head. “Things people would do to get a machine working again, huh?”

  Chapter 42

  Darcy hugged her mug of lemon tea. Susannah being around was a blessing. Somehow, just needing to do her usual tasks shook off the clouds and she could think. She wasn’t ready to see anyone else, but Marge needed her to conclude the series.

  “Mum, Marge is here,” Susannah said, opening the door. “I’ll make the tea.”

  Marge hurried in and pulled her bag off her back. “Zoë had me bring supplies.” She glared at the window. “There’s swarms of them.”

  Darcy nodded. She’d heard her neighbours complaining in the hallway. The police had been called to move them on a few times. They still came back, though; her picture was worth skirting around laws.

  “I’m sorry you lost the series,” she said, sounding far more composed than she felt. Marge, the crew, they depended on her. It was a regular job for them and had been for years. Now, they would have to find another show.

  Marge bustled over, sat on the sofa opposite, and dropped her bag beside her. “You sound like you mean that.” She shook her head. “Don’t go getting all nice on me now.”

  She smiled. “Are you another that prefers me unlikable?”

  Marge grinned. “That’s the woman I know.” She pulled out her clipboard. “Susannah said that you wanted to do the round-up here.”

  “Yes.” She smiled at Susannah as she brought over two cups and a plate of biscuits. “I’m not sure if I can make the reveal in person…” She held up her hand as the pair frowned. “It should be about celebrating Kate finding herself. It should not be overshadowed by my problems.”

  “Mum, I think you’ve tortured Kate enough.” Susannah thunked the cups down. “She loves you.”

  “She loves the thought of me.” Kate would be sad, yes, for a while, but she would soon relish the freedom. It wasn’t something she’d courted or even asked for. She hated attention. “I doubt she can stand the sight of me right now.”

  “Can you blame her?” Marge pulled the camera out and pursed her lips. “It’s clear how much you care about each other, and you’re cutting her out.”

  “Yes. I’m a bitch.” She nodded to the camera. “I’d like to do this quickly before I lose my nerve…please.”

  Marge switched it on and nodded. “Rolling.”

  “A security guard who needed to find her smile.” She opened as she always did, the person and their problem. “Kate Bonvilston was heartbroken, twice, and her wardrobe seemed to reflect that. I set out to revamp her style and show her who she was inside.” She sipped at her cup. Hands were trembling. Hold back the tears. “Instead, this patient, and her dear super sprout of a brother, touched something in us all on the crew. I don’t think I have ever seen anyone breathe such life into the people around them. It has been a show that unearthed more of me than Kate.” She glanced at Susannah, who nodded. “And that wasn’t quite as I’d planned.” She took a deep breath. “The rumours are true. Zoë and I were once happy together. She’s Susannah’s mother as much as me… And…I abused my position on the show, but not intentionally.”

  “You didn’t abuse anything,” Susannah muttered, and Marge swung the camera to her. “I know you think you did, Mum, but you tried really hard not to show how you felt.” She shrugged. “You can’t help how you feel.”

  Marge swung the camera back to her.

  “No, I can’t. I feel tired of hiding who I am. I feel tired of ignoring the goodness and happiness that rolled onto the set in a security guard uniform and a Sproutman costume.” She laughed. It was that laugh Kate always provoked from her. “My thoughts on Kate? She shines whatever clothes she wears. She is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  Marge peered around the camera.

  Susannah hugged herself. “So why isn’t she here?”

  Darcy smiled at the camera. Might as well let the whole façade drop. “I’m…unpleasant.” Best not to swear on camera. “I sent her away.” She held up her hands. “My way of protecting myself and her. However, I can’t back that up with logic.”

  Susannah pulled her lips to the side. “I’d say that makes you scared and human…and genuine.”

  She soaked in Susannah’s words, focusing on the camera. “So my round-up is that style shows some levels of who you are, and beauty helps people to like you, but it is who you are beneath the skin that makes you worth more.”

  “Hashtag embrace designer,” Susannah called out with a grin.

  Had she remembered that from her visit to Mikey’s school? “Yes, embrace it.” She smiled into the lens. “So, Mikey, thank you for helping me find my smile… And Kate, thank you for rejuvenating me. I love you.”

  Marge lowered the camera, tears in her eyes. “That’s the best round-up I’ve heard.”

  Darcy nodded and lifted her mug. “To a show worth watching.”

  Chapter 43

  Kate waited outside Mikey’s school with a baseball hat and a thick jacket of her stepdad’s. Blanche had called them both to London ASAP. She hoped no one would recognise her. The quicker they got the reveal over with the better, but the entire time she waited for Mikey, she was riveted to the billboard opposite. It had once boasted Darcy and her thoughts on style. Now there was a monochrome picture, high key, of Susannah and Mikey laughing with that hashtag again. Even Susannah’s dad and his football team—plus subs—had worn a letter on each of their shirts and made a show of it after winning a match. If Darcy had been popular before, she was everywhere now. It hurt. It hurt and heartened all at once.

  “You look like a bloke,” Bennie muttered from beside her.

  Kate groaned. She was not in the mood for her. Not now. She turned, hoping Bennie would think she was someone else.

  “I’ll yell out your name if you don’t face me.” Her tone was blunt, cocky. She must be loving it. She was marrying Laura, and Kate had made a complete idiot of herself on TV. What better way to kick her?

  She glared at her. “What do you want?”

  Bennie shook her head, that smug grin on her face. “To tell you I’m sorry she is a shit like me.”

  Kate scowled. “You what?”

  “You always pick them. Me, Laura, Darcy flipping McGregor…” She shook her head again. “When are you going to find someone who actually deserves you?”

  “Why are you saying this?” She glared, then cocked her head. Bennie was being genuine, if the look in her eyes was right. She was never genuine.

  “I care.” She shrugged and rubbed a hand over her shaved head. “I ditched Laura. I’ll always be a shit.” She bumped Kate’s s
houlder. “But I really want Darcy to turn it around for you. I want her to make you happy.” She turned and strode off into the crowd of parents waiting.

  Kate stared after her and let out a long slow breath. She cared. Huh. Kate blinked away the tears. It’d do. She smiled. Yeah, it’d do.

  One flight, a scrum to get through reporters in Heathrow later, and Kate stared up at the huge multi-storey poster of Darcy on the side of a skyscraper. The outskirts of London on the M4 was a maze of vivid flashing adverts, so much so she didn’t know how the driver could see the road, let alone focus.

  Mikey leaned over and gazed at the picture. “She beauty.”

  “Yeah.” She swallowed the hurt. Getting her heart broken by Bennie had been enough, but she didn’t have her face plastered over everything. She leaned her head to Mikey’s as they passed poster after poster, billboards, and office buildings, all bearing that infuriating hashtag. Couldn’t they see how much it ripped into her heart? “We love Kate” was nice, yeah, but the one person she needed to hear it from was silent.

  The driver hit central London and crowds filled the streets. A police motorbike escort guided them right the way to Oxford Street.

  The driver pulled over and Susannah poked her head in. “Mikey-oh!”

  Mikey leapt at her and snuggled in. “Susannah-oh!”

  “We need your assistance, Mr Sproutman. It’s a job only you can do.” She focused on him, all seriousness. “For Darcy.”

  He puffed up his chest. “Kay.”

  They hurried off and Kate rested her head against the seat in front. “Can you drive me home now? I showed up. Can you just say I looked nice and let me slink off?”

  “You’d better follow Miss McGregor, ma’am.” The driver chuckled. “I am on my way to pick up Ms McGregor. I’m not sure you’re quite keen to see her.”

  She groaned. “My heart is too messed up to answer that.”

  “Honey, you don’t need pressure marks on your forehead,” Zoë chimed in, poking her head into the car, her voice full of a bustling energy. “Let’s move. I got to get you dolled up.”

  “I’m not sure if I’m talking to you.” Kate clambered out of the car. They were on the street. White marquees everywhere, people everywhere. Three women scurried past with a smile at Zoë. “Is that…?” Nah, she was seeing things. She was sure they were supermodels.

  “I know.” Zoë squeezed her hand and led her through the crowd of people. “I got snippy. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

  “Forget about it.” She ducked under three crew members from the show, hurrying along with some kind of scaffold. “Isn’t the reveal in a local pub usually?”

  Zoë ushered her into a large changing room. Mikey was being fussed over by staff. “Not when I’m the designer.” She pursed her lips. “You need me to pull out my edgy side, because I can do drama queen if needed.”

  Kate chuckled. “No, I’ll do as told…as long as I don’t have to show anyone else my bra.”

  Zoë looked her up and down, then winked. She pulled out a tape measure. “I’ll only use it on you if you argue.”

  Kate held up her hands. “I’ll come quietly.”

  Zoë laughed and led her over to Blanche, who was being sprayed in different coloured paints. “Honey, I found this one trying to sneak in the back.”

  Blanche leaned in and kissed Kate on the cheek. “Hope you like body paint.”

  “Body paint—” She spluttered as the staff shot more at Blanche and three members started tugging at her clothes. Blanche wasn’t wearing a whole lot. She glared at Zoë, who laughed and strolled off. Maybe her and Darcy were more alike than she’d realised?

  Chapter 44

  Darcy stared out of the window as reporters swarmed around the car. The driver had a job not to knock anyone over as he pulled them from the underground car park.

  She had decided not to go, that she couldn’t face it, and then Blanche had strode in and demanded, “Are you still moping around?” and took Darcy’s mug off her. “You have a show to do.”

  “I’ve decided to refrain.” She curled up on the sofa. What were they going to do, fire her?

  Blanche put her hands on her hips. “Oh, suck it up.”

  “Excuse me?” She glared up at her.

  “Honey, you got found out. Everybody knows you’re a lady-loving babe. Get over it.” Blanche yanked her up by the arm. Strong for a twig. “I used to look up at that picture, dreaming I’d be where Kate is right now. You get that?” She scowled at her. “Every girl I ever dated swooned over you. You were a picture of strength.”

  “Every girl?” She wagged her finger. “Why was I a pin-up?” And Blanche had drooled over her? Oddly satisfying. Did Zoë know that?

  “Because you were full of this…” Blanche flapped her arms around. “This vivacious, vibrant, sexy attitude. You took no shit. Sheer feminine strength.” She let out a wistful sigh. “And you are hot.” She scowled again. “So every kid who drooled over you really needs you to step up.” She clicked her fingers. “Find your inner bitch.”

  Darcy rolled her eyes. “I’m getting a pep talk from the other woman. How nice.”

  Blanche pursed her lips and slunk onto one hip. “You’re getting a pep talk from a kid you once helped. Now find your inner bitch.”

  Darcy walked over to the kitchen. She had no intention of doing anything other than curling up on her sofa.

  Blanche growled, stomped over, and planted a smacker on her lips. “If you don’t get your ass to the reveal, I will take your place and make you look like a cheap has-been.” She nodded and raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah. I got the girl. I got your babe. You want to lose another one? Because the next woman Kate falls for might just make her happier.” She clicked her fingers again. “You want someone else making her happy?”

  “No.” She growled it. She couldn’t stand the thought, let alone if Kate did move on.

  “Then quit moping around like you’re a pathetic loser and find your inner bitch.” Blanche planted another smacker on her lips.

  Darcy grabbed her by the scruff and kissed her back, then shoved her off. “You’re too skinny to pull off my wardrobe.”

  Blanche grinned. “There you are.”

  Who would have thought that Blanche could spark her enough to make her call the driver? Darcy stared out of the car window, then frowned. Every shop, every building had her in the window. “Did I launch a product without realising?”

  The driver chuckled. “Ms McGregor. I think you did something.” He pulled into the side street near Oxford Street, and crowds of people filled the pavements and road. A police escort pulled alongside them.

  “When did I become royalty?” Police escort? She’d been to a lot of things, but the escort was for events, not a drive to a reveal. She frowned. “And why are we going through Oxford Street? Shouldn’t we be heading to the airport?”

  “I think the Windermeres had an idea.” He smiled at her in the rear-view mirror. “And I think everyone misses you.”

  She stared out. Every high-street shop had her picture and #EmbraceDesigner on it. She scowled. “I’ll beat her.” She slammed open the door and stomped through the waiting crowds. “I’ll beat her with her own heels.”

  Chapter 45

  Oxford Street stretched just over a mile with three hundred shops lining it. Usually, it would have shoppers bustling to and fro laden with bags containing the new spring wardrobe. Now, it was filled with crowds and crowds of people. Shops draped with huge posters of Darcy, Zoë, Blanche, Mikey, Kate, and Susannah. Every shop involved in the campaign, every company, sponsored the event; in return, customers were buying from them. High-street shopping had found its feet once more. Beside the beauty of Marble Arch, people posted pictures and comments, laughed and congregated around a catwalk that split into rays, each offshoot with a platform at its head. The main runway was
the longest seen for a fashion show: over a hundred yards of see-through glass suspended over the crowds below. It was dotted with lights and led back to a vast stage with a white backdrop draped from huge chrome scaffolds. Metal funnels jutted out of the top. And the stark white over the oversized doors blazed with the hashtag everyone had come to know: #EmbraceDesigner was celebrating so much more than just Darcy McGregor.

  The music burst into life, and models began to pour from the doorway from every section of the LGBTQIA community, then the disabled community. Then models from every culture, every age, every size strutted out in nothing but body paint, slashed clothing, and confidence. They each turned and strode up the offshoots, taking places along the stretches, posing. The crowd cheered every one.

  The crew from the show, the backroom staff to the cameramen, followed on. Their awkwardness of being in front of the lens was so clear to the TV cameras beaming the pictures far and wide.

  Then Marge hobbled out, her hair interjected with colours, and she took up a space at the front of the stage. She took a microphone from the side and waved at the crowd. “This is our biggest ever reveal. It’s a fitting tribute to the show which I’ve loved being part of, but now that the channel has cancelled the remaining series, we wanted to celebrate all Darcy has accomplished.”

  The crowd booed and heckled. Tweets, posts, grumblings about the channel flittered through the mass of faces.

  “Yes, but we’d like to celebrate her, and what better way than get her to show just why she’s the face you all know?” Marge rubbed at her body paint and winced as the crowd cheered. “And if you don’t need therapy for seeing me in paint, then hopefully you’ll enjoy more…pleasant sights.” She motioned to the doorway.

  The white backdrop flicked to a picture of Blanche on her billboard. The crowd whistled, and the doors opened. Blanche strode out, body painted, eyes fierce. She stopped, twirled, and the crowd cheered. Then she strode on to Marge, planted her left leg forward, and looked back over her shoulder at the panning camera. Those watching the screens down the long stretch of street let out a cheer.