by Brigid Coady
Annie stood at the till waiting to pay and then she saw Austen Wentworth.
Her heart dropped as if falling off a cliff. It started beating again after it hit the floor.
Austen wasn’t actually there. No, it was his face on glossy paper staring at her. Make that faces. He was on the front cover of at least three gossip magazines.
‘Austen Wentworth – tells all on life and love’
‘Austen gives hope to women everywhere’
‘Austen Wentworth – who is he dating?’
Her fingers itched to pick them up. Surely it was better that she knew what was happening? Her hand reached out.
No.
She pulled it back.
But what if it was only one, for research?
Annie felt like a smoker being peer pressured into ‘just one more cigarette’.
‘Next,’ called the newsagent.
Annie moved forward and put down the Haribo and chocolate.
‘Anything else?’ The question hung there.
Two minutes later she shuffled out of the shop clutching a blue plastic bag, the tops of three glossy magazines peeking from it.
She was pathetic. She’d been clean for years.
Buying them didn’t mean reading them though.
She could leave them for Marie, as untouched as they were now. No thumbprints on the pages.
She was glad she’d added a bag of crisps. She needed the comfort.
***
‘Darling,’ Marie said. Annie winced at the volume. Marie then descended on her in a swirl of heavy floral perfume and pressed her cheek against Annie’s. The touch was fleeting.
When was the last time she’d had a proper hug from someone? Annie sighed – too long ago. She was sure her family loved her. If they thought about her, which wasn’t often.
‘Auntie Annie.’
Her knees came under attack from Archie and Hector. Okay so she did get hugs. Maybe she should amend that to grown-up hugs, ones with less snot.
‘Hello, you horrors.’
She quickly held the bag out of the way. So they didn’t get the Haribo, of course. Nothing to do with grubby fingers on the magazines.
‘Where have you been? The car will be here in an hour and I can’t get anything done with these two under my feet. Of course, Charlie was supposed to be home by now to help. You’d think I had nothing better to do than wait on him. No, Archie. Mummy can’t pick you up.’
Marie stood with her hands in the air while Archie leapt up.
‘You’ll ruin my manicure, Archie.’
‘Come here.’ Annie dropped the bag on the table and scooped up Archie before the tears, which threatened, exploded. His bottom lip was trembling and there was a sheen across his eyes.
‘You and Hector are going to tell me all about what happened at nursery today. And Mummy is going to finish getting ready.’ She motioned Marie to go with her head.
As Marie left, she whispered, ‘And then if you are very good, I have a treat for you.’
She lurched through to the kitchen with Hector clinging to her leg and Archie clasping his arms round her neck.
Marie’s house was a magazine idea of a family home. It was warm and welcoming as long as there was no one in it. As soon as you added a small child, or two, then the image was ruined, as were the distressed white surfaces. Annie herded them to the kitchen table and pulled out the bright-coloured table covering that was hidden behind the large dresser full of beautiful glass and crockery.
Paper and crayons were in a small tub in the bottom of the dresser.
Annie prayed that the boys would keep their drawing skills to the table area and not try and re-create the Sistine Chapel on the skirting boards.
***
‘Hey up, is it safe?’ a voice said from the doorway.
It was fifteen minutes later, and a balding man put his head round the door.
‘Hi, Charlie. I’d say we’re at DEFCON 3.’ Annie studied him as he came fully into the room. His suit was crumpled, his tie pulled loose, his hair mussed on top.
‘You look tired,’ she said and was then drowned out by the shouts and yells from the boys when they spotted their dad.
Charlie grimaced and then grinned as the boys threw themselves at him and started climbing him like a tree.
Annie smiled as she watched him wrestle with his kids.
It was weird to think this could’ve been her life. Charlie had wanted to date her first. They’d been friends through uni and Annie had known he had a crush on her. But then there had been Austen. And, much as Charlie was a nice guy …
No. It was silly to think about this. Austen or no Austen, she’d never have gone out with Charlie. They didn’t work that way. Of course, there was no way that Marie knew about Charlie’s crush on her. Annie shuddered at the thought of the fallout if she ever found out.
She caught Charlie’s eye. Surreptitiously she waved the bar of chocolate at him.
Thank you, he mouthed at her.
Annie popped it into the pan cupboard. Marie would never find it there; she never used them.
‘Charlie. Where have you been? The car will be here soon. Hector, let Daddy go. Charles Musgrove, go and change.’ Marie marched back into the kitchen, putting on her earrings. Her dress probably cost the same amount as the mortgage payment on the house in Clapham. Thank God Charlie could afford to keep her.
Maybe he could afford to keep Dad and Immy too?
Annie’s stomach clenched at the thought of going cap in hand to either of them.
No, she needed to work out another way. She was the one who was left with the job of looking after them. Not Charlie.
She stopped thinking about it – it wasn’t feasible – and unclasped the kids from Charlie as he rolled his eyes at Marie’s remarks. He then walked out of the kitchen, briefly air-kissing his wife’s cheek. He’d learnt the hard way not to mess with Marie’s make-up.
‘I don’t know how he can be so selfish,’ Marie said as she finished putting her earrings in. ‘Oh and I forgot to say that Henrietta and Louisa are coming with us tonight. They should be here by now. Selfishness seems to be a Musgrove trait.’ Marie’s lips thinned and Annie could see her father and Immy reflected back to her. Even though Marie was the spitting image of her mum, Molly.
‘Hallo!’
Sound and light burst into the kitchen. Annie blinked.
The Musgrove girls had arrived. They were all long gold hair and caramel coltish limbs. They glittered as if they carried their own light source with them. Annie sometimes struggled to tell them apart unless they were standing together – then it was obvious. Louisa was brighter, bolder, hair more golden, limbs longer. Henrietta was a muted copy. Louisa was an actress. It seemed that no part of the family was immune from the family disease, even by marriage.
‘Annie, darling,’ they cooed.
Why had she been worrying about hugs? She was enveloped by their brown limbs, their fragrant hair drifting over her like thistledown. But yet, it didn’t seem enough; it was as insubstantial as candyfloss.
‘Henrietta, Louisa,’ Marie said and kept them at arm’s length and gave them air kisses.
‘Hey, Annie, how are things?’ Louisa leant against the island in the centre of the kitchen, trying for nonchalant, but Annie could see her quivering like a greyhound ready to run.
‘I’m good, busy. You?’ Annie asked.
‘I’ve got an audition with Les Dalrymple.’ Louisa was now bouncing on her toes. ‘It’s the Pride and Prejudice production. The one everyone’s talking about. Have you heard who’s playing Mr Darcy?’ Louisa looked hopefully at Annie.
‘Be still my heart,’ said Henrietta from across the room. ‘Austen Wentworth. Such a hottie.’
Chapter Three
How did she know?
Annie’s head snapped round to look at Henrietta.
It was supposed to be a secret. Cassie would kill her if somehow she had given it away.
Then she saw that Henrietta ha
d found the bag with the magazines and was clutching them. Annie couldn’t help but think her hands looked predatory as they touched his face.
‘Not sure yet …’ Annie mumbled.
Bloody hell. Could the world stop showing her that all roads led back to Austen?
‘He is seriously sexy. I wouldn’t mind playing opposite him,’ said Louisa.
Annie felt sick at the thought of seeing Louisa play Lizzy Bennet to Austen’s Darcy. Not that it would happen. Louisa wasn’t a big enough name yet to play Lizzy. Annie’s stomach cramped when she realized that someone would be playing opposite him though. She would have to tell Cassie there was no way she could work on the production. No way.
‘I’d rather play underneath him,’ Henrietta said as she flicked through the magazine. Annie closed her eyes and swallowed back the nausea. Why didn’t they see that he was another human being and not a piece of meat?
‘Hush, Henry, what would Robbie say if he could hear you?’ Louisa joked as she tried to grab the magazine from Henrietta.
‘We knew him didn’t we, Annie,’ Marie said as she watched the Musgrove girls with a distasteful twist to her lips.
Crap.
How did Marie know? Hadn’t she been away at university at the time, disappointing Dad having not got into drama school? Although she’d made up for it by quickly scaling the TV presenter ladder. But surely, she couldn’t remember some bit-part actor from eight years ago? Marie never noticed anything unless it directly affected her.
Annie made a choking sound as she stared at Marie; she hoped everyone would take it as agreement.
‘Yes, he was in a play with Daddy in Stratford – I forget which one. Anyway I was still a student at the time but I remember him from going to visit. He was a bit geeky at the time but still sexy,’ Marie said. ‘Of course, he fancied me but I was too young and he wasn’t willing to wait.’
Annie could feel her tongue drying out, which was when she realized she had been standing there with her mouth open. Fancied Marie? Why was she even surprised? Marie never saw anything except in how it related to herself, which did explain why she remembered Austen.
‘You remember him, Annie? I think you had a crush on him; you followed him round like a puppy. Dad said it was cute if a bit annoying. Supposedly Austen hadn’t wanted to hurt your feelings by telling you to get lost.’
Everyone turned to look at her.
She could tell them. Tell them that the man thousands of women wanted to sleep with had wanted to marry her.
How he’d quoted Shakespeare and Donne to her when they’d been wrapped round each other in that cramped single bed in his lodgings.
How she knew that now he waxed his chest, which she could see was glistening, peeking out of the V-neck shirt in the photo that Henrietta and Louisa were drooling over. She knew because she’d liked to stroke the little tuft of hair that used to curl out of his T-shirts. Had wrapped it round her finger as they’d cuddled watching TV.
‘Yeah, well.’
Her face burned with humiliation as the words stuck in her throat. What was the point? Her place in the family was not the femme fatale; she wasn’t the one men fell for. Her part was as the steady and boring one. The maiden aunt.
She squirmed. She hated to be pitied.
‘It was a long time ago. And things have changed. Isn’t that the car?’ she said. Annie heard the rev of an engine and thanked whatever deity had sent it. She needed a break.
‘Charlie,’ Marie’s voice screamed up the stairs.
There was a flurry of goodbyes.
And then they were gone. How could the adults be more draining than the kids?
Annie glanced over at the boys but a pair of two-dimensional moss-green-coloured eyes caught her gaze; the last time she had seen them in real life they had glared at her.
Damn him. She’d made her choice and still it felt he was giving her grief about it.
***
‘Cupcakes, beyotch, whether you like it or not.’
Annie jumped as the shout came from Cassie across the tiny hall that separated their offices, almost accidentally entering Idris Elba’s pay at three times his fee.
‘Never. I’ll compromise on Portuguese custard tarts and macarons but never cupcakes,’ she called back as she amended the cost, smiling at the ease with which she could fix work problems.
It had been two weeks since the Austen bombshell and Annie had only now stopped looking over her shoulder when she was out.
Which was stupid. London was a big place.
And, she needed to concentrate. This was her job. This is what she was good at – what she loved. The only part of her life that worked and the place she’d thrown the leftover parts of her heart into.
Cupcakes. Annie could feel the grimace on her face. Horrible overly sweet cloying invaders.
But if Cassie said cupcakes it meant there was obviously more news. Good news. If their little company got any more successful she and Cassie would be obese. Or maybe they’d have to hire someone else to spread the calories.
‘So, what will it be?’ Annie called out. There was a considered silence from the other office. She waited, her hands poised over the laptop keys.
‘If you buy the champagne then okay.’
Champagne? The news must be good. And Cassie would be dying to tell it, which is why she gave in so easily.
‘On it.’
Annie grabbed her purse and coat. She rushed out of the little basement office before Cassie could change her mind. Taking the steps two at a time, she burst onto the residential street of terrace houses. Diving down the street by the local pub, where Cass and she had spent way too much time celebrating and commiserating, Annie came on to Notting Hill Gate. Dodging tourists, she pushed open the door to her favourite patisserie.
The puff of hot air laced with cinnamon and sugar warmed Annie’s face, chilly from the outside. She took a huge breath in almost tasting the buttery pastry on her tongue.
The shop had a few tables at the back but mostly it was a long counter with a glass display case full of the most indulgent cakes and pastries. They were piled high, some oozing cream, others glistening with egg wash, and most drenched in fine powdered sugar. And to Annie’s happiness not a cupcake in sight.
‘Hey, Maggie, can I have two custard tarts and a small mix of macarons,’ she said to the middle-aged woman in an apron behind the display case.
‘So is it good news or bad news?’ Maggie was used to Cassie and her buying patterns by now.
‘Cass said to get the bubbles in so I’m thinking extremely good news,’ Annie said and couldn’t help rubbing her hands together as she waited for Maggie to fill her order.
She felt buoyant, as if she had already drunk the bubbles. There was something about work that freed her. Cut her ties to her family even for a small amount of time. At work she was Annie Elliot, production accountant extraordinaire. She liked that Annie Elliot so much better than Annie Elliot, resident doormat. And when it became Annie Elliot, producer … She smiled harder.
‘There you go,’ Maggie said closing the lid of the white cardboard box, hiding the brightly coloured macrons and glistening tarts. ‘That will be twelve pounds sixty, please.’
Annie tapped her card on the card reader, grabbed the cardboard box and her receipt. She rushed to the door.
‘Bye, Maggie,’ she called back.
Hopefully the off-licence would have some chilled champagne, she thought. Who was she kidding? This was Notting Hill. Of course it would and it was only a week since Valentine’s so they might have some on offer. She grabbed the door handle, hoping that the Pol Roger was on sale and whether the news was good enough to justify it.
‘Bugger.’
The door handle was pulled from her and she fell forward, almost dropping the cake box.
‘Sorry,’ a husky voice said and a firm male hand grabbed her bicep to steady her. ‘I wasn’t paying attention,’ he continued. Annie looked up into a pair of pale blue eyes.
> The bloke had fox-like features and a slow sideways smile. He waved his phone at her and looked sheepish.
Annie felt a jolt of recognition, as if he was someone she should know. As if his name was on the tip of her tongue.
‘I hope I didn’t squash your cakes,’ he said. His voice held a resonance she recognized as trained.
Ah, an actor, she thought. That was it then. She’d probably seen him in something on the television. God, she hoped it hadn’t been in a production and she’d forgotten him? That wasn’t good for business.
Better smile, she thought as she grinned, channelling in-charge production accountant extraordinaire Annie. It wouldn’t do to piss off someone who she might work with in the future.
He blinked and opened his mouth, as if about to say something.
But for Annie there were more important things to be doing than talking to a cute bloke, like buying champagne.
‘No worries,’ she said, sliding past him.
She rushed off but couldn’t help glancing back to see the bloke still holding the door to Maggie’s open and watching her with an appreciative but calculating stare. She shook it off.
***
‘Champagne. Check. Custard tarts. Check. Frivolous French macarons, even the green pistachio ones. Check.’ Annie counted off the supplies onto Cassie’s desk. A pair of mismatched champagne flutes waited for the frothy contents.
Annie went to open the foil on the top of the bottle.
‘Hold on. I think we’re missing something?’ Cassie said.
Annie checked again. They had everything they needed. ‘What?’
Cassie winked and flourished a piece of paper in front of Annie.
It was the print-out of some emails.
Annie read it.
Then she read it again. Her hand trembled and the paper shook.
‘But …’ Cassie quickly rescued the champagne bottle that was in danger of dropping to the floor from Annie’s suddenly slackened fingers.
Annie knew that the black type were words. And she could read them all individually. In fact she could’ve read it out loud. What she was struggling with was actually comprehending what the email meant.
