Playing for Keeps

by Rosa Temple

  ‘It’s so exciting,’ Riley said, practically skipping in place. ‘It’s like the naming of a ship or something.’

  ‘I wonder how many people will be there for the preview shopping afterwards.’

  ‘I’m sure it’ll draw a crowd. I’ve been Instagramming and Tweeting like crazy.’

  ‘We’ll see, I guess.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re up for this, Magenta? You look a bit out of sorts. Is it because Anthony isn’t back?’

  I’d found out that morning, just two days before the official opening, that Anthony definitely wasn’t going to be there. But Anthony wasn’t the one occupying my thoughts. While Hugo was gearing up to undergo radiation treatment, Anthony was poised at his seascape location, wind blowing in, temperatures dropping enough for him to be wearing his tatty sweater. He would have lost all track of time, surviving on an espresso as he painted to his heart’s content.

  If it wasn’t for the shop and Hugo and everything I could have sat on a rock nearby watching him in action. I’d done that so many times at the home studio, standing in the doorway, Anthony oblivious to my very existence.

  Anthony never usually left my thoughts during a normal day but there was nothing normal about how I was feeling. I was just about holding it together. The news that Hugo was dying was something I wasn’t able to share with another soul.

  ‘Of course I’m all right, Riley.’ I winked at my assistant as I gathered my things together to head out. She wouldn’t be at the naming ceremony although she was wearing a tiara over her auburn beehive in support of the pomp and ceremony. She even had on her posh shoes, as she called them – that is, any pair of shoes that weren’t Dr Martens. ‘Yes, I do miss Anthony but he’s big enough and ugly enough to look out for himself. And so am I.’ I buttoned up my coat and gave Riley a peck on the cheek.

  ‘I’ll be listening to the show,’ she called after me as I left.

  Once I got home I made very little change to my appearance. I’d laid out a fabulous dress from Paul Smith’s autumn collection and the jacket my sister had bought at Italian Fashion Week for me. Remembering this was radio and not television, I felt silly making so much of an effort, especially with the image of Hugo sitting in his flat dressed like a poverty-stricken student in overstretched sweats and with unwashed hair. He was never big on high fashion but his wardrobe always had an edgy cool about it. Maybe it was the musician in him that made him predisposed to looking cool without appearing as if he’d tried too hard. There was still something youthful about Hugo despite his age and illness. Even when we’d tried to rekindle our old love affair a few years back, Hugo, then thirty-eight, still came across as a man in his twenties.

  Before leaving for the unveiling all I did was fluff out my already big hair, reapply my lipstick and close the door behind me. The designer dress and heels were inappropriate.

  I walked round to the shop in King’s Road to find Zac at the shop door with freshly waxed eyebrows and wearing a freshly pressed Ralph Lauren combo. For him, the fact that the unveiling was for radio hadn’t stopped him wanting to look his best.

  ‘The reporter is in the back, Magenta,’ Jaime said as I entered the shop. ‘Also the security person has arrived.’

  ‘Great, thanks,’ I said and waved to a rangy, athletic-looking woman dressed in black. Jaime had suggested this precaution because she pointed out there were bound to be masses of people, something I hadn’t even considered. I started for the back office.

  ‘And Ms Stankovic has just pulled up in her taxi,’ Zac enthused, rapidly tapping the tips of his fingers together.

  ‘Even better,’ I said. ‘Make her welcome and I’ll have a chat with the reporter.’

  The reporter, Mark Jacobson, also a radio presenter, had his own graveyard radio show for the station and had appeared on a celebrity reality show in which I couldn’t tell one so-called celebrity from the next. He, along with his assistant, sprang to his feet when I opened the office door, right hand extended.

  ‘Hey, Magenta.’ He gave my hand an energetic shake. ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Mark Jacobson, and this is Julie, who’ll be doing all the hard work, making sure we’re in contact with Annie Jay and the rest of the Drive Time team.’

  ‘That’s great. Nice to meet you both.’ I tried to shake off my stresses about Hugo and smiled as brightly as I could.

  ‘Great timing,’ said Mark. ‘We’re live in about twenty minutes so let’s go through some of the questions I’m going to ask you.’

  During the time it took to get our respective acts together and in the time it took for Zac to pick his jaw up from the floor after being in the presence of his ultimate idol, Anya Stankovic, a crowd of people had gathered outside of the shop. Because the door was unlocked a few eager shoppers were already inside looking to purchase discounted baby-changing bags from the Anya range.

  ‘Are you all right, Madge?’ Anya asked as we took our places at the front of the shop.

  ‘Why does everyone keep asking me that?’ I snapped. I quickly checked myself and smiled for the cameras, of which there were a couple from the local newspapers.

  ‘Sorry,’ Anya said through a very wide and well-practised smile, though the words behind her eyes spoke volumes. There was no fooling her.

  The engineer from BBC Radio London shoved a furry microphone in my direction and Mark Jacobson began a dialogue with the DJ back at the station.

  ‘So this isn’t the official opening, is it, Magenta?’ He was in interview mode before I realised, too busy warding off Anya’s glare as she rubbed her stomach the way a sage might rub his chin while she tried to fathom my mood.

  ‘Officially we open our doors to the public this Saturday morning,’ I said in my best voice for radio.

  ‘You must be very excited, and if today’s turnout is anything to go by you might have to fight the shoppers off,’ Mark said, nodding enthusiastically at the gathering crowd who whooped in agreement.

  ‘Well, let’s hope so, Mark.’

  I smiled with glee but Anya stared daggers at me now the photographers were no longer in her face.

  ‘And just to my right we have international model and actor, Anya Stankovic.’ The crowd let off a mighty cheer followed by applause. Zac, who had been acting as Anya’s bouncer, stared hard at the crowd should anyone dare to mob his idol and ask for the autograph he more than likely was itching to ask for himself.

  ‘Am I right in saying her pregnancy inspired your latest designs, the baby-changing bags?’ Mark asked in a bubbly voice.

  ‘Absolutely. I was just so happy Anya agreed to model them for me.’ I smiled at her, daring her to give me those evil eyes again with the photographers snapping away from all angles at her now.

  ‘Lucky you have a supermodel for a best friend, right?’ Mark’s white veneers shone in the autumn afternoon. He continued his banter for the listeners as well as the crowd that was beginning to grow and block the road. From Rhythm ‘N’ Brews, coffee drinkers looked out at the spectacle and passengers on buses craned their necks to see what was going on.

  ‘… Magenta, we know you’re offering amazing discounts on the baby-changing bags for this afternoon only,’ Mark enthused. ‘So if anyone is driving home, on one of the local buses, or if any of our listeners wants to take advantage of what is a great bargain, considering these are designer items, how long have they got before you shut up shop for the day?’

  ‘We close at seven this evening, Mark.’

  ‘That’s just under two hours folks. Less than two hours to get your hands on a designer-label bag here on the King’s Road. The shop number is seventy-two and we’re just up the road from Peter Jones, not far from the lovely Dukes Square. Come and check us out. We’re revealing the name of this fabulous shop and the person doing the unveiling is none other than international supermodel and actor, Miss Anya Stankovic, folks! Oh, yes! We have celebrity royalty here today.’

  There was another roar and ripple of applause and Mark laughed over the microphone, comment
ating on the crowd reaction for the studio audience.

  ‘Now Anya, Anya Stankovic,’ Mark continued. ‘I believe you’re about to cut the ribbon and reveal the name of this flagship shop for Shearman Bright? A nod of the head, folks – that means "yes". If I could just explain that there’s a large white sheet covering the sign above the shop… one of the shop assistants is handing Anya a gold cord and any second now she’ll give a tug and… woah! Yes! The sheet is down and I can now see, in fact all of us gathering outside can see, the name of this very prestigious shop on the King’s Road, my lovely listeners. I will now turn to the owner of the shop, Magenta Bright, and ask her to tell us the name.’

  ‘Thanks, Mark. The shop is called Portmanteau.’

  The crowd cheered and applauded.

  ‘And what inspired such an exotic-sounding name, Magenta?’ said Mark.

  ‘It’s French. It’s a large travelling bag that opens on two sides. As we sell both man bags and handbags, I thought it was rather appropriate.’

  ‘It certainly is, it certainly is.’

  There were more rounds of applause. Mark wrapped up his commentary and handed the baton to his contemporary at the studio. The engineer, Julie, signalled that it was over and that they were no longer broadcasting.

  Zac bodyguarded Anya to the back of the shop and away from autograph hunters.

  ‘Excuse me, pardon me,’ he said as he ushered her inside. ‘Pregnant supermodel, get out of the way.’

  One by one the crowd dispersed leaving a steady stream of shoppers to be let into the shop under the watchful eye of Jaime, who was very quick to dispense with stragglers and celebrity seekers recording Anya on their mobiles.

  I was asked a few questions by the journalist from the local paper and then went over to thank Mark for coming along just before he disappeared into a taxi.

  ‘You’re welcome, Magenta. Having Anya Stankovic sealed the deal for you; we chose you over the other handbag shop opening down the road because of her.’

  ‘What other handbag shop?’ I asked, feeling my spirits sink immediately.

  ‘Can’t remember the name now,’ said Mark as he climbed into the black cab. ‘Something Italian, perhaps?’ He shrugged his shoulders, closed the door and was gone. I felt someone hook my arm and turned to see Anya in dark glasses, the hood pulled up on her coat.

  ‘You’ve just invited me round to your place for a coffee,’ she said and marched me away.

  ‘But the shop…’ I began.

  ‘The others have that covered. I think you and I have a lot to talk about.’

  Chapter 14

  I was exhausted by the time Anya left my house that night. Being almost nine months pregnant you would have expected her to have been pretty worn out herself. But no. She was the one who did all the talking, complaining occasionally of pains in her lower back and abdomen but talking all the same.

  ‘I should call you a cab,’ I’d offered, at least three times, to escape the grilling she was giving me.

  ‘No,’ she’d said categorically. ‘This conversation has only just begun.’ In the end I began to lose it with her.

  ‘Look, Anya, it isn’t really any of your business that I went to see Hugo. I only told you in the first place because you wheedled it out of me. I wanted to see how he, was not start having an affair.’

  ‘I never said that. You told me you’d make just von single visit.’ She held up a straight and strict forefinger. ‘But I know your heart, Madge, probably better than you. I knew it vosn’t going to stop there. I just don’t think it’s a good idea to spend all this time at the bedside of your sick ex and keep Anthony in the dark about it.’

  The only thing I had admitted to Anya was that I had been to see an ailing Hugo. His being ill she knew about already; after all, she had been the one who was quick to point out Hugo had cancer. But I never told her the bit about him dying. Especially as she’d told me to leave well alone where Hugo was concerned. That and the fact she was about to bring a life into the world with a threat of some serious complications heading her way. I didn’t want to add to her worries.

  Had she not been pregnant I still wouldn’t have told her because, if she’d known, she’d have had a stroke and put me under twenty-four-hour armed guard to stop me going to see him. Sounds weird, I know, but Anya’s motive for making me keep Hugo at bay would be because she would know how much his dying would take out of me and how much it would break my heart. She’d want to spare me all of that. Yes, she was strict but it was all out of love for me.

  Like me, Anya had assumed that cancer, especially cancer in someone we knew, would mean chemotherapy, hair loss and an inevitable recovery because there are research, funding, charitable events and breakthrough drugs – no one you know with cancer will ever die. That sort of thing happens to the people we don’t know, the people we donate money to but pity because they had the wrong kind of cancer. I couldn’t tell her that Hugo had the wrong kind of cancer and no matter how many Macmillan Coffee Mornings we threw, he was not going to make it.

  ‘Remember the turmoil you went through having two men to choose from. Two people you claimed to love?’ said Anya, her voice softening at last.

  I got to my feet to close the blinds, something I hadn’t had time to do though it had been turning dark since we left the shop. Once we’d entered the house Anya was straight on my case like an official interrogator. I had been suppressing yawns for the first two hours of my interrogation. Anya was going all Russian spy on me but I wouldn’t back down. She refused to eat anything, just drank herbal tea and told me what an idiot I was being. I wished she’d go home but she stayed and stayed. After midnight we both had our feet up on the coffee table and my eyes were beginning to close.

  ‘Anya, you should go home and get some rest. The celebrity party is tomorrow evening and most of the people there are coming because of you. You’re my guest of honour.’

  ‘True,’ she said elongating an arm and staring at her varnished fingernails. ‘Call me a taxi, Madge. I can see there’s no point saying anything more to you on the subject of Hugo. You’re being bloody-minded and you refuse to see how complicated this could become for you and Anthony.’

  ‘Why don’t you let me worry about that?’ I got up and started looking around for my phone so I could call the local minicab company.

  ‘Tell me, Madge, vye haven’t you told Anthony all about going to seek out Hugo?’

  I didn’t answer. Anya stared at me – hard.

  ‘I will,’ I said.

  ‘Mmm,’ she said and sniffed. ‘Just like you told him about Hugo stalking you? Sniffing around ven Anthony vos out of the country three years ago?’

  ‘Look, Anthony and I are tight. Nothing can break us. I’ll tell him eventually.’

  ‘And tell me, Madge, you and Anthony, vere do you see yourselves a year from now?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Your future, Madge. Have you ever discussed your future? You fell pregnant last year and hadn’t discussed having a child together. Have you talked about it since the miscarriage? You alvays said you’d like to be married if the right guy came along. Is Anthony that guy?’

  I was too slow to answer and Anya shifted in her seat.

  ‘Are you going to call that taxi or not?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course,’ I said, picking up my bag, which I had slung behind the living-room door. I got out the phone and used speed dial to call my go-to cab company. ‘We’ll have the big talk, me and Anthony, but it hasn’t come up for now. We’ve both got so much happening in our lives. We’re happy just being us, you know? Getting on with life.’

  Anya nodded, unconvinced.

  The controller answered the phone and I ordered a taxi to come straight away for Anya. It was late and I had a night of tossing and turning to look forward to.

  At the door Anya offered me her cool cheek to kiss.

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Anya. And thanks for today. I’m not sure I even said it.’

 
‘It’s us, Madge, it didn’t have to be said.’

  ‘All the same, thank you. Safe home, okay?’

  ‘Sure, and Madge… could you send Zac over to my house tomorrow? I feel strange coming unaccompanied to parties these days.’

  ‘You miss Henry, don’t you?’

  She looked down and pulled her lips in.

  ‘I know you do,’ I said. ‘You guys were all set to do the whole marriage thing at one time. Funny how one tiny baby can change all that.’ I put my hand on her tummy. ‘What was that?’ I stepped back.

  ‘One of those Braxton Hicks thingys, I assume. Over a veek to go but I feel so uncomfortable.’ She took my hand, a rare move for Anya. ‘It’s not one tiny baby though, is it? The tiny baby will become a toddler, teenager, a man. You need to be honest and open about your future, you and Anthony. Henry and I vere. I’m just glad he vos honest. At least I know how my life is going to play out. Or at least I have a fair idea. I hope you and Anthony can have that… soon.’

  I felt a slight annoyance that Anya should be giving me advice like that, so grown-up and worldly, as if I wasn’t. Had she forgotten about the business I’d brought back from the brink of ruin, nurtured and grown and which had seen worldwide sales skyrocket? Wasn’t I the one who had an A-lister party happening the following evening that would be filled with the fashion elite, just waiting to revel in my successes as an entrepreneur? So what if my and Anthony’s relationship wasn’t all sewn up and set in stone in terms of our future. Whose is? But I kept my thoughts to myself.

  ‘I’ll make sure Zac comes to pick you up and escort you. Are you sure you can cope with your number-one fan knowing where you live?’

  ‘I can handle Zac. He’s a darling. See you tomorrow.’

  I closed the front door and leaned my back up against it for a few minutes. Long enough to hear Anya’s taxi drive away and to hear the kitchen sink gurgle its usual late-night repertoire. I carried my supper plate to the kitchen and put it into the sink. I’d heated up the last piece of a lasagne I’d made, but Anya couldn’t face having any of. I poured the last few sips of a glass of wine down the plughole and switched out the light.