‘Getting a column in the local paper was pretty exciting, and I regularly write for a couple of other publications and their online sites too. I no longer do the bar work, by the way. Just so that you don’t think I’m hiding any cash-in-hand stuff from my accountant.’
‘I’m not sure you’re actually capable of hiding much at all, from what I’ve seen.’
I frowned.
‘It’s a compliment.’
‘Oh.’
‘I take it everything was over with the boyfriend?’
‘Definitely. I found out later they’d been dancing around each other for a while. She was some city girl high-flyer, same as him, so I’m sure they had much more in common than he and I ever did. I’m quite a people person generally—’ at this I saw a glint of a smile in Charlie’s eyes ‘—but, to be honest, I often felt a little out of place whenever I went to functions with him. They’d all be talking about stuff I have no understanding of, so I’d just sort of stand there most of the time, feeling a bit of an idiot.
‘Did you ever tell him that?’
‘What?’
‘That you felt uncomfortable?’
‘I tried.’
‘And?’
‘Nothing really. I mean, he couldn’t make me understand the technicalities of the software business, or stocks and bonds, which is usually what the conversation swung around to. What was he supposed to do?’
‘He was supposed to make sure you felt comfortable. To reassure you.’
‘That’s sweet, but it makes me sound a bit pathetic.’
‘No, it doesn’t.’
‘I can look after myself, Charlie. I never failed to find the bar and a friendly barman or lady to chat to.’ I gave him a cheeky wink.
‘I have no doubt that you are entirely able to take care of yourself, or that you wouldn’t have any difficulty in finding someone to talk to.’
‘Just not in his social circle.’
‘Then it was most definitely their loss. By not taking the time, they missed out on some very entertaining conversation.’
I tilted my head at him. ‘I can’t yet tell when you’re being sincere and when you’re taking the mickey.’
‘In this case, I’m sincere.’
‘Then, thank you.’
‘You’re welcome. And if you don’t mind me saying so, I think the only idiot in that relationship was him.’
‘Thank you. Again. I came to the same conclusion. Of course, it took me slightly longer and a lot more tears to get there.’
Charlie studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable, before taking the bill off the approaching waiter before he could put it down. Motioning for him to wait a moment, he then handed over a credit card.
‘How much is my half?’ I asked, rummaging in my bag.
‘I’m getting this.’
I looked up, purse now in hand. ‘Oh, no. You can’t do that. We agreed I’d pay.’
Charlie frowned. ‘We did no such thing,’ he said calmly, taking the payment machine off the waiter, before putting in a pin code and handing it back.
‘Didn’t we?’ I thought back. Actually, no, we hadn’t. ‘All right. Well, I meant to say that before we started. You’re already doing the accounts as a favour. I’d feel better if you’d let me pay for lunch at least.’
‘All done now.’
I pulled a face.
He chuckled. ‘Fine. You can pay next time.’
‘Next time! I’m not waiting another year to pay you back. Or… wait! Are my books in that much of a state?’ A hint of panic crept into my voice.
‘No, they’re fine. And I’m sure we can sort something out if you’re that bothered about waiting a year to recompense.’
‘Good. And good. Because I am.’
He did the cute little chuckle again. ‘OK, then.’
We did sort something out. After lunch, Charlie returned to the flat and spent another couple of hours going over everything with me, which led me to deciding that I would take him out to dinner, along with Amy and Marcus, as a thank you to all of them for their help. I rang Amy the following day to ask her.
‘Hey, how’d it go?’
‘Brilliant! My accounts are in tip-top shape.’
And that wasn’t the only thing in tip-top shape.
‘Great. Told you we’d get it sorted out. At least I don’t have to worry about learning how to bake a cake for file smuggling now.’
‘I still don’t understand how you can be glued to every single series of Bake Off and still have no idea how to make a cake.’
‘I don’t need to know. That’s what bakeries are for.’
‘Fair enough. Anyway. The thing is, I want to take you all to dinner as a thank you for setting up this whole accountancy bail-out thing.’
‘Aah, that’s sweet, Libs. You don’t have to do that. Charlie quite enjoyed himself, from what I heard. Marcus had it on speaker in the car when he rang to say he’d done your books.’
‘Did he?’
‘Apparently.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Oh, he was just going on about how nice it was to get back to basics and how…’ Amy paused. ‘Ohmigod! You like him!’
On the other end of the phone, alone in my flat, I flushed the colour of a beetroot.
‘I did. He’s very nice. Not like the other accountants I tried.’
‘And just exactly how much of him did you try out?’
‘Oh, ha ha! Look, do you want a free dinner or not?’
‘Of course! When were you thinking?’
‘I wondered about tonight?’
‘Blimey. You are keen on him! Can’t wait, eh?’
‘Don’t be daft. It’s not that. I just thought it might be nice as it’s a lovely day and I know Charlie can get home fairly late in the week. I mean, I haven’t even asked him yet, so he might not be able to do it anyway but I just thought—’
‘Libs!’ Amy interrupted my jabbering. ‘Just ask him and let me know.’
‘Erm. Yes. Yes, good idea. I’ll ring you back.’
‘Talk to you soon.’ There was a teasing note in Amy’s voice that I tried to ignore as I brought Charlie’s contact details up on my phone. Did I phone or text? Was phoning him a bit too much like asking him on a date? A little over-familiar? Or was texting more familiar than phoning? Oh, crap. For God’s sake, it was just a thank you dinner with friends. I rolled my eyes at myself and began texting.
Hi Charlie. Thanks again for the help yesterday. As you won’t take payment, I’d like to invite you and Marcus and Amy out to dinner as a way of saying thanks to you all. I wondered about tonight as it’s such a nice day, but obviously it’s very short notice and completely understand if you have other plans. Thanks. Libby x
I took away the kiss. Then put it back. Then took it away before dropping a swear word in my head and putting it back in. I’d given Charlie a big hug in grateful thanks and relief when he was leaving and had a feeling he already had my character sussed to a pretty good degree anyway. I pressed send and put the phone down on the coffee table.
Picking up my tea, and a chocolate biscuit, I began reading an article on a new clothing company that had been set up along the lines of People Tree. I’d always been interested in this area of fashion and beauty. The concept and realities behind ‘fast fashion’ had been niggling away at the back of my mind for a while and then the Rana Plaza tragedy happened. Shocked, I’d sat and watched the rescue efforts on television, the friends and relatives holding photographs of their loved ones, waiting, hoping, sobbing. Their pain had been so tangible, so heart-rending that I hadn’t been able to stop my own tears streaming. When the news broke that a woman had been pulled out alive seventeen days after the disaster, I’d felt more relief and joy than I’d ever thought possible for someone I didn’t even know.
I’d read up some more on it all and discovered that the workers had already told the management about the huge cracks appearing in the building, but their concerns had be
en ignored and they’d been forced to go back in. I’d literally felt ill. All of that loss of life, that suffering, just so that richer countries could have access to cheap clothes and a tiny percentage of people could rake in obscene amounts of profit. And yet all of it could have been avoided.
I’d begun looking into things more, finding out who in the fashion industry was trying to help change things, and which companies were supportive of that change.
As my blog began to grow, I made this aspect part of my USP – the clothes I featured were pretty much all from companies who were completely transparent in their dealings, and could prove that their clothing wasn’t made in sweatshops and that they had paid farmers a fair price for their materials. I was all for promoting the resurgence in home sewing too and was lucky enough to have a very talented friend, Tim, with a fledgling design and dressmaking business. Sitting chatting over coffee one day, we got to talking about how the designs from the catwalk filtered down through the industry until they hit the high street, and how well the character of Miranda had explained this in the film The Devil Wears Prada, completely burning the character of Andy in the process! Tim told me how once he’d been asked to make pretty much a direct copy of Kate Middleton’s wedding dress, with three weeks to the big day, when the bride had changed her mind about the dress she’d already bought after she’d watched the royal wedding on television.
‘Of course, there are knock-offs being sewn up in factories all over the world within hours of anything like that being broadcast,’ Tim mused. ‘And I’m sure there were plenty of independent people like me being asked to do the same. Although I would hope most of them had longer than I was given.’
‘You’re amazing. I could never do that.’
‘Yes, you could. You already have an eye for it. I told you I’d teach you.’
‘Be careful, or I might take you up on that one day.’
‘I live in hope!’ Tim replied, a beating motion with his hand over his heart.
‘Twit,’ I said, laughing, knowing he was teasing. Mostly because Tim and I had the same taste in men.
‘But you’re on to something.’
‘I am?’ Tim asked, unsure.
‘Yes! Look, there’s all these gorgeous creations coming down the catwalk, but for most people they’re completely off the scale, budget-wise. And eventually, versions will appear that are more budget friendly but at what cost elsewhere?’
‘Where are you going with all this?’
‘An idea for your blog!’
‘My blog?’ He frowned.
‘Yes.’
‘But that’s just for fun, really,’ Tim replied.
‘It can still be for fun, but as a business you need a good website. Having a great blog will help draw readers and potential clients to it. It could showcase your talents even more and build your following, which in turn will help grow your business.’
‘Spit it out, then!’
‘What about doing a feature when the fashion weeks come around? You pick one item from a show that you love and then recreate it – obviously with your own twist. Using the original piece as “inspiration only”.’ I made air quotes with my fingers up by the side of my head, which gave the impression of doing bunny ears more than anything else, but Tim got the idea.’
‘That’s not bad. I like it!’
I beamed happily.
‘On one condition.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I make it for you, and you wear it.’
‘No. You sell it once you’ve used it to showcase your talents.’
‘I don’t want to. It’s a great idea, Libby. And it was your idea, so I want you to benefit from it too.’
‘Tim—ʼ
‘Say you’ll do it or I won’t play.’ Tim folded his arms across his bony frame and looked at me over the top of his trendy, thick-rimmed glasses.
I sighed. ‘I’ll do it,’ I said, not quite able to stop the little smile that escaped. Tim really did make the most beautiful clothes.
‘And you feature it on your blog.’
‘That was always going to happen. I’ll feature them all, and I’ll keep the first piece, but the rest you sell. Deal?’
‘No deal.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s only a few pieces a year, Libby, and the promotion I’ll get from you looking fabulous in them is worth more than I could sell any of them for.’
‘Flattery will get you everywhere.’ I winked. ‘You’re sure?’
‘I’m sure. And, bonus, I get to see you in your underwear when you come for fitting.’
‘Oh, yes. Because that’s a real draw for you.’
Tim winked back. ‘Actually, I just live in hope that one day you might bring a gorgeous man with you and I can persuade him he needs something made to measure.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind, but don’t get your hopes up.’
6
I took one look at Charlie walking through the door to the restaurant and decided that Tim would have an appropriately pink fit if I ever brought Charlie to a fitting with me. He wore smart khakis that made his bum look amazing, and a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal gently tanned forearms with just the right amount of muscle to them. I hadn’t looked at the menu yet but I was pretty sure several people in the room had already decided on the perfect dessert.
‘Hi.’ Charlie smiled as he took his seat opposite me, having said hello to his brother and Amy. They’d met properly earlier this afternoon when he’d dropped round to his brother’s place, just after I’d spoken to Amy about the proposed dinner. Everything was arranged and Charlie had texted me back to say that they were all together and agreed it was a lovely idea. And now, here we were. And it was all very lovely indeed. For a while.
‘So, you’re not seeing anyone at the moment, then?’ Amy asked Charlie, in an apparently casual way that I knew was anything but. ‘I find that hard to believe. Couple of big, lovely blokes like you two and only one with a girlfriend. It seems a little unfair.’
‘I don’t mind.’ Marcus grinned, his eyes giving Amy a teasing look.
I kept my face passive and gave Amy a kick under the table.
‘Ow!’ Marcus bent and rubbed his shin.
‘Oh, no! I’m so sorry. I started getting cramp in my leg and…’
‘No worries.’ Marcus smiled and gave his leg a final rub.
Although I’d ended up making contact with the wrong person, I hoped the distraction was enough to give Amy the hint.
‘So, was that a no?’ Amy prompted Charlie.
Apparently not.
‘Umm, no, not really. Work’s kind of mad at the moment. Lots of travelling.’
‘And he’s picky as hell,’ Marcus volunteered.
‘Is he now?’ Amy asked, intrigued.
‘I’m not picky. I’m… discerning.’
‘That’s just a posh word for picky,’ Marcus countered.
Charlie looked at me. ‘Would you like a brother? I’ve got one going spare.’
I smiled. ‘No, thanks. I already have one. He’s more than enough.’
He returned the smile. Unfortunately, Amy took this as another cue.
‘So, what do you look for, in your discerning manner?’
‘Amy. Stop questioning the poor man!’ I said, laughing but really hoping she’d get the message. ‘I brought you all out to say thank you, not to start the Spanish Inquisition on Charlie.’
‘Well, he definitely has a type.’ Marcus clearly wasn’t about to let it go now either.
‘I don’t have a type.’
‘You totally have a type, mate.’
Charlie gave him the patient look that he’d given me a couple of times yesterday. I was sort of glad to see I wasn’t the only one that brought it out in him.
‘Do tell.’
‘Every single girlfriend you’ve ever had have all been in the same line of work as you, give or take. And they’ve definitely all been high-flyers jetting off around the worl
d, closing deals worth millions before breakfast.’
I felt my stomach twist. Amy caught my eye, her look now wary. I smiled, indicating that I was fine. She smiled back but it didn’t reach her eyes and I knew that she knew I was completely faking it.
‘Carly’s an interior designer.’ Charlie raised one eyebrow, indicating to his brother that he’d found a flaw in his theory.
‘Yes, she is. She’s an interior designer with a first in Economics from LSE who used to be in hedge funds but decided to change careers. She’s still The Type.’
Charlie frowned briefly, and I wondered if he was only just beginning to see that he did indeed have a type. A type I most definitely didn’t fall into.
‘I think it’s more coincidence than an actual choosing of a specific type, as you put it. They’re generally just the sort of women that I meet. I spend a lot of time at work so naturally those are the types I spend the most time with and get to know. Besides, it’s always good to have things in common like that, purely for conversational purposes, if nothing else.’
Amy nodded and smiled as the waiter came over to enquire as to whether we would be wanting dessert. I pretended to be studying the options but my mind was elsewhere. All I knew was that I suddenly had an uncomfortable, churning sense of City Boy déjà vu.
When the subject had come up yesterday, I’d told Charlie I didn’t mind that I hadn’t fitted in too well in Corporate Land. I’d brushed it off as if it didn’t matter. And it didn’t. Not really. What had mattered was that I’d been told by someone who was supposed to care about me that I didn’t fit in. That I was too ‘left field’ for where the company was going. Whatever the hell that meant.
I hadn’t shared any of it on my blog, instead putting on the sunny disposition that people had now come to expect of me, saying I was in an ‘exciting place and ready for a new challenge’. Even Amy didn’t know the whole truth. She’d been in her own difficult place and I wasn’t about to ask her to deal with my upset too. To the outside world, I’d been fine about losing my job, my boyfriend and being told I wasn’t good enough to ascend to the heights the company was now heading for – all on the same day. The only people that really knew how deeply it had hurt were my family. They were the only ones I felt safe enough to open up to, knowing I wouldn’t be judged. I didn’t have a perfect life, and my Instagram feed, for the most part, reflected that, unlike some. But even I knew that it was a curated version of my real life. Deep down I knew I was harbouring a fear that the real me might not be good enough for the world to see.
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