The Personal Shopper (Annie Valentine)

by Carmen Reid

  It was absolutely breathtaking. She’d waited patiently all her adult life for a ring like this. Roddy’s promise to her when she turned 30 (didn’t happen then) . . . well, maybe when the big job came (didn’t happen then) . . . well, maybe with the profits of the next house move (didn’t happen then) . . . the day had never come. It turned out to be too hard to lash out hard-earned money on a diamond once they had children and a mortgage.

  She’d even briefly considered buying herself the ring out of Roddy’s small life insurance – but that had seemed far too frivolous.

  ‘Oh . . . my . . . God,’ she managed finally in a low and breathy voice.

  Gray’s eyes were trained on her face, waiting for the smile to break and the overwhelming ‘yes’ of renewed commitment to come.

  Instead, Annie asked, ‘What about Marilyn?’

  Before he could make any excuse or fresh fib or cover up, she added simply, ‘I know you saw her yesterday.’ And with those words she wondered when he had bought the ring. Before seeing his wife? Afterwards? Today? At some early morning fabulous diamond store? Or in the days before the big row? It seemed important to know.

  A splutter emerged from Gray in response to her question.

  ‘Marilyn . . . well . . .’ he stammered, ‘she wanted to have a chat about the divorce . . . how things were going with me. And I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to think—’

  ‘There’s never any need to lie to me about anything . . . I hope,’ Annie told him coolly. ‘If you lie and I find out then I’m going to think all sorts of things. Right now, I’m thinking: your ex-wife wanted to talk, so you take her for a cosy lunch at Le Pont d’Or? Hmmm. Then you offer me a big, stunning diamond. Hmmm. This is strange behaviour, Gray. This is a man who’s not sure what he wants.’

  Something about his flickering look – it went from her to his coffee cup, to the ring box in her hand and back to her – made her decision clear to her once again. Carefully she closed the box on the breathtaking, once-in-a-lifetime diamond and placed it gently down on the table, then she slid it slowly back towards him.

  Feeling tears of regret pricking at the back of her eyes, she told him: ‘I’m sorry, Gray. I’m really sorry, but we’re not going to work out.’ Catching the gasp these words seemed to have provoked at the back of her throat, she added, ‘We need someone for the three of us . . . someone to take us all on. You’re a very special person’ – the tears were slipping freely down her cheeks now – ‘you’ll be really good for someone else. But you’re not the one for us. I’m sorry.’

  He hung his head at these words and may even have been squeezing back some tears of his own. Annie wiped at her cheeks, then took several tissues from the box Gray was thoughtfully holding out for her and blew her nose hard.

  After several moments, she felt together enough to ask, ‘You will get a refund on that ring, won’t you? You didn’t buy it off a dodgy internet site?’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get a refund,’ he told her before putting his hand on her arm and asking if she was absolutely sure . . . wouldn’t she like some time to think this over?

  ‘No. This is the right thing,’ she assured him. ‘Hard to do, but still the right thing. Bloody hell!’ she added after a moment’s pause. ‘Packing again!’

  ‘Where are you going to go?’ he asked. ‘Your flat’s—’

  ‘Rented out for another five months, I know. Well . . .’ She’d worked through a plan on the way up the motorway. ‘We’ll stay at Connor’s till I’ve hustled up a deposit, then I mortgage myself to the hilt and buy the place in need of a makeover I was planning to get anyway – so it’ll be fine,’ she assured him.

  ‘You don’t have a job right now, Annie,’ he reminded her.

  ‘That’s never stopped me before,’ she told him firmly.

  ‘You can stay here as long as you need to,’ Gray offered, maybe in some last hope that he’d be able to persuade her to stay . . . or maybe just because he felt guilty.

  ‘No, no. It’s best we go. I might have to leave some boxes here for bit, just till we get sorted. But I’ll load up now with whatever I can.’

  She stood up, leaving both the coffee and the diamond untouched on the table.

  ‘Strong drink required,’ was Connor’s verdict when Annie arrived back at his place looking pale and tired, laden down with most of her and her children’s possessions.

  ‘Is that your answer to everything?’ she wondered.

  ‘In what situations does strong drink not work?’ he wondered back.

  ‘Driving test?’

  ‘You have a point.’

  She, Connor and his boyfriend, Hector, got a little tipsy on fizzy wine he’d blagged from some photo shoot and all shared giant man-sized pizzas with Lana and Owen.

  Annie hadn’t realized, until she, her children and most of their belongings had arrived, that Hector was now a live-in fixture at Connor’s.

  Tipsy on the fizz and conscious that Annie might not want to have to talk about Gray, or moving, or not being able to go home, or the general chaos, Connor and Hector drummed up enthusiasm for a ruthless card game with truth or dare as the consequence of failure.

  It involved Connor having to reveal who he’d first kissed (a girl, of course, way back in the days before he’d admitted he was gay), and Hector having to lean out of the window and shout ‘Darlings, isn’t it a wonderful evening!’ Lana, who under no circumstances was choosing ‘truth’, had to promise she would go to school in the morning with her shirt tucked in, her cardigan done up all the way and pigtails.

  Owen had no problem with imitating five different farmyard animals on the balcony and then finally it was Annie’s turn.

  ‘Truth! Truth!’ Lana chanted. ‘We want to know everything.’

  ‘No way!’ was Annie’s response. ‘Oh . . . it’ll all come out in the wash anyway . . . eventually. Cover your ears, Owen.’ In a whisper she added, ‘Yes, he wasn’t exactly the best in bed . . . you already know that though, don’t you?’

  Connor and Lana nodded, while Owen added: ‘I heard that!’

  ‘Anyway, dare. I chose dare, go on . . . bet you can’t think of anything I’m scared to do. I ain’t scared of anything now, Connor McCabe.’

  A slow, cunning smile began to spread across Connor’s face. ‘Oh-oh! Nothing I like more than a challenge. Right, Annie Valentine . . . here’s your dare.’

  He paused for a moment, for entirely dramatic effect.

  ‘You have to kiss again the last person you kissed passionately.’

  ‘Ha!’ she laughed. ‘Well that’s impossible. I’ve broken off with Gray, Roddy’s . . . unavailable. I haven’t kept the numbers of any previous dates . . .’

  ‘Mum!’ came from Lana.

  ‘No, no, no, my girl,’ Connor interrupted, ‘I don’t mean any of them.’

  Annie looked at him blankly.

  ‘Can’t think?’ he asked.

  ‘No idea what you’re talking about,’ she insisted.

  ‘OK, I’m going to tell you a little story, Annie,’ Connor began. ‘One afternoon, I took the tube up to Highgate to see my friends Annie, Lana and Owen. When I arrived at their lovely little mansion block, the lift was out of action, so I swung open the heavy door at the foot of the stairs and began my climb up . . .’ In full dramatic flight now with voice modulation and eye rolling in the style of a murder-mystery narrator, Connor went on: ‘I was wearing rubber-soled shoes and as I climbed up, noticing how noiseless they were against the beautiful stone steps, I thought I heard your voice high up in the stairwell above me. Yes, it was definitely you and you were talking to someone . . . Is it starting to come back now?’

  Annie made no reply, so he went on: ‘Yes, you were talking, then all of a sudden there was total silence. I sped up, taking the steps two at a time, wondering what was happening, and that’s when I got a glimpse of you, two flights above me, totally entangled with someone. The kiss went on and on and on, my girl. Remember now?’

 
Annie was starting to look a little strange: slightly too pale but with a pink flush across her cheeks.

  ‘I tiptoed as quietly as I could back down the staircase so that I didn’t interrupt anything, then I waited for a few minutes. Imagine my surprise when tripping down the stairs, with a great spring in his step, came—’

  ‘That’s enough utter nonsense, Connor!’ Annie stopped him. ‘What a complete fantasist you are.’

  She looked over at her children, who were glued to Connor with expectation.

  ‘Who?!’ asked Lana.

  ‘All I’m saying,’ Connor looked squarely at Annie, ‘is that if you want to stay here any longer, you better go and kiss that man again. That’s my dare.’

  ‘Huh!’ Annie huffed, ‘I need to go to bed,’ and with that, she picked herself up from the sofa and headed towards the door.

  But then she turned and added angrily: ‘Here’s my dare to you, Connor McCabe. Grow up, and you know what else? Come out properly, for goodness’s sake. Don’t fudge it in the interviews any more. In the twenty-first century it’s a bad career move to be an actor who isn’t gay.’

  She slammed the door hard behind her.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Annie in action:

  Pale grey and silver striped trousers (Toast sale)

  Crisp white wrap blouse, big collars and cuffs (last year’s MaxMara)

  Shiny silver and turquoise neck cuff (Camden market)

  Pale caramel shoes (Chanel)

  Light red nail varnish (Chanel)

  Light red lipstick (Chanel)

  Tight ponytail

  Est. cost: Don’t even think about it

  ‘It’s a waste of money to economize on yourself.’

  It was close to 1.30 a.m., but Annie was still hunched over her laptop putting the finishing touches to the introductory paragraphs on her Annie V Trading Station web-pages.

  This was the largest amount of goods she’d ever tried to sell, but she was hoping to raise money just as quickly as she could. Life with the actor boys could not be tolerated for more than a few more weeks at the most and she wasn’t quite ready to accept a family loan, although it was nice to know it had been offered: ‘Annie, I’m your sister!’ Nic had insisted, when she’d called. ‘I’m also a lawyer, in case you hadn’t noticed. I can lend you the money for a flat deposit, or to rent somewhere else for a while.’

  ‘Annie, if you need any help, financially . . .’ Fern had begun.

  ‘We have more money now, you could borrow some . . .’ was Dinah’s offer.

  But no, Annie had to try to get there on her own first.

  Now, she just needed to finalize her sales pitch because she had a pile of cracking stuff to shift – she had scoured secondhand shops and sale rails across London, plus approached every client she could think of and offered to sell on their cast-offs for commission.

  Hello girls, her website note began, as usual.

  Do I have some fabulous, fabulous things in store for you today. It’s the on-line equivalent of Opening Day at the Harrods sale. There’s going to be tussling and handbags at dawn. Put your very best bids in, girls, nothing will be left on the shelf.

  Today, I’m bringing you the property of:

  One Ukrainian fashion maven (Svetlana’s divorce fighting fund)

  Several wealthy young ladies (the Syrup Six’s prized personal possessions, rustled up to plug the hole in the charity account)

  A footballer’s moll (Dannii was ridding her life of bling after another bitching in heat)

  An unbowed divorcee (Megan had been talked into selling off some of the clothes from her married years)

  A Lady of the Arts (These were very special things: Mrs B-P – recovering nicely and determined to live life to the full – had handed over designer labels, expensive classics, several collectable handbags and wouldn’t hear of taking a penny for them. Not now and not in the future: ‘Annie, I can help, I want to help, so be a good girl and let me help.’)

  As well as the treasures unearthed for you this week by me, your very own on-line Personal Shopper.

  As I said before, girls . . . do not hang about. Grab yourself a bargain! Remember always that it’s a waste of money to economize on yourself. I think Coco Chanel said that.

  Keep it coming . . .

  Annie V xxxx

  Speech Day was a big event at St Vincent’s. It was held two days before the end of term and even the most stressed and frantically busy London parent pulled out all the stops in order to attend.

  This was St Vincent’s on parade. Every pupil was scrubbed and combed, the lawns were freshly mown, every one of the building’s Victorian windows washed; even the gold lettering beaming down from the walls of the impressive assembly hall looked freshly polished.

  Annie had persuaded Dinah to come with her and both were in knee-length dresses with bold prints and fashionable cuts (Annie: TK Maxx, Dinah: Marc Jacobs full price! ‘I could have got that for you for less.’ ‘I don’t care!’). They had pastel macs folded over their arms (Annie: Primark, Dinah: Jigsaw), carried good bags and wore status shoes. It was that kind of event.

  ‘Think chic summer wedding. But no corsage or hat,’ Annie had instructed.

  Settled into the middle of a row, not too far from the front, Annie and her sister watched the prizes being handed out: Athletics, Cricket, Tennis, Badminton, French, German, English, History, Maths, Science, Latin, Greek, Music, House Cup for this, House Cup for that, Chess, Debating, Dominoes, Tiddlywinks. It went on for ever. But finally it was time for Lana and the other members of the Syrup Six to cross the stage and hand over a cheque for £11,000 to Mr Ketteringham-Smith.

  Two days ago, Annie had written the girls a cheque for £500: the money raised by the sale of their stuff on her website.

  The other £1,500 had come from Suzie’s father, who had now been brought fully up to speed with his daughter’s personal problems.

  ‘Lana looks adorable,’ Dinah whispered in Annie’s ear and it was true. On Speech Day, senior girls were allowed to wear dresses and Lana had chosen (from Miss Selfridge) a short-sleeved white cotton wrap with cornflowers strewn about it. When in doubt, pick out your eye colouring with your clothes – a classic Annie rule.

  Lana’s hair was tied back loosely with strands flying as she walked shyly across the stage to deafening applause. Despite the hiccups with the fund-raising, Annie still felt a rush of pride in her daughter.

  Now it was time for the musical performance. Annie could feel her stomach knot with tension. The school orchestra struck up with a collection of jaunty and unusual numbers, all Ed’s choice, no doubt.

  He was conducting the young musicians – she was pleased to see – wearing one of the outfits they’d chosen on the interview shopping trip.

  With a great clumping of heavy black shoes on wood, the school choir filed on stage, then a much smaller group of musicians in front of them: two violin players, a drummer and finally Owen, clutching his guitar, looking small and skinny way up there on stage.

  Annie could see he was pale with anxiety. Her stomach knotted tighter, she could feel her throat drying and clenching, so she gave a concerted swallow. Her hand felt for Dinah’s and she gave it a nervous squeeze. Dinah squeezed back.

  The music began: verse one, then the chorus, then the strummed solo guitar intro to verse two and then Owen’s solo . . .

  If Annie had thought it would go quickly, she was wrong. Time slowed to a standstill and every one of Owen’s notes hung and wavered in the air for her, every one of his breaths between notes seemed to take an entire minute: it was as if he could only sing if she willed it to happen.

  She never breathed once during the entire verse, as his clear voice sailed over the crowd, then his lone guitar chords followed, and finally the choir and other musicians joined in.

  Owen was still singing but now there was a delighted flush of pink and a smile trying to run away all over his face.

  Annie let out a great sigh of relief and
an irrepressible smile of her own broke out.

  ‘She sought Ed out in the crush of parents and staff jockeying for cream teas afterwards.

  ‘Wasn’t Owen amazing, I don’t know if I can ever thank you enough,’ Annie told him, squeezing his arm.

  Ed, balancing teacup, saucer and a tiny plate overloaded with three scones and a mountain of cream, gave one of his blushes, then sneezed, spilling tea all over the floor.

  ‘Whooops, I didn’t hit you, did I?’

  ‘No. This is my sister Dinah,’ Annie introduced her. ‘Lana and Owen’s music teacher, Ed Leon.’

  Ed nodded awkwardly, indicating that hands full made shaking impossible.

  ‘So when are you heading to Boston?’ Annie asked, adding for Dinah’s benefit, ‘Ed’s very clever, he’s got a term’s placement at Harvard to study American folk music and he’s spending the summer travelling round the States.’

  ‘Wow!’ Dinah told him. ‘That’s great.’

  ‘Day after tomorrow,’ he told them, but looked more anxious at the prospect than excited. ‘First day of the school holidays, I’m away.’

  He was looking at Annie in a slightly troubled way, as if there was something he wanted to say to her.

  ‘Well, we should be saying our goodbyes then,’ Annie said with a smile. ‘I hope you have a great time. Really great.’ She met his eyes and held them for a moment: ‘You deserve this, Ed, enjoy it. We’ll look forward to hearing all about it when you get back.’

  She was just about to lean over his full hands and give him a little kiss on the cheek when he said, ‘Yeah, well . . . have a good summer . . . all of you,’ then teacup, saucer, scones and all, he turned away from them and headed into the crowd.

  ‘Huh? That was a little cool, considering how much we’ve seen of him – how friendly he’s been with the children,’ Annie couldn’t help telling her sister.

  ‘Maybe he’s just stressed out by this whole school show-off event thing going on here. But great talent-spotting venue, Annie?’ Dinah rallied. ‘We should circle the room, picking off all the single dads for you.’