Major disaster after a good start. Discovered I am unemployable.
Then I found a solution!!!
Then I realised I was missing Simon so I messaged him:
RsQMe :-[[[[ (rescue me, I am unhappy)
He wrote back IRLEWan2CU
So I sent :-D)) (I’m very happy)
Then he sent :-) ~ (I am drooling)
I sent (O-O) (I am shocked)
He sent (((H))) (a big hug)
So I sent <3 (love heart)
I know it’s not exactly poetry, but then this is the 21st century.
My power breakfast was excellent. Iz sang in front of us and was really fab. She’s got something special. Her and Lucy are top friends
Then I saw an ad for a model agency. People always tell me that I look like a model so I’m going to phone and check it out tomorrow.
Hurrah! Hurrah!
Soon I will be wearing Gucci and earning loadsa£££££!
Chapter 7
First thing the next day, I picked up the phone and dialled the number of the agency I’d seen in the paper.
‘Morgan Elliot models,’ said a voice at the other end.
‘Good morgan, I mean morning,’ I said, putting on my professional voice.‘I read your ad in the paper for models and wanted to know what to do next.’
‘How old are you?’
I crossed my fingers. ‘Sixteen,’ I fibbed.
‘Well, first you need to come in and let us see if you have potential, then, if we think you do, you have to register. That costs sixty pounds and you should bring two hundred pounds for your portfolio as we’ll need pictures of you to send out to clients and we want to make you look the best you can. Now, would you like to arrange a time to come in and see Mr Elliot?’
Two hundred and sixty pounds? I thought. Where was I going to get that from? I only had thirty pounds left in my savings. Maybe I could borrow some.
‘Er, I’ll think it over,’ I said. ‘I’ve had a few offers and want to consider my options.’
‘What offers?’ called Tony from the sitting-room.
‘Er, none,’ I said, putting down the phone and hoping that he hadn’t overheard everything I’d said. ‘Just going horse-riding again this afternoon, maybe . . . probably . . . that’s one of my options.’
‘With the trustafarians?’
‘Durrhhh? The what?’
‘Trustafarians. You know, kids whose parents put lots of dosh in trust for them, until they’re twenty-one or something.’
‘Oh, yeah, with them.’
‘Down Hyde Park again?’
‘Yeah,’ I said, going in to join him on the sofa where he was watching a DVD of The Matrix for the third time.
‘Can I come with you?’ he said, flicking off the TV. ‘I’m not doing anything and I’m soooo bored. All my mates have gone down the West End but . . . you know,with us being financially challenged . . . no dosh for Tone to play with. A day out on the horses sounds a laugh.’
Simon was cool about Tony coming too. As we made our way over to Kensington, he called on my mobile to say he’d meet us in the park as he was giving a little boy a lesson there before seeing us.
I spotted Simon waiting on the track by Alexandra Gate as soon as we arrived in the park. He had three horses with him and I felt myself smile inside as we got closer. Looking gorgeous in jeans and a Barbour jacket, he seemed to get better-looking every time I saw him.
‘Hi,’ he said, striding forward and shaking Tony’s hand. ‘You must be Nesta’s brother?’
Tony grinned, nodded and pointed to the horses. ‘One of these for me?’
‘Certainly,’ said Simon. ‘Nesta said you’d never ridden before so I thought you might like to have a go. Here, put these on.’
As he handed us riding hats, the Portobello Princesses cantered by. WC was wearing her usual sour expression and was about to ride on. But then she saw Tony. I could see her say something to Tanya, then the two of them turned round, rode up to us and dismounted.
Off came her riding hat, out came her hair band as she shook her blonde hair and flicked it back, looking up at Tony flirtatiously. ‘It’s just so constricting,’ she said, smiling widely at him, ‘wearing your hair back all the time.’
I had to laugh to myself as I’ve seen girls react to Tony like this a million times.
Tony ran his fingers through his hair and kind of shook his head like in a shampoo commercial. ‘Ooooh. I know just what you mean . . .’ he grinned back at her, giving her his killer charm look.
She snorted with laughter. Woah Neddie, I thought. He’s not that funny.
‘Cressida, Tanya, this is Nesta’s brother, Tony,’ said Simon.
As always, when Tony’s introduced as my brother, the girls looked puzzled.
‘Same dad, different mothers,’ I said, going into the old familiar routine to explain our different colour skins.
‘Oh, yah,’ said Cressida, swishing her hair around, flick, flick, and not taking her eyes off Tony. ‘My parents are divorced as well.’
‘His mum’s dead, actually,’ I said flatly. How dare she assume that they’d got divorced?
Instead of looking embarrassed, WC linked her arm through Tony’s. ‘Oh, you poor darling,’ she cooed. ‘So you need a bit of looking after.’
‘Yeah,’ said Tony, who was loving every minute of it. ‘So Cress,’ he said. ‘Gonna show me how to horse-ride?’
Cress(!!!?) giggled.
‘It’s his first time,’ said Simon. ‘Put him on Heddie.’
‘Yes, my first time,’ whispered Tony seductively and looking at Cressida meaningfully. ‘I hope you’ll be gentle with me.’
She shrieked with laughter again, then turned to Simon. ‘Oh, don’t put him on Heddie, Si. Let him go on Prince. I promise I’ll take care of him.’
‘Well I was going to put Nesta on Prince this time, but . . .’
‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ I said. ‘I don’t mind Heddie. At least I know him from last time.’
As Tanya led the grey horse over to Tony, Cressida looked over at me and made eye contact for the first time.
Like yeah, I thought, I am here too.
The ‘smell under her nose’ look returned as she saw what I was wearing. ‘Cream jodhpurs!’ she snorted. ‘Nesta darling, no one wears cream jodhpurs.’
Luckily for her, Tony didn’t hear as he was chatting to Tanya. Tony can be a flirt, but he’s still my big brother and won’t let anyone bully me or be horrid.
‘Er, no, Cress darling, I think I do,’ I said, smoothing the jodhpurs over my thighs. ‘Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, are you?’
‘No, really, sweetheart, it’s you who’s not the brightest crayon in the box,’ cooed Cressida. ‘Proper riders wear dark colours.’
I leant forward so only she could hear me. ‘Actually, Cressida, most people wear dark colours to disguise their fat thighs. Very few people can wear cream. You have to be very slim to get away with it.’
She blushed angrily. I knew I’d hit a sore spot. She may have fabulous hair and a pretty face when she lightens up and she may be slimmish but her build is pear-shape, with a slightly big bottom and thighs.
I went over to join the others. I noticed Cressida hadn’t said anything about Tony not wearing the right gear. He was dressed in khaki combats and a fleece, but Cressida didn’t seem bothered about what he was dressed in, only that he paid her some attention. Tony was trying to get up on the horse and, a bit like me when I tried the other day, he was all over the place.
Cressida was straight in to help.
‘Put your hand on my shoulder,’ she said, diving in beside him. ‘Foot in the stirrup, then lift yourself up.’
Tony milked it for all he was worth. First he managed to get his foot stuck in the stirrup so he had to hang on to Cressida to hold him up. Unlike my first time when she’d laughed at me, this time she was all kindness and understanding.
Luckily for Tony, Prince was a patient horse and didn’t seem to mind hi
s antics as he attempted to get up into the saddle but kept falling back into Cressida’s waiting arms. Hah, I thought. If only you knew what he was really like. Tony’s one of those rare boys who can fool girls into thinking she’s the only one there and so special. I’d seen him do it so many times. He may be gorgeous to look at but I know what a love rat he really is.
Simon helped me up on to Heddie and when we were all ready, we began to trot up the track. Cressida gave me a filthy look as she passed me so I grinned back at her and turned my riding hat round backwards like some people wear their baseball caps.
‘You have to wear the proper gear to be a serious rider,’ I called to Tony who was behind me. He gave me the thumbs-up and promptly turned his hat round backwards as well.
Simon cracked up and immediately did the same.
Cressida turned back and was about to scowl when she saw what I had done. Then she saw Tony and Simon’s hats and looked like she was going to be sick as she tried to change the scowl to a smile.
‘Cool, huh, Cress?’ called Tony.
‘Er, yah,’ she said. But she couldn’t bring herself to turn her hat round.
Nesta’s Diary
Had a brillopad day riding today. Looked fab in cream jodhpurs. WC was sniffy about them. Later on Simon explained that serious riders only wear dark jodhpurs because they have to muck out their horse’s stable after riding. Poo. I can’t imagine owning my own horse. Must be top.
It was cool having Tony along today. WC made an effort to be more pleasant to me because he was there. Well, at least when he was around. Must make use of this and take him along more often. We had a real laugh wearing our hats backwards but of course WC was suffering her usual sense of humour failure and was not amused.
Phoned model agency. They want £260 to register and do a portfolio. Am seriously considering it so that I can be mega-rich and buy a whole stable of horses.
Am getting the hang of horse-riding. Be cool. Be unafraid. Be gentle. Don’t try and run before you can walk. Ha ha.
I got on a lot better with Heddie today. I didn’t feel so frightened and I think the feeling was mutual.
I don’t think it must be very nice to have a leathery bit thing in the mouth that people pull on. No wonder he wouldn’t do what I wanted the first time, when he wanted to eat grass and I kept yanking him up. It must have hurt. Now I have decided to be very gentle and just nudge him a little when I want to go off instead of kicking him. It seemed to work better. I think he knew I was trying to be nice. Also, it’s common sense that if you treat anyone, human or animal, nicely, they will be nice back (except WC).
Maybe if I don’t become an actress I will be the English Horse Whisperer. Maybe not, as that would probably mean mucking out, which I don’t fancy the sound of at all.
Chapter 8
Sometimes holidays can seem like eternity, I thought, as I mooched around our empty flat the following morning. All the world seemed to be busy except me.
Simon was going to lunch with his dad at a hotel called the Connaught. They were going to discuss His Future.
Izzie was rehearsing with Ben the Buddhist and his band King Noz. She’d decided at the power breakfast that she’s going to go for it and sing at the next gig. It’s a really big deal for her as she’s never shown anyone her songs, never mind performed live in front of an audience. She is very brave.
Lucy was being all secretive and said she was doing a ‘sewing project’.
Tony had gone to Hampstead Heath with yet another girlfriend. He’s been going through them like hot cakes lately. One a week. The phone’s always going with girls on the other end wanting to speak to him. He says it’s the only way to help him get over Lucy. I know he’s hoping that I’ll pass this on and make Lucy jealous, but I don’t. Lucy seems to be doing just fine without him, unlike some other girl I could name. It was hysterical when we went horse-riding – Cressida was all over him like a rash and dropped humungous hints that she didn’t have a boyfriend at the moment and was free in the week. But Tony was doing his cooler than cool act and didn’t ask her out. He said he prefers Tanya anyway.
Mum was working the sunrise shift again. She still hasn’t heard if her contract was to be renewed and has been spending loads of time these days scouring newspapers looking for alternative jobs.
Dad wasn’t due back from Manchester until Friday night. I’ll probably be in bed when he arrives. I’ll leave a nice welcome home note for him.
And me? Not busy. Unoccupied.
I picked up the papers I’d bought a couple of days before and was about to put them in the recycling bin. Should I try the modelling agency again, I wondered? Maybe I could just go down there and check the place out? I wouldn’t have to commit. Should I? Shouldn’t I?
I picked up the telephone and dialled.
‘Can I come over?’ I asked when Lucy answered the phone. ‘I know you’re sewing but I promise I’ll sit in the corner and won’t make a sound. You won’t even know I’m there.’
‘Sure,’ said Lucy. ‘In fact, I may have a surprise for you.’
Lucy’s bedroom floor was knee-deep in bits of assorted fabric.
‘Careful,’ she said from her desk where she was sitting in front of her mum’s sewing machine. ‘Stand on the bits of carpet in between.’
‘What are you making?’ I said as I tiptoed my way through bits of lace, silk and crêpe to the bed.
‘I’m experimenting. See,’ she pointed to a newspaper by her bed, ‘have a look in there. A few pages in. I nicked it from one of your papers on Sunday. Look at the page about fashion week. There’s a designer called Elspeth Gibson, got it? Read what it says about her.’
I turned to the page she said and scanned the many designers featured on the page: Ben de Lisi, Ronit Zilkha, Ghost, then in the bottom right, Elspeth Gibson.
‘Wow. Lucy. These are lush,’ I said, looking at the designs.
‘Yeah, but read what it says about Elspeth Gibson,’ insisted Lucy.
‘Jodhpurs are topped with fragile Edwardian-style blouses and a hacking jacket goes over a flirt’s skirt of frothy chiffon . . .’
‘Exactly,’ interrupted Lucy, indicating the floor with her arms. ‘We’ve got frothy, we’ve got chiffon. It says what’s in is a mixture of new and vintage. Like tweed with organza, a bit of lace against chiffon, velvet and Lycra.’
‘You’re really into all this, aren’t you?’ I asked. She looked so animated. Enthusiastic.
Lucy nodded. ‘I’ve really found my thing. I love making clothes. And seeing those designs in the paper, I thought that’s exactly what I like doing. Mixing old and new. Vintage clothing is still in. Loads of celebs wear it for the Oscars.’ She pointed to the wardrobe. ‘Have a look in there, Nesta, at the bottom.’
I did as I was told, being careful not to stand on the bits of material on the floor. I reached into the wardrobe and pulled out the bin bag. It was full of bits of material and old clothes.
‘What am I looking for?’ I asked, sifting through more cut-up blouses on the top.
‘A jacket down the bottom somewhere. That’s the bag of stuff that belonged to my grandmother.’
‘Ah,’ I said. ‘The treasure trove.’
I knew all about this bag. In the autumn term, Lucy had found it in the cupboard under the stairs where her mum had stashed it years ago with a load of junk. It was full of clothes from the forties and fifties. Lucy used bits of the old fabric to do some of her early designs, two of which were fab tops for Izzie and me.
‘It’s at the bottom,’ said Lucy, watching me rummage around.
In the end, I emptied all the clothes out on the floor, adding to the mess.
‘There,’ said Lucy, pointing to a jacket.
I picked it up. ‘OhmyGod.’
‘Try it on,’ beamed Lucy.
It was the most perfect riding jacket.
‘I know,’ grinned Lucy. ‘It was after we’d been to that riding gear shop the other day. I thought, I’m sure I’ve seen a jack
et like that somewhere, but I didn’t say at the time as I didn’t want to get your hopes up.’
The label inside said Harris Tweed and it was brown with little fudge- and cream-coloured flecks. It was far nicer than any of the ones we’d seen in the shop. I put it on. It fitted perfectly and was beautifully cut, nipping in at the waist.
‘Sleeves are a bit short,’ said Lucy, getting up and examining the arms, ‘but I can let them down a little.’
‘Lucy, I love it. Can I wear it? Really?’
‘Yeah, course, it’s yours,’ said Lucy. ‘And that’s not all.’ She held up a floaty cream voile blouse with a ruffle down the front.
‘Try it on with this,’ she said. ‘I made it from that dress that I got from Portobello.’
‘But you bought it for you,’ I said. ‘For the material.’
‘Loads of material left in the skirt,’ said Lucy. ‘And, anyway, all good designers have models that take their collections out into the public. You can be my live mannequin. Come on, try it on.’
I stripped off and put on the blouse, then the jacket.
‘Wear those with your cream jodhpurs and I reckon you’ll look like you stepped straight out of Vogue.’
I looked at my reflection in the mirror. She was right. The outfit looked just like one of those from the fashion week.
‘And if I borrow Mum’s knee-high boots, it’ll look amazing,’ I said. ‘Lucy, you really are a top friend.’
Lucy blushed. ‘No prob,’ she said. ‘Now let’s let those sleeves down.’
After Lucy finished her sewing, I gave her a manicure and pedicure as a thank you. And I did it really properly. I got a bowl from the kitchen and filled it with hot water. Then we put in some of the magnolia bubble bath that Lucy got for Christmas and she soaked her feet. Then I did a bit of a massage on her feet and hands with vanilla body lotion before painting her nails the pale blue colour that she’s into at the moment.
Mates, Dates and Portobello Princesses Page 6
