How Not To Shop

by Carmen Reid

She even took out her phone and sent a text to Bob, who was always complaining about his wife's spending habits.

  'Tell yr wife to shop at Mango. Cheap and fabulous. See you Mon. Annie x'

  After a few minutes the reply beeped in: 'OK. U on 10.15 train Mon?' 'Yup,' she texted back. 'Bring gd book. It takes 6.5 hrs,' came Bob's reply.

  'What!' she responded, 'Hw will Svet n Miss cope?'

  She had looked on Owen's map and told herself that Glasgow was not so far away really. It certainly hadn't occurred to her that she would be spending almost all of Monday on the train.

  They were filming up there for two days, just like in Birmingham, so did that mean she'd be spending all of Thursday on the train too? Plus Saturday was Ed's birthday and she still hadn't got him anything.

  That was when the pang of guilt about the bags in her hands struck for the very first time. She should have been extending her overdraft for Ed . . .

  Her phone buzzed with another text from Bob.

  'Svet and Miss go on plane,' it read.

  What?!

  That was so UNFAIR!

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Nikki on the train:

  Floral blouse (Mango)

  Jeans (Evisu)

  Black ankle boots (Hobbs)

  Total est. cost: £230

  'I'm on the slow train to nowhere.'

  It was 4.30 p.m. when the slow train finally pulled up in Glasgow Central station. There had been other much faster trains which had whizzed past them, shooting passengers up to Glasgow in under five hours in brand new tilting carriages. But Annie, Bob and Nikki with their £45 budget tickets had chuntered slowly up towards Scotland, stopping at every little station on the way.

  Annie felt rumpled, bored, toxic, dehydrated and horrible.

  'I'm on the slow train to nowhere,' she'd heard Nikki complain on the phone, 'along with my career.' If she'd spent six and a half hours on a plane, she'd be in New York by now! Instead, she was piling out along with Nikki, Bob and all his camera equipment into a cavernous Victorian monster of a station.

  And Finn, Svetlana and Miss Marlise had flown! She still felt outraged about this. They had touched down in Glasgow hours and hours ago.

  'I'm going to do a bit of location scouting with the girls,' Finn had apparently explained to Bob. 'I'll take my camera and if we find some good spots I'll record a few to-camera pieces just to save time.'

  Annie had had to choke back the lump of wounded pride in her throat when she'd heard that.

  It was more proof, as if she needed it, that Finn didn't like her. Never mind all the good work she'd done with Cath and Jody, Finn hadn't forgiven her for Tina and maybe he wouldn't. Maybe she was going to be shunted down to wardrobe lady status for the rest of the filming. Maybe she would just be filmed in the background? Dressing the women, but not saying a word on camera.

  The thought of this had brought the lump of wounded pride bobbing up into her throat again.

  'Finally in Scotland!' she'd texted Ed as the train had pulled into the station . . . because she wanted to keep in touch without making him feel she was obsessing.

  Even though she was obsessing.

  Annie's main concern was: what would Elena do to her family while she was away? Would she lure Lana away from her studies and off into London's swirly nightlife?

  And what about Ed? He was completely immune to the giggly charms of sixth-form girls but Annie didn't like the way Elena smiled at him, seemed to study him when he wasn't looking . . .

  'She's trouble,' Annie had whispered to him. 'Please don't go falling in love with her while I'm away, will you?'

  'Annie! You're away for three nights,' Ed had laughed. 'I think I can handle Miss Slinky Trousers while you're gone. But how long is she staying with us anyway? Did Svetlana give you any sort of clue at all?'

  'No, but no vorrrrry, I ask when I see herrrrr,' Annie had told him.

  When she arrived with Nikki and Bob at the Novotel all Annie wanted to do was get to her room and get under the shower before the first briefing meeting. She felt grubby and grungy. Even if grunge did make a comeback, which surely it was bound to do if right now was the tail end of the eighties revival, she wouldn't be going there.

  Her look was grown up: chic, polished and pulled together.

  'Annie Valentine,' she told the receptionist, as she watched Bob and Nikki picking up their keys. The receptionist tapped at the computer keyboard but then looked at it with a puzzled expression.

  'I'm with the film crew, same booking as them,' Annie added, trying to be helpful.

  'Yes.' The receptionist tappity-tapped again but didn't seem to find anything useful. 'Who made the booking?' she asked.

  'Donnie Finnigan' Annie said, assuming this would be right.

  'I'll contact him for you,' she said with a smile, then picked up a phone and dialled the number on the screen in front of her.

  'Hello, is that Mr Finnigan?' she asked. 'This is Novotel reception. I have an Annie Valentine here who's looking for a room . . . right . . . right then . . . OK thank you Mr Finnigan.'

  When she'd replaced the phone, the receptionist looked up at Annie and told her, 'He's just coming down.'

  'He's coming down?' Annie repeated. That didn't seem right. 'Can't you sort this on the phone?' she asked.

  'Well, we could, but I think he wants to speak to you,' came the receptionist's reply.

  Why hadn't he queried the room not being booked, anyway? Annie wondered. Had he known it wasn't booked?

  Oh no.

  Maybe she wasn't staying here.

  Maybe there was an ever cheaper hotel round the corner that poor old Annie Valentine would have to stay in because, guess what? There just weren't quite enough rooms available at the Novotel.

  Annie began to walk in a circle round the reception area. She caught a glimpse of herself in a shiny glass partition. She wanted a shower! She needed that shower! Even her sharp black mac collars seemed to have wilted during their time on the train.

  Once again she found herself querying the ponytail. Was it the right thing? It had been the right thing for so long, but was it still the right thing?

  'Annie!' Finn interrupted her thoughts. He was wearing his leather jacket, carrying his trusty clipboard and had his Bluetooth in one ear. These were all meant to signal that he was Extremely Busy making Important Decisions.

  'Grab your bag, I'm taking you across the road,' he instructed.

  She knew it. This bloody hotel was bloody full and she was going somewhere crap! Unfortunately, she wasn't allowed to express any sort of anger or disapproval because right then Finn began to talk at speed and she guessed that it wasn't to himself but in response to a voice in the earpiece.

  Maybe Finn was controlled by the earpiece, Annie speculated as she followed him out of the hotel door, across the road and into a small bar. It was a nice bar; usually she would have enjoyed being taken to a bar like this with its traditional wooden floor and wooden, leather and brass fittings. It looked cosy and quiet. But the thought of a sit-down chat with Finn about her crap hotel and her new position as wardrobe lady was not exactly appealing, no matter how nice the setting.

  'Sorry, I'm going to have to shoot,' Finn told his caller and immediately turned to Annie with a tense smile. 'So what's your poison?' he asked.

  'I don't really need a drink. I think I'd prefer a shower,' she replied.

  'No, no, I want to buy you a drink. Glass of wine?' he suggested.

  'Well . . . OK,' she agreed hesitantly.

  What the bloody hell was going on? Maybe he was about to apologize? Maybe he'd looked at the Tina footage again and realized how brilliant it was? Maybe she too would be on the plane . . .

  With two glasses of wine now in his hands, Finn steered Annie and her bags to a booth at the back of the bar.

  As soon as her bottom hit the seat, Finn began his spiel. He certainly didn't want to hang about.

  'Annie, I'm really very sorry,' he began, 'but we're going to have to
let you go.'

  Let.

  You.

  Go.

  Go? Her mind repeated the question.

  Go where? she wondered frantically.

  Let you?

  But she didn't want to. Certainly hadn't asked to.

  Let.

  You.

  Go.

  What was this?

  Things seemed to go into slow motion. Even Finn's words seemed to be coming out one by one, too slowly, with very long pauses in between, giving Annie's mind time to race.

  Was he sacking her? Was the TV show about to be pulled away from under her feet? Was this all over now?

  'Let me go?' she repeated, her voice full of confusion.

  'I am so sorry,' Finn repeated, 'but the budget is just being squeezed and squeezed. Every day I'm working with less money than I was the day before.'

  'But you're hardly saving any money getting rid of me . . . I have a contract . . .' she blundered on.

  Surely she would still be entitled to all of the £3,600, wouldn't she? They were two-thirds of the way through the filming schedule, plus she'd schlepped all the way up to Glasgow.

  'Of course, we'll pay you for all the work you've done,' Finn said carefully, 'but I think you'll find that . . . er . . . under the terms and conditions, we don't need to pay for anything else.'

  Silence hung between them for a moment or two.

  Despite the horrible sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Annie heard herself ask, 'But won't it look a bit strange? You know – you have me shopping and sorting out everyone's outfits in the first episode and then I just disappear?'

  'Well, yes, we are going to have to address that . . .' Finn fudged. He reached for his glass and took a gulp of wine.

  'You're going to edit me out!' Annie exclaimed. 'You're going to use all the clever outfits I chose, but you're going to edit me out. Aren't you!?'

  Suddenly Finn came over all sympathetic and best-friend-ish – the rat.

  'It's awful, it's just absolutely awful,' he agreed, 'I am so, so sorry. If I'd had any idea how tight the margins were going to be, I wouldn't have dreamed of having three presenters. I can barely afford one. Miss Marlise has a watertight contract and thank goodness Svetlana has agreed to waive her fee. I need to keep her on for all the useful publicity she's going to generate for us . . .'

  As Finn went on with his pleading and excuses, Annie could only think: Marlise has a watertight contract and Svetlana has agreed to work for free! Annie Valentine, you are the weakest link: goodbye!

  'Well, I signed the contract you gave me,' Annie pointed out, 'I trusted you.'

  There was a pause, which Finn didn't offer to fill.

  'I can't afford to work for free,' Annie told him, holding her head up high and trying to retain a scrap of dignity although she felt as if she'd been hit in the stomach and she was sure this was obvious from her flushed face.

  'No, that's what I thought . . .' Finn took another sip from his glass. He looked uncomfortable; his eyes kept travelling towards the door as if he was desperate to make a bolt for it.

  'You were good on TV,' he added, but Annie could really have done with less of the 'were'. Clearly her TV career was over, before it had even begun.

  'It's not just the budget,' Finn added finally. 'Tina's been given a video diary of her makeover and Marlise informed me that it was your idea.'

  'Oh.'

  She hoped she hadn't got Bob into trouble as well.

  'I twisted Bob's arm,' she added, hoping to get the cameraman off the hook. 'I was just trying to be nice to Tina,' she said softly, not that anything was going to save her now. She was just another necessary budget cut.

  Watching Finn take another gulp from his glass, Annie thought of another question:

  'Couldn't you have told me this in London?'

  'I always like to tell people face to face, like a grown-up,' the rat replied.

  'So . . . have you arranged for me to get home?' Annie asked. The more she tried not to cry, the more fierce and icy she seemed to sound.

  'Ah . . .'

  Maybe he hadn't. Maybe Finn was enough of an idiot to imagine that he could summon someone up on a six-and-a-half-hour train journey before firing them and making them disappear into the ether.

  'I'm sure there's a plane. Easyjet . . . they go up and down all the time. Cheap, too . . . because we obviously won't be able to pay . . . erm . . .' he coughed, 'you understand.'

  No. She definitely did not understand. Not any of it. She did not understand why she was being sacked, when she was the presenter who did the most work and for so little money! She did not understand why Finn couldn't have phoned her this morning and spared her the humiliation, not to mention the expense, of finding her own way back to London.

  'I thought I was doing a good job,' were the words she chose carefully to argue her case one last time. 'The women looked great when I'd styled them, I was always bang on budget and they opened up to me.'

  Finn tweaked at his earlobe and had the decency to look slightly embarrassed.

  'I'm sorry, Annie. I'm just in a difficult situation. I've no money.'

  'Well,' was all Annie could manage for a moment, 'this has all been very interesting.'

  She thought about slipping on her coat, picking up her very nice handbag and walking out. But then she thought of a better plan.

  'Right well, you can go now, Finn,' she said firmly, 'I'll be fine.'

  She watched Finn scrambling for his jacket, clipboard and other bits and pieces while she sat calmly. Now he was issuing guilty bits of apology: 'So sorry about this . . . you will be OK, won't you? You will get back to town OK? Obviously, I hope we might be able to work on something else in the future.'

  Annie wanted to laugh out loud at that one. Work with this weak, deceitful, conniving nincompoop again? Don't think so.

  He stumbled out of the bar as she sat and looked on with total composure. Yes, this was much, much better. This way she got to fall apart in the quiet comfort of the booth, whereas if she'd walked out, she'd have fallen apart in the confusion of the street.

  Annie put her hands up to her face and decided that for a few minutes at least, it would be OK to have a little cry.

  'Now, now, hen . . . the wine's no that bad, is it?'

  She looked up to see the barman, a broad shaven-headed bloke in a black polo shirt, beside her table.

  She raised a smile, despite herself.

  'Nah,' she said, 'I think I'll have another glass.'

  'Another wee tot of Charrrrdonnay for the lady, coming right up. I take it he's nae coming back?' the barman asked. Taking the two empty glasses from the table, he gave a wink. 'Ah, you're well shot of him. Plenty mair fish in the sea.'

  'Exactly,' was all Annie said, not really ready to have a great big heart to heart with the barman just yet.

  The phone in her bag beeped.