B01ESFW7JE

by Cathy Bramley

  ‘This is Len,’ he said, ‘the workroom manager.’

  Jo’s heart squeezed at the sight of one of Gold’s oldest and most loyal employees. Immediately she saw what Patrick was about to do: he was selling the team behind the Gold’s brand. She sneaked a sideways glance at him. Patrick, you’re a genius.

  ‘Len has worked with leather since he was sixteen,’ Patrick explained. ‘He crafted the samples you see here today by hand. Some of them have thirty individual pieces of leather. There is nothing you can teach this man about craftsmanship.’

  There was an impressed whistle from Ian.

  ‘Here’s Francesca,’ he said as the slide show continued, ‘our very own in-house British designer. She has a love of fashion that borders on the obsessive and an instinctive talent for designing beautiful, commercial shoes.’

  Patrick clicked again.

  ‘The team in the workroom,’ he said. ‘Men and women whose attention to detail, fine stitching and time-honoured skills help to create a level of quality that imported footwear can never hope to compete with.’

  Jo gradually released the breath she had been holding. Patrick’s pitch was perfect. She could kiss him. The panel was loving it and asked him to go back so they could see images of the factory and warehouse again.

  ‘This is the admin team,’ said Patrick. ‘These ladies would be your day-to-day contacts. They are so efficient that they scare me to death.’ He grinned and was rewarded with a round of laughter.

  ‘The staff are so dedicated to Gold’s that they recently offered to work for nothing if they had to.’

  Jo glanced at him; she didn’t know that. Her throat was aching with emotion. Sometimes she felt like the only one who could solve the company’s problems, but Patrick was right: they were a family and she was humbled that they would come up with such a generous solution.

  ‘And finally our Managing Director.’

  Jo noticed a row of tiny beads of sweat on his forehead and felt slightly better about her own nerves. He paused the slide show as her own picture filled the screen, surrounded by Josephine Gold shoeboxes. The photographer had captured a moment of proud happiness on her face.

  ‘We set out as a team to breathe new life into the Gold’s brand and create footwear that women will covet. The Josephine Gold collection embodies that goal. I truly believe that there is no one in this industry more passionate about footwear, about her staff and her company, than Jo Gold herself.’

  He sounded pretty passionate himself. Jo wanted to look at him but didn’t dare; her own eyes were doing battle with some very persistent tear ducts. She looked at the audience instead: Tori looked impressed and the others were pulling positive faces without giving too much away.

  ‘Quite simply, everything that’s right about British fashion right now,’ he prodded the table in front of him for emphasis, ‘you’ll find at Gold’s.’

  He made eye contact with everyone before delivering his parting shot. ‘Gold’s is the Best of British. Thank you.’

  Ian led the group in a round of applause and within ten minutes was showing them back out into reception.

  ‘Thanks, mate,’ he said to Patrick, shaking his hand and simultaneously slapping him on the back. ‘You didn’t let me down. And you’ve done yourself proud there.’

  ‘We really appreciate you putting us forward for this,’ said Jo.

  ‘No worries,’ Ian said airily, pumping her hand up and down between his pudgy ones. He flared his eyes at Patrick with a grin. ‘It was good to meet you finally; Patrick has mentioned you a few times.’

  ‘Really? All good, I hope?’ said Jo, amused to see Patrick squirming.

  ‘So. When will we know if we’ve been successful?’ said Patrick, punching Ian on the arm and changing the subject swiftly.

  ‘It’ll be a quick decision.’ Ian rubbed his arm. ‘Today, probably, before the Yanks go back. I’ll call you on your mobile as soon as I hear, OK?’

  Outside in the car park, Patrick adopted a cocky swagger as they headed back to the car.

  ‘It’s in the bag, I’d say.’ He loaded their cases back in the boot and grinned.

  ‘No thanks to me,’ Jo replied flatly.

  ‘You were great and the Americans lapped up all that British stuff. I’ll drive,’ he said, swiping the Lexus keys out of her hand.

  She shook her head and sighed. Buoyed by his own performance, he was going to be impossibly smug for the rest of the journey.

  The two of them climbed into the car and Patrick tapped instructions into the satnav to direct them back to the office and then turned the radio on.

  ‘ “Born in the USA”,’ he said with a broad grin as the Bruce Springsteen track came on. ‘It’s a sign.’

  Jo couldn’t help but smile; his happiness was contagious. The presentation had gone extremely well in the end. There was no doubt about it; they did make a good team.

  But that was going to come to an end soon.

  Her good mood faded. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like not to have him to talk to, not to have someone around whom she trusted so implicitly. Whatever crisis she found herself in, Patrick always seemed to have exactly the right words to talk her down from her panic. The thought of not seeing him every day sitting in his office, ready with a joke and a smile, filled her with dread. He was almost as much a part of Gold’s as she was.

  ‘Hey, have some faith!’ said Patrick, misreading her glum face. ‘They loved us.’

  ‘Oh, McGregor.’ Jo spontaneously threw her arms around his neck and pulled him towards her, planting a huge smacking kiss on his cheek.

  ‘Wow.’ He put a hand to his face.

  ‘Are you blushing?’ she teased. ‘Thanks for today. I fell apart and you were amazing. If we do get this contract, it will be down to you and you alone. I cocked it up well and truly.’

  Patrick stared at her so intensely that her heart began to thump.

  ‘You,’ he said, reaching for her hand and bringing it to his lips, ‘are much more impressive than you think.’

  Jo’s breath caught in her throat, confused at the effect Patrick’s touch was having on her insides.

  ‘Anyway.’ He released her hand and started the ignition. ‘I meant what I said in there. You deserve this.’

  He steered the car out of the car park and they left the industrial estate behind.

  For the next thirty miles, Patrick’s line of conversation was variations on a theme of how convinced he was that Gold’s would win the contract, repeating ‘it’s a done deal’, ‘it’s a no brainer’ and back to ‘it’s in the bag’, until Jo wished he had a mute button like the car radio. She was glad he felt this way, but she couldn’t quite share his confidence; there was too much riding on this and she didn’t want to tempt fate.

  ‘Chewing gum?’ She pulled a packet out of her bag and offered him a piece, as much to shut him up as anything else.

  ‘Yes please.’

  He opened his mouth and she popped it in, her fingertips brushing against his lip. From nowhere a tingling sensation rippled through her body. Wow. She swallowed, totally thrown for a second.

  ‘I wish I hadn’t worn this stupid dress, it’s too tight and businessy,’ she said, in a bid to change the subject and hide her blushing face. ‘Everyone else looked really trendy. Even you.’

  She smoothed down the skirt, already grinning, expecting a smart retort.

  ‘You look lovely,’ Patrick murmured gruffly. ‘Always.’

  There was something in his tone that made her glance at him. Their eyes met, just fleetingly, but the look that he gave her made her stomach quiver. She looked away and pressed a cool hand to her face, aware that her pulse had speeded up. What was going on between them today? They kept having these little electrically charged moments. Her heart was thumping against her ribs. It was too weird. This couldn’t be happening. Not with Patrick. He was almost family. Father of her god-daughter.

  ‘How’s Holly?’ she managed to stammer.

 
; Patrick exhaled. He felt it too, thought Jo, trying to focus on his words. But did that make it worse or better?

  ‘Holly’s good, thanks.’ Patrick nodded vigorously. ‘Yes. Very good. She often asks after you.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Oh yeah, there’s some serious hero-worship going on there.’

  ‘I hope you set her straight!’

  ‘For her homework last month, she had to write about a woman who inspired her. She chose you.’ Patrick flicked a glance at her.

  Jo was flattered into silence.

  ‘We’ll have to make sure we keep in touch, you know, when you leave Gold’s,’ she said finally. ‘Do you think she’d like to go shopping with me one day?’

  Patrick chuckled. ‘Er, eleven-year-old girl, shopping, do you need to ask?’

  ‘I’d like that.’ Jo settled back in her seat, relieved that they had navigated their way past the tricky moment they had just shared.

  ‘She’s lucky to have you in her life,’ said Patrick, with a smile that threatened to bring her blushes back. ‘I’m happy about that too.’

  What did that mean? Happy that Holly had Jo in her life or happy that he had Jo in his life? It was all so confusing. She wanted to ask but just at that moment her mobile rang, and besides, she wasn’t sure she was brave enough to hear the answer.

  ‘Carrie? Slow down, I can’t understand you.’

  Chapter 24

  It was all right for skinny people. Shopping for clothes might be fun if you had a body like Sarah or Jo.

  Carrie emerged from the lift into Nottingham’s Victoria shopping centre and stared at all the thin people striding along purposefully. She dithered in the corridor, getting in people’s way, and toyed with the idea of getting back in the lift, driving home and buying something online.

  Come on, Carrie, it’s just one thing.

  She took a deep breath and began to walk.

  The hypnotherapist, Michelle Terry, had given Carrie some rules and made her promise to honour them. Going shopping for one item was one of the rules. She still hadn’t admitted to Michelle that her ultimate goal was to wear a bikini in public this summer. Michelle had a habit of asking Carrie to picture her ‘new slim self’. The last thing Carrie wanted to do was to imagine herself dressed only in a bikini. She might have managed to lose over two stone in the last six months, but she was still a long way from being the type of woman to strip off to a few flimsy triangles of fabric.

  Carrie’s stomach lurched. Who was she kidding? She would never be that sort of woman. No matter how thin she was, she would always be clothed in a blanket of self-doubt. Perhaps she should imagine Jo on a beach in a skimpy bikini instead. She would be entirely comfortable with her own body, prowling along the shoreline, scouting for gorgeous men to impress. Jo would lower her sunglasses a fraction, purr ‘hello’ seductively and have all the lifeguards eating out of her hands in seconds.

  Carrie stopped in front of a shop window and focused on her reflection. She had chosen her outfit with comfort in mind: three-quarter-length black leggings and a long white T-shirt. Easy to whip on and off in the changing rooms, but not very flattering. Jo would tut with exasperation if she was here and Sarah would try to get her to wear something more colourful. Her eyes travelled upwards and once again she was struck by how lovely her hair looked with its new swingy bob.

  She turned her head from side to side, letting her hair flick across her face. She moved closer to the glass.

  ‘Hello,’ she mouthed in what she hoped was a good imitation of Jo’s seductive drawl.

  More eyebrow, she decided. She said it again, trying to arch her brow, but she couldn’t isolate just one and both of them arched at the same time making her look curious rather than sexy. She tried it once more, this time lowering her chin and pursing her lips. ‘He-llooo.’

  ‘Are you all right?’ A sales assistant popped her head out of the shop. ‘The door is over here, if you wanted to come in.’ Her smile was polite but there was a tremble in her voice as if she was on the verge of giggling.

  Carrie gasped. ‘I’m fine, thanks,’ she managed in a high-pitched voice. ‘Just looking at the … er … dresses.’

  There was a collective snigger from two other members of staff standing behind the sales assistant. Carrie stepped back from the window and noticed the display properly: impossibly thin mannequins wearing wisps of Lycra masquerading as clothing. She was nearly twenty years too late and at least four dress sizes too large for this shop. She hurried away, desperate to hide her burning face, and caught a pitying comment of ‘Ah bless,’ and a few more giggles coming from inside.

  Focus on the rules, she told herself, as she hurried past the shops for stick insects. That was why she was here. She imagined Michelle beside her, reminding her just how well she was doing.

  Rule number one, the most important rule, was to eat only when hungry and stop when full. That was going very well. Carrie had been amazed to find how much she had been eating without even noticing. The secret, she had found, was to keep her hands busy. She had downloaded some games on to her new smartphone; that was helping. Shamefully, she seemed to have swapped one addiction for another. Alex had got so fed up with it he had banned her from bringing her phone to the dinner table. He wanted to talk to her at mealtimes, he said, not listen to her phone beeping away.

  The second rule was to drink two litres of water every day. Not so easy, actually. It meant she was running backwards and forwards to the loo constantly. Carrie sat down on a bench and took her water bottle out of her bag automatically, holding it to her still-warm cheeks before taking a small sip. If she was going to be trying on clothes, she didn’t want to fill her stomach up too much. The flatter the better.

  It was the third rule that Carrie had so far rebelled against: buy yourself something to wear in a smaller size. Jo and Sarah had both said that she would feel better for treating herself to some new clothes. But to buy a size too small, in the hope that she would slim into it, seemed crazy to Carrie.

  In front of her was a shoe shop. Now, that was an idea. Shoes would be easier to buy. She didn’t mind shopping for shoes. That was hardly embarrassing at all. Except for buying boots. She shuddered, remembering all the times when she’d struggled to do up the zip, and the occasion when it had taken two members of staff in Clarks to help yank off a boot that she had managed to pull on but couldn’t get back off.

  Michelle had not stipulated specifics, but Carrie was pretty sure shoes that were too small were not what she had in mind.

  She sighed and stood up. It would have to be something to wear, but not too expensive. That way if she didn’t manage to lose any more weight, it wouldn’t be a waste. Just a summery top, something a bit brighter than she normally wore. Still baggy, though; even if she did go down one more dress size she would still be big.

  Blending in with the lunchtime crowds, Carrie left the shopping centre behind and headed for Clumber Street. It had been so long since she had wandered through the city centre that she could hardly remember where all the nice shops were. She stopped outside the first clothes store and peered in, careful not to pull any strange faces this time.

  ‘We sell size four!’ a sign in the window proclaimed.

  That couldn’t be healthy, surely? Carrie eyed up a skirt on display that would barely stretch around one of her thighs. It looked like one of those sports supports you put on for a dodgy knee. She shook her head and moved on. It was the same story at the next shop: tiny clothes for pre-pubescent girls. Where were the shops for real women with hips and boobs? Or perhaps the small ones were the real women and it was Carrie who was the imposter?

  The grey clouds opened and it started to drizzle. She dashed into a pretty little shopping arcade for shelter. There were fewer people here, which she preferred, but the shops were smarter and the browsing public slightly more upmarket too, which made her feel a bit self-conscious. She paused outside an art gallery to wipe the rain off her face. The painting in the window was p
riced at over two thousand pounds and depicted a plump woman sitting on a man’s knee in a pub.

  Hurrah for big girls, she thought, feeling cheered. Of course she was a real woman. And real women came in all shapes and sizes. Not everyone liked skinny girls. Alex certainly didn’t seem to mind her size. Mind you, Alex had stopped noticing her years ago. He rarely mentioned her weight loss unless she asked him a direct question.

  In the early years of their marriage, they had only had eyes for each other. She had been well-padded even then but Alex had appreciated her curves and revelled in her sweet nature, loving the fact that she was a ‘home bird’ who was content to set him at the centre of her world.

  How boring that made her sound, she thought as she walked through the arcade, heading vaguely towards the department store, where the clothes and the changing rooms were bound to be large enough for her. And how much more she wanted for herself now. Alex was still the most important person in her world, but over the last few months since meeting Jo and Sarah, she’d realized how insular she’d become and how dependent on Alex too. Her world had opened up and she liked what she saw, and maybe, just maybe, the time might be coming for her to venture out wider.

  Just then Carrie passed a little boutique and something in the window caught her eye.

  ‘Oh, my word!’

  She stopped in her tracks and stared. Carrie was rarely affected by fashion but the dress on the mannequin was possibly the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. It was a coral-pink silk shift dress with a butterfly print on the front, cap sleeves and tiny tucks around a scoop neck.

  If only she was braver, that would be her dream dress. The low neckline would elongate her own neck and the tucks would help the fabric to skim over her stomach. Her pulse quickened with longing. Clothes had been a necessary evil for so long. This was the first time in years Carrie wanted something so badly she would starve herself if necessary to fit into it.

  She’d never shop in a place like this: a posh boutique where staff hung round you trying to be helpful. And coral pink? That wasn’t a Carrie colour; she was more monochrome – black, grey and beige at a push. Besides, she was meant to be buying something too small. How could she get away with trying on a smaller size? She could try one on in her own size and then just buy a smaller one. Though what if the assistant noticed and pointed it out? That would be so mortifying.