Got You Back

by Fallon, Jane

  He had got up early and made Stephanie tea and toast before she had to leave. From the look on her face when he gave it to her, it was obvious that this was an unexpected gesture. He tried to remember the last time he had made her breakfast and, of course, couldn't because it would have been a long time ago. A time when he had just had Stephanie in his life and no one else.

  Finn had declared that the morning was to be spent cleaning out David's cage, then Goldie's tank and Sebastian's litter tray. The meticulous attention to detail that his son showed when he was caring for his animals reminded James of how he had been as a child. ‘You should become a vet,’ he said to Finn, as he laid new straw in the bottom of David's hutch.

  ‘That's what I'm going to do. Obviously,’ Finn replied, with a serious look on his face, and James had felt as if he'd stumbled on to the set of some kind of schmaltzy Children's Film Foundation film. He felt his eyes brim with tears and had to stop himself hugging his son and ruining the moment.

  In the end they had gone to the zoo in the afternoon, with Finn exclaiming over everything from the pygmy shrews to the mountain gorillas and then had dropped in at the surgery in St John's Wood to pet the animals who were being kept in over the weekend. By the time Stephanie got home at about five thirty they were both lying exhausted on the sofa in front of the TV.

  ‘You have to do it all again tomorrow.’ Stephanie had laughed when she saw him.

  They had had dinner and Stephanie had told them about her day and how Santana had still been in bed when the beauty therapist had turned up at her flat at two o'clock, and had refused to get up so the poor girl had had to do her toenails while she lay there with her filthy feet poking out from under the covers. Finn had laughed and said girls were ‘stupid’ and Stephanie had said, ‘But I'm a girl, does that make me stupid?’ and Finn had said, ‘You're not a girl, you're a mum. There's a difference,’ and James had laughed and laughed, and the evening had passed so quickly that he hadn't once thought about phoning Katie.

  Stephanie wanted this weekend to be over. It was the same every year: no matter how much preparation you did, the day itself was always chaos. Natasha, thankfully, was dealing with Santana, who had refused to come to the office to get ready because she was hoping the paparazzi might be outside her house in the afternoon, waiting for her to be picked up. If she left too early they might not know where to find her.

  Stephanie was trying to get the ambience right before her other two clients arrived. She liked people to feel relaxed while they were having their hair and makeup done but she couldn't think what kind of music she could put on that would suit both Meredith and Mandee. In the end she plumped for James Morrison, who was both inoffensive but just hip enough, she hoped. She lit a few candles and scattered a few magazines around. Never assume that your clients want to chat was rule number one and she always impressed it on any hair and makeup people she booked for events.

  The two makeup and hair designers, as they insisted on being called, arrived promptly at one. They set up their two stations at opposite corners of the room so that Meredith and Mandee could chat or not as they wished. Stephanie ran through the clothes on the rack in the other room, the makeshift changing room. As well as Meredith's green dress there was one other option Stephanie was keen for her to try on, along with an alternative pair of shoes. Mandee's Agent Provocateur outfit was there but so was a very cute mini-dress from Chloé in case she could be persuaded to change her mind. There was an array of Spanx industrial-force underwear for Meredith to pick from, still in its boxes so that what she didn't choose could be sent back to the shop. Both women had been lent a few pieces of not very impressive jewellery, which Stephanie had sorted through, picking out one suitable item for each.

  At one twenty-five she answered a panicked call from Natasha, who was standing on the steps of Santana's apartment block with the makeup girl. They had been ringing the bell for five minutes straight but there was no reply. Stephanie told them just to wait it out. They weren't Santana's babysitters, and if she had decided to go out somewhere the night before and not come home, then that was her problem. Likewise, if she missed her hard-fought-for presenting slot this afternoon, that wasn't their problem either.

  Stephanie, meanwhile, managed to get her two charges settled with lattes and some magazines and the soothing sound of two hairdryers. She did a final check through of the clothes in the other room and then sat down on the sofa, thinking she might just close her eyes for a moment. The occasional fragment of conversation broke through from the other room but the heat from the dryers ensured that she dropped off into a deep sleep.

  Her alarm rang. No, wait, it was the doorbell. Stephanie sat up with a jolt. Where was she? Someone was calling from the other room, ‘Do you want me to get that?’ and Stephanie called back, ‘Yes, please,’ before she could even remember who that someone was. OK, she was in the office. Shit, it was BAFTA day. She looked at her watch: three forty. She must have been asleep for an hour. There was a tiny stream of dribble coming from the side of her mouth. She wiped it away. She looked at herself in the mirror on the wall. One side of her face had the imprint of a flock-covered cushion in bold red down her cheek. She rubbed at it furiously. What if any of them had looked in and seen her lying there, dead to the world? God, that was unprofessional. And who was that at the door? She wasn't expecting anyone. She heard a man's voice. Shit. Fuck. Yes, she was. She had asked Michael to come and take some photos.

  It had been a moment of madness. She usually took pictures herself for her records, once her clients were all dolled up to go to an event. It was mostly for reference but sometimes she would send them to the designer if the clothes looked particularly good in the hope that they would then offer that client an outfit for free. On Friday, though, she had wanted an excuse to ring Michael — they had arranged to see each other again on Monday night — and so she had asked him if she could hire his services on Sunday for an hour or so, as if that was the most normal thing in the world to be asking. He, of course, had said he would do it for free and now here he was, in her office, and she was looking like death warmed up.

  ‘Stephanie,’ someone was calling from the other room, ‘there's someone here to see you.’

  She wiped the stray mascara from under her eyes and dragged her fingers through her hair. Oh, well, he would have to see her at her worst some time.

  ‘Michael, hi,’ she said confidently — or at least as confidently as she could manage — as she went through the door. His face definitely lit up when he saw her, she noted. OK, so maybe she didn't look so bad.

  ‘This is Michael, our photographer,’ she said to the others in the room. Luckily she had never dressed either Meredith or Mandee before so they wouldn't realize this was an unusual event. One of the makeup girls, Davina or Davinia, everyone had such stupid names these days, was looking at her, confused.

  ‘I didn't know this was a photo session,’ she said now. ‘I haven't done photographic makeup. I've gone for the natural look. You didn't say anything about this,’ she added accusingly.

  Stephanie forced a smile. ‘It's not for editorial, don't worry about it. Now,’ she said, wanting to get off the subject, ‘you both look beautiful. Let's get you dressed while Michael sets up.’

  She looked across at Michael, and he shot her a sympathetic smile. God, what was she doing? She hadn't even told Natasha because she knew that Natasha would see through her right away and know that she just wanted an excuse to see him again. Luckily Natasha, who was across London hopefully dealing with Santana by now, would never have to know.

  Meredith and Mandee were both adamant about sticking to their original outfits and Stephanie was grateful that, at least, she had filled Michael in with the fact that the clothes weren't her choice but that her clients had mutinied and overruled her. By five to four they were ready.

  Meredith, with her industrial underwear under her lurid green concoction, actually looked as if she had a figure for once. Her enormous breasts, which she
usually hid in an ill-fitting saggy bra under a succession of baggy shapeless tops, had been hoicked up and pushed out and looked magnificent. Stephanie was hoping that any of the weekly magazine editors would be so blinded by the acres of white cleavage that they wouldn't notice how awful the dress was and feature Meredith on the worst-dressed list.

  Mandee was a study in the use of tit-tape, which was gluing her skimpy two-piece to her body and hopefully keeping all her bits and pieces in check. If she looked like she was dressed for a photo shoot in Nuts rather than to go out, at least she had the figure to carry it off. They would have to do.

  She could have sworn she heard Michael stifle a laugh when she led her two protégées into the next room. The makeup women gave them a quick touch-up and Michael tweaked the lighting to be a bit kinder, then rattled off a couple of shots of each of the women.

  ‘Have you got any other outfits while I'm here anyway?’ he said, in his most charming voice. ‘Seems a shame to waste the film.’

  ‘Yes. Good idea.’ Stephanie jumped in. He was trying to help her out, that was so sweet of him. ‘Treat it like a free photo session. That way, if you like any of the pictures you can get copies. You never know when they might come in useful.’ She looked at her watch. ‘We've got time.’ Actually, they didn't really, the cars had been due five minutes ago, but it was worth a try.

  She helped as Meredith squeezed herself into the black number with the drop-shouldered top and watched Mandee transform from a hooker into a pretty, trendy young woman in the Chloé dress. ‘Wow, you both look great,’ she said, and the pair of them looked at her unimpressed.

  ‘Now that is sexy,’ she heard Michael say, as Mandee went through to the next room. Meredith rolled her eyes. ‘You could be a model,’ he went on. ‘I couldn't see it, how you were dressed before, but everyone's going to want to photograph you now.’

  ‘Do you think?’ Mandee said. ‘Really?’

  Stephanie smiled a conspiratorial smile at him as she entered the room and he allowed a hint of a smirk to get through. He turned his attention to Meredith as she came in. ‘Great dress,’ he said. ‘Very flattering.’ Meredith who was a much harder proposition than Mandee, snorted.

  ‘It does look much better than the other one,’ Stephanie added, but Meredith was having none of it. She allowed Michael to take a couple of shots and then announced her intention to change again.

  ‘I'm going to wear this one, I've decided,’ Mandee said, and Stephanie could have kissed her. She looked at Michael, who seemed to be trying to signal something to her while Meredith wasn't looking. He was jerking his head in the direction of the other room and rolling his eyes. He looked like he might be having a fit. He stopped abruptly as Meredith turned round. ‘Just a couple more, Meredith. The last ones were a bit out of focus. My fault.’

  Meredith agreed reluctantly and Michael gave Stephanie an intent stare that meant… Well, she didn't know what it meant. Suddenly she was struck with inspiration. She moved through to the adjoining room, picked up Meredith's latte and threw it over the hideous green dress. ‘Oh, God!’ she called, trying not to laugh. This was ridiculous. ‘Oh, fuck! Meredith, I'm so sorry, I've spilled coffee all over your dress.’

  Meredith came barging through the door. ‘Well, wipe it off — quickly for God's sake!’

  ‘It's no good,’ Stephanie said, picking up the dress quickly. ‘It's all soaking in. It'll stink of milk, apart from anything else.’

  ‘Well, what do you suggest I do now?’ Meredith said, smoke practically coming out of her nostrils.

  ‘Well…’ Stephanie said and then the doorbell rang. Thank God, it was the cars they had booked to take Meredith and Mandee to the ceremony. ‘I guess you'll have to wear what you've got on. There's no choice really. I'm sorry, Meredith.’

  Meredith looked as if she was ready to explode. Michael swept in holding handbags and wraps and tickets. ‘Come along, ladies. You don't want to be late,’ he said, and ushered them towards the door. ‘You both look beautiful.’

  ‘Right,’ Stephanie was saying. ‘I've put lipstick and gloss in both your bags. Touch it up just before you get out of the cars. And have a great time,’ she added, ignoring the furious look on Meredith's face.

  She thanked the two hair and makeup girls and promised she would use them again, then shut the door behind them, leaning back against it and putting her hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter until the women were out of earshot. Michael was laughing, too, and he threw an arm round her neck and pulled her towards him.

  ‘We must be telepathic,’ he said.

  Stephanie looked up at him. ‘You're not trying to tell me that that's what you were saying, with all those nods and meaningful looks — “Go and pour coffee over her dress.”’

  ‘That's exactly what I was trying to say,’ he said, smiling and he leaned down to kiss the top of her head but next thing she knew they were in a full-blown kiss, hidden there in the tiny hallway of her offices.

  Stephanie couldn't remember the last time she had kissed someone who wasn't James. In fact, she couldn't even remember the last time she had kissed James in anything other than a ‘Say thank you to your uncle for his Christmas present’ kind of way. She was aware of Michael's hand holding the back of her head and the weight of his body as he pressed her against the wall. Then he stopped as abruptly as he had started, took her by the hand and led her through to the sofa in the main office. She wondered vaguely whether she should remind him that they had been going to wait until she was officially single, but seeing as it had been him who had made that resolution in the first place, then who was she to hold him to it? Fuck it, it was only a week till she was free. In fact, she knew really that this was what she had been hoping would happen when she had invited him over. James would be waiting for her to get home so that he could be on the road up to Lincolnshire but she felt no guilt. She was only doing what he had been doing himself for the past year.

  Michael pulled his head away again and looked at her. ‘Is this OK?’ he said, and the tone of his voice, the way that he said it, made her feel weak.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Definitely.’

  The next part was a bit of a blur of arms and legs and items of clothing coming off and she was just thinking, OK, this is it, when she heard a noise. The click of the front door, footsteps maybe, and then a voice, a woman's voice, saying, ‘Oh, whoops. Excuse me.’ She pushed Michael away and saw Natasha's retreating back going towards the front door.

  ‘Natasha,’ Stephanie said, sitting up and trying to pull odd bits of clothing round herself. ‘Hold on a second.’

  Michael had sat bolt upright and was trying to behave as though this was just an ordinary day, move along, nothing to see here.

  Natasha was still facing the door and obviously not about to turn around. She held out a suit-carrier of clothes behind her at arm's length. ‘I was just bringing Santana's clothes back. She never turned up, you see. Sorry, I wouldn't have, you know… if I'd known.’

  ‘It's fine,’ Stephanie said, clutching around for something to say. How undignified was this, caught fumbling around like a pair of teenagers in the classroom stationery cupboard? ‘We were just, erm… I asked Michael to come over and photograph Meredith and Mandee and we just…’ She ran out of steam. ‘Oh, God, this is so embarrassing.’

  ‘Well, anyway,’ Natasha was saying, ‘I'd better go. You just carry on or… whatever. Nice to see you again, Michael.’ She dropped the suit-carrier over a chair. ‘’Bye then. See you tomorrow, Steph.’

  Stephanie and Michael sat side by side on the sofa watching as Natasha left and closed the door behind her. The mood was most definitely broken.

  ‘Sorry,’ Michael said. ‘That was my fault, I just got a bit carried away.’

  ‘No, no,’ Stephanie said. ‘It was both of us. And how were we to know that she'd come back? It's fine. It's just a bit… awkward, that's all.’

  ‘Well,’ Michael said, standing up, ‘I should go. I mean, you probably ha
ve to get home.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose I should.’ Stephanie got to her feet, wondering how in the space of a couple of minutes they had gone from the throes of passion to acting like two people who barely knew each other. They finished getting dressed awkwardly, avoiding looking at each other.

  ‘Are we still on for tomorrow night?’ Stephanie asked, as they left the office without even having kissed one another goodbye.

  Michael stuck out his arm to flag down a taxi. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I'll ring you in the afternoon and we'll make a plan.’

  She thought he might get into the cab with her but instead he slammed the door shut, raising his hand in a wave as it pulled away. She turned on her phone. There was a frantic message from Natasha: ‘Oh, God, Steph, I'm so, so sorry for barging in on you like that. Why didn't you tell me he was coming over? Then I could have taken the clothes back to mine. You looked like you were getting on rather well, by the way. Hopefully you picked up where you left off once I'd gone. Good for you. You deserve a bit of fun. But I'm still really sorry I walked in and ruined it.’

  Stephanie looked out of the window. Now that the feelings of embarrassment were fading she just felt a bit sad that the whole thing had put up some kind of a barrier between her and Michael. There was an awkwardness there now that hadn't been there before. Maybe they'd tried to move things on too fast. It was fine for her: she knew Natasha and she knew that Natasha would never disapprove of what she had been doing, but Michael would be worried about how unprofessional it had looked, she thought, managing a smile. Hopefully they could regain their old ease with one another tomorrow, maybe even laugh about it because, to be honest, once you got past the initial embarrassment it was funny. She just wished she could be certain that he would call her tomorrow as he had promised. She had a feeling he might not.