Living My Best Life

by Claire Frost

  Satisfied she hadn’t weighed herself down with unnecessary stuff, Millie quickly changed out of her heeled boots and into the canvas pumps she’d shoved into her bag at the last minute, then hot-footed it to the tube in the hope that it would get her to the train station faster. As it was, she managed to catch the train with ten minutes to spare and rather wished she’d detoured for a burger – it had been far too long since she’d hoovered up Wolf’s leftovers after his tea. Instead, she had to make do with the chocolate from her goody bag while the train chugged its way out of London. She smiled to herself about the white lie she’d told a baby-faced PR she’d chatted to about where she’d bought her outfit. There had been no way she was going to admit she’d had both her trusty denim skirt and her leather jacket for the best part of fifteen years and had absolutely no idea what shop she’d bought them from, other than knowing they probably cost less than a tenner as she’d been as skint as most 16-year-olds at that point. The term ‘vintage’ was always a great cover-all anyway, she thought as she composed an Instagram caption to accompany the picture she’d asked Franny/Nats to take of her with Sonya and Frankie, which also happened to have MaryAnna posing just behind them.

  Such a stylish evening partying and catching up with these fashionistas *heart eyes emoji* @MAFlash @FrankieG @SonyaStyle. Thanks for the invite @BestDressedPR #instastyle #fblogger #styleblogger #styleinspo #outfitinspo #fashiongram

  By the time she let herself into the house an hour later, she was exhausted. As was Bridget, it appeared. Millie gently shook the older lady, but her snoring showed no signs of abating. She tried again, this time omitting the gentleness and adding a determined, ‘Bridget, it’s Millie, I’m back now so you can go home. Bridget, did you hear me?’

  ‘What? Who? Ah, Millie, you’re back, why didn’t you say? Did you have a good evening, lovey?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Bridget, though I’m tired now, as I’m sure you are, so let’s get you home. Was Wolfie okay?’

  ‘Oh, yes, sweetheart, he was no trouble, no trouble at all. Though I think we’ve eaten all of those biscuits between us,’ she said, wiping crumbs from her ample chest.

  ‘I’m glad you enjoyed them,’ Millie said. ‘Now, have you got your embroidery and your book? And here’s the money I owe you for tonight. You are so kind to babysit for me,’ she added, giving Bridget a soft peck on her cheek.

  ‘Get away, lovey, it’s no trouble, as I keep saying. In fact, it gives me an excuse to get away from Philip and his snoring for the evening. As soon as he sits down in front of the telly he’s off, I tell you!’

  Millie smiled, thanked Bridget again and watched until she’d shuffled back to her own house five doors down and was safely inside. Millie closed the front door and tried to stop the guilt overwhelming her. It really wasn’t fair of her to make Bridget, who must be pushing seventy-five despite looking pretty spritely, to stay up till almost midnight waiting for her. But she didn’t have anyone else to ask. With her own mum gone ten years now and her dad all the way out in Wales with his second wife and her family, it wasn’t as if she had Wolfie’s doting grandparents to turn to. She barely knew anyone her own age locally and all the mums at Wolf’s school looked too cliquey and intimidating to approach. Though she supposed she should start sorting out some playdates for him and his little friends – another thing to add to her ever-growing mental to-do list. The one person she should be able to turn to when she needed to go to networking events in the evening was the very last person she would even consider contacting to help her out. It just wasn’t worth the hassle and disappointment of getting in touch with Louis. He’d only let her – and worst of all, Wolfie – down, after all.

  Chapter Six

  Bell

  Although Bell was able to admit that she’d had a good night with Suze and her friends, she had very much been looking forward to resuming her nightly position at home on the sofa. Annoyingly for her, and much to Suze’s delight, a couple of work events she was forced to attend were coming up over the next few weeks, which meant not only making an effort with her hair, make-up and, of course, her outfit, but also to chat to other industry people. It wasn’t that long ago that Bell had thrived on this type of evening – a few glasses of not-quite-top-of-the-wine-list red and a whole load of gossip and checking out what competitors were up to made for a fun time. But over the years she’d gradually stopped going to the events she was invited to – and then stopped being invited to them at all – preferring to go home and watch a box set with Col or even just catch up on her overflowing inbox.

  But there were some events she really couldn’t get out of and the annual high-street fashion awards by Styler, one of the country’s biggest-selling magazines, was one of them. Thankfully, she’d have Suze by her side, as this year her friend was coming too. Less thankfully, the other person going with them to the awards was her boss – and the company’s CEO – Marian.

  It didn’t help that Bell had had a nightmare of a day. It had started with her being late for a meeting after getting caught up in a conversation with Ciara and Joe on her team, who were chatting about how tired they were after going out last night with a bunch of PRs and bloggers.

  ‘Feeling a bit delicate, are we?’ Bell had smiled, in an attempt to engage with them on a cool-boss level.

  ‘Just tired, as we didn’t leave the bar till after 2am,’ Joe explained. ‘Though we were on mocktails all night, obviously.’

  Oh, yes, how could she have forgotten that no one under thirty seemed to drink anymore? She was glad Aftershock and sambuca had been the order of the day when she was young and out partying with fashion-industry folk several nights a week.

  A chat message popped up from Suze:

  God, how do they even stay awake that late without alcohol?! Bring on the bright blue alcopops, I say!

  Bell typed back viciously:

  They make me want to spike their snowflake-infused mocktails with a large bottle of vodka. And I don’t care if that makes me a bad person.

  Suze quickly typed back:

  *Reports esteemed colleague to HR for force feeding the young’uns alcohol* *winky face emoji*

  Bell snorted. ‘Well good for you, Joe, and you, Ciara. Did you meet anyone interesting last night?’ she asked, trying to show she was interested in the lives of her junior staff.

  ‘Just some influencers – you know, MaryAnna, Frankie Gable, Sonya, that lot. And Millie came down for a bit early on. They’re so lit. And Sonya had heard of Style It Out and I think she seemed super-interested in hooking up in some way.’

  ‘Great. Well, good for you,’ Bell repeated lamely. Then quickly clicked her browser to start googling who the hell MaryAnna, Frankie, Sonya and Millie were. But it seemed Suze had beaten her to it as her chat app flashed up on her screen.

  So MaryAnna is apparently @MAFlash and has 1 MILLION Insta followers!! @FrankieG and @SonyaStyle have around 250,000 each, and I know who Millie is *smiley face emoji* – @mi_bestlife is a mummy blogger type who sometimes actually posts some interesting stuff. And isn’t 22 years old. Unlike the others. Yay!

  Bit of a coup Ciara and Joe rubbing shoulders with such big influencers (that word makes me want to vomit!). I bet they all earn 10 times what we do just for posting some crap about teeth whitening and designer handbags. Christ, I feel ancient.

  Suze had flicked an elastic band at her friend, rolled her eyes, and glanced at the clock in the corner of her screen. ‘Oi, Granny, isn’t it time you were in that really important meeting you were telling me about yesterday?’

  By the time Bell had rushed into the meeting room, paper flapping from her notebook and her cheeks flushed, she already knew the next hour was not going to be her finest. Marian had proceeded to point out the holes in her marketing strategy for the company’s next three months, and Bell had spent the rest of the day stressing out that all the bright young things in the office were snapping at her heels with their talk of collabs and sponsored posts.

  ‘Bellster, you know
Marian always has at least three negative things to say about everything and that’s when she’s being nice,’ Suze reassured her when she cornered her in the loos at 4pm and told her they’d better start getting ready if they weren’t going to be horribly late.

  ‘Argh, I’ve not finished that spreadsheet or sent that email I promised Nigel I’d definitely write today. And now I’ve got to spend an evening with my boss who thinks I’m crap, plus I look like I haven’t slept in a week.’ Bell stared into the less-than-flattering mirror in front of her. Even Suze couldn’t deny that her friend wasn’t exactly looking her best.

  ‘Okay, so you’ve got a breakout on your chin and those bags are giving you panda eyes, but it’s nothing some strong concealer, tons of highlighter and a bit of contouring can’t sort.’

  By the time Bell returned, laden with her hair straighteners, cosmetics and the jumpsuit she’d cajoled one of the buyers into lending her for the evening, Suze had touched up her own make-up and was changing into a dress that Bell had privately thought looked rather like a sack when she’d seen it on the coat-hanger by her desk. Needless to say, Suze looked all kinds of amazing in it.

  ‘There you are, I thought you’d run off home!’ She grinned at Bell. ‘Zip me up, will you? Then I’ll get started on you.’

  By the time her friend had finished with her for the second time in a week, Bell felt she at least resembled someone who worked in the fashion industry. Her navy jumpsuit gave a nod to the seventies with its cute buckled belt, and her trusty black patent heels poshed it up enough without looking too try-hard. She’d pulled her blonde hair back into a messy-but-not-too-messy bun, and under a dim light you could barely notice the bumpy skin around her chin and jawline (who got spots at thirty-nine years old, for god’s sake?), and she even had the appearance of some angular cheekbones, thanks to Suze’s magic illuminator brush.

  They were both loading themselves up with handbags and tote bags containing flat shoes when Marian swept in, fresh from the salon, and probably her stylist and make-up artist. She looked incredible – coiffed, styled and polished to within an inch of her life, but in a ‘yes, I’m fifty, and I look great’ way, rather than a ‘yes, I’m fifty but I’m trying to look like I’m twenty-five’ way. Even Helen Mirren would be jealous.

  ‘Excellent, you’re ready. Right, ladies, let’s go.’

  It was an hour’s drive into London from the Style It Out office and, as they got into the car Marian had ordered, Bell suddenly panicked that they were going to have to make polite conversation the whole way there. She knew that every second in such close proximity to her boss was a second in which she could shoot herself in the foot by saying something stupid, which was quite likely after the day she’d already had. Both Bell and Suze were very relieved when Marian made it clear that she wouldn’t be engaging in idle chit-chat with her employees, as she immediately began tapping at her phone. They glanced at each other and managed to stifle their giggles like nervous schoolgirls, but both realised it was probably safer to follow their boss’s lead, even if in Suze’s case it was to catch up on all the tabloid websites instead of wade through boring work emails. Finally they reached central London and the jam-packed roads around Leicester Square where the venue for the night’s event was located. Marian slipped her phone into her clutch bag and turned to eyeball the two younger women.

  ‘Got your mingling faces on? Good, let’s go wow the rest of the fash pack!’

  From anyone else, this sentence might have sounded ridiculous, Bell mused. But from Marian it just sounded right, although she could also hear the thinly veiled instruction that this was a working event, not just a chance to down a load of fizz.

  There were a small bunch of photographers outside the front of Café de Paris and they raised their cameras and fired off a barrage of shots as Marian climbed gracefully out of the car – she clearly exuded a kind of look-at-me glamour that meant they took her picture without even thinking about it. But they quickly lost interest when Bell and Suze emerged and they realised they weren’t anyone famous. Once all three of them were inside the impressive venue, they had their photo taken against a backdrop of the magazine and its sponsors’ logos. That done, and with the flashes still smarting their eyes, they were handed a glass of what they were told was a ‘ginspiration’ cocktail and made their way into the main room. Marian was quickly enfolded into a large group of important-looking people, so Bell and Suze were free to explore on their own.

  ‘Flipping heck, this is swish, isn’t it?’ Suze whispered as they stared at the sweeping staircases, glittering chandeliers and the ballroom full of people before them. Suze was the first to regain her composure, and after a sweep of the room to see if they could spot anyone they knew – other than a few minor celebs who they recognised but definitely didn’t ‘know’ – she finally exclaimed. ‘Look, there’s Karina, let’s go and say hi to her.’

  Although she was very ‘fashion’, Bell couldn’t help but love Karina King. She worked for the country’s largest online clothing site and was one of the industry’s shining stars, having been made CEO of a business worth millions at just thirty-two. Karina greeted Suze and Bell like they were all best mates who hadn’t seen each other for months, despite them being no more than vague friends who only saw each other about once a year at events like this. But still Bell couldn’t hate her; she was just too lovely. Plus, she was always the best dressed in the room, even when she was standing in the middle of hundreds of the high street’s biggest players.

  ‘Karina, so good to see you. You look amazing,’ Bell gushed.

  ‘Thanks, darling, it’s vintage Galliano, though I’m passing it off as one of ours for the purposes of this evening – always working, hey! How are you? It’s been far too long. We need a proper catch-up – message me and let’s sort, yes? And do you guys know MaryAnna? No? Well, let me introduce you. Mar, this is Bell and Suze and they’re a total scream, you’ll love them!’

  Bell and Suze gave each other a secret high-five with their eyes as they air-kissed MaryAnna hello. Sadly, their conversation was hampered by the fact that MaryAnna was so enthusiastic about literally everything anyone said she was in danger of turning into a fashion caricature; she had clearly decided to model herself on Eddie from AbFab.

  ‘God, she must have said “super” about a million times in one minute. I didn’t even know there was such a thing as “super-on-trend”. But that’s influencers for you,’ Suze murmured to Bell later. ‘Even Insta stars like her know not to bite the hands that feed them.’

  But at least MaryAnna didn’t seem to mind having a picture taken with them both, and Bell thought smugly that they’d been able to go one better than Ciara and Joe. MaryAnna did ask to check the photo on Suze’s phone, though. ‘I have to be super-careful with my brand and everything,’ she explained with a patronising smile, as she deleted a couple of the images she didn’t like and handed the phone back to Suze. ‘I’ll try to regram it, Suzie, so remember to tag me when you post it. Super-lovely to meet you girls and hope you have a super night.’ And off she wafted to join a group of pouting, selfie-taking girls who greeted her as if she was the messiah.

  ‘I swear one of those girls just bowed to her,’ Bell said, shaking her head.

  ‘When I reach a million followers I’m totally making everyone bow to me,’ Suze smirked.

  ‘Riiight. How many have you got now?’

  ‘Eight hundred. But you never know, if @MAFlash regrams my pic, I might have eight hundred thousand come the morning.’

  ‘Ha! If you really get to eight hundred thousand by nine o’clock tomorrow, I promise I’ll bow down to Suze The Almighty. In the meantime, shall we get another drink?’

  As Style It Out wasn’t up for any kind of award, the pair made the most of the free booze and canapés and clapped along when each of the winners was announced. They gave Karina a massive whoop when she went up to collect the trophy for best online retailer (‘That will be us one day!’ Suze laughed tipsily), and even m
anaged a cheer when MaryAnna bagged the Insta star award (‘I bet she’s super-pleased!’ Bell grinned at her own joke). By the time Marian swept over to them and declared it was time to leave, they’d both had at least one cocktail too many and were trying desperately not to burst into giggles at every opportunity.

  ‘God, you’d think we were nine, not thirty-nine,’ hiccuped Bell, trying to take off her heels and put on her flip-flops discreetly in the corner.

  ‘Speak for yourself, Granny! I’m only thirty-eight as you well know. And I damn well hope I’m going out and getting pissed when I’m as old as someone like Marian.’

  ‘Ready, ladies?’ Marian appeared beside them, still perfectly groomed and definitely not wearing flip-flops. Bell and Suze glanced at each other and their shoulders shook with laughter.

  *

  When she got into work the next morning a little bleary-eyed but surprisingly headache-free, the first thing Bell did was bring up Suze’s Instagram page on her computer. It seemed that MaryAnna had indeed regrammed Suze’s pic and her followers had almost doubled to over 1,500.

  ‘I know, it’s hardly 800k, but it’s not bad,’ Suze said, looking over Bell’s shoulder. ‘God, I’m knackered. I need to get this coffee down me and then hopefully I’ll wake up a bit.’

  ‘Suze, Bell, I’ve just seen your picture,’ Ciara cried as she came running over waving her phone. ‘That’s so awesome. Isn’t MaryAnna super-nice? What did she say to you? Did she mention she’d met me the previous night? I can’t believe she gets to go to a party every single evening.’