‘No black?’
When I turn to check, the shop attendant is still affecting disinterest in my conversation. I lower my voice anyway.
‘No, Carlos, silver.’
He breathes heavily and breaks to speak to someone in Spanish, I presume for translation. He returns saying, ‘Okay. Sil-ver.’
‘Carlos, I need to talk with you about tomorrow.’
‘Sí?’
‘I need to walk the red carpet.’
‘You no walk, Crazie.’
‘Yes, I have to, for the cameras.’
‘I book car,’ Carlos insists excitedly. ‘I have friend with Prius. You no walk.’
Carlos and I can barely converse in person. By phone, it’s nigh on impossible.
‘I bring car, no problem.’
‘Carlos, that’s very kind.’ And it is. Carlos has been super. He’s held up his end of our arrangement beautifully – I’m the one who’s been flaky, on all counts. ‘But no car. No Prius, Carlos.’ Without further hesitation, I bite the bullet and un-invite him. ‘I’m sorry, but I have to cancel.’
‘No car.’
‘That’s right. I have to cancel with you, Carlos. Joanna is concerned because you were a date on the show, you see?’
A bell above the shop door tinkles at the entrance of another customer. Finally, the attending assistant gives me an impatient glance.
‘Carlos, I have to go.’
‘No problem. Si. Date on show. I know.’
‘I’m so sorry. I’ll call you.’
‘No sorry. You call Carlos any time. Adios, bomboncita.’
Ringing off, I turn to the counter.
‘Will madam be requiring the jewellery?’
‘Yes, please. Where do I sign?’
‘Just here, madam.’
I sign.
‘And here.’
I’m signing my life away when my mobile rings again. Initialling clauses hurriedly, I let it go.
‘And here. And here.’
Eventually, I’m handed a black velvet box containing a diamond necklace worth more than the deposit on my flat.
‘Thank you kindly,’ I say, and exit the premises.
My phone wails on and on. ‘Hello?’ I answer. I hate unrecognised numbers.
‘Hello, Grace?’
As I step into the busy pedestrian traffic of New Bond Street, the wheels of a passing pushchair, driven by a meandering yummy mummy clad in designer activewear, clips the back of my feet.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she says, throwing her head of long, brown curls about as though she’s shooting a shampoo ad.
My heels smarting, I assure her, ‘Not at all, completely my fault.’ Ugh.
I duck into an alley. Further in, a gang of hooded-topped teenage boys mill about on bicycles. They stare eagle-eyed at my velvet box. I hope I signed something for insurance.
‘Hello?’ I repeat, ready to hang up and ignore my phone completely.
‘Grace, hello. It’s Jordan.’
‘Jordan? Oh. Right. You, er, have a new number?’
‘I do. Is now a good time to chat?’
‘Sure.’ I’m relieved to see the BMX bandits ride off. ‘Just picking up some expensive jewellery. On loan, I might add.’
‘I presume for the big event tomorrow?’ Jordan says. He sounds chipper. ‘You made the list in a who’s who for the TIARAs.’
I sit on a bench in the little alley in one of the nicest parts of London and narrowly avoid some pigeon poop. ‘I didn’t know there was a list.’
‘In today’s Daily. It’s amazing, Grace. You must be so excited.’
‘It is exciting,’ I say.
Jordan and I fall into our usual silence.
‘I’ve been thinking a lot about how I never supported your career,’ he says.
‘Oh, right…’
I did not expect this. I didn’t expect Jordan to call. Let alone this.
‘I was always so focused on mine,’ he carries on. ‘I figure, I owed it to you to say how genuinely proud I am of all you’ve achieved.’ He laughs awkwardly. ‘I hope we can be friends?’
‘Jordan, you really helped me with the ad. We are friendly, as far as I’m concerned,’ I reply, my head spinning.
Why is he calling me?
‘In any event, the TIARAs! Enjoy yourself tomorrow. Maybe, ah, don’t do anything you might regret.’ Jordan chuckles most congenially. ‘Although, if you do go mad, let me know. We might get another campaign out of it.’
I giggle.
Then Jordan and I break into nervous, raucous laughter that says, more than words, that whatever our past history, in this moment, all is forgiven.
‘You can come with me,’ I say, without overthinking whether I should.
‘What?’
‘You can come with me, to the TIARAS. If you want to.’
‘Are you serious?’
I’m serious, but I’m not about to beg.
‘Jordan, as of about two minutes ago, I have a spare ticket. We’re friendly, and I’d sooner the seat next to me not be empty. Would you like to come or not?’
I swear you could knock me down with a feather when Jordan answers without reservation, ‘Yes.’
34
Poppy fastens the diamond necklace delicately around my neck. She’s used rollers to set my hair in cascading waves of ebony silk. My eye make-up smoulders. The silver trouser suit fits me like a glove. My spotless Jimmy Choo crystal heels pair with it perfectly.
‘Miss Gracie, you’re beautiful.’
I check myself in the full-length mirror Faith has set up in her living room. I could cry with happiness. ‘Poppy, thank you.’
Poppy is wearing a strapless white gown over a pink tulle petticoat. Her shoes are slipper style and, though made of plastic, look like glass. Her wispy blonde hair is pinned into a high bun on top of her head, adorned with sparkles and a large ruby crystal. Her make-up is, surprisingly, sparse. Shimmery creams on her eyelids. Sweetly rosy cheeks. Soft-pink lip stain.
‘I look like a giant macaroon.’ Poppy laughs. ‘Cherry on top and all!’
With her delicate features, she’s angelic.
Faith passes us each a flute of champagne.
She’s ethereal in white silk, with whispers of purple through the fabric. Her dress skims the ground and twists, toga-like, across one shoulder. Her long, blonde hair is down and loosely tousled.
‘To the TIARAs,’ she toasts.
‘To that dress,’ I say.
‘To those diamonds,’ Poppy chimes in.
We sip stylishly, until we explode in delight.
‘I can’t believe we’re going to the TIARAs!’
‘I’m so excited!’
‘I’m a little nervous,’ I admit. ‘This is something more than smiling for the paparazzi on a night out. Right, girls?’
‘Where is Jordan meeting you?’ Faith asks. We haven’t properly discussed the topic of me inviting him. ‘Inside?’
‘Yes.’
‘Let the mystery of Master J live on?’ Faith laughs, but her expression says it all.
I take another small sip of champagne.
‘We’re trying to be friendly, but don’t worry Joanna canned Carlos, and it’s not like I have a plethora of men to step in. Jordan gets professional kudos at his office in attending. It’s really just another friendly business arrangement, like the Pussy Paws shoot. That’s all.’
‘Well, I’m sure it will give Jordan pause to think about what he’s lost regardless – look at you now, Gracie,’ Faith says. ‘Tonight, the world is your oyster.’
There was a time it wasn’t. I’m grateful for the experiences that shaped me. They made me stronger. They made me love myself and my life so fiercely that now I know how to show others how to do it. It reset the bar – never again will I allow anyone, including myself, to treat me with less than I deserve. Love. Care. Acceptance. That’s the bar.
‘Look at me now,’ I say, beyond joy.
Faith beams.
‘Miss Gracie, what about poor Carlos? Was he very upset at getting dumped?’
‘I wouldn’t say he was dumped, Poppy. But when we spoke, Carlos seemed to understand the circumstance. He left me a garbled message sometime in the middle of last night and he sounded fine.’ In his message, Carlos was still anxious about me arriving without his escort, and might have mentioned something about his new suit, but what with his indecipherable English and my non-existent Spanish, it’s difficult to know. He certainly didn’t sound cross. ‘Poppy, let’s not forget, he scored an expensive Tom Ford suit on me for his trouble.’
‘It is a very nice suit,’ Poppy agrees, letting me off the hook.
Faith strokes Benny at the windowsill. ‘I’ll walk the red carpet with you,’ she says. ‘I’ll meet Toby inside.’
‘Can we do it together?’ Poppy asks. ‘Lucy could go in with Toby, if that’s all right with you, Faith?’
Unable to discriminate between her many friends, family members and buddies – and spurred on by a publicity-savvy Joanna – Poppy invited Lucy the lesbian as her date for the TIARAs.
‘Of course,’ Faith says. ‘How can we not do this together?’
A white limousine arrives to convey us the short distance from Covent Garden to Mayfair. Various roads are blocked for the occasion and the streets are lined with onlookers. We pull up near Grosvenor House.
On what has turned into a cool and blowy spring afternoon, it’s perfect weather for a trouser suit. Within minutes, we’re making our way down the red carpet. With me in the middle, we glide along the corridor of cameras and microphones as though we’re old hands at this celebrity business.
Flash, click. ‘Yes, we are the best of friends,’ I say, in answer into a reporter’s microphone. We walk on.
Flash, click. Shoulders back, tummy in and smiiiiiile. ‘Thank you. Yes, it was a brave move, wearing a suit. I’m delighted you love it.’
Flash, click. Flash, click. I thought I’d be so nervous. Together with Faith and Poppy, I’m having the time of my life.
Flash, click. Flash, click. Flash, click.
We reach the stage, ready to be called for our official photo. The cameras shutters and flashes go crazy. Then, we’re ushered indoors.
Inside is decadent. Chandeliers, shot silk, bow ties and Bellinis at every angle. The crowd is a sea of familiar faces, everyone from soap stars, actors and actresses, comedians and the odd smattering of reality-show people. The who’s who of British television entertainment are gathered in one place – and so are we.
‘Come on,’ Faith says, taking my hand. ‘I’ve spotted the others.’
On our way to find the SC6 team, we pass Thandie Newton and Stephen Fry. Through the crowd, I see Hugh Laurie to my left and the pretty girl who starred on Downton Abbey to my right. Actors from The Crown are ubiquitous. Poppy offers an impromptu curtsey to Matt Smith. Enchanted, he bows back.
Toby stands out in what Faith mentioned is black-tie Armani. Faith rushes to his side. Joanna and Timothy are here together, petting publicly. Lucy is deep in conversation – flirting, I would say – with Sonya Sokolov, Russian bombshell presenter of our children’s cartoons, who appears to be rather enthralled in return. Poppy giggles to me, ‘Oh, Miss Gracie, what have I done?’ Zelda is here in all her magnificence, cloaked in a deep-purple satin and a lace gown and dripping in jewellery.
I don’t see Harry and whoever he’s invited. Given his inquisitiveness about my date, I can’t believe I didn’t think to ask.
I also don’t see Jordan.
When Poppy wanders off to mingle, Faith re-joins me.
‘You okay?’
‘I can’t see Jordan. Do you think he’s had trouble getting in?’
‘Toby and Lucy got through just fine,’ Faith says, scanning the room.
We keep looking. Jordan isn’t in sight.
‘Maybe it’s a good thing?’ Faith says.
I’m glancing around the room. Faith waits for my attention.
‘Go on.’
‘Gracie, I promise I won’t go on. But I do want to say, you’re so happy. You’re glowing. I don’t want Jordan slipping back in and ruining it. Giving you less than you deserve, and you deserve it all.’
I don’t want Jordan – and I don’t want less. Next time, when it comes to love, I want it all.
‘I can’t see myself in a relationship with Jordan again, under any circumstance, Faith.’ The room is packed, but he isn’t here. ‘But you can stop worrying, I think he’s a no-show.’
‘Shall we take a scoot around to check?’
‘Will you wait here for me? I’ll go.’
‘Darling, I won’t move an inch.’
I’m weaving my way steadily through the crowd when Harry finds me.
‘Gracie Porter.’
‘Harrison Hipgrave.’
‘You look… just… wow.’ Harry checks me out, top to bottom. He’s looking sharp himself in a trim black suit, no tie. ‘Are you wearing purple contact lenses?’ Harry is right up close to check.
‘My irises are sometimes violet,’ I reply, flattered. ‘Have you truly never noticed?’
‘Of course I’ve noticed,’ Harry tells me.
Unusually, we don’t embrace.
‘Did you enjoy the stroll?’
‘The red carpet? I did. And I believe we wowed them, windy weather and all.’ I bat my (real) lashes dramatically.
‘Come here, you,’ Harry says, pulling me inside his arms.
My face presses softly into his neck. Harry nuzzles his chin to mine. I’m wearing my new favourite perfume, Philosykos by Diptyque. Lusty notes of fig and white cedar. I feel Harry breathe in my scent.
Slowly, he breaks away.
‘You’re on your own?’ he says.
‘Not at the moment.’
He grins at me lopsidedly. ‘Where is your date? Where is your, ahem –’ Harry lowers his voice and clears his throat ‘– shag buddy, wasn’t it?’
Unbelievably, he mustn’t know that I cancelled with Carlos. Or that I’m supposed to be here with Jordan. For reasons I don’t wish to dwell on, I’m reluctant to tell him.
‘Are you on your own, Harry?’
‘No, my dates are powdering their noses – and not like that.’
‘Dates? Plural, darling? Charming.’
‘The twins, as you might say. I’m here with Bip and Ban.’
I was being chummy. Forcibly – it’s lovely, but it’s always forcibly that I put the brakes on with Harry. But he is here with his sisters. Half-step-sisters. Not dates. Not even one.
‘Oh.’
Inside my tummy, a knot tugs. Or maybe this trouser suit is too tight after the champagne.
‘They’re looking forward to seeing you. We must all catch up later. I haven’t forgotten, I promised you the best after-parties.’
‘That sounds smashing.’
Why am I speaking like a Peaky Blinder?
‘So, the girls, ah, stepped in,’ Harry carries on. He looks nervous.
‘Right…’
‘After you so brutishly declined my offers to accompany me this evening,’ he finishes.
I check for signs of mischief. There’s nothing in his eyes to suggest it. I wait for him to laugh. Harry does no such thing.
‘You invited me as your date, Harry?’
‘I certainly tried. Didn’t I?’
‘No, I…’
I avert my gaze. I cannot look into those gorgeous, dark eyes without wanting everything with this man. Thoughts are racing through my head. My heart is skipping beats.
For months, to survive my humiliation, with a mortal fear of being rejected, I’ve numbed my feelings. Afraid to fail, I refused to dream. Now, a flood of hope sweeps over me.
‘Gracie, I—’
Without warning, Jordan arrives at my side. Interrupted, the moment between Harry and I evaporates. I watch the colour drain from his face.
‘What a bloody nightmare.’ Jordan runs his hand through his hair. He kisses my
cheek. ‘Bloody security wouldn’t let me in. Wouldn’t go and get you to sort it out. Absolute nightmare.’
‘Jordan, I’m sorry.’
‘Never mind, I’m here now. Grace, you look… lovely,’ Jordan says, as if he’s seeing me for the first time.
‘Jordan, you remember Harry?’
‘Of course, we met at the shoot. Harry, good to see you. Thank you, again, for working through the deal with Pussy Paws, the special rates. I know it got you lot out of a bother, but it also got me a promotion.’ Jordan pumps Harry’s hand vigorously. ‘If you have any further opportunities like that, please do get in touch.’
Slipping back in to agent mode, Harry says, ‘As Agent to the Stars, I’m at your service. Right, so, I was highly concerned that a woman who looks this beautiful has more than diamonds to worry about being taken.’ Harry’s eyes meet mine for a second and it lasts a lifetime. ‘Now that Gracie is safely in your company, I must dash. People to see. An agent’s work is never done at these things. I’ll see you later.’
‘Catch you later, Harry,’ Jordan says.
I can’t speak.
Harry is gone.
‘You do look beautiful, Grace.’
‘Thank you, Jordan.’
Moments ago, I’d been aflutter. Now, nothing.
Jordan scans the crowd over my shoulder. ‘Is that your mother?’
Obviously not, though I turn my head to check, tempted to suggest Jordan might not recognise her if it is.
‘Over there.’ He points. ‘In the blue dress, talking with the old Dr Who.’
I look and it is my mother, talking with none other than David Tennant.
I watch as she extracts from her new second-hand sapphire blue clutch purse what I know is an old cookery school photograph of me. In it, I’m seventeen years old, chubby-cheeked with poorly applied liquid eyeliner, wearing my first white chef’s hat. David nods politely and looks earnestly around the room, presumably for me.
‘Jordan, it is my mother.’
‘I thought so.’
‘Golly. I – I’ll go and get her.’
‘Shall I get us all drinks?’
‘Thanks. I’ll meet you back here.’
I dash across the foyer on legs of jelly in my crystal embellished high heels. It was fun playing grown-up television star on the red carpet with the girls. Now, I feel like a little minnow in a very big pond.
Look At Me Now Page 26