by Helen Eve
Cassidy, Madison and Phoebe are insipid in matching bridesmaid pink, while Libby sulks in bile green. ‘What are you supposed to be?’ I ask. ‘Should I make a guess?’
‘No stupid jokes.’ Phoebe adjusts her headpiece of pink roses. ‘We’re Cinderella’s attendants. Siena briefed Mads on the designs to ensure that we look exactly right beside her.’
‘I’m sure she did,’ I agree, taking a closer glance at the pouffy pink layers that render the Starlets’ figures lumpy and anaemic. As a saboteur of rival beauty, Siena is the maven.
‘How are you controlling what the other guests wear?’ I ask. ‘I expect it would be terribly embarrassing if everyone looked like blancmange.’
‘All civilian outfits are Libby-approved,’ explains Cassidy. ‘Ugly Sisters and Stepmothers are permissible, but, other than that, girls can only come as rodents or pumpkins.’
There’s no need to ask why no one has contested this decree. With a stranglehold that defies belief, the Starlet juggernaut not only gets its own way, but convinces students that its decisions are for the greater good.
‘We must be community-minded,’ nods Phoebe. ‘It’s so important that all students feel part of this event.’
‘A community means having wider purpose, doesn’t it?’ I ask. ‘Working for others?’
‘That’s exactly right,’ says Phoebe. ‘Speaking of which, what are you planning to contribute, now you’re back? You can’t keep freeloading from us.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I wasn’t aware that I was using up your resources.’
‘If your return is going to be prolonged,’ Libby says as one forced to utter these words, ‘we need to assign you a role. The build-up to the wedding will be frantic, and our posts are already formalized.’
‘What’s your role?’ I ask.
‘Mine’s obvious.’ She shakes her hair like a proud horse. ‘I protect the talent.’
‘The talent? Whose talent?’
‘Siena is the talent,’ Libby says slowly, as if I’m an idiot.
‘What is Siena’s talent?’ I ask at the same speed.
She sighs in exasperation. ‘Talent is what she is, not what she has!’
I give up and turn to Cassidy. ‘What are you?’
‘Hair and make-up,’ she says. ‘Want to see?’
Taking my shrug as a yes, she opens a vanity case to reveal an extensive cosmetics empire. I jump in shock as she thrusts a hairdresser’s dummy, complete with long blonde locks, towards me.
‘And you?’ I ask Madison.
‘Stylist.’ She hands me her big black book and I flip through hundreds of designs, mood boards and scraps of fabric; abstract sketches and quotations.
‘Mads, this is beautiful,’ I say in surprise. ‘You’re really talented!’
‘We shall see,’ sings Libby like an operatic narrator who knows that tragedy is forecast. ‘Siena hasn’t seen her dress yet. I hope she’ll like it, Mads, for your sake.’
‘Otherwise I’ll have to set fire to it,’ Madison mutters, biting her nails. ‘And then set fire to myself.’
‘And you, Phoebs?’ I ask hurriedly. ‘Are you her bouncer or something?’
‘I’m her attitude coach,’ Phoebe says. ‘Swagger coach, we sometimes call it.’
‘Do we?’ I ask. ‘With a straight face?’
Libby thrusts me her iPad. How many calories is too many?… Slingbacks or wedges?… Is acrylic ever acceptable?…
‘This is the Ask Siena Twitter feed,’ she explains. ‘Each week we give the Shells a chance to tweet Siena their questions, and she gives them the honour of responding to a very small selection. Or, rather, we do it for her, because she’s extremely busy.’
I scroll through the questions. ‘The Shells are stupid enough to do this?’
‘They’re dedicated. None of them wants to miss the prize draw.’
‘It’s always an object of sentimental value,’ Cassidy says. ‘Last week we gave away a piece of Siena’s vintage French homework. For an especially good question we might donate disused nail varnish, or even a hairpin.’
‘That’s disgusting,’ I say. ‘You give away used hairpins?’
‘Genuines,’ Libby clarifies. ‘We had an incident last term where some Fourth Formers were caught selling fakes. Now all prizes come with a certificate of authenticity signed by Siena herself. Or, rather, I sign them for her because she’s extremely busy.’
Cassidy quivers as a bell sounds from the room next door. ‘That means Siena’s ready for hair and make-up,’ she explains. ‘Did we tell you that Libby’s bedroom has been part-converted into Siena’s dressing room? She was very cramped with all her belongings in here.’
I take a happy moment to imagine Libby, pushed out of her own living space to sleep on a bale of straw in a corner, but she interrupts me by snatching her iPad out of my hands.
‘You were about to answer a question!’ she accuses. ‘Without training!’
‘The questions aren’t about physics,’ I say. ‘I’m unsure what training is required.’
She jabs the screen. ‘See here, where a Stripe has infiltrated the feed to ask a question about Siena’s lingerie? This should have been blocked. We never speak about Siena’s lingerie!’
‘Siena’s clothes are tight enough to show off the washing instructions,’ I say. ‘Last night you ran laps of the courtyard in bikinis. One can’t call her lingerie a secret, exactly.’
‘The courtyard run was part of a controlled photographic display,’ Libby explains. ‘It was for a potential modelling contract.’
‘You hired someone to spy on you and take pictures?’ I ask.
‘Controlled photographic display,’ she repeats. ‘Don’t make it sound tacky.’
Phoebe and Madison stand like courtiers as Cassidy returns to announce Siena’s imminent arrival, while Libby runs around in circles hiding discarded tights down the back of the radiator. I can almost hear the strains of The Arrival of the Queen of Sheba as Siena sweeps in, hair and make-up flawless, wearing a pink silk dressing gown.
‘I’m ready to see my dress,’ she commands.
Madison is visibly nervous as she fumbles with a mannequin. The room hushes as she pushes it into the centre of the room, while Siena inspects it from all sides.
Madison has interpreted the before part of the Cinderella story, and Siena’s dress evokes the initial rags. But it’s completely beautiful. The yellow gossamer shimmers with butterflies and floats gauzily in tissued layers. It’s unstructured, and it rises and falls like wings. It’s the polar opposite of every dress I’ve seen Siena wear, and yet it takes no imagination to see her in it. This is the Siena I thought no one but me ever saw: it’s not the neatly chignoned, crossed-ankled Siena, but the Siena who lets down her hair and rides bareback across open countryside and laughs at the top of her voice.
I feel a rush of relief for Madison, but this only lasts until Siena breaks her silence. ‘What is this?’ she asks, her words like dripping ice.
‘I – I went for something a little different to the traditional ball gown,’ Madison stammers. ‘Because tonight signifies a new chapter for you and Jack, I wanted it to represent sunrise, and a new beginning, rather than the wedding dress which is the end result.’
‘I knew it was a mistake to give you free rein.’ Siena’s words grow colder with each syllable. ‘If only I hadn’t read that piece in Harper’s about giving struggling designers a chance … I swear, my compassion will be my downfall. Are you trying to ruin me? Or kill me?’
‘I worked so hard!’ Madison is close to tears. ‘It took me weeks and weeks, and the least you could do is show a bit of gratitude.’
‘Gratitude,’ Siena mutters as Phoebe and Cassidy wince.
‘What’s so wrong with it?’ Madison asks plaintively. ‘Tell me why you don’t like it.’
Siena takes three steps towards her. ‘I. Hate. Yellow,’ she says as if she’s spitting venom.
‘Libby didn’t tell me you hated yellow.’
Madison sounds as if she’s drowning. ‘Libby, please…’
‘I deny that!’ Libby shrills, her cheeks puce against green satin, even though Siena has done nothing more than raise an eyebrow. ‘You knew all eyes would be on Siena tonight and so you plotted to get yourself attention as a designer. I had no reason to believe that you weren’t working on the white dress previously discussed.’
Siena storms out onto her tiny balcony while Phoebe scoops up everyone’s phones and scuttles after her. We watch through the window as she makes multiple calls.
‘You sold me out, Libby,’ says Madison furiously. ‘I made these pink things for us, and green for you, exactly to the specifications. How could I have known there was a problem with yellow? Siena’s never mentioned it. Isn’t it your job to know these details?’
Cassidy is trembling in a corner, Cristal spilling from her glass as she tries to take a sip. I can’t see any medication lying around, so I grab the remaining pink dress from its hanger to distract her before she becomes catatonic. ‘Do I really have to wear this?’
‘If we can find enough tissue to stuff it with,’ says Libby, not too deeply embroiled in a crisis to insult me. ‘Your ironing board excuse of a cleavage will never keep it up.’
‘Fine.’ I grab a discarded tuxedo that one of the Stripes must have left behind, putting it on and tying the cummerbund tightly enough that it can’t be easily removed. ‘Will this make you happy? It’ll make going to the bathroom a lot easier, and anything is preferable to the toilet roll holders you’re wearing.’
‘You’re not attending like that!’ says Libby. ‘Consider your next move very carefully.’
Siena enters stage left and jabs a mobile phone to terminate a heated call before tossing it into a full glass of red wine.
‘That was my phone,’ whispers Madison.
Cassidy spills Cristal onto the bedspread and yelps in terror as Siena bestows her most frightening stare on us. ‘You’ll all be fired in a minute if someone doesn’t fix this,’ she says. ‘Phoebe faces immediate demotion for her lack of assistance.’
‘It’s such short notice,’ Phoebe says plaintively. ‘Valentino isn’t picking up.’
Siena thrusts another phone at her. ‘Then get me Donatella.’
‘She’s on the red-eye,’ Phoebe says in despair. ‘I’ve tried to cut across the flight path but I can’t make contact without serious risk to other planes.’
‘You already own a million dresses,’ I point out. ‘No one will know if you repeat.’
‘Repeat…’ Phoebe mutters as if I’m a rambling lunatic. ‘The scrutiny she’s under…’
‘Why won’t you give my dress a chance?’ Madison begs. ‘I know it’s not what you expected, but I swear, it will look great on you…’
‘Romy, will you put that on!’ Libby hurls the pink monstrosity through the air, almost knocking me off my feet. ‘Or stay behind!’
I’ve been through a lot for the Starlets, but this is one humiliation too far, and I decide to head it off at the pass. ‘I’ve just had a vision about Siena’s ball dress,’ I lie.
Libby and Siena regard each other uncertainly. ‘I thought you couldn’t see what Siena’s supposed to wear?’ says Libby. ‘You said the stars wouldn’t align.’
‘The fog has cleared,’ I say. ‘It’s a psychic miracle. Siena is definitely supposed to wear this pink dress.’
‘But then I’ll be the same as all of you,’ says Siena. ‘Surely that can’t be right?’
‘You’ll never be the same as us,’ says Phoebe sincerely. ‘You’ll always stand out, whatever you wear.’
‘You do like our dresses, don’t you?’ Cassidy is sweet and trusting, in frills that clash hideously with her red hair. ‘You picked them because they suit us all?’
I’m surprised at the ease of this plan. ‘Yes, obviously you love the design, or you wouldn’t have chosen it for your very best friends. And pink is your signature colour. It all makes sense.’
Unable to admit that she chose her very best friends the least flattering gowns she could dream up, Siena focuses on me. ‘Who are you supposed to be?’
‘I’m Buttons.’ I twirl around so that my jacket flies out wide. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think that I’m not surprised,’ she says. ‘Is this another feat of epic incompetence on Mads’ part?’
Madison is crying openly, but no one moves to defend her. This is exactly the way I remember the Starlets, bickering with a hierarchy so firmly embedded that their roles are immovable, no matter where justice lies.
Libby and Phoebe grab the dress as if it’s an exotic bird, and wrestle Siena into it. When her face emerges from the voluminous frills, she looks like a sulky little girl too old for her dressing-up box. The cut is unflattering across her thin collarbone, and the pink silk makes her pale and translucent. If she’s the most beautiful girl at the ball, it will only be by default.
‘Is this definitely what I’m supposed to wear on my engagement night?’ Siena asks me.
Something about her intense expression makes her hard to lie to. I almost come clean when I see a light go on in Libby’s eyes. ‘If it’s not the right dress, Siena will have to wear this,’ she says generously as she reaches for the zip of her green mutation. ‘I can find something else. Anything else.’
I use the interruption to consider the magnitude of Siena’s aims. If she has to resemble a retro dessert for Jack to see that they’re not ready for marriage, then so be it. Not to mention that I haven’t forgiven her for duping the Council into running this ball.
‘No doubt,’ I say, fingers crossed in my suit sleeves. ‘And Libby has to stay in green. That message is coming to me very strongly.’
‘You both look wonderful,’ Cassidy says staunchly. ‘What a night this is going to be.’
‘Romy should take the official photograph,’ Libby says. ‘It makes sense for her to remain behind the lens. After all, she can’t attend the ball without a dress.’
Siena looks impatient. ‘No pictures,’ she says. ‘I’m going outside.’
‘You can’t ban Romy from the ball,’ Madison bursts out as soon as Siena has gone. None of the Starlets has ever taken my side before, and I can only assume that the evening’s distressing events have caused her to lose her mind. ‘She organized it!’
A portentous silence descends. ‘Romy organized it?’ asks Libby.
Madison collapses onto the bed, her courage reserves empty, as the other Starlets put on their shoes and pick up their bags.
‘What about Mads?’ Cassidy whispers as they reach the door.
‘She and Romy can both stay here,’ Libby throws over her shoulder.
‘You can’t stop us coming,’ I say. ‘I’m a Council member. I have to be there!’
Libby looks me meaningfully up and down, her gaze lingering on my tuxedo. ‘I can’t stop you coming to the ball?’
I lapse into silence as she continues. ‘Why don’t you and Mads both atone for your mistakes by cleaning Siena’s room? I’m sure she doesn’t want to come back to this mess.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I say, but I don’t make it to the door before she slams it shut. A key turns in the lock, and then her footsteps fade. I rattle the handle uselessly as Madison exhales in a desperate sob. Then we start to pick up piles of clothes from the floor.
Chapter Twenty-three
Siena
‘Where’s Romy?’ I ask Libby as we cross the courtyard behind Cassidy and Phoebe.
‘She’s reassessing her priorities,’ says Libby. ‘It’s for the best. What if she’d orchestrated a sabotage to stop Jack proposing?’
‘You’re right,’ I concede. ‘She might have been planning anything, for all we know. So what do you think of my dress?’
‘It’s fine,’ she says. ‘Don’t give it another thought.’
I’m walking as fast as I can, but the dress is heavy and hot. ‘I haven’t made a mistake?’
‘You have not made a mistake,’ she repeats
. ‘Mistakes are an alien concept to you. The dress represents you perfectly. It’s a princess gown that will be perfectly accessorized in –’ she checks her watch – ‘three hours’ time with a flawless Princess cut diamond.’
‘Yes.’ I look down at my pink dress; the dress I’ve never imagined myself wearing on this, or any other occasion. ‘I chose perfectly.’
‘Ready?’ says Phoebe as she and Cassidy pause outside the hall.
‘Of course.’ I stand on my marker, exactly centre, and they swing open the doors.
* * *
‘Are you having a wonderful time?’ Libby asks each time she and Tristan swing past me in the throes of a complicated ballroom move.
‘Wonderful,’ I tell her with increasing conviction, in the hope that she won’t ask again. ‘Spectacular.’
Jack might not be quite as good a dancer as Tristan, but he’s holding his own, and as always he’s by far the best-looking boy in the room.
‘This is quite an event,’ he says as he glances nervously upwards, as if a chandelier might plummet and annihilate him.
‘Do you like it?’ I ask. ‘We did it for you.’
He laughs slightly and shakes his head. ‘I’d have been happy going to the cinema,’ he says, but I’m pretty sure he’s joking.
He must be, because I’m telling the truth when I use the word spectacular. I’ve never seen a dance like this. The room is glass-slipper themed, with chandeliers and sharp-edged crystals that hang over us like giant diamonds. Libby was dissuaded from installing a glass floor by the prospect of expensive law suits brought by girls in short skirts, but the marble has been polished and I imagine I’d be able to see my face in it as clearly as I can in the surrounding rainbow prisms. Libby has eschewed a food budget in favour of alcohol, and the long tables are festooned with buckets of pink Cristal – my mother’s favourite champagne.