New York Valentine

by Carmen Reid

‘Yeah … lot easier for me, though. I’m just the guy behind the scenes with the camera skills. You’re the talent, you’re the big name. It’s much harder to find a new vehicle for you. Is there any word about How Not To Shop? Do you think someone else will go for it?’

  ‘There’s an online petition to bring it back.’

  ‘I know, I’ve signed.’

  ‘That’s sweet. But, so far no word. Tamsin says she has a whole load of meetings lined up so here’s hoping something will come of them.’

  ‘Here’s hoping … Catch you soon, girl, but I’ve just seen the director, so I’m going to have to look busy.’

  Once the call was over, Annie was left staring at her screen again.

  ‘Mulberry,’ she typed in: ‘sea green leather.’

  There were several links to the purse which matched the bag she was desperate to get her hands on, and one article by a fashion editor lamenting the scarcity of the bag in green. But no further leads.

  She phoned the number of the biggest Mulberry store in London.

  Several minutes later and she had established that there were no green bags left anywhere in Britain.

  ‘I know … isn’t it such a shame?’ the sales assistant sympathized, totally understanding Annie’s distress. ‘Do you have a friend in New York? Because apparently our Manhattan branches have still got a few greens. The colour’s not been such a big wow over there as it has been here.’

  As Annie put the phone down, she wondered if Elena, struggling with her failing business, would be in any sort of state to go on a little handbag errand for her. How was the dollar/pound exchange rate these days? Would it be cheaper or more expensive to buy the bag in the US?

  She looked online, purely in the interests of theoretical research. Of course. And as she looked, she began to sniff.

  There was a weird smell.

  Annie got up from her desk and went out into the hallway. ‘Dinah?’ she called down the stairs, ‘is something burning?’

  There was no reply, no sound at all from downstairs. Dinah must have taken the twins out when Annie was on the phone.

  But now it seemed to Annie that the smell was coming from upstairs. Lana and Owen’s rooms were up in the attic … and the smell was something like burning hair.

  ‘Lana!’ Annie called up the staircase, ‘are you OK?’

  There was no reply.

  With a jolt of worry, Annie began to hurry up the attic staircase, taking the steps two at a time. She’s just straightening her hair … she’s just done something weird to her hair. It will be fine. Annie told herself as she hotfooted it to the top of the house.

  ‘Lana!’ she called out again.

  She tapped on Lana’s door and when no reply came, she pushed it open.

  ‘Lana, what’s burn—?’ Annie asked, but she could see immediately what was causing the smell.

  Lana was lying on her bed, headphones on, eyes closed, mouthing to the music. In her hands was a fat cigarette.

  Was she out of her mind? Was she on drugs?! Was this some kind of cry for help?!

  Annie stomped over and yanked the headphones lead out of the iPod. Lana opened her eyes and looked at her mum in surprise.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Annie demanded, ‘you are lying on your bed SMOKING! What’s going on? Have you gone stark, staring, raving mad?’

  Before Lana could even get a word out, Annie, hands on hips, went on: ‘Is that what I think it is? Are you on drugs? Here? In your own bedroom?’

  Lana rolled her eyes.

  Then she leaned over and dropped the cigarette into the half-drunk mug of coffee at the side of her bed.

  It fizzled and sank, making an even more horrible smell.

  ‘Well?!’

  ‘Calm down. It’s herbal. And horrible. I’m not going to bother lighting up another one. OK? Happy now? Greta sent it to me, from Morocco.’

  Lana pushed a package across the bed towards her mum. Annie unfolded the pages covered in Greta’s tiny handwriting, and a bundle of photos and packet of herbal cigarettes tumbled out.

  ‘She wrote a letter and sent you pictures? That’s very twentieth century.’

  ‘No internet where she’s working, not even enough electricity to charge up her laptop. It’s pretty far out.’

  Annie looked at the photos and saw small boys and girls smiling, dressed in tatty, bleached-out clothes. In the background was a wood and mud hut. No, laptops didn’t really fit in with this scene.

  ‘I thought she was in the jungle … with yetis?’

  Lana rolled her eyes again.

  ‘She’s in the Moroccan countryside, teaching English to schoolchildren. Suzie’s the one in the Amazon. Planting trees. No one is doing anything with yetis.’

  Greta had left in the second week of the summer holidays and, to be honest, Lana hadn’t really cheered up since then.

  ‘Do you wish you’d done something like this?’ Annie asked gently.

  Lana nodded slowly, and gave a great sigh: ‘Well, you know why I didn’t, because I still have to sort out what I’m going to do next. I have to read prospectuses and fill out application forms and go for interviews and try to decide what the hell it is I am going to do with my life.’

  She sank back against her pillows as if just the thought of it was exhausting her.

  ‘Lana …’ Annie began gently, ‘I’m really sorry the TV job has come to an end. Not just for me but also for you.’

  Lana scowled.

  ‘No, I have been thinking about you too, honestly.’

  Lana had already spent most of the past three days hiding in her bedroom in a gloomier mood than ever, causing Annie a great deal of worry.

  ‘We’re both out of work right now,’ Annie told her. She risked taking hold of her daughter’s hand and patting it gently, ‘I’m sorry darlin’, you’ve not been through anything like this before. But I have. The worst thing you can do is lie on your bed and get depressed. You’ve got to get out there, keep busy. Why don’t you go and see some of your friends who are still in town?’

  ‘Ha! Everyone is either abroad working or so busy with their jobs here that they can’t even see me on a Saturday, let alone an afternoon right in the middle of the week.’

  ‘Well, there are still evenings, babes. Don’t make it out to be totally bleak.’

  ‘I haven’t got any money to go out in the evenings anyway,’ Lana huffed.

  ‘I’ll give you some money … maybe Owen will give you some money. He’s the only one in the house who seems to have endless amounts of cash,’ she joked. ‘Maybe Owen would let you help on his—’

  ‘Muuuuum,’ Lana growled. Obviously doing any kind of work with her brother on his market stall was absolutely out of the question.

  ‘OK, forget that,’ Annie said.

  Lana pushed the headphones socket back into the iPod and turned the music up again. This conversation was over.

  She closed her eyes as further indication that her mother should leave the room.

  But Annie stood there staring at her daughter in concern. What was Lana going to do now? It would be hard enough getting another TV series off the ground with a place in it for Annie. She was almost certainly not going to be able to bring her daughter along as part of the package.

  If Lana had been at all enthusiastic about her film crew work, Annie might have been able to ask Bob to help her find a lowly paid position somewhere … but it had been obvious to Annie from the start that Lana was just going through the motions.

  Annie couldn’t use her retail contacts to fix Lana up with a shop assistant job either, because Lana had already refused point blank. And Ed couldn’t find her any sort of classroom assistant work because she’d already declared: ‘over my dead body’.

  In fact, despite hours of conversation with her, no one was any clearer about what Lana was interested in doing.

  Watching her daughter lying bored on the bed listening to music, surrounded by pictures from her best friend’s new and excitin
g life, Annie worried. What if Lana became really unhappy? What if she got depressed? Suicidal, even?

  Something had to be done. Drastic action was needed and Annie was the one who was going to have to take it.

  Besides, she was in danger of slipping into a deeply unhappy place herself if all she could do now was hang about the house waiting for the phone to ring with good news.

  ‘Lana?’ Annie said loudly, hoping to be heard above the music, ‘Lana!’

  The music went off and Lana looked grumpily up at her again. ‘What?’ she demanded.

  ‘What do you think about going to New York?’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Would you like to go to New York?’

  Lana’s face looked blank, but she was at least sitting up now.

  ‘Elena, you remember her?’

  ‘Yeah, of course …’

  ‘Well, Elena’s having loads of problems with the dress company she’s trying to run in New York and she’s asked me to go over and help her. At first, I said no—’

  ‘What?!’

  Lana leaned forward, eyes wide. She even pushed her great heavy fringe out of her face.

  It was the most animated Annie had seen her daughter in about two years.

  ‘Well … I said no because of the filming schedule.’

  Not to mention the babies, and my family and my husband …

  ‘But?’ Lana was just about panting.

  ‘Well, now … now that I’ve no filming schedule, maybe I should offer to go over for a few weeks to help out … and since you’re not doing anything else right now—’

  Lana leapt off the bed and grasped her mother’s arm. ‘So?’ she asked desperately ‘So? You’re going to go and you’re going to take me with you? Is that what you’re saying, mum?’

  ‘Well, I’m just thinking about it. To be honest, my love, this has only just come into my head … I’ve not even …’

  But it was too late. Like some deranged dervish, Lana, headphones still in her ears, was dancing and leaping about the room chanting, ‘I’m going to New York! I’m going to New York!’

  Chapter Five

  New management Paula:

  Tight grey jacket with wide lapels (Vivienne Westwood

  staff discount)

  Bright blue body con dress (Hervé Léger staff discount)

  Black suede gladiator heels (Jimmy Choo staff

  sale preview)

  Total est. cost: £570

  ‘We have a lovely little pink bolero …’

  Annie pressed her flushed cheek against the cool glass of the underground carriage window. To say that Ed hadn’t exactly warmed to her idea of a business trip to New York was an understatement.

  Ed had a lot on his plate, Annie reminded herself, determined to try and see things from his point of view, at least a little. He’d only just returned to his very busy job as head of music at the precious and precocious St Vincent’s after taking almost a whole year off to look after their babies.

  The babies still didn’t sleep every night through, so both parents were operating on a degree of grumpy frazzledness at all times. Still, she wasn’t sure if that entirely excused him from calling her a ‘hare-brained lunatic’.

  ‘But Annie, you’re supposed to be here,’ he’d said last night. ‘You are supposed to be right here, on standby in case your agent or producer calls with news about a new deal. For all we know, that could happen any day.’

  In sheer stress, he managed to drop the salad bowl, breaking it into four jagged pieces and splattering the table, the wall and floor with green leaves, oil and vinegar.

  The great big, guilt-inducing ‘what about the children?’ question came next.

  ‘I was only planning to go for three weeks, four at the most,’ she insisted. But at that, he’d landed a big juicy baby in her arms, making her feel like a guilty traitor for even saying the words.

  ‘Lots of mummies have to travel for work. It’s not the worst thing I could do.’ She’d run her traitor’s hand over Minnie’s soft as a kitten curls.

  ‘Maybe there won’t be another TV job for me, Ed. Have you thought about that? Maybe I’ll have to hope that I can go into business with Svetlana and Elena,’ she told him as he picked salad from the wall.

  ‘Of course I’ve thought about that!’ he replied. ‘I usually think about that in a cold sweat in the middle of the night when I’m also thinking about our vast mortgage, the twins’ future school fees, Lana’s next phase of education, your credit card bills and all the other expenses in my life.’

  ‘You’re the one who just took a year off,’ she’d snapped back, regretting immediately how nasty it sounded. ‘Don’t think I’m not intending to earn just as soon as I possibly can.’

  ‘Will they pay you for this New York trip?’

  ‘Flights yes, and there’s somewhere to stay.’

  ‘No, Annie,’ Ed had insisted, shaking his head. ‘No I really think this is crazy. In another week or so, Tamsin will have sold How Not To Shop to another channel and you’ll forget all about this. You loved that job! You’re forgetting how much you loved that job, Annie.’

  ‘But what about Lana?’ It was her last attempt. ‘She thought it was an amazing idea. She couldn’t wait to get on the plane. I have four children, not just the twins. I have to think about Lana too.’

  But Ed had shaken his head emphatically. For the time being, the discussion was over.

  The tube train braked hard for Knightsbridge station, bumping Annie’s cheekbone against the glass. She made her way off and hurried through the station until she was standing in the beating heart of London’s swankiest shopping district.

  Annie was supposed to be here to preview The Store’s Autumn/Winter collection for a featurette on her TV programme. She just hadn’t had the heart to phone up and cancel. The Store staff were her most loyal fans and she couldn’t bear to tell them in a bald phone call that the show had been cancelled. The least she could do was go in person … and maybe also just take a little look at some of the new things. Not that she was buying, obviously. But she could never, ever resist a peek.

  As she clipped along the pavement in her platform-heeled, morale-boosting shoes, she looked up at the glittering windows of The Store now straight ahead of her.

  The Store was a department store dedicated to fashion. Every important label, every major designer, every item needed, wanted, longed for and lusted after could be found at The Store. Well, if it was that hot, it would probably have sold out, but not to worry, once inside the shiny doors, you’d be certain to find something else to take its place in your heart.

  To most Londoners, The Store was a chilly and intimidating place, full of four-figure price tags and ultra snooty staff. But for Annie, breaking into a smile as she pushed against the familiar glass revolving doors, The Store still felt a little bit like home.

  She’d spent years of her life working here, progressing from sales assistant to personal shopper. Many of her good friends were still at The Store – the staff who’d lived through many of her past adventures with her – then there was the loyal client base who still had Annie on speed-dial for wardrobe advice in a crisis, and then there were the labels. What was Vivienne doing this season? And Stella? And Matthew? And Miuccia? Fashion, labels and the brand new season’s collections had been a part of Annie’s life for so long that she was always bursting to know.

  For Annie, new clothes, new styles and the latest looks were a comfort, a fresh start … a source of hope and optimism.

  ‘I know just exactly what you should do, Annie girl, you should come back and work for us. Even temporarily. You know we’d welcome you back with open arms. We’re rushed off our feet,’ Paula said as soon as Annie explained what had happened to her TV series. In The Store’s Personal Shopping suite, a little crowd of staff had gathered round and now murmured in agreement.

  ‘That’s a lovely offer, but you have so totally filled my shoes,’ Annie said, giving Paula the once-over and a significant
wink.

  Paula didn’t just look amazing – it’s hard for a six-foot-something black girl with a lithe figure to look bad – she also, for the first time, looked glamorously grown up.

  The jacket over the bod-con dress was sober and serious. There was simple gold jewellery around her wrist and neck, and her long nails had been given an unusually elegant manicure. Not a zebra stripe or diamanté stud to be seen.

  ‘Have you been promoted again?’ Annie asked.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ Paula winked back, ‘head buyer for this floor. Didn’t I tell you?’

  ‘Nooooo! Trips to Paris? And Milan?’

  ‘Not yet, but they are coming right up.’

  ‘Congratulations.’ Annie dared to hug Paula again, even though embracing this gazelle made her feel like a small squashy frog.

  ‘Come back to us,’ Dale, from Menswear, repeated and the other assistants nodded eagerly.

  ‘I can’t yet,’ Annie told them, ‘it’s too—’

  She broke off because she definitely didn’t want to hurt their feelings. But coming back would be too much of a step backwards. She’d been the presenter on her own TV show – she just couldn’t return to personal shopping at The Store, no matter how welcoming, familiar and easy it would be.

  ‘I still think a new TV thing will happen,’ she told them instead. ‘I had over a million viewers. There’s an audience out there who like me and hopefully my producer can sell the show or a slightly different version to someone else. Fingers crossed.’

  ‘What about your friend Svetlana?’ Paula asked, ‘wasn’t she setting up a dress label with her daughter? Weren’t you involved with that? In fact, we’ve got some of their dresses on order.’

  ‘Fantastic! I love their dresses. I think the label is going to do brilliantly well … I even thought about going over to New York to help over there … but …’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  A voice interrupted the animated conversation.

  All heads swivelled towards a woman standing at the entrance to the suite.

  ‘I was just wondering about personal shopping … well, I’ve never been personally shopped … do I need an appointment? Do you charge?’ she asked hesitantly.