by Lindsey Kelk
‘I do want to go,’ I said, scooting up the settee so he could sit down beside me. ‘But I can’t go. I’ve got work and I don’t really have the money and, you know, I should spend Christmas with my family. Or something.’
Charlie did not look convinced.
‘Christmas Day at your mum’s house makes Eastenders look like a sitcom,’ he reminded me, needlessly. ‘And as for work, most people take time off at Christmas, although I know that’s going to come as a shock to you.’
‘It’s less shocking than the thought of going to New York to visit the Vice President of Special Projects at Bennett Enterprises,’ I said while searching for my overalls. Ah, there they were, rolled in a ball in the bath. Of course, where else would they be?
‘Do you know what I do whenever I’m not sure what to do?’ Charlie asked.
‘Lie down on the floor and eat Maltesers?’ I suggested. ‘No, wait, that’s me.’
‘I sit down and I ask myself, what would Tess do?’ he said with a knowing smile and a smug nod. ‘Works like a charm.’
Amy was right: he really was a cockwomble.
‘And there was me thinking you were going to say something helpful,’ I said with a filthy look on my face. ‘Thanks, Charlie.’
‘Good to have you back, Brookes,’ he replied, slapping a heavy hand hard on my arse as he strode back into the kitchen. ‘Now get your arse to work, your Uber’ll be outside in two minutes.’
‘Jess, I’ve got a mouth like a badger that just went down on a camel and liked it,’ Ess declared later that morning. ‘Go and get us a coffee, I am parched.’
Across the studio, I gave him a startled look from the make-up artist’s chair. ‘Right now?’ I asked.
‘No, next Tuesday,’ he replied. His flat cap and muttonchops clashed with his flashy silver tracksuit, making him look like a disgruntled sheep farmer who had come to work in fancy dress as a twat. ‘I wouldn’t ask for it now if I didn’t want it now, would I?’
‘It’s just, I’m not really in any shape to pop to Starbucks right now.’ I bit my lip and got a mouthful of something rancid.
Ess dropped his camera, 7 diving across the room to grab it before it could hit the hardwood floor. ‘What’s the problem? The model is going to be here any minute.’
I looked at Rachel the make-up artist with wild eyes. Well, I assumed I did; it was very hard to tell under all the face paint and false eyelashes and cock cap.
I had been three and a half minutes late.
‘I’ll go,’ she offered, turning to Ess. ‘I can be there and back before Tess washes all that off her face. What does everyone want?’
‘Why would she need to wash her face?’ he asked, trying not to laugh. ‘I need you here, Rach, the model will arrive in a minute and we’ll have to get started.’
‘I can’t go out like this,’ I said. ‘You’re not serious.’
‘You look grand to me,’ he said, staring right at me. ‘Doesn’t she look grand to you, 7?’
‘Grand,’ he squeaked, hands pressed over his mouth. Wanker.
‘You said you’d look at my portfolio today before the model came in,’ I reminded him, stalling for time. ‘When are we going to do that?’
‘When you’ve got my coffee,’ he replied. ‘I’m dying on my arse over here, Jess. If I don’t get a coffee in me in the next two minutes, I’m going to turn into a right old – Kelly, you’re here!’
A six-foot-something goddess with glowing black skin and a weave that would make Beyoncé weep strolled into the studio, only to be swept up in Ess’s arms and lavished with kisses.
‘Jess is going out to get coffee,’ Ess said in between gratuitous snarfs of her neck. ‘What do you want?’
‘Oh, I’m fine,’ she said, taking off her sunglasses, giving me a double take and then putting them straight back on so she could stare more freely. ‘Thank you.’
‘You need a juice, she’ll get you a juice,’ he reassured her before turning back to me. ‘If you’re back in less than ten minutes, I’ll look at your portfolio.’
‘Can I wash my face first?’ I asked, bouncing my weight from foot to foot.
He sneered. ‘7, start a timer for ten minutes,’ he called across the studio. ‘I don’t know, can you wash your face and get coffee in less than ten minutes?’
‘Bollocks,’ I muttered, grabbing hold of my bag and running for the door. ‘I’ll be back in nine.’
‘She’s not going out like that, is she?’ I heard the model ask in a low voice as I left. ‘Does she know what’s on her face?’
‘Yeah,’ Ess said gleefully. ‘Yeah, she does.’
Starbucks was exactly two minutes away from the studio and the juice bar was next door but one. I’d spent all week bouncing between the two and had my coffee run down to six minutes exactly, I could absolutely do this.
‘No one will be in Starbucks,’ I told myself, shaking out my ponytail and trying to cover my face with my hair. ‘It’s East London, no one will be in Starbucks. It won’t be busy.’
No, the voice in my head reminded me, they’ll all be in the organic juice bar, you fool.
Whatever, I argued, as if I would be the strangest thing on the streets of London today. What were the chances of bumping into someone I knew, anyway?
‘Tess? Is that you?’
The chances were high.
‘Raquel?’ I squinted through my hair to see a small, squat blonde woman staring at me, slack-jawed, in the middle of the street. ‘Hi!’
Because there was no better time to bump into the woman who had fired you from your last proper job than when you were wearing dirty denim overalls with unspecified muck all over the knees and an entire make-up artist’s palette of unblended contouring slap all over your face.
‘Are you …’ She peered up at me, half confused and half delighted. ‘What’s going on with your face?’
‘I’m working,’ I told her, trying very hard not to touch my face. ‘I’m doing a thing.’
‘What kind of thing?’ She kept staring, her eyes flickering from red triangles underneath my eyes and lavender circles on my chin to the brown shading all around my cheeks and nose. ‘Are you a clown?’
I gave her as ferocious a look as I could, given the circumstances.
‘Do I look like I’m laughing?’ I asked.
‘Sort of,’ she replied tartly. ‘That’s an interesting hat.’
‘Thank you,’ I said graciously, touching the peak of the Hat of Shame. ‘Anyway—’
‘I’m glad you found work,’ Raquel said, interrupting me to be even more condescending. If that was possible. ‘You disappeared off the face of the earth and I was wondering where you’d got to. What agency are you with?’
‘I’m not in advertising any more,’ I said, aware of every single person on the street turning to stare as they passed. ‘I’m a photographer.’
Raquel looked at me with her dead shark eyes. ‘You’re a what?’
‘A photographer,’ I replied. It was hard to sound confident when you looked like a Picasso painting of a clown. Brown blocks on my cheeks, silver triangles around my chin, bright red circles under my eyes. It was a grand look.
‘I see.’
‘I’ve been in Hawaii,’ I said, folding my arms around me. ‘Shooting for Gloss magazine.’
‘Is that right?’
‘And Milan,’ I said, nodding. ‘I was working with Bertie Bennett. You probably won’t know who he is but he’s basically a fashion legend. He’s huge. Just an incredible man. An inspiration really.’
‘And this …’ She gestured towards my face, reminding me of my current situation in case I’d somehow forgotten for a split second. ‘Is something to do with that?’
‘It’s a make-up test,’ I said, hoping she didn’t have any follow-up questions. ‘I’m testing make-up.’
Playing make-up guinea pig was another in a long line of Ess’s super-fun challenges. Like how he’d had me wear a necklace of sausages for two hours last Wednesday m
orning and then source fourteen gerbils and six guinea pigs for a ‘concept’, only to discover that the model was allergic to rodents, meaning I had to return them before she would even walk into the studio.
‘And what about Charlie?’ Raquel asked. ‘How’s lovely Charlie?’
‘He’s fine,’ I told her. ‘I saw him last night.’
‘So exciting to see him go out on his own,’ she said, her over-tweezed eyebrows arching high into her hairline. ‘And picking up Peritos as his first client? Impressive.’
‘He’s very talented.’ I shoved my hands in my pockets and wished I’d brought my gloves. It was windy and cold and I very much wanted to be inside. ‘He’s going to do very well.’
‘I was surprised to hear you weren’t working together, you two were always so buddy-buddy.’
‘You know, I’m actually late,’ I said, looking past her to see a queue forming out the door of Starbucks. ‘I’m shooting a feature for No-No magazine – have you heard of it?’
‘I can’t say I’m familiar with it, but I’m sure it’s very good,’ she said, flipping her bleached blonde head around, stretching up to her full five-foot-nothing.
I stood in the street, looking down at the woman who had taken away my job with a smile, and suddenly realized she didn’t matter. None of it mattered. She could stand in the middle of the street and try to make me feel shit every single day for the rest of the year and it wouldn’t mean a thing. She couldn’t fire me again; I was the only one who could fuck up now. So why waste another second worrying about what she thought of me?
‘You know, you actually did me a massive favour,’ I said, giving her a big, bright smile. ‘And I never said thank you.’
‘I did?’ she asked, her smile fading as mine grew. ‘How’s that?’
‘Sacking me,’ I explained. ‘Best thing that ever happened to me.’
‘Oh.’ Her thick foundation formed deep orange creases on her forehead as she frowned. ‘Well, I’m glad you’ve been able to find a positive in such a difficult situation.’
‘Absolutely! And not just because I never have to see you again!’ I replied, quickly looking at my watch. ‘Ooh, is that the time? It’s been so great to see you—’
‘I’m at Eskum now,’ she said, interrupting before I could make my escape. ‘Director of people—’
‘Wow, yeah? I actually really don’t care,’ I said, taking my turn to interrupt. I flashed her one more smile as she visibly shrivelled in front of me. ‘But gosh, those poor, poor people.’
Raquel looked as though I’d slapped her in the face and I wished I had.
‘I wish I could count all of the fucks I don’t give but I’ve only got eight fingers and two thumbs and that’s not nearly enough,’ I said, giving her a brief hug and ever such a tiny shove. ‘Have a lovely day, Raquel. Or don’t. Doesn’t really matter.’
I turned on my heel and marched off down the road, ridiculous painted head held high in my cock cap.
‘Ess!’ I shouted as I pushed the door open against the wind.
‘Thank God, my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut,’ he said, holding his hand out for his coffee with one hand and scratching his crotch with the other. ‘You were gone more than ten minutes though.’
‘I haven’t got your coffee,’ I replied, marching across the studio and throwing the Cock cap at 7. ‘I want to go over my portfolio.’
‘We haven’t got time,’ Ess replied, pointing across the studio to the styling area. ‘Now sod off and bring me a coffee.’
‘We won’t be done for at least an hour,’ Rachel the make-up artist called over to us with a thumbs up. ‘Take your time.’
Hands on my hips and feeling only slightly less confident than I had been thirty seconds earlier, I stared Ess down until he gave a sigh and shook his head in defeat.
‘Fine, pass it here,’ he said, holding out his hands. ‘But if they’re shit, I’ll tell you they’re shit.’
‘Good.’ I pulled my portfolio out of my bag, bouncing across the room. ‘Whatever advice you can give me, I’d appreciate it.’
‘Most of the time my advice is stop trying to take photos,’ he grunted, flicking through the pages, skipping over my shoot for Gloss, my pictures of Milan, without even stopping to take a proper look. ‘It’s quicker.’
Biting my thumbnail, I crossed my fingers.
‘Shit,’ he said, flipping through the pages without really looking. ‘Shit, shit, shit. Ready to give up yet?’
‘No,’ I said, barely breathing. ‘You can keep going.’
He paused on a shot of Al, sat on the beach in Hawaii and staring out at the ocean.
‘I don’t hate this one,’ he announced, slamming the book shut. ‘Now go and get my coffee.’
‘That’s it?’ I asked, crushed. ‘You don’t hate that one so we’re done?’
‘I don’t hate that one so I’ll look at the rest later,’ he clarified. ‘Now you go and get my coffee and we’ll go through the rest of them after the shoot if I don’t decide it’s a complete waste of my time before then.’
‘Oh my God,’ 7 whispered, pulling me away after Ess shoved my portfolio into my chest and walked away, muttering to himself. ‘That’s the nicest thing I’ve ever heard him say about anyone’s photos.’
‘Really?’ I asked, a tiny spark of hope lighting up inside me. ‘That was nice?’
‘Have you met him before?’ he asked. ‘Don’t push it. That was a big compliment.’
‘Why are you still here?’ Ess barked, looking over his shoulder at me. ‘Why isn’t there a cup of coffee in my hand?’
Nodding, I threw my portfolio back in my bag and ran out the door. Two weeks I’d been there and I’d finally got him to look at my photos. If I could get Ess to give me some genuine feedback, I felt as though I could do anything. This must have been that ball-swinging feeling Agent Veronica had been talking about and I didn’t hate it.
As I jogged down the street I made another big ball swinging decision. Pulling out my phone, I opened up the internet browser and tapped in ‘New York flights’. There was nothing stopping me taking photos while I was in New York, was there? Maybe there would even be a course I could take. Donovan & Dunning’s American office barely closed for the holidays so I was far more likely to find something useful in New York than I was hanging around my mum’s house getting squiffy on Baileys and ignoring my sisters.
As soon as I’d picked up four flat whites, two Frappuccinos and a green juice, I told myself, I was going to book my flight to New York and work the rest of it out from there. Well, after I’d done that and finished the day at work, washed my face, gone home and had some tea. And packed. And called my mum. And done the online paperwork.
But once all that was out of the way, New York City, and the rest of the world, had better get ready for me.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘TESS!’
Resplendent in a red velvet Santa hat, gold-glitter leggings, neon-blue fur coat and clutching roughly enough balloons to float a house, Amy Smith was impossible to miss as I walked through the arrivals gate at JFK. She fought her way through with the helium-filled herd, the biggest balloons practically lifting her off the ground as she hurried across the airport, bashing people in the head as she went.
‘You’re here!’ She threw herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck and her legs around my waist while Kekipi clapped and cheered behind her and half the balloons floated off up to the ceiling.
‘I’m so happy to see you,’ I said, dragging my case behind me with Amy still clinging around my middle like a glittery little spider monkey. ‘It feels like forever.’
‘It’s been forty-nine days and fifteen hours,’ Amy confirmed as she hopped to the ground. ‘God, Tess, you look knackered.’
‘That’s because I am knackered,’ I replied, trading air kisses with Kekipi. ‘I had to change planes twice to get any kind of cheap flight. Turns out it’s expensive to fly at Christmas. What time is it?’
‘I
t’s 1 a.m.,’ Kekipi said, taking custody of my suitcase as Amy grabbed hold of my hand. ‘What time did you leave London?’
‘Yesterday?’ I said, shaking my head. ‘But Amsterdam was today I think. And I got to see Chicago! Or at least I got to see the airport. But I’m here now, that’s all that matters.’
‘At least you can fly directly from here to Milan,’ he said. ‘Amy told you I’ve booked your flights? I want no arguing from either of you.’
‘You won’t get any,’ I said wearily. ‘Usually I would fight you on it but this one bankrupted me, so thank you.’
‘You’re welcome. I couldn’t have my bridesmaid missing the wedding, could I?’ he asked. ‘And you look wonderful. Look at those charming overalls, you’re so Madonna circa 1986.’
‘No, she’s right, I look like a tramp,’ I replied, stifling a yawn. ‘I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t wearing these. If it’s 1 a.m. here, what time does that make it at home?’
‘Party time,’ Amy said confidently. ‘Maybe a little bit past.’
‘That’s funny, it feels more like bedtime to me,’ I said, trotting through the airport, hand in hand with my best friend. I was tired, I ached from cramping my stupid long legs up in an economy seat, but I was so, so happy. Of all the spur-of-the-moment, credit-card-destroying flying decisions I’d made in the last year, this felt like the best one. ‘Can party time be tomorrow?’
‘I suppose,’ she replied. ‘I’ve got a few meetings in the morning but then we’re going to have the best time ever! I’m so excited. We’re going to do everything – carriage ride round the park, boat ride round Manhattan, sunset walk over Brooklyn Bridge – everything.’
‘Sounds like the most romantic holiday ever,’ I said as I craned my neck to peer out the windows, trying to catch a glimpse of the city. ‘Maybe Kekipi can keep me entertained while you’re busy.’
‘I will be drowning in wedmin,’ Kekipi said, miming himself hanging from an imaginary rope. ‘I can’t believe it’s so soon.’
‘Don’t listen to him.’ Amy slapped his hand back down by his side. ‘He’s been a total bridezilla. Domenico is a saint to put up with him.’