by Carmen Reid
‘Hope so,’ Annie said, keeping to herself the thought that ‘silly stunts’ was playing it down a little. Those boys were kidnapped! Driven across Europe! By men with switchblades!
‘Igor is very impressed I got the boys back from him. I knew this. I think he is a little afraid of me now.’
‘A little more afraid, I think you mean. He’s always had a very healthy respect for you, darlin’. Why do you think he’s not remarried when there’s no shortage of willing candidates? You’ve scared the living daylights out of him.’
‘He ask if I have new bodyguard,’ Svetlana laughed.
‘Do you mean me? He thought I was your bodyguard?’
‘Yes. He knew someone kick the knife away from his army-trained thugs. He also know someone rip out the tyre of his BMW. Maybe you could think about this as new career.’
This made Annie laugh properly: ‘Now you are joking. I was so frightened, I just about peed my pants.’
Ooops. She remembered where she was: in the rarefied atmosphere of St Vincent’s library, sipping a post-concert fizz. A startled hush had fallen over the knot of parents immediately beside her.
She felt a tap on her shoulder, turned and found herself looking straight into Ed’s eyes, his eyebrows way up above them. Unfortunately, it looked as if he’d just heard that last remark too.
‘I should go—’
‘NO!!!’ Svetlana protested. ‘What about our daughters? If they have rebelled and made their dresses – oh, I am furious! I will throw Elena out of job, out of flat, out of country.’
‘Svetlana …’
Ed rolled his eyes at this name.
Annie had to go. Any moment now she would lose Ed to the throng of parents wanting to pat him on the back, congratulate him for the performance and get a detailed critical run-down on how extremely well their child had performed and how they were expected to do in their next music exam, and should the parents start saving up for conservatoire fees right now?
‘You can’t talk like that,’ Annie told her friend firmly. ‘Weren’t you telling me in Italy that you wanted to be a good mother? Well, stand strong. Whatever our daughters have done, we’ll have to stand by them. We’re going to have to help them, not punish them. They are headstrong, determined girls – just like their mothers. So calm down, my love, calm right down and I’ll call you back when I have news.’
For a moment there was silence. Svetlana hated to be told what to do and Annie knew it.
Finally, Svetlana replied with a chilly: ‘I await your call.’
Then the line went dead, so Annie could look at Ed and, regardless of the pack of parents circling like hungry wolves desperate for a piece of him, she smiled wide and fell against him, wrapping her arms right round him.
He smelled just like himself: a touch of soap and fresh air with a little bit of concert nerves and school dinners thrown in.
Face towards his soft neck, she put her cheek against the scratchy tweed of his jacket and allowed herself to rest there for a moment. Right here, in his arms, everything felt totally all right once again.
‘Hello you,’ he said, his arms tight around her. ‘Busy holiday?’
‘Hello you, I’m not sure you’ll believe the half of it.’
Chapter Forty-Four
London
Minette’s birthday outfit:
Bright pink, orange and red dress (Oilily)
Pink tights (John Lewis)
Red T-bar shoes (Start-rite)
Chocolate icing on face (Ed’s homemade cake)
Total est. cost: £120
ONE HOUR AND seventeen minutes into the twins’ second birthday party and Annie was seriously considering locking herself into the bathroom, burying her face into the stack of fluffy towels and screaming.
Toddler parties were in so many ways so much worse than teen parties. First of all, there was the endless amount of booze and drugs: sugary fruit juice and caffeinated chocolate cake covered with chocolate icing and Smarties. Despite Dinah’s warning, Ed had apparently made this last night, insisting it was only once a year and it would be fine.
Then there was the bad behaviour: Micky had of course pulled the hair of the most fragile, darling little girl in a velvet dress, who had dissolved into tragic tears. Meanwhile Minette and a gang of admirers had broken away from the crowd to amuse themselves by floating Lego pieces in the toilet then trying to sink them with the toilet brush.
Naturally, the poshest mummy had turned up to reclaim her treasure and found her in Minette’s gang, clinging to the toilet rim, wide-eyed with wonder.
But somehow the remaining forty-three minutes of the party had passed, rescued mainly by Dinah and her tireless stream of games, songs and distractions. Then finally the last child was out of the door and Annie could collapse straight on to the sofa while Minette sat on her chest and Micky tried to feed her cake from the assortment of half-finished plates lying around on the floor.
‘And welcome home,’ Dinah said, collapsing into the armchair opposite. ‘How did I manage to forget what hordes of two-year-olds can be like? Billie’s last party was all about super-sophisticated nine-year-olds making pizzas and discussing how uncool Justin Bieber is.’
‘You didn’t forget – you’ve just repressed the horror,’ Annie told her.
‘Tea, coffee or several large glasses of brandy?’ Ed called from the doorway.
‘Yes please,’ Dinah and Annie answered together.
‘The twins are so well and have survived brilliantly without me, thank you so much, my perfect Mummy-substitute,’ Annie said gratefully from the sofa with her eyes shut and her temples throbbing – the after-effects of the noise or the cake. Or maybe both.
‘Ed? Maybe I’ll just have warm water and a paracetamol,’ Annie added weakly. ‘I think I need to detox.’
This made both Dinah and Ed laugh.
‘Listen to spa girl,’ Ed said, ‘she just can’t handle the chocolate the way she once could.’
‘I was hardly even in the spa! I was cheated of the spa!’ Annie protested. ‘I could have stuck it. I could maybe even have coped with an enema or two. But oh no, I have to drive across half of Europe in search of Britain’s most valuable boys. If I’d stayed I could have lost 15 kilos – that must be at least half of my big bum.’
‘Big bum,’ Micky repeated solemnly.
Annie held out her arms to him and cuddled him in close despite the layer of luminous icing around his lips.
‘Don’t say that in front of your friends’ parents. OK?’
‘Big bum,’ Micky repeated.
‘Big bum, big bum, big bum …’ Minette chanted as she crawled down from the sofa. Now the twins were standing in front of her doing a demented ‘big bum’ chorus.
‘Annie,’ Ed said as he came in bearing a tray of tea mugs, ‘what have you done? You’ve only been back here for two hours and look at them!’
‘Big bum!’
‘How’s Mum?’ Annie asked her sister as the mugs were put into their hands.
‘Really looking forward to seeing you this weekend. Well, so long as you keep on reminding her,’ Dinah replied. ‘Phone again ten minutes before you arrive. That really helps.’
‘But no other news, nothing to report?’
‘Her blood pressure is a bit high. Stefano has done three readings in a row, all over 160. I’m not an expert but apparently that’s not great.’
Annie sat up, sploshing tea onto her shoulder.
‘So what does she need to do? Does she need medicine?’
‘She needs to stop fretting so much – which is a bit hard because you know how much she frets over all kinds of things at the moment. She’s supposed to switch to a low salt, low fat diet. But if nothing improves, she’ll need tablets.’
Annie and Dinah exchanged an anxious look. They worried about their mother almost all the time at an acceptable low level, but news like this always brought a spike of fear.
‘I’ve looked it up and everything,’ Dinah said, ‘
there’s lots she can do to improve things.’
‘But she’s all forgetful and she hardly remembers to have lunch most days, how’s she supposed to remember a special diet?’
‘We’ll all look after her,’ Dinah soothed. ‘Stefano, the home help and us.’
‘OK … you’re right. Must not fret.’
‘No, or you’ll be the next one on the low salt, low fat diet.’
‘Which would mean no crisps,’ Annie sighed tragically.
‘Yeah and you’d have to cut right back on the caffeine too. In fact, when did you last get your blood pressure checked?’
Dinah looked at her, face full of concern.
‘At the spa by Dr Delicioso and it was fine.’
‘Dr Delicioso?!’
‘Totally dreamy, I would go there again, just for him. But he made me give up coffee for two days … and oh my God,’ she rolled her eyes, ‘talk about a wrecking ball on the rampage inside my skull.’
‘It’s a powerful drug,’ Dinah said.
‘OK, saintly drinker of peppermint tea.’
‘I occasionally allow myself a little Earl Grey,’ Dinah said, pulling her teasing face.
‘Shut. Up.’
Annie’s phone began to ring.
‘Oh no, it’s going to be Svetlana. I have to phone her, but I can’t face it yet. Could you answer?’ she asked Ed, ‘tell her – I don’t know, I’ve been hit and run by a toddler party and I may not pull through.’
‘Hello, Annie’s phone,’ Ed obliged. ‘Hey Connor! How is it going?’
‘Oh it’s OK,’ Annie said, holding out her hand, ‘I can make an exception for Connor.’
‘She told me to say she was dying and not to put anyone through, but apparently this doesn’t include you.’
Annie took the phone: ‘Hello darlin’, is this not a bit early for you? I thought you board-treaders only got up half an hour before the curtain?’
Connor snorted at this.
‘Nine a.m., my lovely, I have been up since 9 a.m. working out, meeting and greeting, networking, having a facial to steam that horrible stage make-up right out of my pores.’
‘Stage make-up? Surely you can demand Clinique or Chanel and nothing less?’
‘You’re right, I should. But I don’t like to be too much of a diva.’
Annie snorted at the thought. Connor was born to be a diva.
‘Chanel probably do a special make-up for the stage,’ she added. ‘Couleurs pour les bigheads,’ she said in a properly French accent.
‘Oh yeah. You found that one to use on your show, did you? And have you got the matching perfume: L’air du Trashy Television?’
‘Miaow, miaow, miaow. I don’t know if I can cope with this, I’ve just survived the twins’ second birthday party. It was a Malteser massacre. There is chocolate icing on the ceiling and Lego down the loo.’
‘When can I come round to deliver their presents?’
‘I don’t know, it depends what you’ve bought. If it’s the two life-sized toy tigers you were threatening me with at Christmas, then the answer is: never. Same goes for your full-sized billiard table idea.’
‘I’ve got them a little wooden train set,’ Connor said, sounding hurt, ‘with a bridge and a station.’
‘Oh I’m sorry!’ Annie said, sincere now. ‘You are a lovely man, that sounds perfect. When would you like to come?’
‘Tomorrow? Maybe in the morning? What are you doing? Oh, I met someone …’
‘No, Connor,’ Annie groaned, ‘please! Not the latest instalment in the saga of the McCabe love life, I can’t take it. Really, I’m too tired. But tomorrow would be fine.’
‘Ahem …’ Connor cleared his throat, ‘any chance you could let me finish? I met someone last night who was wearing a dress made by your company and she’s hoping to buy more, for her HUGE ONLINE RETAIL EMPIRE.’
Now Connor had Annie’s full attention.
‘Which dress was she wearing?’ Annie asked, feeling a little dizzy and breathless all of a sudden.
‘Something very short and orange and surprisingly funky. I thought you and Svetlana’s thing was all about those classy shirtwaisters?’
Bless. He even knew the correct term for a button-down dress. This was why she had been friends with Connor for so long.
‘This looked different. It looked cool,’ Connor added. ‘Whatever you’re doing there, it’s working. Arlene loved it.’
‘Arlene? Not Arlene Henderson?! Do you mean the woman who runs catwalktoyou.com? She loved the dress?’
‘Yeah. She was wearing one. Said she’d just bought it, said she was going to get in touch with your office.’
‘Arlene Henderson’ Annie repeated, stunned. ‘But how did you meet her? When did you meet her?’
‘Last night, after the performance I was invited out to some swanky celeb-studded party, I was standing next to her and we got talking. I complimented her on her dress like you do when you’re a charming urbane man-about-town and we chatted about dress designers and I realized it was one of yours. Made me feel pretty in the loop, Annie, chatting to Arlene of catwalktoyou.com and being able to say: ‘Oh yeah, my friend Annie runs that company.’
‘I don’t run it; I’m a minor partner but …’
Annie’s breathing was now shallow and excited.
‘Connor … this could be big.’
As soon as Connor had rung off, Annie scrolled to Svetlana’s number. Finally she could make this call, finally she could tell Svetlana the NY Perfect Dress story in the hope that it was going to be OK.
‘Annah?’ the phone was answered almost immediately.
‘Hello, sweetheart, it’s me. Yes, I’ve got news. I’ve got the full story. You’re not going to like the start, but I have a feeling that you’re going to love the end.’
Chapter Forty-Five
Ed making an effort:
White, pink and blue checked shirt (Boden sale)
Navy chinos (Gap)
New, clean trainers (borrowed from Owen)
New, clean socks (discovered in drawer)
Pour Monsieur aftershave (Chanel, via Annie)
Total est. cost: £95
ANNIE WAS BENT low over Micky and Minette’s twin beds, patting both toddlers on the back and soothing them off to sleep.
‘Are they away?’ Ed whispered from the doorway.
‘Yes,’ Annie whispered back and tiptoed carefully out of the room.
In the hallway, she was pleased to see that Ed had showered and changed into a fresh shirt. There was also a cloud of her favourite aftershave hovering around him.
‘You look good,’ she told him, moving her arms around his waist.
‘Do I look like your dreamy Dr Delicious – or other assorted Italian stallions you’ve been hanging about with?’
Annie kissed him on the lips, then broke off to admit: ‘My Italian stallion was actually American … a surfer dude, very fit, very tanned and very blond … aged about twenty-three—’
‘What?!’ Ed exclaimed. ‘Should I be asking about this? Do you have a confession to make?’
‘No, don’t be an idiot, of course not,’ Annie told him, instantly remembering two breathless hugs and a bottom slap – but hardly enough to feel guilty about.
‘My American surfer dude helped,’ she admitted.
‘Helped? How, exactly?’
‘He helped me get my fashion mojo back. He reminded me that I’m a creative person and I need to mix it up a bit and not get stuck in a rut.’
‘Were you in a rut?’
‘Of course I was in a rut! I was a tired, strung-out harpy who couldn’t even pick an outfit from a clothes rail any more.’
‘I never noticed,’ Ed said, but his voice was gently teasing.
‘But my Italian fashion gurus have put me back on track: Inge, Isabella and Randall.’
‘Randall … sounds like an interesting guy. I hope you got his email address.’
‘No, I didn’t get his email address! He said goodbye
and wished me a nice life.’
‘He’s probably looking for you on Facebook right now. And what about your other mojo – the one we were trying to revive before you left for Italy?’
Ed pulled her in a little closer and kissed the side of her neck.
‘Oh, my other mojo …?’
‘Mmmmm,’ Ed agreed, landing a kiss on the sensitive skin just below her ear.
‘Maybe it’s time to head to the bedroom and see if Italy has worked wonders there too,’ she said and reached up to kiss him.
This was good: standing in the hallway, kissing a minty clean Ed and thinking of all the things they might like to do in the bedroom.
‘Please tell me you’ve moved the laundry pile?’ she broke off to ask.
‘So, you’ve not been into the bedroom yet? Just like I asked you?’
‘No, but Owen might have sneaked in to dump a fresh pile of football kit on the floor. In fact, fresh is not the word I want there.’
‘No, he won’t have. I think the condition for staying over at Andy’s house tonight was that he had to clean, tidy and put away everything he’s ever owned.’
‘So just what am I going to find in there? One hundred and one dirty nappies?’ Annie teased. ‘Or maybe some dried dog sick that Dave left there earlier?’
‘No!’ Ed shook his head and smiled. ‘It’s a surprise … but a nice surprise.’
‘Ooooh … the babies are in bed, Owen’s out for the night and Ed has a nice surprise. The evening is really looking up.’
Ed pushed open the bedroom door and turned on one of the bedside lights. As Annie stepped into the room and looked around, she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.
‘Is this the same room?’ she asked, amazed.
‘Yes, this is the same room.’
Somehow in the short time she’d been away, Ed had organized a complete redecoration.
‘How?’ Annie asked. ‘By yourself?’
‘No, I got some help in,’ he admitted, ‘but I did the walls and it’s my styling.’
‘Styling?!’ Annie repeated, smacking his arm. That was such a non-Ed word.
All the woodwork had been repainted and the walls were now a glowing, calming, muted, beige-meets-pink. New curtains hung from a brand new rail and the clutter, the junk, the broken chair, the laundry mountain, the collection of fungal mugs – it had all vanished … evaporated, hopefully never to be seen again.