‘Anna, I—’
‘Don’t. I don’t know what’s going on with you lately, but I think I’m starting to feel the same way your poor mum does: as though you’re only giving me half the story, no matter what we talk about. You tell yourself you’re sparing other people, stopping them from worrying by holding everything in – but it’s just a way for you to hide from how you really feel,’ Anna ranted. ‘Having said that, there are obviously some feelings you’ve decided not to hide from recently – and I understand entirely why you’d want to keep that quiet. What the hell are you thinking, getting close to Jack again because he’s batting his eyelashes at you, buying you birthday champagne and telling you he’s changed? It’s beyond idiotic. It’s desperate.’
Rachel felt like she’d been slapped.
‘Hold on a minute,’ she said, hurt and suddenly angry. ‘I know you’re mad with me – but you have no idea what’s been happening with Jack.’
‘Oh, please,’ Anna groaned. ‘I know better than you do what’s been “happening with Jack”.’ She mimed speech marks, her voice jeering and her face the perfect picture of derision. ‘You told yourself you were over him, but he’s always had houseroom in your head – he’d been living in your brain, rent-free, for a decade before he ever appeared in your office. Why else would you ever have looked twice at a boring git like Laurence? Since Jack, every man you’ve been out with has been either a heartless shagger or a total dullard. It’s like you need to know up-front that, one way or another, there’s no future in any relationship you start. That whoever you’re with won’t make you care too much, then let you down.’
Tears were rolling down Rachel’s cheeks now, and Anna was crying as well.
‘I just wish you’d fucking talk to me, like you used to!’ Anna yelled. ‘I’m getting married, I haven’t joined a cult or been abducted by aliens. I’m still the same person I’ve always been. I’m supposed to be your best friend.’
‘But you’d never have listened about Jack!’ Rachel shouted, finally finding her voice. ‘You’d have made me feel stupid – exactly like you’re doing now. He’s been there for me at work. He’s been supportive …’
Anna took a deep breath and swiped at her tear-soaked cheeks. Her perfect winged eyeliner had run, her lipstick had smudged and her nose was pink and snotty.
‘I’d have told you the truth,’ she said. ‘I’d have reminded you that he never stopped fancying you, even back at uni – he just wanted to have his cake and eat it. So it’s no surprise to me that he’s after you again. Jack did care about you, he just cared about himself more – and I’d bet my entire wedding budget that he still does now. What has he done for you at work that didn’t also advantage him in some way? Who’s been watching every time he’s been helpful? It’s what people do when no one’s looking that tells you who they really are, Rach.’
This made Rachel think of Tom: modest and unassuming, talented but self-effacing. She thought about him singing and playing the piano, and how much he cared about Oscar even though the kid was a total liability. She remembered he’d sent her chocolate dog droppings because he knew it would make her smile on Valentine’s Day.
‘I don’t believe people change, Rach,’ Anna went on. ‘Not without a shitload of therapy, anyway. You used to think that Jack had a secret softer side, but he’s always been precisely what he seems. He doesn’t have hidden depths … Just moderately well-concealed shallows.’
‘I’m not an idiot, Anna, and I am not desperate,’ Rachel said, her voice heavy with tears.
‘But you’re stuck,’ Anna said. ‘You’re not moving forward or in control of where you’re going. Getting sucked back in by Jack is the easy option: he’ll chase you and in the end you’ll let him win, just like you did before. But that’s not really choosing – it’s letting someone else choose for you.
‘It’s exactly what you did in there with the bridesmaid dresses, even though you knew that peach one made you look like a cadaver.’
‘I am moving forward!’ Rachel protested, sniffing. ‘I’m moving out, aren’t I? I’m going to live without you for the first time in thirteen years!’
‘Only because I’m making you!’ Anna cried. ‘And I feel like a total bitch – like I’m the worst friend in the world! But I can’t spend my life looking after you if it means missing out on what I need. I can’t be responsible for you any more, Rachel!’
Rachel recoiled, as if Anna had fired a gun at her.
‘Responsible for me?’
As fresh tears flowed down Rachel’s face, Anna fell silent. The angry wind had finally gone from her sails and she looked devastated. Stricken.
‘Rachel … Oh, Rach, I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’
‘I think you did mean it,’ Rachel said. ‘In which case, I’m sorry too.’
She walked away, not caring that she was going in the wrong direction. Anna didn’t follow her.
Rachel’s eyes were puffy and red-rimmed. She’d cried off most of her make-up and, while she’d stopped weeping for now, she felt as though she was holding herself together with duct tape.
The last thing she wanted to do was spend her afternoon assisting at a celebrity photo shoot – but what other choice did she have?
She couldn’t go home. Anna would probably be there – and right now, seeing her was even less appealing than spending the next few hours with Tom and Sophie French.
Besides, Tom had always been good at spotting when Rachel needed support. However weird things were between them, she knew that he’d sense her distress – that he’d care whether or not she was okay. If she told him what had happened, the likelihood was that Tom would listen calmly and offer her advice if she asked for it – and she trusted him not to take sides or talk down to her.
Anna had tried to call Rachel three times since she’d left her on the street outside Tempo, but Rachel had ignored her phone and, in the end, turned it off altogether. She couldn’t face another argument, and she wasn’t anywhere near ready to forgive Anna for the things she’d already said.
As Rachel stood in the ladies’ toilets of a small cafe near Bounds Green Tube station, she asked herself how on earth they’d ended up here. She and Anna had been friends for almost half their lives and they’d never fought like this. She wasn’t ready, yet, to ask herself how much truth there’d been in Anna’s angry onslaught.
Instead, she concentrated on damage limitation; de-blotching her face with an emergency concealer stick she’d bought from a pharmacy, removing all traces of this morning’s mascara and drinking a takeaway cup of herbal tea in the hope that it would steady her nerves. Once she looked like she could pass for human again, Rachel glanced at her watch. Time to head back into town.
This afternoon’s photo shoot was happening at a studio just off Marylebone High Street, and it would take the best part of an hour to get there from here. Rachel tried to read on the Tube, but the effort was wasted. She couldn’t concentrate, and in any case her book was about two best friends taking a redemptive, life-changing trip across America. Pah.
Rachel got off the Underground at Baker Street, then made the short journey into Marylebone on foot. She looked at the scrap of paper she’d hurriedly scribbled the studio address on, satisfied herself that she was in the right place and then examined the cluster of doorbells next to a four-storey townhouse with a shiny blue front door. She pushed the one labelled ST, then heard a cheerful female voice say, ‘Hello?’
‘Oh. Hi. I hope I’ve got the right place. This is Rachel. I’m looking for Tom Evans.’
‘You’ve got the right place! He’s in the bathroom, I think. Come on up – second floor. This is Sophie, by the way.’
Rachel heard a buzz, then a thump that meant the front door was unlocked. She pushed it open, let it slam behind her and climbed the stairs to the studio.
As she entered the room, Tom emerged from round a corner. His face was ashen, his eyes bright with alarm. What on earth could be wrong?
&
nbsp; ‘Rach,’ he said, crossing the sizeable room in two strides. Then, urgently and under his breath: ‘I’ve been trying to call you. I’ve rung you, like, a thousand times. There’s a situation – something you need to know.’
‘My phone’s been off,’ she said, frowning up at him. His eyes swept her face, taking in the telltale signs of her tearful outburst.
‘What’s going on?’ they both said together.
Then the studio door flew open and Dev strolled in. There was a tanned, slender, dark-haired woman on his arm.
Rachel’s entire body went cold. She could hear her heart beating in her ears and feel her pulse throbbing somewhere near her tonsils.
As chilly sweat coated her palms and crept down her back, Rachel wondered why she hadn’t seen this coming. After all, given the run of luck she’d had lately, it made perfect sense that Jessica Williams should show up, in the flesh, for Tom to take her photograph.
Dev was introducing her to everyone. Sophie – a smiling, genial presence in a simple cotton dress – shook Jessica’s hand and said it was lovely to meet her. Then Tom, recovering his professionalism admirably, told her he was happy to have her on board with the show. Only Rachel could tell he didn’t mean it.
‘This is Rachel, our copywriter,’ Dev said.
‘Great,’ Jessica said, extending her arm.
Rachel took her hand for a moment, noting that Jessica’s nails were almost as badly bitten as her own. Where were her perfect French tips?
There was a flash of something like recognition in Jessica’s brown eyes, but it fizzled out before it could settle there.
She had lines around them; fine little creases that showed where her skin furrowed when she smiled. Her forehead was shiny and smooth, implying the presence of Botox.
In 3D, Jessica’s face didn’t look the same as it appeared on Instagram, nor in the ads that seemed to follow Rachel around London. It was very pretty, but less polished than Rachel might have expected. Jessica had a chickenpox scar below her left eyebrow that was, presumably, airbrushed out of every photo she ever shared. Her chin bore the faded marks of old hormonal breakouts.
Jessica’s lips were as abundant as ever, but up close it was clear that they’d been filled. While she’d never judge anyone – even Jessica – for having cosmetic surgery, Rachel couldn’t help wincing when she looked at them, wondering if the procedure had been painful.
Unframed by her usual falsies or eyelash extensions, Jessica’s real-life eyes were less commanding – less intense – than they were in photographs. She dropped her gaze from Rachel’s, looking almost vulnerable as Dev began to explain her last-minute interest in the exhibition.
‘This is a vital step towards rebuilding Jessica’s reputation,’ he was saying. His hand was on her shoulder. ‘I think it’s fair to say the business with the fat-burner pills has been quite distressing for Jessica personally – but it’s done serious damage to her brand too.
‘She’s come to Esteem PR from her previous agency, who gave her some very bad advice. Our first task is to try and reset Jessica’s image – strip it back to basics.’
Tom was nodding, but the rigid set of his shoulders betrayed his discomfort. Sophie, who’d taken Jessica’s hand, said, ‘I did some work with Angeljuice once … Very pushy people. It can be hard to say no to things, and it’s tough when you’re the face of a campaign that goes down badly.’ Jessica said nothing, and continued to stare at the beige loop-pile carpet.
‘Right,’ Dev interjected. ‘Let’s have Jessica with Tom first while Sophie chats to Rachel. Then you can swap over.’ He seemed keen to avoid further discussion of a topic that Jessica apparently found distressing.
Tom caught Rachel’s eye and looked at her in a way that was at once pleading and apologetic. The message was clear: he was sorry she had to do this – that they had to do this – but he needed her to keep her cool.
Rachel reminded herself that this exhibition was a huge opportunity for Tom. It was his chance to do more of what he loved – maybe even make a proper living at it. If she had a shit-fit now, she could ruin it for him.
Tom led Jessica over to a stool surrounded by lights and umbrellas. Bile rose in Rachel’s throat as she watched him gently position Jessica’s head and arms with his hands, then lean over her to take light readings and adjust the angle of a round silver reflector.
In front of the camera, Jessica’s quiet apprehension seemed to melt away. She flipped her hair, pouted and tilted her shoulders on cue, somehow managing to look just as alluring as in her poster ads – even in no make-up and a plain grey T-shirt.
As Tom helped Jessica move into a standing pose, she stared up at him through her eyelashes and let her hand linger on his forearm for a few seconds too long. Was she flirting? Rachel was incensed.
‘We need a shot that looks apologetic,’ Dev said. ‘Something that inspires a bit of sympathy.’
From what Rachel could gather, there’d been some sort of backlash against the diet pill ads Jessica had starred in – a backlash that, to Rachel’s mind, wasn’t entirely undeserved.
Tom pulled down a white background roll, then placed Jessica towards the back of it, cross-legged on the floor like a primary school kid. He shifted lights downwards and moved the camera up, so it was positioned over her head. This was clever, Rachel thought: Jessica looked plaintive, like a supplicant.
When she lifted up her face, her cheekbones caught the light and she stared wide-eyed into the camera. Rachel told herself not to look any more. She should be concentrating on interviewing Sophie.
To Rachel’s relief, Sophie was open and articulate. She spoke in a measured, thoughtful way about her experience of living life online.
‘Becoming an influencer is a bit like entering a Faustian pact,’ she said. ‘You might make a good living – you probably get to do cool stuff you’ve never even dreamed of – but you can end up feeling like the social platforms, or your followers, own you … Like you owe them something. If you’re not careful, you begin living life for the sake of creating good content, rather than doing good things. That’s why I’ve stepped back from it.’
‘That makes sense.’ Rachel nodded. ‘What do you think of the idea that influencers have a responsibility to the people who follow them? That they shouldn’t, for instance, promote products that might be considered harmful?’
‘Hm. Not a Jessica fan, I take it?’ Sophie whispered. Rachel coloured.
‘Off the record,’ Sophie said in a low voice, ‘I think she’s been naive, but also let down by her handlers. I got mixed up with Angeljuice when I was in my early twenties – they pay big money and it’s hard to say no when they want a new face. But we’re in a different time now … Diet pills were never going to go down well in some of the communities she’s part of. That doesn’t justify what’s happened to her, though. She’s had death threats, apparently; really awful, graphic stuff. Nobody deserves that, no matter what shit they’ve been daft enough to advertise.’
Rachel looked across the room to the studio area again. Sophie had a point, but Tom was helping Jessica up from the floor and seeing her touching him made Rachel’s palms itch.
She wanted to go and yank him away from her – several miles away, if necessary.
‘Looks like it’s my turn for photos,’ Sophie said. ‘Do you have enough ramblings from me to write what you need?’
‘Definitely,’ Rachel said. ‘Thanks. And all the best with acting – I have a feeling you’re going to be great.’
As Sophie walked away, Jessica came towards her.
‘Can I get you anything to drink before we start?’ Rachel asked.
She remembered telling Anna that if she ever saw Jessica again, she’d pour a drink over her head. Now it came to it, she was offering to make her a cuppa.
‘Tea would be great,’ Jessica said. Her voice sounded nothing like Rachel had thought it would. Jessica spoke in a high, girlish tone – not the deep, husky murmur that Rachel’s mind had seemingly made up.
She had a similar accent to Anna’s too: spiky, authentic East London, rather than the smooth received pronunciation her image implied.
‘Milk? Sugar?’
‘Just a bit, and two please.’
Rachel smiled tightly, then walked away in the direction of the kettle.
The interview was forced and uncomfortable, and not merely because Rachel kept wishing she could disappear. Jessica seemed reluctant to say much about herself, her public profile or social media in general.
‘Dev’ll give you something to put with my picture,’ she said.
‘You want Dev to put words in your mouth?’
‘It’s probably for the best. He’ll know the right thing to say, which I never do. People generally don’t believe this, but I’ve never been all that confident. I’m just good at playing the diva when there’s a camera pointed at me.’
‘Right,’ Rachel muttered. She was shocked, but – based on what she’d seen today – this had the ring of truth.
‘Do I know you, by the way?’ Jessica asked. ‘I feel like we’ve met before. I’m sorry if we have and you thought I was being rude.’
Damn, damn, damn.
‘I think maybe we were at uni together,’ Rachel answered, after failing to think of a convincing lie. ‘Did you go to York?’
‘Yes, that’s it.’ Jessica nodded, her eyes a little brighter. ‘I remember you now. I think we were in the same seminar group once. You were one of the people who always had opinions.’ She said this smilingly, without a trace of sarcasm.
Rachel had no memory of ever being in the same room as her. But if Jessica never spoke in class, why would she?
‘It’s coming back to me now,’ Jessica said. ‘You used to go around with that good-looking guy – the one who had a different girl on his arm every five minutes.’
She smiled at Rachel as if they were partners in some conspiracy.
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