Lost In The Starlight

by Kiki Archer

  “Who’s Svetty?”

  “Svetty Sokolova. Your mother’s,” the groan came again, “holistic, oh yes, therapist.”

  “Who wants a holistic therapist called Svetty?”

  “That’s what, oh yes this is good, that’s what I, mmmm, what I said, but, but she’s good.” The groan turned into a lust-filled giggle. “Aren’t you, Svetty?”

  Honey strained to hear the deep Russian voice in the background. “Svetty be freaky. Svetty be pervert.”

  Liza’s voice came through firmly. “Pervert’s the wrong word; use risqué instead.”

  “Excuse me for interrupting, but this journalist you sent me.”

  “Oh yes, it wasn’t Margaret Rutland. She retired earlier this year. Sorry Svetty, hang on a minute. That’s it. Take your toes out for a second.”

  “Liza!”

  “What? I’m with you. Sorry, yes, right, your mother told me. Worried to high heaven about you dating that crumple-faced old bag. I phoned The Beacon after my hard water spray.” The moan came again. “You really should try your mother’s—”

  “Focus!”

  “Sorry, yes, they admitted their error. Well, it wasn’t really an error. I’d asked for Margaret Rutland and there was no way they were going to pass up the chance of a Honey Diamond exclusive, so they said yes, no worries, but sent their new girl instead. She’s very good apparently; well, I guess you know that if you invited her to dinner. And they might have been right. I’d possibly have cancelled the interview had I known the old correspondent had retired.”

  “You’re not up in arms?”

  “No harm done. As Svetty says: Life be short.”

  The distant voice was gruff. “So Svetty be spicy.”

  “Liza, I’m leaving you to whatever it is you’re doing.”

  “I’m not doing anything and it’s wonderful.”

  The growling voice was louder. “Svetty be working. Svetty be pumping.”

  Honey coughed. “Right. I’ll leave you and your traction engine to it.”

  “You don’t need me at the studio tomorrow, do you? You’re just singing the songs from the script?”

  “Actually, I was thinking of…” Honey stopped herself, deciding to keep the plans private. “That’s fine.”

  “Good, Svetty says—”

  “I’m going.” Jabbing at the off button, Honey turned to her godmother who was clearly in an equal state of shock. “Can you believe that was Liza? Have you ever heard her so out of it?”

  “I think I might need a bit of Svetty Sokolova if she works wonders like that.” The smile was wide. “So you’re doing it, dear?”

  “I told her I would. I agreed we’d start afresh tomorrow. And I’ll apologise. I’ll make sure she feels equally as worthy even though she’s not the veteran Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist I made her out to be.” Honey smiled. “I knew there was something. This explains it all. I’m excited.” Taking her godmother’s hands, she squeezed. “I’m really excited, Sofia.”

  “And where is this wonderful woman taking you?”

  “I don’t know. We agreed I’d spend tomorrow with her as long as she spends the next day with me. Living each other’s lives. I’ve asked the girls to come over and disguise me. Apparently contouring can make you look like a whole other person.”

  “Can it?”

  “I don’t know, but Margaret, Meg, I don’t know what to call her now, well she’s been given a few days to write my piece so time off isn’t an issue,” Honey shrugged, “for her at least. I’ll make up the time in the studio, I’ll work through the night if I have to.”

  “Oh Honey, I know you will, but you deserve some time off, and I’d like to meet her, this woman who’s made you see sense.”

  “I’ve asked her to pick me up.” The smile was knowing. “I knew you’d want to give us your blessing.”

  “Anyone who makes you happy makes me happy.”

  “And Mother?”

  “You leave your mother to me, dear.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “The door!” wailed Honey from the chair in the centre of the kitchen. “She’s early!”

  Hair stylist Heidi nodded towards the wall clock. “You said ten. It’s ten.”

  “Then why aren’t we ready?!”

  Louisa the make-up artist squeezed the sponge across Honey’s cheek. “Contouring, with the purpose of looking like a whole other person, takes time.”

  Heidi spoke again. “Plus, we’re missing Liza.”

  “She does snap you girls into shape,” agreed Sofia, getting up from the breakfast bar and heading out of the airy kitchen.

  “Wait! She can’t see me like this!”

  “I’m not leaving her on the doorstep.”

  “At least warn her before she comes in.”

  Heidi’s wince was teasing. “That you look like Snoop Dogg? You should have listened to me: black bobbed wig, baseball cap.”

  “I only showed Louisa that picture of Snoop Dogg as an example. The contouring disguise tutorial on YouTube had the woman looking like a whole host of celebrities.”

  Louisa stroked her shoulder. “You don’t look like Snoop Dogg. But Heidi’s definitely given you poodle hair.”

  Heidi nodded. “A faux perm that we’ll tie into a pony. You’ll look like an everyday run-of-the-mill school run mum.”

  “And with this cagoule,” said clothes stylist Caitlyn, “no one will notice you’re there.”

  “Oh wonderful. Just the impression I want to create: fuzzy hair, boring clothes, a face-full of thick brown foundation…” Her voice tailed off as the journalist entered the kitchen. “Wow!” Honey gasped, unable to hide her shock. Last night it was the kimono that caused her eyes to widen; today the whole package was bringing light to the room. The outfit, the hair, the striking features. She was glowing. She was gorgeous. “Margaret,” she finally managed, “you look—”

  “Meg, please.”

  “Yes Meg, you’re, you’re…” Honey slid off the stool, moving towards her guest. “You look...” She realised she was doing a great impression of Danny from Grease, seeing Sandy for the first time at the pep rally before realising all his friends were watching. She turned around. “Stop staring you lot. This is Mar—, this is Meg, and she looks amazing!”

  “Hi Meg,” came the chorus.

  The voice was shy. “Hello.”

  “Wow! Look at you and then look at me! What a let-down. I’m like a dirty-faced old bag lady.”

  The anxious eyes stopped scouting the room, focusing instead on Honey. “You’re not. You just look totally different. Great different. Maybe a bit like… like Cher.”

  “Cher?”

  “With all the curly hair. Or Baby from Dirty Dancing. With the perm. Jennifer Grey?”

  Louisa interrupted. “See, you don't look like Snoop Dogg.”

  “Oh yes, him too.” Meg’s hand flew to her mouth. “Sorry, no. I mean you look famous somehow, just not famous like you.” She tilted her head. “Are those wind trousers?”

  Clothes stylist Caitlyn took over. “Yes, and paired with this brown polyester cardigan and storm-proof cagoule no one will give her a second glance.”

  “I will.”

  “Oh, she’s a sweet one!” gushed Heidi. “And I do like your hair. Who’s your stylist? The choppy unravelled look suits your face shape.”

  “Flared capri pants,” added Caitlyn. “Very in season.”

  “Your lip colour suits you too,” said Louisa. “Maybe just a touch more mascara to bring out the depth of your eyes, but overall your make-up’s well thought through.”

  Sofia, who had been standing in the doorway watching the scene, clapped her hands. “We approve. Right. Welcome, Meg. Can I get you a drink?”

  “Something strong?”

  “Ha! I told you she was funny,” said Honey, smiling at her guest, trying to reassure the wide eyes that were still prone to sudden darts around the room. She stepped in closer and lowered her voice. “I need to apologise.”


  Meg’s head started to move from side to side. “I do. You thought I was—”

  “Margaret Rutland. That’s who Liza asked for.”

  “She retired.”

  “I know. I’m so sorry. It must have been horrible for you.”

  “That she retired?”

  “No, that you thought I thought you were her.”

  “I didn’t know you thought that until…”

  Honey turned to the staring women. “Give us some space, would you!”

  “No, we’re not finished.” Louisa patted the stool. “And even though you two look so cute standing there in your little huddle, whispering your sweet nothings, we need to get finished.”

  “They tease me,” said Honey, secretly relieved for their support and presence, helping to make this encounter a lot less nerve-racking, even though she looked so utterly ridiculous. She stopped herself. Was the disguise actually helping? That extra layer of make-up, protecting, giving confidence? Or was it simply because Meg looked so gorgeous? Smart, chic, well put together, but mostly gorgeous in a strong and striking kind of way. Maybe she was relaxed because Meg was here? Relieved? Pleased? “You really do look lovely,” she added.

  “And you look great, and different.”

  Louisa interrupted. “Would you recognise her?”

  The journalist shook her head. “No. Certainly not from a distance.”

  “And not once I’ve got that frizz in a pony,” said Heidi, summoning Honey back to the seat. She pulled on the hair and fluffed up the fringe. “So tell me… where are you two love birds heading off to?”

  Meg took a deep breath. “We’re heading off to Ikea.”

  ****

  Closing the passenger door to her Mini, Meg felt the same mixture of nerves and anticipation she’d had the first time she’d arrived at The Alderley. The knowledge she was about to spend time with Honey Diamond, the woman she’d known from afar for so long, the woman who’d entered her thoughts time and time again, the woman who, through no fault of her own, hadn’t been aware she existed. Well now was her chance, she thought, hurrying back around to the driver’s side. She wouldn’t usually open the passenger door for a friend, but Honey would no doubt be used to the fuss. She’d have that level of expectation, that standard of need to be met.

  “Oh,” the voice was sighing. “I had high hopes for you, Meg.”

  Meg closed the door and pulled her seatbelt across her lap. Did she know? Had she been saving the announcement until they were alone? Teasing her with the hope of a day trip before ripping it away with one swipe. There hadn’t been any signs that anyone knew. No signs in the house that her name was being bandied around as some, some… what was it Honey had said? Internet troll? And she’d been looking. She’d been looking carefully. Just as she had last night, arriving for dinner, waiting for Diana Diamond to swan into the hallway brandishing the documents that would no doubt signal the end of everything.

  Meg stopped fumbling and lifted her eyes. She could tell her. Of course she could tell her. Crikey, she’d been about to tell her last night, but the come-on had stopped her. Honey’s come-on. The very idea that this incredibly talented, utterly gorgeous woman might like her. Why ruin it with something that might never come to light? Why not give Honey a chance to see who she truly was, not the chip-on-the-shoulder person she’d been. Maybe Jo was right. Maybe it had been some weird infatuation that morphed somehow into an envious sort of jealousy. “Sorry,” she managed.

  “You don’t need to open my door for me, you dafty! I thought you were different. The girls loved your Ikea idea, and it sounds like so much fun. Don’t spoil it with special treatment. My security are allegedly staying away so I want this day to be lived as normally as possible.”

  “I’d open a taxi door or a restaurant door for my date.”

  “Would you rush around to the other side of a car you were driving, curtseying and bowing in the process, as you opened your date’s door?”

  “Well, no. But I’ve never been on a date with Honey Diamond before; in fact I’ve hardly ever been on any dates with anyone, let alone someone as beautiful and as talented as you.”

  “Honey! I’m just Honey, and you’re Meg, and we’re off to Ikea looking like bag-lady mother and daughter.” The correction was quick. “Not that you’re looking like the daughter of a bag-lady. I’m the bag-lady. You’re the daughter who’s somehow managed to escape bag-lady life, head off to university and get your act together. More than get your act together. You’re like a model.”

  “I am not!”

  “You are. You’ve got those brooding, interesting features.”

  Meg focused on the eyes, the only thing reminding her it was indeed Honey Diamond sitting once more in her car. “You’re really kind,” she said, “but it’s quite possibly false advertising. My flatmate gave me a makeover. I think she called it a full body and personality overhaul, but she did me. This isn’t a common occurrence.” The pause was thoughtful. “And if I’m honest, I’m most happy in jumper and jeans.”

  “Oooh, me too. Or soft-touch tracksuits. Not the velvet ones my mother wears with ridiculously high collars, just the ones you pull on when you’re home and finally able to relax.”

  Meg felt a wave of nausea rise from the pit of her stomach. She had to know; she couldn’t keep second guessing. Yes, she’d seen them dining together at The Muse, but maybe it was a twice-yearly thing. She couldn’t not ask. “Just how often do you see your mother?”

  “Too often! No, sorry, that was unfair. She’s coming over this evening. I’ll introduce you if you like?”

  The panic that swelled inside Meg was one of all-consuming dread. It was that horrible sickening feeling. Gnawing worry. What choice did she have? What path could she take? If she told her now the day would be ruined and Honey wouldn’t see the person she could be… the person she wanted to be… the person deep down she knew that she was. Meg nodded. She’d made a mistake but she’d rectified it – the site was offline. She’d been thoughtless, but now she needed to be thoughtful. Banging the car’s steering wheel she made a fist. There was only one way to play it. “Honey, I’m going to give you the best day of your life.”

  “They closed Harvey Nichols last year so I could do some Christmas shopping in peace. Is Ikea a similar sort of store?”

  “Like Harvey Nichols?” Meg sucked on her lip and spoke through her teeth. “Umm, it’s not exactly identical.”

  ****

  Pulling off the main road, Meg followed the signs for Ikea. “Okay. So you said you wanted a normal life. You said you liked the idea of hanging around the services. You said…” She shook her head. Just who was she trying to convince? This idea, which had seemed so cleverly ingenious and imaginative at the time, had slowly deteriorated from inventive to just plain ridiculous the nearer they’d got to the junction. Yet, it had all seemed so perfect when she’d thought of it. Giving the celebrity who has it all, who’s seen it all, who wants for nothing, giving them real life. Of course she could have taken her to a posh restaurant, or a theatre, but Honey would have done all those things, time and time again. Meg nodded to herself. She’d thought outside the box. She’d used her initiative. She had one chance to give this sensational woman a great time. A memorable time. An experience. Meg’s confidence grew as she remembered the mantra: be with someone who makes a trip to the supermarket good fun. “It’s the world’s largest furniture retailer,” she said with gusto, “but there’s so much more than just furniture. I thought we could look around, have some lunch.”

  “Oooh, they have restaurants. How lovely.”

  “Not quite.”

  “A food hall then?”

  Meg turned the steering wheel. “More of a café.”

  Honey’s gasp cut her off. “Is this it?!”

  Meg glanced at the eyes that were focused on the huge blue corrugated iron building, the yellow sign screaming IKEA and the flags waving proudly in the wind. “You’ve really never been?”

  “No
!” Honey’s head wobbled with excitement. “Are we near an airport?”

  “I don’t think so, why?”

  “All these cars! Or is it a car supermarket? I saw an advert for one once. It was a bird’s eye view of this place you could just stroll around with thousands of cars waiting there for you to simply pick the one you wanted and drive away.”

  “This is the car park. All these people are inside.”

  “Inside Ikea?”

  “Yes.” Meg questioned her choice once more. Ikea with the piled up products. Ikea with the build-it-yourself bedrooms. Ikea with the café. “You said you liked the idea of being pushed and shoved, of being part of a crowd of people busying themselves with their everyday lives. Ikea’s the perfect place for that.”

  The smile was wide. “I can’t wait! Let me at it! There! Park in D4. Right next to those trolleys. Are you sure this isn’t an airport? Those are airport trolleys.”

  Meg pulled on the handbrake. “It’s for the furniture.”

  “You can take the furniture away on the same day? No ordering?” The voice was quivering with excitement.

  “I’m not sure we’ll be needing a trolley.”

  “Oh, we will. I had an interior designer do my place, but I wish I’d been more hands on.”

  Taking a deep breath, Meg shook her head. This was going to be such a disappointment. As if Honey Diamond, A-list creative artist, would find something she liked in Ikea. “Let’s just have a look, shall we? They have trolleys inside if you see something you really fancy.” She turned to the woman sitting in disguise beside her. “Are you ready for this?”

  “The world’s largest furniture retailer? I sure am!” The sparkling eyes scanned their surroundings once more. “Is that the Swedish flag? Yellow cross, blue background? Ikea sounds Swedish. I love performing in Sweden; the people are so friendly.”

  “It is, but I mean this?” She lifted her hands to the stream of people making their way into the store.

  “There’s only one way to find out,” said Honey, opening the car door.