Environmental hair extensions?
“Absolutely.” I nod as convincingly as I can. “Let’s definitely do that. Hair extensions. Great.”
“I know what you think of me, Lara.” Her eyes suddenly focus with a kind of drunken sharpness. “Don’t think I don’t know.”
“What?” I’m taken aback. “I don’t think anything.”
“You think I sponge off my dad. Because he paid for all this. Whatever. Be honest.”
“No!” I say awkwardly. “I don’t think that! I just think… you know…”
“I’m a spoiled little cow?” She takes a gulp of champagne. “Go on. Tell me.”
My mind flips back and forth. Diamanté’s never asked me for my opinion before, on anything. Should I be honest?
“I just think that…” I hesitate, then plunge in. “Maybe if you waited a few years and did all this on your own, learned the craft and worked your way up, you’d feel even better about yourself.”
Diamanté nods slowly, as though my words are getting through to her.
“Yeah,” she says at last. “Yeah. I could do that, I suppose. ’Cept it would be really hard.”
“Er… well, that’s kind of the point-”
“And then I’d have an obnoxious fuckhead of a dad who thinks he’s bloody God and makes us all be in his stupid documentary… and nothing in return! What’s in it for me?” She spreads her skinny tanned arms wide. “What?”
OK. I’m not getting into this debate.
“I’m sure you’re right,” I say hastily. “So, about the dragonfly necklace-”
“You know, my dad found out you were coming today.” Diamanté doesn’t even hear me. “He called me up. He was, like, what’s she doing on the list? Take her off. I was like, fuck you! This is my fucking first cousin or whatever.”
My heart misses a beat.
“Your dad… didn’t want me here?” I lick my dry lips. “Did he say why?”
“I said to him, who cares if she’s a bit of a psycho?” Diamanté talks right through me. “Be more fucking tolerant. Then, you know, he was on about that necklace.” She opens her eyes wide. “He offered me all these substitutes. I was like, don’t patronize me with fucking Tiffany. I’m a designer, OK? I have a vision.”
The blood is beating hard in my ears. Uncle Bill is still after Sadie’s necklace. I don’t understand why. All I know is, I need to get hold of it.
“Diamanté.” I grab her shoulders. “Please listen. This necklace is really, really important to me. To my mum. I totally appreciate your vision as a designer and everything-but after the show, can I have it?”
For a moment Diamanté looks so blank, I think I’m going to have to explain the whole thing again. Then she puts an arm around my neck and squeezes hard.
“’Course you can, babe. Soon as the show’s over, ’s’yours.”
“Great.” I try not to give away how relieved I am. “Great! That’s great! So where is it right now? Could I… see it?”
The minute I clap eyes on this thing, I’m grabbing it and running. I’m not taking any more chances.
“Sure! Lyds?” Diamanté calls to a girl in a stripy top. “D’you know where that dragonfly necklace is?”
“What, babe?” Lyds comes over, holding a mobile phone.
“The vintage necklace with the cute dragonfly. D’you know where it is?”
“It has yellow glass beads in a double row,” I chime in urgently. “Dragonfly pendant, falls to about here…”
Two models walk past, their necks piled high with necklaces, and I squint desperately at them.
Lyds is shrugging easily. “Don’t remember. It’ll be on one of the girls somewhere.”
It’ll be in the haystack somewhere. I look around the room hopelessly. Models are everywhere. Necklaces are everywhere.
“I’ll look for it myself,” I say. “If you don’t mind-”
“No! The show’s about to start!” Diamanté starts pushing me toward the door. “Lyds, take her in. Put her in the front row. That’ll show Dad.”
“But-”
It’s too late. I’ve been ushered out.
As the doors swing shut, I’m hopping with frustration. It’s in there. Somewhere in that room, Sadie’s necklace is hanging around a model’s neck. But which bloody one?
“I can’t find it anywhere.” Sadie suddenly appears beside me. To my horror, she seems almost in tears. “I’ve looked at every single girl. I’ve looked at all the necklaces. It’s nowhere.”
“It has to be!” I mutter as we head back down the corridor. “Sadie, listen. I’m sure it’s on one of the models. We’ll look really carefully at each one as they go past, and we’ll find it. I promise.”
I’m being as upbeat and convincing as I can, but inside… I’m not so sure. I’m not sure at all.
Thank God I’m in the front row. As the show starts, the crowd is six deep, and everyone’s so tall and skinny there’s no way I would have got a view from further back. Music starts thudding and lights start flashing around the room, and there’s a whoop from what must be a group of Diamanté’s friends.
“Go, Diamanté!” one of them yells.
To my slight horror, clouds of dry ice start to appear on the catwalk. How am I going to spot any models through that? Let alone any necklaces. Around me, people are coughing. “Diamanté, we can’t bloody see!” yells some girl. “Turn it off!”
At last the fog starts to clear. Pink spotlights flash onto the catwalk and a Scissor Sisters track starts thumping through the speakers. I’m leaning forward, alert for the first model, ready to concentrate as hard as I can, when I glimpse something out of the corner of my eye.
Opposite me on the other side of the catwalk, taking his seat in the front row, is Uncle Bill. He’s dressed in a dark suit and open-necked shirt and accompanied by Damian, together with another assistant. As I stare in horror, he looks up and catches my eye.
My stomach lurches. I feel frozen.
After a minute he lifts a hand calmly in greeting. Numbly, I do the same. Then the music increases in volume and suddenly the first model is on the catwalk, wearing a white slip dress printed with spiderwebs and doing that sashay-model walk, all hip bones and cheekbones and skinny arms. I stare desperately at the necklaces jangling around her neck, but she whizzes past so quickly, it’s almost impossible to get a good view.
I glance over at Uncle Bill and feel a prickle of horror. He’s scanning the necklaces too.
“This is useless!” Sadie appears from nowhere and leaps up onto the catwalk. She goes right up to the model and peers intently at the jumble of chains and beads and charms around her neck. “I can’t see it! I told you, it’s not there!”
The next model appears, and in a flash she’s examining that girl’s necklaces too.
“Not here either.”
“Super collection,” a girl next to me exclaims. “Don’t you think?”
“Er… yes,” I say distractedly. “Great.” I can’t look at anything except the necklaces. My vision is a blur of beads and gilt and paste jewels. I’m feeling a growing foreboding, a sense of failure-
Oh my God.
Oh my God oh my God! There it is! Right in front of me. Wound around a model’s ankle. My heart is hammering as I stare breathlessly at the pale-yellow beads, casually twined into an anklet. An anklet. No wonder Sadie couldn’t find it. As the model sashays nearer, the necklace is about two feet away from me on the catwalk. Less than that. I could lean over and grab it. This is absolutely unbearable…
Sadie suddenly follows my gaze and gasps.
“My necklace!” She zooms up to the oblivious model and yells, “That’s mine! It’s mine!”
The moment that model is off the catwalk I’m going after her and I’m getting it. I don’t care what it takes. I glance at Uncle Bill-and to my horror his eyes are glued on Sadie’s necklace too.
The model is sashaying back now. She’ll be off the catwalk in a minute. I glance across, squinting as a spot
light catches me right in the eye, and see Uncle Bill getting to his feet and his people clearing a way for him.
Shit. Shit.
I leap to my feet, too, and start making my way out, muttering apologies as I tread on people’s feet. At least I have an advantage: I’m on the side of the catwalk nearer the doors. Not daring to look back, I fling myself through the double doors and sprint up the corridor to the backstage area, flashing my pass at the bouncer guy on the door.
The backstage area is mayhem. A woman in jeans is barking instructions and pushing models onto the stage. Girls are ripping clothes off, having clothes put on, having their hair dried, having their lips touched up…
I look around in breathless panic. I’ve already lost sight of my model. Where the hell is she? I start moving between all the hair stations, dodging rails of clothes, trying to catch a glimpse of her-when suddenly I become aware of a row at the door.
“This is Bill Lington, OK?” It’s Damian, and he’s obviously losing it. “Bill Lington. Just because he doesn’t have a backstage pass-”
“No backstage pass, no entry,” I can hear the bouncer saying implacably. “Rules of the boss.”
“He is the fucking boss,” snaps Damian. “He paid for all this, you moron.”
“What you call me?” The bouncer sounds ominous, and I can’t help smiling-but my smile dies away as Sadie materializes, her eyes dark and desperate.
“Quick! Come!”
I start to move, but Sadie vanishes. A moment later she reappears, looking wretched.
“She’s gone!” she gulps, hardly able to get the words out. “That model girl has taken my necklace. She was hailing a taxi and I dashed back to get you, but I knew you’d be too slow. And when I returned to the street… she’d gone!”
“A taxi?” I stare at her in horror. “But… but-”
“We’ve lost it again.” Sadie seems beside herself. “We’ve lost it!”
“But Diamanté promised.” I swivel my head frantically, looking for Diamanté. “She promised I could have it!”
I’m hollow with dismay. I can’t believe I’ve let it slip away again. I should have grabbed it, I should have been quicker, I should have been cleverer…
Massive cheers and whoops are coming from the main hall. The show must have finished. A moment later, models stream into the backstage area, followed by a pink-faced Diamanté.
“Fucking fantastic!” she yells at everyone. “You all rock! I love you all! Now let’s party!”
I struggle through the melee toward her, wincing as stilettos puncture my feet and shrieky voices pierce my eardrum.
“Diamanté!” I call over the hubbub. “The necklace! The girl wearing it has gone!”
Diamanté looks vague. “Which girl?”
Jesus Christ. How many drugs is she on?
“She’s called Flora,” Sadie says urgently in my ear.
“Flora! I need Flora, but apparently she’s gone!”
“Oh, Flora.” Diamanté’s brow clears. “Yeah, she’s gone to Paris for a ball. On her dad’s PJ. Private jet,” she explains, at my blank look. “I said she could wear her dress.”
“But she’s taken the necklace too!” I’m trying really hard not to scream. “Diamanté, please. Call her. Call her now. Tell her I’ll meet her. I’ll go to Paris, whatever it takes. I need to get hold of this necklace.”
Diamanté gapes at me for a moment, then raises her eyes to heaven.
“My dad’s right about you,” she says. “You’re nuts. But I quite like that.” She gets out her phone and speed-dials a number.
“Hey, Flora! Babe, you were awesome! So are you on the plane yet? OK, listen. Remember that dragonfly necklace you had on?”
“Anklet,” I interject urgently. “She was wearing it as an anklet.”
“The anklet thing?” says Diamanté. “Yeah, that one. My crazy cousin really wants it. She’s gonna come to Paris to get it. Where’s the ball? Can she meet you?” She listens for a while, lighting a cigarette and dragging on it. “Oh, right. Yeah. Totally… Of course…” At last she looks up, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “Flora doesn’t know where the ball is. It’s, like, some friend of her mum’s holding it? She says she wants to wear the necklace ’cause it totally suits her dress, but then she’ll FedEx it to you.”
“Tomorrow morning? First thing?”
“No, after the ball, yeah?” says Diamanté, as though I’m very slow and stupid. “I dunno what day exactly, but as soon as she’s done with it she’ll send it. She promised. Isn’t that perfect?” She beams and lifts her hand to give me a high-five.
I stare back at her in disbelief. Perfect?
The necklace was two feet away from me. It was within my reach. It was promised to me. And now it’s on its way to Paris and I don’t know when I’ll get it back. How can this in any way be perfect? I feel like having a total meltdown.
But I don’t dare. There’s only the thinnest, most fragile chain linking me to the necklace now, and the strongest link in it is Diamanté. If I piss her off I’ll lose it forever.
“Perfect!” I force myself to smile back and high-five Diamanté. I take the phone and dictate my address to Flora, spelling out every single word twice.
Now all I can do is cross all my fingers. And my toes. And wait.
EIGHTEEN
He’ll get the necklace back. I have to believe it. I do believe it.
But, still, both Sadie and I have been on edge since last night. Sadie snapped when I stood on her toe this morning (through her toe, more accurately), and I told her off for criticizing my makeup. The truth is, I feel like I’ve failed her. The necklace has been within my reach twice. And each time I’ve let it get away. Anxiety is gnawing inside me, making me uptight and defensive.
This morning I woke up wondering if I should just get on a train to Paris. But how would I ever track Flora down? Where would I start? I feel totally powerless.
Neither of us is chatting much this morning; in fact, Sadie has been silent for a while. As I finish typing my emails at work, I watch her staring out the window, her back rigid. She’s never said so, but it must be lonely for her, wafting around the world with only me to talk to.
Sighing, I shut down my computer, wondering where the necklace is right this minute. In Paris somewhere. Around that girl Flora’s neck, maybe. Or in an open bag, carelessly left on an open-top-car seat.
My stomach feels all stabby and nauseous again. I have to stop this or I’ll turn into Mum. I can’t keep obsessing about what might happen or what might go wrong. The necklace will come back. I have to believe it. Meanwhile, I have a life to lead. I have a boyfriend to meet for lunch.
I push back my chair, shrug on my jacket, and grab my bag.
“See you later,” I say toward both Kate and Sadie, and head out of the office hurriedly before either can reply. I don’t want any company. I’m feeling a bit jittery about seeing Josh again, to be honest. I mean, it’s not like I have any doubts or anything. Nothing like that. I suppose I’m just… apprehensive.
What I’m really not in the mood for is Sadie suddenly appearing beside me as I’m nearly at the tube station.
“Where are you going?” she demands.
“Nowhere.” I hurry on, trying to ignore her. “Leave me alone.”
“You’re meeting Josh, aren’t you?”
“If you knew, then why did you bother asking?” I say childishly. “Excuse me…” I swing around a corner, trying to shake her off. But she won’t be shaken.
“As your guardian angel, I insist that you see sense,” she says crisply. “Josh is not in love with you, and if you think for a moment he is, you’re even more self-deceiving than I thought.”
“You said you weren’t my guardian angel,” I say over my shoulder. “So butt out, old lady.”
“Don’t call me old!” she says in outrage. “And I’m not going to let you throw yourself away on some lily-livered, weak-willed puppet.”
“He’s not a puppet,” I snap,
then run down the tube steps. I can hear the train coming, so I swipe my Oyster card, dash onto the platform, and make it onto the tube just in time.
“You don’t even love him.” Sadie’s voice follows me. “Not really.”
This is the final outrage. I’m so incensed I swivel to face her, whipping out my phone. “Of course I do! Why do you think I’ve been so miserable? Why would I want him back if I didn’t love him?”
“To prove to everyone that you’re right.” She folds her arms.
This one takes me by surprise. In fact, it takes me a moment to gather my thoughts.
“That’s just… rubbish! That shows how little you know! It’s got nothing to do with that! I love Josh, and he loves me…” I trail off as I feel the attention of all the travelers in the carriage turning toward me.
I stump to a corner seat, pursued by Sadie. As she draws breath to launch into another speech, I take out my iPod and put it on. A moment later her voice is drowned out.
Perfect! I should have thought of this a long time ago.
I suggested to Josh that we meet at Bistro Martin, just to exorcise all memories of that stupid Marie. As I hand in my coat I see him, already sitting at the table, and feel a whoosh of relief, mixed with vindication.
“You see?” I can’t help muttering to Sadie. “He’s early. Now tell me he doesn’t care for me.”
“He doesn’t know his own mind.” She shakes her head dismissively. “He’s like a ventriloquist’s dummy. I told him what to say. I told him what to think.”
She’s such a bighead.
“Look, you,” I say angrily. “You’re not as powerful as you think you are, OK? Josh is pretty strong-minded, if you want to know.”
“Darling, I could make him dance on the table and sing ‘Baa Baa, Black Sheep’ if I wanted to!” she replies scornfully. “Maybe I will! Then you’ll see sense!”
There’s no point arguing with her. Deliberately, I barge right through her and head to Josh’s table, ignoring her squeals of protest. Josh is pushing his chair back and the light is catching his hair, and his eyes are as soft and blue as ever. As I reach him, something bubbles up in my stomach. Happiness, maybe. Or love. Or triumph.
Twenties Girl Page 27