Afterwards, I’m sitting in one of the downstairs green rooms at Vogue, waiting for the car that will pick me up and take me back home. I’ve left my hair and make-up as it is. I’m getting used to this ultra-glam look and I want Daniel to see me like this too. I answer some work emails while I’m waiting, and as I’m doing so I hear the voice that always sounds like nails scraping down a blackboard.
Why is Nicole Balfour at Vogue?
‘What a nice surprise!’ she says, stalking over to sit on the leather armchair beside me. ‘One of my besties is the Social Media Director here. She told me you were here for a photoshoot and interview and I thought I’d pop in to give you some support.’
I look up at Nicole with a raised eyebrow. She doesn’t look as if she’s being sarcastic. Her expression is genuine. At least as genuine as it can appear with all that botox in her forehead.
‘It’s all finished now,’ I say.
‘I can see! I’m sorry. I should have got here earlier. How did it all go? Was it exciting? You’re so lucky. I’d give anything to appear in Vogue.’
I smile, in spite of myself. ‘It was great.’ I say. ‘I’ve been reading this magazine since I was a teenager.’
‘Me too! I had a framed version of the first Kate Moss issue.’
‘That was the most amazing shoot,’ I agree, surprised that Nicole and I have a shared interest.
‘I just loved to read so much growing up. Enid Blyton and Vogue. It was an odd mix but it kept me very happy.’ Nicole grins and it makes her look less icy than usual. ‘Do you remember the original supermodel cover from 2009? With Claudia Schiffer, Naomi Campbell and Cindy Crawford?’
‘Yes! I loved that one!’
We laugh. I’m having an actual, normal conversation with Nicole. I’ve known her for such a long time and this has never, ever happened. I feel suspicious, but then immediately regret it as she digs into her Balenciaga handbag and pulls out a bottle of champagne. Even I – a regular schmo – can tell that it’s upmarket and expensive champagne.
‘Well, I brought you this. To say good for you. This is a big deal.’
I fight the urge to narrow my eyes. Maybe the champagne is poisoned? No. I’m being ridiculous. And no one else has showed up to celebrate with me today. Although I suppose Lizzie and Dad don’t even know I’m here and Dad is away at some spa with Jill. Lauren knows and would have loved to come but she’s having a crisis with her London Parks campaign at work. So here I am – just me, Nicole and a bottle of plonk. Weird.
‘Thanks!’ I say graciously. ‘That’s really nice of you.’
Nicole nods and pats my arm stiffly. ‘I’ll leave you to it. I just wanted to say, you know, well done.’
Maybe there’s a nice side to Nicole after all and I’m genuinely touched by the gesture. Before I can think more of it I say, ‘Hey. They’re sending a fancy car to pick me up. Shall we open this together? We can finish it off at my flat.’
Nicole looks surprised and then a huge smile spreads across her face. ‘What a fabulous idea!’
Clasping the bottle of champagne under my arm, Nicole and I exit the Vogue offices together. But not before she takes a quick selfie of us in the lobby, beneath the Vogue logo.
I smile as my car pulls up and Nicole pops open the champers with a whoop. I laugh as it spills out of the top, and as passers-by laugh and shake their heads at our decadence. Maybe Nicole’s starting to thaw towards me now that Daniel and I are engaged and she realises I’m here to stay. If I can get Nicole on side, maybe her parents will follow suit. And then, maybe it won’t be so terrible being a Balfour after all.
Chapter Twenty-four
Lizzie
I think I might be in love. Argh. Even thinking it to myself makes me feel like an idiot. There’s a fair chance that what I’m feeling is just infatuation, or more likely, lust. I can’t deny I’d love to rip the clothes off Justin and climb him like a tree. But I also have this odd feeling in the pit of my stomach that it’s more than that. It’s like a bizarre kind of certainty. That he’s for me and I’m for him. Yes, I know I sound like a lovesick teenager but I can’t help feeling my feels, OK?
I was devastated when he legged it the other night, just as I thought we were about to kiss. I just couldn’t understand what had happened. And I hate to admit it, but for the next couple of days I just moped around the flat eating massive bowls of Cheerios so slowly that they’d turned soggy and disgusting, and more like Polyfilla than breakfast cereal, so I’d have to pour myself a fresh bowl. Why did Justin turn away from me? Why did he practically give Usain Bolt a run for his money in his bid to get away from my advances? Was I ever going to see him again? If we did see each other again, how awkward would it be now that he’d made it clear that he didn’t fancy me? I was beginning to bore myself with the constant questions going round my head. I’m surprised Jay didn’t throw me out.
And then, unexpectedly, Justin rang me and invited me out for drinks in a couple of nights’ time. YEEEESSSSSSAAAAAA!!!! Again, it’s unclear whether it’s a date or just a friendly get-together, but he seemed pretty nervous on the phone – and he’d only be nervous about asking me out again if he had feelings for me too, right? And ever since we spoke on the phone, the feeling that this might turn into something real has grown and grown. I know that there’s no real evidence to support this feeling, I’m not that much of a fool, but you can’t help what you feel. And I may have typed out Lizzie De Luca on my iPhone notes app just to see how it looks . . . it’s sickening, I know. I hate myself. How do couples do it, all that love stuff, without making themselves feel ill? So much emotion flying around all the time. It’s just too much.
With all this talk of couples my thoughts naturally turn to Bex and Daniel, and the weird conversation I overheard him having. I’ve managed to do a fair bit of internet investigating (read: Facebook, Twitter and Instagram stalking) but nothing more than that. I mean, what am I supposed to do? Follow Daniel? Stalk him? Number 1: He would recognise me and number 2: It’s fucking creepy and number 3: I’m making assumptions that I actually heard something bad. Maybe I jumped to the wrong conclusions. It’s not like it would be the first time.
One weird thing I did find during my internet investigations was that Nicole’s Angelina-Jolie-lookalike friend clearly has a thing for Daniel. Not only has she liked EVERY SINGLE Facebook post he’s written since 2012, she’s started doing ‘loves’ instead of ‘likes’ and commenting on all his photos with things like ‘perfect!’ and ‘looking good, Dan!’. It could be nothing but there’s something telling me it isn’t all innocent behaviour. But I’m sure it’s just a crush and by the looks of it Daniel isn’t reciprocating so it’s clearly all one-sided and there’s nothing to worry Bex about. It’s not like she’s posted a heart-eyes emoji under any of his posts yet – I mean, if she did that I’d HAVE to inform Bex. Sly slag. Maybe I should just sit down with Daniel, admit that I think I overheard him having what sounded like a pretty shady conversation and just make it clear to him that Bex is my sister and as much as I love him like a brother she is my priority and I’ll do anything to protect her. I will channel my inner Liam Neeson if I have to.
It’s raining today so I’ve avoided the park and have decided to spend some time updating my Instagram, following new people, replying to comments and generally giving it some love. As I open the app I’m delighted to see a bunch of new followers and likes. People are loving my shots of the dogs and the park. They’re by far my most popular posts. What can I say? People love puppies.
I’m checking my home feed to see what’s new when I spot several pap shots of Becky. No wonder she’s been so absent this week – she’s been busy! At least with the pap shots I can see what she’s been up to. They’re really following her now! And then I see another photo. A non-pap shot. It’s of Becky with Nicole Balfour. Again. This time, however, Bex doesn’t look stiff and uncomfortable. She’s smiling and clutching a bottle of champagne. Nicole is leaning into her shoulder, giggling. They look l
ike the best of friends. They look happy.
My stomach sinks. I cannot believe what I’m seeing. That’s why she hasn’t been around. She’s busy with her new family. Doesn’t matter that they’re a bunch of snobs and that Nicole lied about me pushing her. I guess Becky’s moving on up. All at once my eyes are wet with tears. Becky and I used to speak every day. Sometimes multiple times a day. She doesn’t even know how my date (non-date? Whatever) went with Justin. And what was she doing at Vogue? There’s so much we don’t know about each other these days and it just seems like there’s an increasing distance between us. A distance that I can now see is being filled with Nicole – not that she’d fill much in any sense, skinny, vapid cow.
I shut off my phone with a sigh just as the doorbell goes. That’ll be Jay, he’s always forgetting his keys. I buzz him up, open the studio door and wait for him to walk up the many flights of stairs. I expect to hear him cheerily announce his arrival with some dramatic tale about how he needs a Martini stat, but the voice that comes from behind me isn’t a voice I recognise.
‘Hello? Lizzie?’
Frowning, I turn around to see a tall, tanned blonde woman of about fifty wearing jeans and a tight black camisole. She looks oddly familiar.
‘Sorry,’ I say, confused. ‘I thought you were someone else. Is there something I can help you with?’
The woman just stares at me. Oh gawd, have a I let a crazy person who wants to skin me and wear me as a coat into the flat?
‘Are you OK?’ I try again.
‘Lizzie, love. It’s me.’
Erm? ‘I’m sorry, do I know you?’
The woman laughs, embarrassed. ‘Yes, you should do. It’s me, it’s Mum.’
And then I realise why she looks so familiar. Her face is – albeit older – an exact replica of mine.
‘Mum?’ I whisper, my heart pounding in my ears.
Oh my God.
I’ve never experienced such a myriad of emotions in such a short space of time. It’s like looking into a kaleidoscope of feelings. I’ve been talking to Tracy for the past couple of hours and it’s been awkward and stilted, but there’s also been something familiar about it. I can’t remember that much from before she left and Dad and Bex don’t talk about her a lot but I always got the impression she was this terrible person – I mean, she left us? She abandoned her family? Two young daughters? What kind of a mother does that? But the more we talk the more she seems . . . well . . . not quite so terrible. She so full of remorse about the past and keeps talking about making it up to Becky and me.
‘I did get in touch with Becky a few days ago to let her know I was in London. I got her work email address from the internet. But she didn’t reply.’
Excuse me, what? Becky knew that Mum was in London? Had had contact with her and she didn’t tell me? She was so busy she couldn’t find five minutes to pick up the phone and say, Hey, guess what? That dress you liked is in the sale now. Oh, and our mum who we haven’t seen or heard from in twelve years emailed and wants to see us – shall we book a table at TGI Friday’s? I feel a prickle of anger. Was she ever intending to tell me?
‘She didn’t tell you?’ Mum asks.
I shake my head. ‘No, I didn’t know anything about it.’
Mum just nods but doesn’t say anything. Something occurs to me.
‘Wait – how did you know where to find me?’ I ask.
Mum pours out two more glasses of wine from the bottles she brought and takes a big sip. She leans forward as if she’s about to tell me a secret. ‘God, this is embarrassing, poppet. I phoned your dad. Landline number hasn’t changed in all these years.’
DAD knew she was around and he didn’t tell me either?
She spots the look on my face and pats my arm. ‘No, no, love. He didn’t know it was me.’ She giggles. ‘I put on an Australian accent and said I was one of your old friends from secondary school and wanted to send you a letter. Told him my name was Angelica! He didn’t cotton on though – typical Steve, too bloody trusting.’
I frown slightly. I don’t like her throwing shade at Dad. Even if she is right. He’s not the kind of fella to cotton on to hijinks. He IS too trusting. That’s probably why he fell for her in the first place but still, I can’t help but admire Mum’s tactics. Phoning someone and putting on an accent to find out information sounds like the kind of thing I’d do.
Sensing me stiffen at her not so complimentary comments about Dad, Tracy changes tack. ‘I do miss him, sometimes,’ she continues. ‘I don’t regret leaving him, though.’ She lifts my chin up with her finger. ‘But I do regret leaving you, Liz Wiz.’
I gasp when she says my nickname. Of course she knows my nickname. Dad and Becky have been calling me that for as long as I can remember. She probably came up with it.
‘But I just wasn’t ready to be the kind of mum you both deserved.’ She says. ‘I felt like I hadn’t had a life of my own yet and then suddenly I had two children of my own. I still felt like I had some of my own growing-up to do. I was so young, you know?’
I nod, though I don’t really know. I guess it must have been tough to deal with two kids at such a young age.
‘I just wanted to discover who I was, petal. Just me. Tracy. Not mum. Not wife.’
I take a sip of wine. She has tears in her eyes. This is something that clearly hurts her. And while part of me is still mad at her for leaving, another part of me understands why she didn’t want the responsibility. I mean, I’m kind of the same. I hate responsibility. And Mum was the same age as I am now when she left. I can’t imagine having two kids of my own right now. I can’t even look after myself, let alone a child.
‘Did you not think about getting any help? A nanny? Or some help from the doctor if you weren’t coping?’
‘Oh, I did, love. I tried everything that we could afford, but we didn’t have much money so hiring someone to help was out of the question. Really, though, I just needed to get away. I was so unhappy. You understand, don’t you?’
I feel fresh tears in my eyes. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.
‘I came back a year later.’ Mum says, the tears falling down her face, making tracks in her foundation.
‘What?’
‘I came back a year after I left. Told your dad and sister I wanted to try again. And . . . and they turned me away. Told me they didn’t need me any more. I understood, of course. They were so hurt by what I’d done, and rightly so. And they were the ones that had to pick up the pieces – although I never forgave myself for leaving you girls.’
A shot of fury courses through my chest. Mum came back? She came back and they turned her away? She admitted her mistakes and they turned her away? There was an opportunity that I could have grown up with a mum, like everyone else? And they took it away? I swallow hard. Why do they always think they know what’s best for me?
‘At least you got my letters,’ Mum says. ‘That’s the only thing that’s comforted me all these years.’
‘What – what letters?’
‘I sent you girls both letters every week. Don’t . . . don’t tell me you didn’t get them?’
At the realisation that no, I was not given a single one of her letters, Mum dissolves into noisy sobs.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she cries, putting her wine glass down on the side table and burying her head in her hands. She looks up at me, her face etched with pain. ‘The only thing that eased the guilt was knowing that you knew I was still thinking about you. That’s what those letters were for. To show you I still loved you even though your dad and sister didn’t want me back. What must you have thought of me all these years? You must’ve felt so abandoned.’ Then she takes me into her arms and something about the soft, perfumed smell of her brings back hazy memories I can’t quite catch hold of. Feelings of being safe, and warm and comforted. It’s intoxicating.
‘It’s okay, Mum,’ I whisper. ‘You’re here now and that’s a start. I can’t promise anything but let’s just take it from here. One day at
a time.’
‘I’ve lost you all and I’m so sorry.’
I soothe my mum, stroking her hair. ‘It’s going to be all right,’ I say in a soft voice. ‘It’s all going to be all right.’
Chapter Twenty-five
Becky
I’m reading an email from Vogue and I can’t keep the smile from my face. They’ve sent through the photographs they’re going to be using in the magazine and they’re so much better than I expected. I look just like the women I used to admire in between those infamous glossy pages all those years ago. Will some lonely teenager be looking at pictures of me in the same way? That thought sends me into a spin and I excitedly forward the email on to Lizzie, Dad, Lauren and Daniel.
I turn to my pile of manuscripts, which is getting bigger every day. A lot of them aren’t really up to scratch, but there are a handful that have potential. There’s one in particular I have my eye on, a Second World War historical romance. I wonder if I can turn it into as big a success as Darla’s book? Which reminds me, I must return Darla’s phonecalls. She’s been trying to get in touch all morning but hasn’t managed to reach me because I’ve been fielding calls from the press, agents and a non-fiction publisher who’s interested in me writing a book of personal essays. I mean, who’s going to be interested in buying that?!
I’m pleased Darla is doing so well, but I know she’s going to want to talk about her deadline moving and I’m not sure I have the mental capacity to be her emotional crutch right now. Not when I’m planning a wedding, trying my best to deal with all this new-found press attention and doing all I can to distract myself from thinking about Tracy’s email. But it’s my job so I just need to suck it up and do it. I’m just picking up the phone to give her a call when Jane appears holding two cups of coffee. She hands one to me. What’s she up to?
My Sister's Wedding: For better or worse, two families are about to become one . . . Page 16