The Making of Mia

by Ilana Fox

  Jo looked out of the window for inspiration and started to run a list of names through her head. The sky was turning to a beautiful violet from the deep red, and as Jo watched the sun disappear in the horizon a glittering plane caught her eye. It was preparing to land, and, suddenly preoccupied again by her future, Jo imagined packing up her belongings and heading back to the horseshoe-shaped airport with Joanne Hill’s passport in her hands. The assistants at check-in would not believe that the slim, beautiful woman in front of them was the same dumpy, ugly girl in the passport photo, and Jo smiled. From the moment she stepped on to the plane and away from Miami it would be the beginning of her new life. Miami had been the making of her, and as Jo remembered the airport’s nickname – MIA for Miami International Airport – she knew what she had to be called.

  ‘I’m going to be Mia Blackwood,’ Jo said, as she turned back to Gable. ‘It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?’

  After working for a variety of national newspapers, Ilana Fox currently works at ASOS.com, and looks after all their social media. She lives in London with her clothes, shoes, bags and boyfriend.

  The Making of Mia

  ILANA FOX

  For Harry and Nan Fox.

  I love you both very, very much.

  I told you I’d do it. So there!

  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  PART ONE

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  PART TWO

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  PART THREE

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Copyright

  Acknowledgements

  First I’d like to thank my agents – Michael Sissons and Fiona Petheram at PFD – for everything they’ve done, and for the belief they had in me. I feel very lucky to have such an amazing team of people on my side.

  Thank you to my editor Kate Mills for her inspired and patient editing, Genevieve Pegg for holding my hand over email and for her advice, and also to Helen Windrath for ironing out the remains of my strange American grammar. I wouldn’t have had as much fun writing this without you. To everyone at Orion, thank you so much.

  To my friends and family, I want to thank Ben Harvey and Natasha Moore for reading every word of the very first draft several times. Other notables include Naomi and Abi Stern (best cousins in the world, so proud of both of you), Dad and Magda, and Holly Seddon for just being the best. Also, thank you to: Hannah Weimers, Andre Litwin, Justin Myers, Ewan MacLeod, George Stern, Christian Martin, Lina Sonne, Sophia Wong, Sarah Graham, Claudia Dutson, Helen Nicholson, Stacey Teale, James Seddon, Shaun Terriss, Sean Griffin, Chris Chivrall, Anouska Graham, Jamie Griffin, Pete Picton, Danny Dagan, all the Cobra boys, and my mates at the Sun who kept me going – far too many of you to name, but you know who you are. Cheers.

  Prologue

  May 2007

  Joshua was going to go nuclear, Mia thought, as she sashayed seductively across her living-room to hand him a whisky. As she leant down to pass him the Tiffany cut-crystal tumbler, she caught sight of herself in the darkness of her floor-to-ceiling window. She paused slightly as she once again acknowledged just how beautiful she was. Her long limbs were lightly tanned, her make-up was as fresh as it had been when she’d applied it earlier in the evening, and her cheeks were flushed with anticipation.

  Mia smiled softly at Joshua and then walked over to the antique mirror to scrutinise herself properly. Yes, she was stunning, but there was something about her reflection that made her feel uncomfortable: she was too perfect. Mia remembered how she used to look, and rather than disliking the memory of her former appearance, she was haunted by an image of a happier, more carefree girl. As much as she loved her Balenciaga gown, the Cartier garnet and diamond necklace that sparkled against her neck, and her expensive gold-spun highlights, she’d have been happier in jeans and a sloppy T-shirt. She wanted to be herself again.

  Across the river Big Ben began to chime midnight, and Mia suppressed a tiny smile. It was so apt. This was the moment when Cinderella turned from the mysterious woman who stole Prince Charming’s heart back into the put-upon scullery maid, and Mia was about to do the same.

  In the mirror Mia could see Joshua walking over to her with a fond expression on his face, and as she turned round he produced a small Asprey jewellery box and got down on one knee. Mia tried not to look pleased. Joshua really believed that she would accept his proposal and give up running Gloss magazine.

  ‘Mia Blackwood,’ he announced theatrically in his booming voice, ‘will you marry me?’

  It was one of those chick-flick moments that Joshua was so keen on, and as if on cue Joshua flipped the lid to the box to expose the largest pink princess-cut diamond Mia had ever seen. She tried not to laugh. She’d always known that Joshua traded in magazine clichés, but this was ridiculously over the top, even for him. His divorce hadn’t even come through yet.

  ‘Oh, Josh,’ Mia said with a sigh, glancing at the platinum ring with minimal interest. ‘What if I told you that at midnight I turn from being the beautiful princess into one of the ugly sisters? Would you still love me then?’ Mia scrutinised Joshua’s face while keeping hers as emotionless as possible. She sounded like she was in a play, but she knew it fitted the situation perfectly.

  Joshua laughed patronisingly, and scooped Mia up into his arms.

  ‘You and your fairy stories,’ he said, kissing Mia’s nose affectionately. Mia slithered from his grip in a quiet rage and took a deep breath. She was going in for the kill.

  ‘Joshua, I’m serious.’ Mia’s eyes glinted with steely determination. ‘You sit in your gilded office and think you know everyone and everything, but how much do you really know about me? I’m willing to bet you haven’t a clue about the secret in my past.’

  Joshua burst out laughing. ‘“Secret in your past”? Why the melodrama, darling, and what on earth are you talking about?’ Joshua took Mia’s hands in his and smiled. ‘Did you once make a porn movie in Hollywood when you were helping your brother start his career? Might I have seen it?’ Joshua’s tone was light, but Mia knew he was worried. He couldn’t have a wife with any skeletons in her closet. ‘Because I’d rather like to watch you having sex … especially considering you’ve been making me wait all this time.’

  Mia’s green eyes narrowed and her voice turned to ice. ‘Don’t be stupid,’ she snapped, and Joshua stopped laughing as he saw how serious the beautiful woman in front of him was. ‘Take a closer look at me, Josh,’ she said with slight menace in her tone. ‘Don’t you remember me? Because after all this time I never forgot you.’

  PART ONE

  Chapter One

  Seven years earlier

  April 2000

  ‘Joanne Hill!’

  Jo had been starting to fall asleep at her desk when she heard her name being barked out in front of the whole class. She groaned inwardly and quickly looked up at her least favourite teacher. It didn’t matter if she was daydreaming about running a magazine or was paying as much attention as was humanly possible – Miss Montgomery never failed to sniff out weakness, especially when it came to her. As the teacher shot an icy glare in her direction, some of the more popular girls in the English class began to giggle, and Jo
felt her face start to flush. She hated herself for being an easy target, and was aware – for the thousandth time – that her street accent and second-hand, oversized uniform marked her out as someone who didn’t quite belong. It didn’t matter that she’d been at the exclusive boarding school for seven years – people still relished gossiping about her background, often making up wild rumours when they got bored of the truth. Jo didn’t care that her mother lived on a council estate and worked in a call centre, but she hated the others making crude jokes about it on top of everything else.

  ‘Yes, Miss Montgomery?’ Jo asked in a quiet voice, hoping that if she stayed calm and measured she’d not draw any more attention to herself. It didn’t work. Every eye in the classroom turned towards her, and Jo knew they were scrutinising her double chins and rolls of fat as well as her bright red cheeks and lack of make-up.

  ‘Can you give me an example of brotherly love in Hamlet?’ Miss Montgomery snapped impatiently, and she raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

  Jo felt like screaming about how unfair it all was. Even though she normally loved English, she had to admit that she’d not read the play – she’d been up until 4 a.m. on deadline to finish an article for Saint, the school magazine, and had completely forgotten about her homework. Jo racked her brain to think of something that could deflect everyone’s attention from her and back to the teacher.

  ‘Is it when Hamlet’s brother dives in front of a bullet – no, a sword – like a bodyguard, miss?’ Jo hesitated, wondering if it really was a good idea to suggest that the seminal moment of a low-budget, made-for-TV film was on par with a Shakespearian play. The roar of laughter from the bitchier girls proved it wasn’t, and Jo wanted to slide under her desk and hide. She hadn’t meant to be humorous.

  ‘You think you’re so funny, don’t you, Joanne, but your poor excuse for wit doesn’t disguise the fact you’ve not bothered to do your homework,’ Miss Montgomery spat, her dislike for Jo apparent. ‘So what were you doing last night that was more important than studying for your A-levels?’

  Miss Montgomery began walking around the front of the classroom, and all the girls kept their eyes on her, enjoying the performance. Apparently, before she came to teach at St Christopher’s School for Girls in Buckinghamshire, she’d been a journalist on a local paper, clawing her way up the career ladder with her red-lacquered nails until redundancy meant she had to give it up. Teaching and lodging at a private boarding school clearly made more sense financially, but the teacher was still bitter that her career had ended so soon after it had begun, and she hated Jo Hill for her almost naïve determination to succeed in journalism. Miss Montgomery flipped her long auburn hair over her shoulder, and then surveyed the rest of the class with her kohl-rimmed green eyes.

  ‘Well?’

  Jo hesitated, not wanting to tell the truth because she couldn’t stand it if someone derided her dedication to Saint, but not knowing what to say instead. But it was too late – one of the others swooped in for the kill.

  ‘She was eating Mars bars, miss,’ Jemima sang out, giving Jo a characteristically bitchy look before smirking at her friends. ‘I think Joanne has eschewed formal education in order to beat a world record in the number of chocolate bars she can cram into her face in an hour. If my memory serves me correctly, she ate at least four of them.’ Jemima looked smug, and Jo wanted to die. It was true, but she couldn’t help it: writing articles for the magazine made her hungry.

  ‘Now, Jems, I don’t think that’s fair,’ added Susie, casually. Jo looked on in surprise – Susie and Jemima were best friends, and Susie had never stuck up for her before.

  ‘It wasn’t four bars of chocolate, it was at least forty, and I’m sure Joanne isn’t doing this in lieu of her homework. From what I heard she’s doing a sponsored eat-a-thon to raise money for impoverished children that walk around in rags. Like she does.’

  Jo surreptitiously looked down at her tatty Pop Swatch – one she’d bought with two years’ worth of pocket money when she was ten – and worked out how much longer the lesson would last. Despite loving English Literature she hated Miss Montgomery, and she couldn’t wait to get to PE – which was unheard of for her.

  ‘Girls,’ Miss Montgomery warned, with a hint of amusement in her voice. ‘Please can we not discuss Joanne and get back to Hamlet. While there is an important lesson to be learnt with regard to Miss Hill’s enthusiastic eating habits, you’ll be tested on Ophelia’s beauty, not Joanne Hill’s weight.’

  The teacher let the giggles subside and turned back to the whiteboard, starting a soliloquy about Hamlet and Horatio’s relationship. Jo tried to take in what was being said, but she felt too numb to concentrate. When she’d passed the scholarship exams at the age of eleven to come to the school she’d never imagined it would be like this.

  The day got worse – with Susie hitting a lacrosse ball at her stomach in PE, and her maths teacher making her do algebra in front of the class – but the discrimination shown towards her by teachers and pupils alike didn’t affect Jo as much as it used to, and she supposed it was because it was all she’d ever known. Jo wandered up and down the hallowed halls of her boarding school pretending not to notice groups of girls giggling as she walked past, and wondering – for what felt like the billionth time since she’d been at school – what her life would be like if the others stopped being so bitchy.

  While the other girls spent recesses in the lavatories sweeping MAC blusher on their flawless skin – made possible by pots of Dr Sebagh Breakout Crème sent in bulk from Space NK – Jo sat in the library reading as many books as possible in the hope that they would take her mind off the delicious smells coming from the school’s kitchen. She couldn’t help it – she was hungry all the time. But even dinner, sometimes, didn’t give her that fix like a bag of Maltesers always could.

  That evening – after dinner, but before prep – Amelia wanted to make sure Jo was all right. As she walked into the dorm she struggled not to wrinkle her nose; there was a nasty smell coming from the bathroom that was, unfortunately for Jo, at the same end of the room as her bed. Jo glanced up at her friend and smiled weakly. Even if everybody else hated her she must have been doing something right if the most popular – and beautiful – girl at school liked her.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Amelia asked, dropping her expensive-looking cardboard shopping bags on to the floor and flopping on to the bed next to Jo.

  Jo shook her head, unable to get the words out, as Amelia Gladstone-Denham, with her pretty face, designer clothes from Harvey Nichols and Selfridges, and boyfriends at Eton, Harrow and even Radley, looked concerned.

  ‘I heard about Jemima and Susie being bitches in your English set – you mustn’t pay any attention to them. They’re just jealous because you got to do that email interview with Justin Timberlake from *NSYNC for Saint. They have a massive crush on him.’

  Jo let out a wry laugh. ‘Ames, that doesn’t account for the time they locked me in the chapel in the first year.’

  Amelia was silent for a moment. ‘Well … no … but … I think they find it weird that you don’t even try to fit in any more. Have you ever thought about coming to do your homework with us in the common room instead of spending every evening reading magazines?’

  ‘Yeah, I tried that years ago along with sucking up to everyone but it didn’t do any good. We both know the real reason nobody likes me is because of this.’ Jo gestured at her body and tried not to feel depressed. Amelia tried to be tactful.

  ‘But it’s not because they’re being shallow about your weight – it’s how we’ve been raised. It just doesn’t do to be overweight in families like ours. And it’s not all about good looks, you know,’ Amelia said with an air of authority. ‘It’s about being healthy, too. We go skiing, and sailing, and lots of us have ponies. Why, if I was a stone or two overweight there would be no way I could compete in horse trials at the weekend – old Brownie would never be able to carry me!’

  As soon as Amelia spoke both girls pict
ured Jo – who was at least seven stone heavier than Amelia – climbing on to a horse only to find it collapsing beneath her. It didn’t amuse either of them, and Amelia blushed.

  ‘Sorry, Jo.’

  Jo gave her a grin. She knew Amelia meant well, even if her words sometimes came out badly.

  ‘What I’m trying to say is that it’s all about fitting in, making the most of yourself and being the best you can be. If you just lost a bit of weight, perhaps rinsed your hair to make it darker …’

  ‘You mean if I tried to look like an overweight Joey from Dawson’s Creek people would be friends with me?’ Jo joked feebly.

  Amelia stared at Jo for a second, unable to gauge her mood. Jo took this silence as Amelia not thinking she was taking her advice seriously and rushed to make light of the situation. She didn’t want to offend her one true friend. ‘I suppose I could try and look like Britney Spears, instead.’ Jo stood up and struck a pose. ‘What do you think, could I be a sexy singing schoolgirl? Hit me, Susie, one more time …’ Jo sang, before she realised she’d lost a button on her itchy BHS blouse. She quickly crossed her arms over the huge grey bra that showed through the straining gap around her breasts, and pouted.

  Amelia laughed. ‘This is exactly what I mean! You’re fun, and when you let your guard down you’re as cool in person as you are in those articles you write for Saint … If you just made a bit more effort with how you look and what you eat …’

  Jo thought about how she’d stopped eating puddings for a week and had gained five pounds in the process. It was a lost cause. ‘I do make an effort, but I don’t have unlimited pocket money to spend on all those expensive lotions and potions you get. And besides, all the effort in the world wouldn’t make much of a difference … I’m not pretty enough to fit in, I know that.’

  ‘But you have gorgeous green eyes …’ Amelia pleaded, tentatively. She’d had this conversation before, and Jo always shot her down.