The Personal Shopper (Annie Valentine)

by Carmen Reid

  ‘Hmmm . . .’ Annie, although she’d dressed and made up with extreme care and attention for the afternoon, wasn’t at all keen.

  ‘Annie!’

  Her thoughts were disrupted by the sight of Tor in front of her. Tor in a summer dress and heels, Tor with pink nail varnish and lip gloss. Tor looking slightly unrecognizable.

  ‘Good grief!’ was Annie’s first reaction, quickly followed by, ‘Good girl!’

  She asked about the new flat, about Angela, and then she couldn’t help asking: ‘New job?’

  Tor shook her head.

  ‘Greatly improved love life?’

  Tor shook her head again and confided: ‘Just new scarves, Annie! Like this one?’ She held up the wisp of pale pink chiffon for Annie’s approval. ‘I’m working on the other things . . . I’ll get there.’

  ‘Good girl!’ Annie repeated with a grin.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Martha on Oxford Street:

  White and green flowery summer dress (Topshop)

  Green leggings (Topshop)

  Orange sandals (Miu Miu)

  Orange tote bag (Accessorize)

  Orange flower hairclip (Accessorize)

  Green and silver necklace (Topshop)

  Est. cost: £190

  ‘You were right, I was spending far too much money on the kids’ clothes.’

  ‘Annie? Hello, it’s Ed.’

  ‘Oh . . . Ed? Hi.’ Annie was slightly taken aback to hear from him, especially after his abrupt goodbye yesterday. ‘You must be busy packing.’

  ‘Yes . . . yeah . . . look . . . There’s something I wanted to ask you.’

  Annie put a hand over her left ear, blocking out the noise of traffic on Oxford Street.

  ‘Yup, fire away,’ she said, wondering if this was going to be a ‘which tie goes with which shirt?’ query. She made a quick check on her watch, 9.50 a.m., just ten minutes before she was due to hook up with a long-term client in Selfridge’s. She quickened her pace along the pavement.

  ‘Well, it’s just . . .’ Ed began, ‘I was thinking . . . you and the children could do with a temporary home. Well, so I understand . . . Lana’s explained you’ve moved back to London. Anyway . . . I really need to get my place redecorated because I’m planning to sell it, so while I’m away in the States I just wondered . . . I mean obviously, totally up to you . . . it would be a hassle for you, but you’d obviously not pay any rent and I’d pay for all the decorating . . . well, I need help with it and I just thought maybe it would tide you over . . .’

  She understood exactly what he was suggesting and immediately thought it was a perfect short-term solution: ‘Brilliant idea, Ed! Brilliant!’ she exclaimed. ‘We probably won’t even be there long, just enough time to sort it all out for you and find a place of our own. Fantastic!’

  Recently, Annie had begun to think that even a few more nights of the heavy drinking, fun and games of living on top of Connor and Hector was going to kill her. But she was still some time away from being able to stump up the deposit on a new place. Here was this fantastic, unexpected solution coming at her out of the blue, proof that one should always wear lipstick, perfume, nice heels and stay positive.

  ‘I’d need to see you before I go,’ Ed was saying. ‘Give you keys, show you round, ask what you think should be done, see what kind of budget is needed.’

  Yes, of course Ed should have thought of this earlier, so they could have looked through brochures together, picked out kitchen cupboards, talked colour schemes, all that kind of thing. But never mind, she liked a plan that fell together at the last moment. Her mind was already racing ahead to redesigning the layout . . . to where Lana and Owen would sleep in the flat when the damp course was being put in . . .

  She told Ed she would come round to his just after 1 p.m., so she would have an hour or so to talk to him before the children broke off from school for the summer holidays.

  ‘How come you’re not at school today, anyway?’ she wondered.

  ‘They gave me the day off to get organized. Maybe they had some idea how long it would take me.’

  ‘Aha.’

  Then Annie almost dropped her phone at the sight of the woman walking – no, make that sashaying – towards her. Was that . . . ? Could that be . . . ?

  ‘I have to go,’ she told Ed. ‘See you later.’

  ‘Hey! Nit girl!’ Annie shouted once she’d hung up. She gave a vigorous wave. ‘Get you!’

  Martha Cooper’s head turned and when she spotted Annie, she began to laugh. She’d lost weight, her hair was even lighter than the last time Annie had seen her. She looked great.

  ‘Look at you!’ Annie said coming up to her. ‘You look fabulous. And it’s only . . .’ she gave Martha a quick up and down, ‘only the shoes I can take credit for! Wow, good work! I hope you’re going to recommend me to all your friends.’

  ‘They are clamouring for your number!’ Martha told her.

  After a quick chat about Martha’s children, Martha’s work, Martha’s new exercise regime, Martha thanked Annie sincerely for her advice.

  ‘You were right,’ she told her, ‘I was spending far too much money on the kids’ clothes. God! I was spending far too much time obsessing over the kids, full stop. Me and all the other haggard mothers hanging out at Baby Gymnastics. Those days are over . . . well, not entirely, obviously . . .’ she added quickly, ‘but at least I no longer look like their scruffy au pair.’

  Ed answered his battered door and showed Annie into the kitchen. He was wearing trousers and a shirt from the clothes they’d chosen together, his hair had been trimmed rather than hacked off and she couldn’t help thinking how well he looked. He was obviously preparing for his big US adventure and she was proud of her handiwork.

  Fleetingly she wondered if he might land himself an American girlfriend and maybe not come back to St Vincent’s again. That would be so nice for him, she told herself. She wasn’t sure what Owen would do but . . .

  ‘What time’s your flight tomorrow?’ she asked him, stepping well away from the cats’ dishes.

  ‘Four p.m.,’ he replied.

  There was something of a restlessness to him she hadn’t seen before, because usually he was so calm. His hair-rummaging had increased, he spilled water on the kettle’s journey from the sink to the hob and couldn’t seem to locate a cloth to wipe the puddle away.

  ‘I’m fine for tea,’ she assured him. ‘Shall we make a start on looking round?’

  After a pause he said, ‘Yes, yes, no problem,’ but his voice sounded uncertain, almost as if he’d forgotten what she was here for.

  They went into the sitting room where Annie wasted no time getting down on her knees to lift the peeling wallpaper and inspect the damp again. ‘This will have to be treated first,’ she told him. ‘We can’t do any decorating in here till that’s been sorted.’

  Then she began her knowledgeable damp talk. Did he want to put in a chemical damp-proof course, or did he want to go the conservation route and look into lime plasters and porous paint?

  ‘Oh, right . . . well, whatever you think,’ was his distracted answer, then he began talking about what time his plane would arrive in Boston and how he’d travel on from there.

  ‘OK, focus, Ed!’ she reminded him. ‘If you don’t want to finalize the damp issue today, we could at least talk about kitchen units and sub-floor insulation and colour schemes. I need to know your budget . . . whether you want to repaper, replaster or just paint over the old stuff . . . all that kind of thing.’

  ‘No, no,’ he shook his head, ‘I’m going to leave it up to you. I’m selling anyway, so I’ll write a cheque and then you just make it look as nice as you can. As nice as you will,’ he added. ‘I know your flat, it’s lovely.’

  ‘Aha, very trusting.’ Annie was wondering why someone who hadn’t been able to clear out even a bookshelf for years was suddenly planning an entire home renovation and move. The imminent American sabbatical was obviously having a motivating effect o
n him. She wondered also where he planned to go next.

  ‘OK, I’ve seen your kitchen, your sitting room, your bathroom . . . if it’s not too personal, can I see your bedroom?’ she asked him.

  Ed rummaged with his hair, gave a strange sort of half-yawn, then a sneeze. ‘It’s obviously fairly untidy . . . what with all the packing and everything,’ he warned her.

  ‘You’re really nervous about the trip, aren’t you?’ Annie ventured. She hadn’t seen him look agitated before; usually he was so laid back.

  ‘Kind of,’ was all the response he made.

  ‘Hey.’ She walked towards him. ‘You’re going to be fine. You’re going to have the time of your life and I promise I’ll take care of everything here, including the storage of all your mother’s things. I’ll look after it all for you.’

  ‘Right. My bedroom.’ He gave her a tight little smile, then turned. She followed him into the corridor, wondering why she was feeling a flicker of nervousness herself now. Watching how he bent down to avoid the low ceiling light, she did likewise, then he had to angle his broad shoulders from the narrow corridor into the bedroom door.

  ‘Here we go.’

  Then they were both in a dark green room, standing side by side, arms almost touching. She looked round briefly, taking in the antique wooden double bed, the jumble of clothes and cases on top of it, the framed posters, piles of books, overflowing cupboard and drawers. It was messy, just like Ed, but it was also welcoming and authentic and very masculine . . . just like Ed.

  Kissing.

  All of a sudden she was having an intense flashback to kissing him on the stairwell.

  Flustered, she tried to focus on the narrow French window which led out to a dainty garden in as luscious and unkempt a state as Ed’s hair. A rose bush, bent over with heavy yellow-pink heads, was bobbing up and down in the breeze, scattering petals onto the path below.

  ‘Very nice,’ Annie said, her voice a little husky, ‘but a much lighter green . . . maybe?’

  ‘Maybe,’ he replied, the word sounding as if it had been forced through a dry throat.

  ‘It’s OK,’ she assured him again. ‘You’re going to have a great time!’ and then she found herself putting her arm around Ed’s waist . . . just to be reassuring, really, she told herself.

  But the result of this was that he turned, moved his arms around her and, then, they were caught up in that very hot kissing all over again.

  Mouth against mouth, they found each other.

  He tasted the same as before and she realized how clearly she remembered him, how often she’d been thinking about him. His warm body, pushed against hers, was now not just new or hesitant and awkward, it was welcomingly familiar. She’d held him before. But this time was better. This time they pulled each other close.

  This time they didn’t feel so uncertain.

  They both knew they really wanted to do this. Couldn’t stop themselves from doing this.

  ‘How are you doing?’ she whispered against his soft, slightly downy ear when they paused for a moment for breath.

  ‘I’m extremely nervous,’ he whispered back.

  ‘Where’s your sense of adventure?’ she asked, her lips against his neck, ‘It’s the trip of a lifetime.’

  He pulled just slightly away from her to look at her face properly: ‘It’s not the trip,’ he said with a smile. ‘It’s you . . . I’m in a total state about you.’

  ‘Oh!’

  Annie didn’t know what to say next, so she leaned forward to press her lips against his; her hands moved to the small of his back and held him tightly as his mouth parted. She moved her tongue against his and their teeth touched just slightly. His mouth pushed at hers and she felt the hungry tingle start to buzz through her body.

  ‘Does kissing help?’ she broke off to ask.

  ‘Think so,’ he replied.

  She pulled his shirt loose and put her cool fingertips against his skin, feeling him goose-pimple at her touch.

  He was holding her chin in his hands and kissing down her neck. Strands of his hair were tickling her skin and shivers were travelling over her shoulders and down her arms. Gently, he pushed her blouse and bra strap away so he could kiss the top of her shoulders.

  She loosened her arm from the strap and the sleeve so that the top of her breast was visible now.

  Putting his nose against the fold of her arm, he kissed her there. His hand drew the fabric over her nipple, brushing past the hardening tip on the way.

  Everywhere he touched or stroked or brushed against was tingling, desperate to be touched by him again.

  Unbuttoning his shirt as quickly as she could, she pulled his warm body against hers.

  They were both topless and kissing frantically at mouths, nipples, necks and shoulders, feeling each other over and over.

  When her hands moved to undo his belt buckle, his hands took hold of hers, holding them still.

  ‘I don’t want you to rush into—’ he began.

  ‘Well I do,’ she said, giving the belt a vigorous tug.

  ‘Annie!’ His hands held on to hers.

  ‘Ed! Please!’ She began to rub against the obvious swelling underneath the fabric of his trousers, causing him to groan against her ear.

  ‘Ed,’ she began, ‘do you have any idea how much I’d like to do this? How much I really, really need to do this?’ She’d found the fly buttons buried in the fabric below the belt buckle and her fingertips were busy working them loose.

  ‘I. Want. You,’ she told him, ‘C’mon . . . please.’

  The first button was undone, then the second, her fingers were already inside his trousers, his teeth were biting at her shoulder, but his back was arched away from her.

  ‘Ed,’ she said into his hair, ‘my husband died when I was thirty-two, I’ve so much lost time to make up . . . you’ve no idea . . .’

  The third button sprang open and she could fit her hand in now, move past the thin material of his boxers and feel for him. Firmly, insistently touch him, causing the bite against her shoulder to intensify.

  ‘I’m not letting you get away. I can’t let you . . .’

  His back moved in now, pushing his erection in towards her. His warm, bare arms closed in round her and she was squashed up against him.

  He’d finally agreed to go with the flow. So then they were busy: stripping off their clothes as quickly as they could.

  He pushed her skirt up and in the following moments he transformed in Annie’s mind from the person she’d thought he was into someone much more interesting.

  Before, she’d found him boyish, chaotic, incapable and needy . . . but no, no, no, it turned out he was someone much more grown up than that. Much more insistent and yet tender, much more practised and yet still so very, very kind.

  In his every move against her and with her was the fine balance of intention and question. As if he were asking her over and over again, but without words: I’m going to do this, I’m going to go here, and move in here . . . but only if it’s OK. Is this OK? Is this what you want? Yes? And this too?

  They took off every shred of clothing, although she’d thought she didn’t want to be so exposed to him. She moved her hands away and let him kiss her all the way down her stomach until he was kneeling in front of her and his tongue was where she’d thought she wouldn’t want him yet.

  She had to let him keep on moving and touching and moving there until she felt the rush build and knew she was going to come when she hadn’t meant to. Not at all, she’d wanted to keep that to herself, in reserve. Hold back from him. But he hadn’t let her. He wanted all of her, every inch, and deep into her mind too.

  Shuddering over him, hands sinking into his hair, she now wanted to know all about him, everything, every little past moment, kink and detail, and definitely all about his past lovers.

  ‘You’re very interesting to me . . . do you know that?’ she told him with the edge of her voice.

  His response was to sweep all the jumble of stuff off
his bed so they could fall down on top of it together.

  Tangling into him, she sniffed at his armpits. She’d forgotten how delicious the smell of male sweat was . . .

  It hit the back of her throat and made her feel warm, dizzy and turned on. She buried her nose right against him, making him release a throaty laugh.

  She sat on top of him and took him inside as they looked at each other with their eyes wide open, still full of surprise.

  Afterwards, she lay stretched out on the bed beside him, utterly naked, with unselfconscious stubble on her upflung armpit, and remembered how glorious sex could be, because she’d been in serious danger of forgetting.

  A long, deep silence followed.

  He tucked her in under his arm and then they lay side by side looking at the ceiling, not wanting to break the silence.

  But Annie couldn’t resist lifting her head and leaning over to kiss him again and the kiss broke the spell.

  He smiled broadly, crinkling the skin round his eyes, and told her: ‘Parent–teacher relationship . . . really, really overstepped this time.’

  ‘Did you know you liked me?’ she asked him, feeling with her hand for his and running her fingers across it. It was a broad hand with big thumb joints and fingertips hardened with guitar playing, not that this had roughened his touch in the slightest.

  ‘Did I know I liked you? Let me see . . .’ Ed began, eyes fixed on the ceiling, a fresh smile on his face, ‘I’ve considered taking up smoking for the first time in five years, I’m playing Elvis ballads till two in the morning, not to mention “My funny Valentine”, I can’t think about anything else except your face and the way you flick your ponytail and walk very, very fast and call everyone around you “babes” . . . yes, I think we can safely say I knew I liked you . . . but you’ – he put his finger on the tip of her nose – ‘you didn’t know you liked me, did you?’

  ‘I liked you, Ed,’ she told him, running her hand across his stomach. ‘I just hadn’t realized until today that I fancied the pants off you.’