by Carmen Reid
sleeves (Vivienne Westwood, with store discount)
Purple patent T-bar heels (Timi Woo, direct from China)
Chunky purple beads (Topshop)
Tiny diamond stud earrings (Tiffany's via Ed)
Sheer red seamed stockings (Topshop)
Total est. cost: £580
'The show must go on!'
It was two minutes to 9 p.m. and Annie was fiddling. She was fiddling with the rows of champagne glasses laid out on the trestle table in the personal shopping suite. She was twitching the pink tablecloth to make sure it was hanging perfectly. She was making tiny alterations to the way the champagne bottles were facing.
This was it. This was definitely it.
After nine years, she was about to leave The Store for good. The glossy and glamorous, luxuriously high fashion department store in London's Knightsbridge that she had been lucky enough to call her workplace for all this time. Well, yes, OK, she had left it once before, but that had been an unfair dismissal and she'd come back within months.
This was really leaving. This was exiting in a blaze of glory. For good. For ever.
She cast her eyes about the richly carpeted suite with its pink velvet curtains and bright pink sofas. There would be no more hanging out here with her clients, old and new. No more gazing critically into those full length mirrors with them, no more delving through the racks of wonderful, wonderful clothes brought up from the glittering white and glass floors of dazzling fashion.
There was no doubt in Annie's mind that almost as much as the people here, she was going to miss the clothes. Not to mention the staff discount which had let her build a vividly colourful and totally eclectic wardrobe. From Prada to Primark, from Alexander McQueen to Zara, her wardrobe (now stretched across three wardrobes, plus all the boxes and bags in the spare room) covered the entire spectrum.
Over in one corner of the suite was the little cubicle which had served her as an office for all this time. She'd already unplugged her laptop and packed it away in its case. She'd taken down the family snaps from her walls, heaved a huge collection of fashion magazines into the recycling bin and packed up all the assorted belongings that had accumulated in her desk drawers over the years: lost buttons, snagged stockings, pins, pens, badges, Polaroids of customers, thank-you letters from delighted clients.
It had taken nearly an hour, and plenty of quiet tears, to get through it all. Now, at 9 p.m. exactly, The Store was shutting its doors for the night and the staff, along with Annie's family and friends, were coming up to the suite to drink her health and wish her well.
'You all right there, my love?' Paula, her beautiful, lean, black, soon to be ex-assistant, called out as she sped into the room on teetering heels with an enormous platter of canapés in her arms.
'Yeah, definitely!' Annie tried to chirp back brightly, but it didn't sound quite convincing.
Paula set down the canapés, then swooped over and treated Annie to a long-limbed hug.
'I'm gutted that you're leaving us,' Paula told her. 'I'd be insulted if you weren't upset, girl. But it's so great for you. You're going to be on the telly. You're going to be a star! From now on the Annie Valentine touch isn't just for the ladies who can afford to shop here, it's for everyone!'
Well, everyone who watches the Home Sweet Home Channel, which, by the way, I hadn't even heard of until yesterday, Annie thought.
With a lump building in her throat, she told Paula, 'That is so sweet, babes, that is just so sweet,' and hugged her tight.
'Let's take a look at you,' Paula said, stepping back to scrutinize the woman who had been her mentor.
Annie's hair was tied up in its trademark high ponytail. Her lightly tanned face with hazel eyes, small features and ready smile looked bright and alert. Paula thought this had everything to do with Annie's session down on the cosmetics floor with the very talented girl at the Bobbi Brown counter. She didn't know about the Botox.
'You look gorgeous,' Paula was quick to compliment her. 'You're rockin' the Westwood. On fire.'
The red dress, which pulled and nipped, plumped and tucked in all the right places on Annie's bosomy curves, wasn't new. It was a tried and trusted favourite which she knew wouldn't let her down.
As she'd always tell her clients, 'Big, nerve-racking events are not the best time to try out new outfits. You're safer wearing something that you've worn before and can rely on. Why do you think brides are always so anxious?'
'God save the Queen!' Annie joked, which was her and Paula's code for Westwood. ('God save the Queens' meant Dolce and Gabbana.)
'Long live the Queen,' Paula added.
'I'm really, really going to miss my staff discount,' Annie admitted with a sigh.
'Annie Valentine, I bet you are,' Nadine, one of the shop assistants, who was just entering the suite, had to agree.
She was leading in a posse of about ten others, so the party was definitely about to start.
'She won't need a staff discount,' Dale from Menswear countered, 'will you my love?' He came and wrapped his arms round Annie's waist. 'She's going to TV, she's going to be rich! We'll be reading about her in heat magazine and buying her books at Christmas, won't we, doll?'
Annie felt a lurching, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. If only they knew how much she was giving up. She felt she was risking everything for just the vaguest chance at small screen glory.
To excited whoops, a cork flew from a champagne bottle. Glasses were passed around, filled and clinked together.
Annie could see Geoff and the two ladies from Accounts coming in; they'd been in the pub already, waiting for kick-off. Now there was Dinah, Annie's sister, hesitantly entering the room.
But still no sign of Ed and her children, or her best friend Connor, or her boss, Helena Montserrat.
Dinah, Annie's younger sister – she also had an older one, Nic – was a very important person in her life. She lived close by in north London, with her husband Bryan and daughter Billie. She was a more anxious and less impulsive person than Annie, who kindly did a lot of Annie's worrying for her, but she was a close confidante and supporter in every twist and turn of Annie's life.
'Hey you!' Dinah called out and gave a little wave. A much more arty and experimental dresser than her big sis, she was wearing something vibrantly lilac and blue-green from the latest Warehouse collection. Whereas Annie liked labels and long-lasting 'key pieces', Dinah liked cheap, chain store or, even better, second-hand fashion.
'Dinah!' Annie said, and wrapped her arms round her sister, 'I'm so glad you could come!'
'Wouldn't have missed it for anything,' Dinah assured her. 'Ed and the kids here yet?'
'No, but I'm sure they're on their way.'
'What about the Mung Bean?' This was their current nickname for Connor, their actor friend. Connor had recently moved to LA, because according to his new US agent he was 'totally hot, right here, right now' and he had to capitalize on it. According to Connor's reports, living in LA had not allowed him to carry on the easygoing, boozy lifestyle he'd enjoyed as an actor in London. No. Living in LA seemed to involve endless meetings, eating only tofu and mung beans and sweating it out with a personal trainer for five hours a day, which was all so vain and ridiculous that Annie and Dinah saw it as their duty to tease him at every possible opportunity. As Connor was in London for four days – for an audition, not just Annie's party – now was their chance.
'So is the whole contract thing sorted out then?' Dinah asked her sister in a low voice, but meeting her eyes.
'Oh!' Annie exclaimed, not wanting to talk about it here.
'The deal?' Dinah pressed: 'did you get what you were looking for?'
'Babes, I got enough to keep a squirrel in nuts and that's all I'm saying about it,' came Annie's fierce reply.
'Oh no!' Dinah whispered, 'is it bad?'
'It's the worst,' Annie whispered back.
'What are you going to do?'
But it was too late, Annie was being swooped on from all si
des. So many people to talk to. Annie felt as if she was being passed from group to group like the parcel at a children's party.
She caught sight of Ed and her children in a far corner, talking to Dinah and Paula, but it was a few minutes before she could break away from the group she was with and get over to them.
'You all look gorgeous!' she cried. 'You've made such a fantastic effort for me.'
Owen, who had adopted the internationally accepted 'smart' outfit of a 12-year-old – ironed shirt, ironed chinos, passably clean Converses – was the first to get a hug. He accepted it without complaint, even though his mum had ruffled the hair he'd carefully smoothed over to one side.
Lana was kissed on the cheek, then Annie took a moment to admire her new blue dress. Although it was worn with a self-conscious teenage slouch and some badly applied eyeliner, to Annie, Lana still looked beautiful.
Ed had made a huge effort. Somehow, he'd brought his unruly mop of hair under control and he'd replaced his usual baggy, tweedy, woolly look with the stylish jacket, shirt and tie that Annie had picked out for him long before she'd even known she was in love with him.
'Hey you,' she said softly, brushing his lips for hello, 'you look seriously cute.'
He smelled good too.
'Aha,' he agreed, 'I had to live up to your dress.' He ran a hand down her back.
'Total Annie magnet. It's OK, go out there and mingle. We'll be fine. We know we get you back at the end of the evening.'
'Have you seen the snacks?' Owen pointed to the trestle table, which was now covered with food. 'Awesome!'
Suddenly Annie's face – Bobbi Brown, Botox and all – was buried in the amply warm and friendly bosom of Delia, the second floor's cleaning lady.
'Annie Valentine,' she boomed in English accented with deepest Jamaican, 'what's I goin' to do witout choo? If you be needing any cleaning on them fancy TV places, you let Delia know right away, you hear? I don't think Mr Geoff here is goin to mind me saying that, are you?' Delia gestured to the head of personnel. 'If there was a job for him on TV, he'd be the first to go, wouldn't choo Mr Geoff?'
Geoff obliged with a loud laugh.
Annie felt the lurch of unease again. This was supposed to be her big, big moment. The sort of exit from the everyday that everyone dreamed of making. All these people that she'd worked with for so long were so excited for her, so pleased for her and really, she was walking off into nothing. Into £3,600 for a digital channel. Some show no-one would ever hear about. She felt as if she should press pause on this party or at least put out the word that she might be coming back. Think of this as temporary, she wanted to go around the room saying: it might not work out!
'Oooooh!' one of the floor assistants exclaimed with excitement, 'isn't that Connor McCabe over there?'
Annie turned to catch her first glimpse of Connor for several months. It was enough to make the sick feeling recede slightly. Whatever her problems were, Connor usually had a way of cheering her up.
She scrambled through the crowd towards him, but he was already surrounded by a group of fans, shaking hands, or just staring at him with intent, excited looks on their faces. He was a big TV star now and had recently done a movie, so he was really well known. He'd just featured in a double-page spread in Hello! for goodness sake!
'Connor!' Annie greeted him, 'you came.'
'Oh yeah, at the sight of you,' he joked, treating her to a bear hug.
'You look fabulous,' she told him, and it was true. Bronzed, buff, dark hair, twinkly movie star eyes and big broad shoulders, teeny tiny waist. He was gorgeousness personified. But oh, so tragically, for the women anyway, he was gay.
'Can I just speak to you for a micro-moment?' Annie asked, holding her thumb and forefinger millimetres apart.
'Yup, where can I put my bag anyway?'
She ushered him slightly away from the buzz of the party and into her tiny office.
'This is so great,' he told her as they crammed into the bare white space together, 'I am so proud of you. A major new development!'
'OK, a little less Hollywood please,' she warned, 'this is me you're talking to now. Not some snazzy producer.' She scanned his face.
'How are you?'
'I'm fine,' he said, smiling reassuringly.
'And Hector?'
'Great,' Connor answered for the partner he'd taken out to LA with him: 'getting even buffer and browner than me.'
'It's fantastic to see you,' Annie couldn't help telling him. 'I miss you. Spend every free minute you have over the next few days at my house. OK?'
Connor nodded his agreement.
'But there is a problem,' Annie went on immediately, knowing she only had a few moments this evening with the one person in her life who knew all about TV. 'It's airing on a tiny digital channel and they've brought in a third presenter. She's a name, so they have to pay her properly and I'm supposed to do this series, the whole series, for £3,600.'
Connor's face didn't change. She'd expected him to gasp with astonishment, or at the very least shoot up an eyebrow or two.
'Is there a lot less money in television than I thought?' Annie asked: 'is this something you've not told me? Is working on TV something that only people with a private income can do?'
'No! Don't be silly,' Connor replied, 'but starting salaries are low. Everyone puts up with them because they want their shot at the big time. And that's what you've got to do.' He took hold of her ponytail and ran it smoothly through his hand.
'OK,' he went on, 'have you and Ed got enough to live on for the next few months if you take this job?'
'Ha! I've been trying to work out how we can scrape through . . . maybe just. But only just.'
'OK. Scrape,' Connor told her. 'Scrape and work your butt off for the TV company. Something else will come of this. I promise. If the show is great, someone big will buy it. If you're fantastic, someone else will hire you. What's the worst that can happen?'
Annie noticed the transatlantic twang, not to mention vocabulary he was developing.
'The worst that can happen? Let's see,' Annie began in exasperation, 'my children can't go to St Vincent's any more, because I can't afford the fees, I lose our house because I can't afford my share of the mortgage and The Store doesn't take me back, so I'm unemployed.'
'Well . . . yes, that's all quite bad,' Connor admitted, 'but what are you honestly going to do? Give up now,' he challenged, 'before you've even started?'
'No,' Annie said, with a hint of a smile.
'No way!' Connor confirmed. 'So, I have two things to say to you: get out there with a big, successful smile on your face, because the show must go on. And never, ever make another deal without my agent.'
Helena's speech was very kind. Although Annie's boss had only been in the job for five months or so, she let everyone know what a valuable member of staff she was losing. She finished by assuring Annie that if it didn't work out in front of the camera, she'd be welcomed straight back behind the velvet curtains, and this stiffened Annie's resolve to leave. She was going to go forward now. She couldn't come back. Even if she wasn't going to work in TV beyond her three-month contract, she couldn't come straight back to this same job. It was definitely time to move on.
Annie's eyes met Paula's and suddenly her vision blurred. Then she was blubbing hopelessly into a cocktail napkin and hoping that Trish, the make-up artist, had thought to use waterproof mascara.
The goodbyes took too long and felt too sad and final. What had begun all fizz and nerves, like a wedding, was ending with weeping and hugs like a funeral. Until finally, Annie was outside on the pavement with her family around her for comfort.