A Summer Fling (43 page)

‘It’s a match. I don’t believe it!’

‘It’s not quite,’ said Christie. ‘But you’d need to be lit with a thousand-watt bulb to notice the subtle difference.’

‘That was just too easy to be true. Pinch me, Raychel,’ said Anna, still shaking her head. She let loose a near-hysterical laugh. ‘You’re magic, Christie Somers. Pure bloody magic.’

‘But do they fit?’ asked Christie.

‘Who gives a fart!’ said Anna. ‘I’ll either cut my toes off or bung bog paper in the bottom. They’ll fit.’

‘Try one on,’ said Raychel, who was holding her breath more than Anna.

Anna threw off her shoe and put the blue stiletto on. It slipped beautifully onto her foot.

‘No, that just cannot be,’ Anna gasped. ‘Can I borrow them, Christie?’

‘Say no, Christie. That would be really funny,’ giggled Dawn.

‘Of course you can borrow them, silly. There’s a bag to match somewhere. I never bought shoes without getting hold of the bag to match. Ah, here it is.’

‘Here’s another!’ said Raychel, finding a second in that shade buried deep on one of many shelves full of purses and folded wraps. It was, like the shoes, darkest blue, jewelled with blue sparkling stones studded along the heavy clasp. It was slightly dusty, so she rubbed it against her knee.

Anna’s hands greedily came out for it. She held it reverently, then thumbed open the clasp. ‘Christie, are you sure? It’s never been used. Look, there’s the price label still on. Oh no, hang on, it’s not the price – it says—’ Her voice cut off.

Christie reached slowly for the bag and read the handwritten label.

For you, my darling girl.

‘Christie, are you all right?’ said Grace, seeing the lightning change on her features.

‘Yes, I—’ Christie crumbled against the wall behind her and Grace leaped forward.

‘Good grief, love, what is it?’

‘Nothing, I’m fine.’

‘You’re not!’ said Anna, coming to the other side of her for support. ‘Dawn, get that chair!’

Dawn pushed the chair behind Christie only a split second before she fell backwards onto it. She struggled for composure, looking blankly up at the four women who were watching her with concerned confusion, and then she burst into tears.

They closed around her like flower petals protecting their precious centre. Then Anna ran to Christie’s en-suite and grabbed enough toilet roll to satisfy a pack of Labrador puppies with a tissue fetish; Raychel raced to get a glass of water; Dawn hunted down a flannel to soak with warm water – she didn’t know why. Grace remained with her arms around the woman who had given her comfort in the same way through her recent dark times, as Christie sobbed into her shoulder. Then, like a summer shower darkens a blue sky and ceases as quickly as it started, Christie recovered. She raised her head to see these four dear women she had become so fond of in such a short time.

‘Forgive me,’ said Christie. ‘He used to give me so many presents. I’m sorry, it was the shock of it after all this time. I never knew he’d bought that for me. I’ve never seen it before.’

‘What a lovely thing to do,’ Dawn said softly. ‘He sounds a really great bloke.’

‘I miss him so much. It’s taken me years to move on just a few steps. I will never find another man like him. Even though a lot of people think that James McAskill is warming my bed.’

‘Then they’re stupid,’ said Dawn decisively. ‘None of us think that.’ She knew she spoke for them all. ‘Although it’s obvious he likes you. That’s what people are picking up on and twisting.’

‘James McAskill and I go back forty years. He was the proverbial boy next door,’ began Christie, pointing left. ‘I never met people as cold as his parents were: so negative, so critical. If he got an A at school, they’d ask him why he didn’t get an A plus. He used to play with Niki and myself when we were small. He found a lot of love and warmth with my family in this house. He was, is and always will be, one of my dearest friends. He
and
Diana, of course, who I love as a sister. The truth is as simple as that. They are the most wonderful people. When Peter died, it was James and Diana – and Niki, of course – who stopped me following him. But I want you to know that it’s only since I started working with you all that I’ve truly felt part of the real world again.’

Grace looked around her at all these hundreds of clothes. She wondered if Christie Somers hoped to block up the holes of loss inside her with shopping expeditions. This amount of clothes and accessories seemed less like a hobby and more like an obsession.

‘I know what you’re thinking, Grace. Yes, I was almost mad with grief. Looking at this room, I don’t think I entirely escaped.’

‘I don’t think you’re mad at all,’ said Raychel. She sounded wise beyond her years as she went on, ‘You do what you have to do to stay strong and go on.’

Christie nodded slowly in agreement. ‘I’d always hoped Peter would send me a sign to say he was OK, but it never happened. I was convinced it would, to give me some hope that his spirit had moved on. That would have helped.’

‘I know. I felt the same. But I believe life goes on. I—’ began Dawn, then she cut off.

‘Go on, love, you were saying?’ said Christie.

Dawn wondered if she should shrug it off and not continue. Then she looked at the four women around her and knew that what she was about to tell them wouldn’t be ridiculed or dissed. However clumsily she explained it.

‘I didn’t tell you all this ’cos you’d think I was even more doolally than usual,’ Dawn began. ‘But when I went to see Calum’s Auntie Charlotte in the old people’s home, she suddenly grabbed my hand and said, “We want you to be happy, Dee Dee,” and it didn’t sound like her voice at all. And it knocked me for six because, you see . . . you see, my mum and dad always used to call me Dee Dee. It was their pet name for me. I know it sounds crackers, but it was like they were sending me a message. I can’t explain it, but I
knew
it was them.’

‘That must have been so comforting,’ Christie said with a lovely wide arc of a smile.

Dawn nodded, even though she didn’t tell them that the voice that came out of Aunt Charlotte also said,
What are you doing?

‘I’ve never believed that death was the end of everything. I don’t have proof. I just believe it. I believe my mum and dad got their ranch in heaven and Dad is playing his Strat and Mum’s got her piano and one day I’ll be there with them both again.’ Dawn poked the tears back into her eyes. ‘Maybe finding that bag is the sign you’ve been waiting for, Christie.’

‘You’re all lovely,’ said Christie. ‘Thank you for being so kind. The bond I have with the McAskills is unbreakable and precious. That’s why the likes of Malcolm Spatchcock can’t even put a dent in it. What he did to try and sully our relationship was unforgivable.’

‘Orange-faced bastard,’ snarled Anna.

‘Diana never believed it for a moment, of course. She came to warn me there was tittle-tattle. She thought if the gossips saw us together, united, it would put a sudden stop to it. But of course there is no real proof it was Malcolm who sent the letter so James can’t sack him for hearsay. He’s far too fair a man for that.’

‘He’ll get his comeuppance, I bet,’ said Dawn.

‘Alas, life doesn’t work like that,’ said Grace. ‘If only it did.’

Christie made a huge cafetière of coffee and all five women sat in her lounge, marking off the seconds to the programme starting. Anna was clutching a bag with the purse and shoes in it as if it would give her some support.

‘Nervous?’ asked Dawn.

‘I should be sitting on a commode, not a sofa,’ replied Anna, as a commercial came on saying that, ‘
Jane’s Dames
was sponsored by Treffé chocolates.’

Dawn grabbed Anna’s right hand, Grace her left one as she screamed, ‘Oh my GOD!’

‘
Hi, I’m Jane Cleve-Jones with
Jane’s Dames
and tonight I’m going to sunny Barnsley in South Yorkshire to meet forty-year-old Bakery Administrator, Anna Brightside, who thinks her reflection is an enemy. We’ve got five weeks to locate her inner Mojo and capture it in photographic form to prove to her it exists!’

A picture of a smiling Anna in her frumpy, comfy, round-necked jersey jumped out of the screen. That was
so
going in the bin when she got home.

‘
Anna isn’t just forty – she’s a string of other F-words too because she’s feeling fat, frumpy and forgotten. Can international designer of underwear, Vladimir Darq, make our Anna feel flighty, fabulous and fantastic instead?’

‘I can’t look!’ screamed Anna.

‘Yes, you can; open your eyes, you big coward!’ Grace demanded.

‘Oh my Lord, I didn’t realize I was being filmed then!’ Anna would have covered up her eyes but her hands were being too tightly held, for there she was sitting in a robe talking to Jane while Maria was taking all her make-up off. She had thought they were off-camera!

‘
When my partner left me, I just fell to bits. I feel so old and blobby and I can’t find the energy to do anything about it. Sorry.’
And then Anna burst into tears on screen. She felt her hands being sympathetically squeezed by her co-workers.

Then it switched to a mini-biography of Vladimir and a very moody shot of him in his house, surrounded by his underwear collection.

‘
Anna is a classic case of a damsel in distress and I am here to rescue her and women all around like her. When will women learn they should be at their most confident and beautiful at forty? They hide themselves away in stupid clothes and the ultimate in fashion disas
ters –
minimizer bras!
But with the right underwear on, a woman can be amazing!’

There flashed an image of Anna on screen in the red velvet dress.

‘Wow!’ came a chorus from either side of her.

‘
But first, let’s see what Anna finds so bad about herself.’

‘Aargh!’ Anna shrieked as she watched herself strip down to her undies and stand in front of the mirror and go through a list that her boobs were too wide, stomach not flat enough, hips too big, legs not long enough, blah-di-blah . . .

‘Are you looking at a different body to the rest of us?’ Christie tutted.

Anna studied herself and surprisingly, even though the camera was supposed to add half a stone, she didn’t look quite as bad as she thought she would. Give or take the awful underwear which, on screen, Vladimir was ripping to bits (not literally – alas, she thought).

‘
This bra is too tight and not supportive at all.’

‘
It’s comfortable,’
Anna retorted.

‘
How can it be?’
replied Vladimir sternly. ‘
It’s gouging grooves into your shoulders. And these pants!
La Naiba!
Take these off and throw them away! Good underwear can do more for a figure than extreme surgery.’

Then there was Anna clad in some of her awful clothes in her bedroom and Vladimir Darq’s voice-over.

‘
Anna is a beautiful, sensuous woman and I wish she could see her
self through my eyes
.’

Four sets of eyebrows raised in Anna’s direction.

‘
Women with no self-worth are too concerned with what other people think about them. I want Anna to feel sexy because she
is
sexy. Look at her beautiful clear skin, her eyes, her hair, her cheekbones, her fantastic breasts – and all she can see is her stomach. She thinks all she is is one big stomach – ach!’

Just before it cut to a break, it showed Vladimir trying to get Anna to stand up straight. He was barking at her in Romanian. Every time he let her go, she was slouching back. He looked as if he was going to smash his head against the wall in frustration.

Then the adverts came on. Christie put a brandy in Anna’s shaking hands when Grace and Dawn released their grip.

‘Thank you, I need this,’ she said, taking a gulp and feeling the burn at the back of her throat.

‘I don’t know why, you look fab even in awful underwear and no make-up on,’ said Dawn. ‘I’d ditch the wardrobe though. Can’t wait to see you in that red dress again.’

‘That’s nothing to the blue one he’s made me.’ Anna threw the last of the brandy down her throat. ‘How the heck I’ll have my hands steady enough to do my own make-up on Saturday is anyone’s guess.’

‘Shhh, it’s back on!’ Dawn settled back on the big squashy cushions. She was loving this.

‘
What Anna doesn’t know is that we projected a sixty-foot picture of her onto a building in Leeds and asked the locals what they thought about our girl.’

‘Look at that bloke walking towards the camera – it looks like Gok Wan,’ Raychel pointed.

‘
And, surprise surprise, a certain gentleman filming up the road here just happens to be passing.’

‘Bloody hell, it
is
Gok Wan!’ gasped Anna. They’d kept that one quiet!

‘
So, Gok, what do you think about our lovely Yorkshire rose?’

‘
She is fan-tas-tic – look at that womanly figure and that hair! I have to say, Vladimir Darq is one of my favourite ev
er
designers and, if anyone, he’s the man to make that gorgeous girl feel like the gorgeous girl she is
.’

Anna was in raptures as Gok Wan blew her a kiss from the TV screen.

Then Anna was back in Vladimir’s house and he was trying to do up a front-fastening corset. Anna tried to take over and he slapped her hand away.

‘You look like an old married couple,’ sniggered Dawn.

I wish
, thought Anna. She wondered what being wed to someone such as Vladimir Darq would be like. How did celebs like him spend their days? Did they do ironing and watch
Coronation Street
and eat Penguins like ordinary people? Or was it just all hopping from New York Fashion Week to the Venice Film Festival, after refreshment at Caffe Florian? Not a life she could ever imagine fitting into. Not that someone like Vladimir Darq would ever seriously look at someone like her
in that way.

‘
Anna’s friends, Christie, Grace, Dawn and Raychel are also hoping Vladimir can work his magic.’

Anna froze. There on the TV screen were her co-workers.

‘
Anna is totally blind to how lovely she is,’
Christie was saying. ‘
She’s a gorgeous woman who is not making the best of herself
.’