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Authors: Jenny Colgan
Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend
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Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend
JENNY COLGAN
Hachette Digital
Table of Contents
Jenny Colgan is the author of eight bestselling novels, most recently
Operation Sunshine
, which is also published by Sphere. She is married with two children and lives in London and France.
Operation Sunshine
, which is also published by Sphere. She is married with two children and lives in London and France.
For more information about Jenny, visit her website at
Praise for Jenny Colgan
‘She is very, very funny’
Express
Express
‘A delicious comedy’
Red
Red
‘Witty and clever’
Heat
Heat
‘Fast-paced, funny, poignant and well observed’
Daily Mail
Daily Mail
‘Hugely entertaining and very funny’
Cosmopolitan
Cosmopolitan
‘A funny, clever page-turner’
Closer
Closer
‘A quirky tale of love, work and the meaning of life’
Company
Company
‘A smart, witty love story’
Observer
Observer
‘A Colgan novel is like listening to your best pal, souped up on
vino, spilling the latest gossip - entertaining, dramatic and frequently hilarious’
Daily Record
Daily Record
‘An entertaining read’
Sunday Express
Sunday Express
‘The perfect summer sunbather, easy to read, packed with gags and truths’
Irish News
Irish News
Also by Jenny Colgan
Amanda’s Wedding
Talking to Addison
Looking for Andrew McCarthy
Working Wonders
Do You Remember the First Time?
Where Have All the Boys Gone?
West End Girls
Operation Sunshine
Talking to Addison
Looking for Andrew McCarthy
Working Wonders
Do You Remember the First Time?
Where Have All the Boys Gone?
West End Girls
Operation Sunshine
Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend
JENNY COLGAN
Hachette Digital
Published by Hachette Digital 2009
Copyright © Jenny Colgan 2009
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a
retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without
the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated
in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published
and without a similar condition including this condition
being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters and events in this publication, other than those
clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance
to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book
is available from the British Library.
eISBN : 978 0 7481 1566 2
This ebook produced by JOUVE, FRANCE
Hachette Digital
An imprint of
Little, Brown Book Group
100 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DY
An Hachette Livre UK Company
To Jo and Al. Thanks for everything!
Acknowledgements
Thanks to my family, the board, the ever-supportive Feb mums, the École de Spectacle ghetto and especially my brilliant, gorgeous and patient Mr B, and the terrific wee Bs.
Part One
Now
Chapter One
Ever since I started working, I’ve always thought that everyone should get a day off the first time in the year that the sun shines. You know, the morning when you wake up and see blue in the corner of the window and smell spring in the air and your heart leaps. Don’t you think everyone should just automatically get the day off to go out and enjoy it?
Obviously people might disagree on when this day actually occurs, and you’d maybe have to have an agreement about what temperature it had to be, and then everyone in Scotland would get really pissed off, and, well - it would probably be a bit difficult to administer, especially if the hospitals all suddenly shut down and things. OK. Maybe it’s not the
best
idea I’ve ever had.
best
idea I’ve ever had.
Right, how about everyone gets a ‘sunshine’ day a year and they choose when they take it, like some people get duvet days? Everyone just knows the day, don’t they? You can tell on the street; it’s weird, people smile at each other and stuff. Huh. So we’re back to the problem of losing all the hospitals and policemen - and traffic wardens, so I’m not saying it would be an
out and out
disaster.
out and out
disaster.
But, anyway. Today is a lovely day, and I am - we are - taking it off and going to the seaside!
Well, maybe not strictly
taking it off
. There are a few advantages to being a freelance photographer - mostly being able to work in your pyjamas, but on the downside, it does get annoying when people say, ‘Hey, Sophie, do you go to work in your pyjamas
every
day?’
taking it off
. There are a few advantages to being a freelance photographer - mostly being able to work in your pyjamas, but on the downside, it does get annoying when people say, ‘Hey, Sophie, do you go to work in your pyjamas
every
day?’
Anyway, it means you’re always thinking about work, even on an official DAY OFF. But that’s OK, because I’ve figured out a way to combine things. Which is why, right at this moment, I’m jumping up and down on the bed. Persuasive tactics.
‘Come on! Come on! Let’s go to the beach! And I’ll do your pictures there!’ He slowly opens one eye. ‘Sophie. What on earth are you doing?’
‘Look! Look out of the window!’ I babble.
‘How old are you, six?’
‘What do you see that wasn’t there before?’
‘Uh, they’ve covered up the graffiti? The feral cats have all died?’ So, we don’t have the world’s nicest view.
‘Sunshine! There’s sunshine! Let’s go and take photos!’
‘Can I have breakfast?’
‘We could have an ice cream for breakfast!’
He thinks for a minute. ‘Yeah, all right.’
It’s hard not to get a little bit excited, walking against the flow of commuters as we leave for Southend with beach towels. Maybe I should go out with a beach towel all the time; I get as many envious looks as if I am carrying the latest Birkin, and it’s all I can do not to bounce up and down on the dusty, mottled train carriage seats as I watch the grey buildings of London fade behind us, and the flat lands of Essex spread out ahead.
Apart from a few dog-walkers, the beach is deserted - and absolutely perfect. The air is a little fresher here, out of the city, but the sky is a soft scuddy blue, and the sun feels warm and life-giving, coming after such a long winter. I want to stretch out and luxuriate in it, like a cat. I turn my back to the sun so I can feel it through my clothes, and close my eyes.
‘Ahhhhh,’ I say.
He smiles. ‘Happy?’
You know, it seems such an innocuous question, but it makes me pause. I look around at the dunes, at the old-fashioned hotels that still line the front, looking dilapidated this early in the season. I watch a dog run after a seagull, the dog clearly barking its head off but too far away to be heard.
Am I happy? It’s been such a long time since I could answer this question in any kind of a positive way. It’s hard to think about the kind of person I used to be.
I smile. ‘Well,’ I say, getting out my beloved Leica, ‘yes. Although I’d be even happier if you can find somewhere open that sells fish and chips.’
He smiles. ‘You are just so high maintenance.’
‘But first,’ I order, brandishing the camera, ‘lots of you looking moody in the middle distance.’
I study him through my lens. He’s not traditionally handsome, I suppose. Which suits me just fine, I’m not traditionally pretty. Pale, light skinned. I used to have long blonde hair I parted in the middle like Gwyneth Paltrow, until I met a drippy man at a party with
exactly the same hair
. Not only that, but he then dedicated a song to me on his acoustic guitar, which was mildly exciting until he opened his mouth and sounded like a twenty-four-wasp pile-up. The lyrics were something like ‘Oh woman, you ripped my heart into little pieces of shit’, which I wasn’t very impressed about since he’d only just met me and everything. I cut my hair quite soon after that.
exactly the same hair
. Not only that, but he then dedicated a song to me on his acoustic guitar, which was mildly exciting until he opened his mouth and sounded like a twenty-four-wasp pile-up. The lyrics were something like ‘Oh woman, you ripped my heart into little pieces of shit’, which I wasn’t very impressed about since he’d only just met me and everything. I cut my hair quite soon after that.
‘Look solemn,’ I instruct, which is difficult to say to a man who has a small piece of ice cream on his cheek - a leftover from our Magnum breakfast (white chocolate, of course. Dark chocolate is very much an after-dinner Magnum).
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