LOVE'S GHOST (a romance) (6 page)

But it didn't dim my appetite. If anything, it encouraged it. The croissants were delicious, delicately flaky but not so much that they fell apart.

“Can you take the day off?” Emily asked.

“No. Not really. Nothing in my life is going well. It’s not just men. I’m not doing so well at the agency, either. So a day off is a no-no.”

“Okay. But take it easy. And instead of going home afterwards, come straight here.”

“Emily, no. You’ve done more than enough.”

“If you don’t come round, I will come round to your place and drag you back here. Okay?”

I nodded. She was an amazing friend. “After work, I’ll nip back to get a change of clothes. But I promise I’ll come back here straight after. Thank you, Em. Thank you so much.”

ON MY WAY from Emily’s apartment to catch the train the following morning, there was a sense of relief, despite the headache I had. I was glad I’d told her about my inability to let go of my life with Russell.

Even now,
he
was the one I wanted to have walking by my side to the station, just to talk about how I missed him walking by my side. I wanted the man who had rejected me to be holding my hand. I wanted to talk to him, not to ask him why. We’d been through that and I was none the wiser. I just wanted him there, like he’d always been there.

My head was still hurting, the hangover persistently knocking on my skull, when I reached the office. I kept my sunglasses on inside the building. In any other office that would have attracted comment, but not in the fashion industry. There were two other people wearing shades, and they didn’t even have hangovers.

“Find me somebody,” Polly shouted. “Just find me somebody. There’s nothing worse in this industry than standing still. But we, as an agency, are suffering from a bad case of inertia.”

Polly had called a staff meeting in her office. All eight bookers were squeezed into her office. There should have been plenty of room for all of us. But I’m sure she moved her desk before these meetings, so that it took up more room. We were backed into a corner like sheep cowering from a particularly snarly bullmastiff dog. Polly as a vicious dog? I think Polly might like that comparison.

“We need fresh talent. Some people in this agency have been resting on their laurels.” She was staring at me. She was obviously taking the loss of our one and only supermodel hard and was looking to lash out.

“This weekend, I want you to scour the capital for the face of 2014. Look everywhere. Nightclubs, restaurants, bathrooms, gutters. Hey, we’ve had
heroin chic
, we might start
gutter glam
.”

I looked round the room. The expressions were a mix of uncaring, uninterested and complete bewilderment. Cool Chrissy examined her nails, Diffident Dougie kept his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans, dragging them further south to show more of his Calvin Kleins, and Sulky Sooz kept pouting (when did she ever do anything else?).

Polly surveyed the faces before her, then turned up her nose. That nose didn’t look like it had much confidence in the talent scouting ability in front of it.

“Right,” she said. “We’re going to make this a little more interesting. You see, I have this suspicion that you lazy people won’t put much effort in to this search.” She smiled. It was a smile only the owner of it could enjoy. “So let’s make it more interesting. I want a photo and contact details from each of you of one civvy, one beautiful person, who you think has
it
. That person must never have modelled before. And they can’t be one of your friends. I want new, I want fresh.”

There was still a complete lack of interest in the room. But Polly hadn’t finished speaking.

“Now that we don’t have the income from Sienna’s earnings, we need to shed one booker. There’s probably a fairer way to do it, but I like this idea. Listen, everybody.”

Her smile grew, until it seemed to wrap its way right round her face.

“The person who comes back from their weekend with the least likely model will get fired. Okay? You get it? I have to fight for the life of this company, I don’t see why you shouldn’t.”

That piqued their interest, in a negative way.

“Get out.”

We all sloped back to our desks.

There wasn’t the usual chatter in the office for the rest of the day. The Friday feeling just wasn’t there. If people had been looking forward to their weekends, they weren’t now.

When I returned to Emily’s flat, I told her about Polly’s ultimatum. She was outraged, but at the same time she was up the challenge. We’d already talked about taking a shopping trip to Camden in the morning. A fair few of the beautiful people hung around the market stalls. It’s a good place for fashionistas to go if they want to keep their finger on the pulse. Clothes are cheap and crafted, a refreshing escape from the high street. Although it does get unbearably busy.

Early on Saturday morning we took the District Line to Embankment and changed onto the Northern Line. We alighted at Camden and headed for the market stalls, some of which were still putting up their awnings to protect their products from the unreliable weather; weather that looked like it could throw all four seasons at us in the next few hours.

“What about
her
?” Emily was more enthusiastic about the task than I was. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to keep my job. I did. But I know how difficult it is to spot talent. Anna had been a case in point. I’d thought she would be a big hit with magazine editors and ad agencies. In truth, I’d lost confidence in my abilities since Anna’s continued failure to ignite the imagination of these people.

“She’s gorgeous,” said Emily. I shook my head. Although I had lost confidence in my ability to do this, and assumed I was wrong more than I was right, Emily had made the mistake lots of people make. She’d picked out a very beautiful woman. But beautiful women, if they have nothing else in addition to their beauty, can be very bland in front of a camera. The reading public are used to seeing simple beauty, they gloss over it. Today’s models need something else layered on top of beauty.

“What about
him
?”

We weren’t here to talent spot men. Men weren’t as lucrative for the agency. The powers that be didn’t come to our agency for me. So I didn’t immediately turn away from the fabulous polka dot skirt I was examining on one of the market stall’s rails.

“Him,” hissed Emily, through her teeth. I turned and saw him straightaway.

“No,” I said.

“You’re kidding me. Why not? He’s so amazing. I would love to crack a walnut in front of an open fire with him.”

I tried not to smile. I didn’t want to encourage her bad jokes. But I couldn’t help it.

“Come on,” she said, and grabbed me by the hand, leading me in his direction.

“No,” I said. “He’s not what Polly and the agency are looking for.”

“Oh, stuff Polly and the agency. This one’s for me.”

She yanked over to the stall where they were selling watercolour scenes of London life, painted by the stall holder I presume.

Emily had no respect for the conversation that was in progress between the two men. She just jumped right in.
 

“Hello,” she said. “My name is Emily and I’m a model booker for a London model agency. We like your look and were wondering if you’d like to chat over a coffee?” She was stealing my line, delivering it better than I ever had.

The stall holder seemed to find this hilarious and broke away to leave us alone with the handsome man.

The man didn’t look at Emily, even though she was the one speaking to him. His brown eyes locked onto mine.

“We meet again,” he said.

“Yes,” I murmured, a little embarrassed.

Emily frowned. “You two know each other?”

“We share the same train,” he said. “My name is Carl by the way.”

Emily grabbed his hand to shake it. “Nice to meet you, Carl. My name’s Emily.”

“Pleased to meet you, Emily” he said. Then he turned to me. “And what’s your name?”

“Fay.”
 

“What a nice name. And
are
you?”

“Am I what?”

“Fay? As in ‘like a fairy’. That’s what it means, doesn’t it? Like a fairy?”

I hesitated. Somebody had told me this when I was about four years old. But I hadn’t thought of it since. “Yes, I’m a fairy, me.”

“But without the wings?”

“The wings are at the dry cleaners.”

“I wondered how you fairies kept them so sparking white.”

Emily was switching her gaze between the two of us. It began to feel like our exchange was a spectator sport for her.

“I’m afraid I don’t have time for a coffee,” said Carl. “And I already have a job, so I wouldn’t be interested in becoming a male model.”

“Oh,” said Emily.

“I have commitments today, but would you ladies like to meet up for a drink tomorrow?”

Emily was smirking. When Emily smirks, mischief is sure to follow. “I’m a little busy tomorrow, but Fay is free. In fact, she was telling me only this morning that Sundays can be a little tedious. So going out for a lunchtime drink would be very agreeable, I imagine.”

The little minx. Talk about being put on the spot.

Carl got the joke, too.

But I wasn’t going to play this game. “That’s a very kind invitation. But as I told you on the train, I’m not single.”

“Oh you so are,” said Emily.

I blushed faster and more deeply than I’ve ever blushed in my life.

Emily soon realised what she’d done. You can never be annoyed with Emily for long. True, she makes these blunders quite often. But it’s only because she has this boundless enthusiasm. And she’s always more mortified than the person she’s landed in the do-do. We stood there like a couple of beetroots.

“Forgive me,” said Carl. “I just like meeting new people. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”

He certainly had a way with words. I couldn’t help but smile at the ease with which he’d tried to take the focus away from Emily’s blunder.

“I tell you what,” he said. “How about you take my telephone number and if you feel at a loss for something to do tomorrow, give me a ring.”

Now, I said that I always forgave Emily because she always meant well. But just occasionally, she carries on and lays one mistake on top of another.

“You should take Fay’s number, too,” Emily said.

Even Carl was a little confused. “Only if she wants it.”

By now, I just wanted to get this exchange over with. So I agreed to swap numbers with this Carl. Emily leant over my shoulder to ensure that I entered the digits into my phone’s address book correctly.

Then Carl said goodbye and we went our separate ways. Emily and I didn’t speak for a while, ignoring what had just happened. I tried to cover the silence by picking up various hats without trying them on.

“I’m sorry,” Emily said.

“That’s okay,” I replied, as bright and breezy as I could make the words sound.

We went to another market stall which specialised in tie-dye garments, not my thing at all. But I rummaged through them anyway.

Then I stopped.

“Look, I know I should be dating again,” I said, “I know that six months is quite a while. And I
am
beginning to accept that Russell and I will never get back together, but… well, only last night I was imagining him drawing a bath for me. So, it’s still a bit soon.”

She tilted her head to the side. “I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done what I did. But he was very handsome and I couldn’t stop myself. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. A date would be pointless anyway. I’d be a complete mess. I’d take Russell with me. Not literally. You know what I mean.”

“I do. I know it hurts. He probably won’t call. I’ve taken lots of numbers. Never used any of them.”

She rubbed my back and then we hugged.

“It’s nearly lunchtime,” she said. “Shall we grab a bite to eat?”

We set off to the nearest pub, uncertain about whether we’d get a seat. It was the one closest to the canal and had the best views of the narrowboats crawling along between locks.

But on the way to the pub somebody caught my eye.

“
She’s
interesting,” I said. She was quite tall, fair, and walked like a newborn foal. Despite her unsure gait, her face was a map of sensuality. She made you want to look at her twice.

“Her?” asked Emily, with notable doubt.

“Yes. I think she could be interesting.”

We went up to her and, this time, I introduced myself. She seemed very sweet, saying that she’d never considered modelling because she didn’t think she was pretty enough. I took a picture of her on my phone. She was remarkably relaxed in front of a lens. Then we swapped details and I told her I’d be in touch. Her name was Portia. It wasn't because she was posh, she explained, but because her father was a big fan of Shakespeare.

“I think that attractive man has skewed your judgement,” said Emily.

We had a lovely lunch, even though the last time I’d been to this pub had been with Russell. I imagined him sat with us at one of the empty chairs at our table.

It was a nice day. But it was hard to forget previous nice days.

EMILY INVITED ME to stay at her place for the remainder of the weekend. I thanked her but said I needed to go back and do the laundry, as I was running out of clothes.

That was partially true. But it was also true that I needed some time alone. Emily’s the best friend a girl can have. But I was still exhausted after my embarrassing, and debilitating, binge drinking of a couple of nights ago, followed by our marathon shopping, model spotting expedition.

I just wanted to spend Sunday at home — do the chores, go for a jog. So on Saturday evening I said goodbye to Emily and went back to Surbiton. It was only when I’d collapsed onto the sofa, switched on the TV and saw a trailer for that evening’s
Strictly Come Dancing
that I fully realised it was Saturday night.

I found Saturday nights the most difficult ones to get through. There’s something about Saturday night. You’d think it would be Sunday that would be trickier, because everything’s quieter, giving you more time to think. But it’s the pressure to have fun on a Saturday night that hits home. It doesn’t matter if you go out and party, or if you stay in to watch TV, Saturday night is supposed to be about fun.