The Making of Mia (34 page)

‘You shouldn’t eat carbs, you know,’ she said, cutting up her lamb delicately and wrinkling up her nose at Mia. ‘You’ll get
fat.’

‘Oh, come on, Helena,’ Lucy said, with a hint of irritation. ‘The Atkins Diet died a death years ago – do catch up.’

Helena looked smug. ‘It’s not Atkins, it’s GI, and roast potatoes have a high GI and are therefore bad. The lamb is OK, but
I’m not sure about these vegetables. Don’t eat them if you don’t want to bloat out, Mia,’ Helena said in a sinister voice,
prodding at the sugar-snap peas on her plate with a knife. Mia wondered what her problem was.

Lucy rolled her eyes at the staff writer. ‘Keira Knightley eats roast potatoes,’ she said sharply, and despite herself Helena
looked slightly abashed. Nobody had forgotten how Helena had desperately wanted to be Keira – she had never lived down the
article in
Gloss
where she tried emulating her. ‘Besides, I can’t see Mia ever getting fat, can you?’ As soon as Lucy asked the question she
knew that half the girls around the table were gleefully imagining what Mia would look like if she was overweight. Mia ignored
them and ate another roast potato from Lucy’s plate while trying not to laugh. If they were picturing her as the size she
was when she was Joanne Hill they were close to finding out her secret, she thought. Not that they would ever realise it.

As Mia slowly enjoyed every mouthful of the dark chocolate mousse that was served for dessert, she kept a close eye on Helena.
Her staff writer was shooting daggers at her from across the table, and Mia wondered what she had done to deserve the evil
eye. None of Helena’s pieces for the next issue of the magazine had been edited that much, so she couldn’t have been offended
by Mia’s article cuts, and even Lucy had begrudgingly admitted that Helena was becoming a better writer with every piece she
submitted. Helena – a Jewish princess who had three credit cards in Daddy’s name – was steadily becoming more professional
as the months went by, and as Mia licked her spoon she wondered if Helena’s parents had finally put their feet down and insisted
that their daughter pay her own rent. Mia looked at Helena carefully. If her staff writer was hoping for a promotion and a
pay rise she was definitely going the wrong way about it.

‘They’re about to start!’ whispered Lizzie excitedly, cutting into Mia’s thoughts as the rest of the room watched Damien Jay
swagger on to the stage in an overdone macho walk. Mia turned to look at him. His baggy jeans hung low off his ass, and he
wore a baseball hat tilted to one side, which was appropriate if you were presenting imported American programmes to hungover
teenagers on Sunday mornings like Damien did, but not for handing over important industry awards to a room full of egotistical
and cut-throat journalists in black tie. Even though he had been a male model before taking to television, Damien appeared
to be nervous and jittery at standing in front of the cream of the magazine industry. His eyes darted from table to table,
and Mia recognised the telltale signs of cocaine. As Damien began to stutter through the first few awards – mainly for business
publications that nobody was interested in – some of the journalists sitting near the front of the stage began to heckle.
They could smell
blood, and their sport was in going for the kill. Mia didn’t join in – she was full of sympathy for him. Damien reminded Mia
of herself before she had undertaken surgery, and she couldn’t understand why a man who was model-handsome could be so insecure.

When Damien had managed to award seven glittering statues without being booed off the stage entirely, he turned his attention
to presenting the award for Magazine of the Year. As he ran through each title in a bored, monotone drawl, Mia felt her heart
leap when the name
Gloss
was read out. She had done so well that the magazine had been nominated, and even though she knew it wasn’t possible to win,
the fact that her magazine was recognised as good enough to be considered gave her a thrill. She would win next year, Mia
thought, as Damien methodically told the audience about each consumer title. It was good enough for her that they were the
only women’s glossy to be nominated, and that in itself spoke volumes about how they were perceived compared to their competitors.

As the drum-roll vibrated quietly in the background, and a spotlight shone on their table, Mia thought of Gable, and how he
would feel if he was nominated for an Oscar for one of his roles. Would it be as amazing as this? Would he feel like everyone
was watching every small facial movement he made, hoping to see if he was nervous, confident or blasé? Mia stuck out her chin
defiantly, and as she did she could feel Joshua gazing at her. For a split second Mia caught his eye and grinned nervously,
forgetting to play it cool, and she spotted Helena scowling at her. Lucy grabbed her hand under the table, and Mia felt the
tension in the room mount as her mouth went dry. Magazine of the Year was probably the most important award presented in the
industry, and even though she kept on telling herself that
Lewd
would win, Mia still held her breath in anticipation as she watched Damien
Jay fumble with the envelope containing the name of the winning magazine.

The drum-roll got louder, and finally, after what seemed like hours, Damien opened the envelope. He smiled cheekily to the
crowd, and any sympathy Mia had for him vanished. She wanted to hit him.

‘And the winner is …
Lewd
magazine from Garnet Publishing!’ A round of applause rang out in the ballroom, and Mia tried desperately hard to maintain
her smile. Don’t be disappointed, she told herself, clapping mechanically as Lee Stockhead bounded on to the stage and raised
the award above his head. Lucy shot her a sympathetic look, and even though they were all clapping wildly and wolf-whistling
the
Lewd
editorial team, she could feel everyone from
Gloss
slump in their chairs. Mia knew she had to perform too, and she loudly told her team how brilliant it was that a Garnet title
had won Magazine of the Year, how fantastic it was to have been nominated. Everyone looked at her with dull eyes, and nodded
in agreement. They had all wanted it so much.

When Lee had finished making his sexist and non-PC speech, Mia decided she’d had enough for one evening. She was just thinking
of excuses to make to her team when Damien Jay took to the stage for a final time. Mia looked at him in confusion. Wasn’t
Magazine of the Year the final award? Damien opened another envelope – this time more deftly – and Mia stared at the stage.
As much as she had had a good evening, she just wanted to go home to get an early night. She had to plan a year’s worth of
killer material so that
Gloss
would win the Magazine of the Year title hands down next year. She didn’t think she could stand the thought of Lee Stockhead
lording it over her, thinking he was the better magazine editor.

‘And now for our final award,’ Damien said, his voice
taking on slightly more confidence now that he could see an end to his evening, ‘Editor of the Year.’

Mia and Lucy stared at each other, and Mia looked back at the stage. Was it possible? Could it be possible?

Before Mia could even begin to consider that she might have been nominated for the most covetable award that any one person
could have in the industry, Damien swiftly opened the gold envelope in his hands and shot the crowd a dazzling smile. Unlike
the rest of the evening, everyone was completely still and silent. Every single editor in the room could feel their heart
beating, and each crossed their fingers in the hope that their name might be on the card in the television presenter’s hands.
With every eye in the room trained on him with such intensity, Damien began to get nervous again, and before the heckling
could start he blurted out the name of the winner.

‘Mia Blackwood for
Gloss
from Garnet Publishing!’

The spotlight flashed to the
Gloss
table, and Mia froze, unable to take in what she had just heard. A roar rang out loud enough to disturb the rich Americans
eating their supper in the dining-room next door, and surrounding competitors rushed to pat her on the back, offering Mia
their congratulations. Mia barely heard them. It was like she was encased in cotton wool; as if everything was in slow motion
and she was on the outside looking in. Was this really happening to her? Was it possible that at the age of nearly twenty-five,
Mia was Editor of the Year? Mia watched her team rise to their feet excitedly, and as they clapped wildly and beamed at her,
she was jolted out of her astonishment and stood up, smoothing her dress down against her body and looking up at the stage.

Damien Jay’s gaze had followed the spotlight to their table, and all eyes were on her – the editor of
Gloss
. Mia slowly wound her way through the tables of magazine journalists,
editors and publishers, and as she stepped up on to the stage the claps got louder. Mia was deafened – all her senses were
trained on the thunderous sound of her heartbeat racing in her ears, the clapping, cheering and wolf-whistles. Mia accepted
the spear of crystal rising from a brushed-steel base from Damien, and she stood on the stage looking out at the sea of faces.
Everyone was giving her a standing ovation, and Mia felt tears welling up in her eyes. Stop crying, she thought, as she felt
tears running down her face. Just fucking stop crying. Flashing cameras took her picture, and Mia was struck by how she was
not only the Editor of the Year, but a news story in herself. She would be on all the front pages tomorrow as the impossibly
young Editor of the Year who looked like a gorgeous actress on the red carpet, and Mia wondered if it got any better than
this.

Mia glanced down at her award, and she was startled to see her name had already been engraved on the glass, along with the
title of the award and the year. And even though she didn’t show it through her professionally maintained beam, Mia felt her
heart break. The award had been made out to Mia Blackwood, and she would have given anything to have seen the name ‘Joanne
Hill’ engraved on it instead.

May 2007

Mia sat in Gordon Ramsay at Claridge’s feeling uncomfortable. Joshua had insisted on taking her out for dinner to celebrate
her success of winning Editor of the Year, and even though Mia had managed to make up a week’s worth of excuses, citing deadlines
and dinner parties as explanations for her full calendar, Joshua had finally cornered her late one evening in the office,
refusing to take no for an answer until Mia agreed to dinner. When Joshua had told Mia that Debbie had booked the best table
at Gordon Ramsay, Mia’s
heart sank. She knew he had chosen the spot to see and be seen rather than to experience the food, and after his public display
of affection after the awards ceremony – when he had kissed her full on the lips and let a hand linger on her bottom in front
of all the
Gloss
team – Mia had no doubt in her mind that he would act in the same way tonight. Joshua was treating Mia as his new girlfriend,
and their relationship was the talk of Garnet Tower, especially when Helena had burst into tears after seeing Joshua kiss
Mia for the first time. It had turned out that the poor girl had been nursing a crush on Joshua for years, and her suspicions
about her publisher pursuing her editor had been confirmed – particularly when she had read about it in the gossip magazines.

As Mia picked at her poached poulet de Bresse and confit de foie gras, Joshua congratulated her again by raising a glass of
vintage Bollinger and toasting her and the magazine. Mia felt miserable, despite her superb starter. All around them were
company directors, film actors, publishing barons and the cream of London society, and even though everyone was far too polite
to stare directly at them, Mia knew that she and Joshua had an audience. Joshua grabbed Mia’s hand despite her trying to eat,
and he looked like he wanted to ravish her. Mia wanted to throw up.

‘You look beautiful tonight, darling,’ Joshua said across the starched cream linen draped on their table. He eyed Mia’s silver
Balenciaga dress and the garnet and diamond necklace approvingly, and Mia could feel her skin prickle with distaste as his
eyes roved over her body hungrily. Memories of how cruel Joshua had been to her when she was his PA taunted her as she tried
to swallow her starter, and when she remembered Joshua’s lips on hers at the awards ceremony she could feel herself begin
to cringe. Play the game, she thought to herself, as she managed to swallow her foie gras. She smiled brightly at Joshua,
and squeezed his hand in what she hoped
was a friendly, non-sexual way. Her plan to make him want her had worked too well – he wouldn’t leave her alone and she was
out of her depth.

‘Thank you, Joshua,’ Mia murmured. She looked around the restaurant and pretended to admire the lavish art deco design while
surreptitiously checking to see if anyone was watching them. She wondered if Claridge’s was really the best place to tell
Joshua that she wasn’t interested in a personal relationship with him, and she decided she didn’t care. If one of the other
diners was unrefined enough to go running to the press reporting that they had had a spat, it wasn’t her problem, she thought.
At least it would show Joshua that she meant business.

‘It’s a beautiful restaurant, isn’t it?’ Joshua commented, dipping his spoon into his smoked eel and celeriac soup and eating
it without really tasting it. Mia quickly glanced at the high ceilings, the high-backed purple chairs, the geometric design
of the carpet and the heavy deep-red curtains. Even though the overall effect of the room was impressive, Mia didn’t care
for it, preferring the simplicity of her local Italian on Gabriel’s Wharf.

‘If you like this sort of thing, I suppose it is,’ Mia said sullenly, and he looked at her in concern. Mia stared back at
him, willing him to be the Joshua she had known when she had begun hating him, the Joshua that she knew he really was deep
down. Despising Joshua when he was acting like such a wet blanket made her feel like a bitch, and Mia hated that. She had
to remind herself that Joshua was the bastard, not her, and that he was only being nice because he wanted her to be his trophy
wife.