The Model Wife (18 page)

But she wasn’t going to think like that any more. She’d been offered a job. An exciting job. She would be going to parties and earning money again. As soon as Luke got home from work, she’d run it past him, but she didn’t see how he could say no. She’d prepare him a lovely dinner and open a bottle of wine and they’d make love, which they hadn’t done for quite a while. Just then her phone beeped.

Having dinner with a minister. Back midnight-ish. Big kiss to C, L x

Oh. Well, never mind. She’d talk to him when he got back. Or no, she had a better idea.

‘Brigita, I know it’s a long shot but you’re not free to babysit tomorrow night, are you?’

‘No worries!’ Brigita said instantly.

‘Great. I’m going to book Orrery. It’s where Luke and I had our wedding lunch. I’ll take him out for a romantic dinner and tell him some news I have.’

‘You are up t’duff again?’ Brigita’s hand flew up to her mouth. ‘’Appen as I think your tummy is getting a little porky, but I don’t like to say.’

‘No, no. Nothing like that.’ Quite the opposite, Poppy thought, as she picked up her phone and scrolled down contacts for Orrery’s number. But her phone bleeped again.

Change of plan. Off to Paris now to cover riots. Hope to be back Sunday depends how story develops. Will call from Eurostar if I get chance. x

Poppy stared at the phone in disbelief. Another lonely weekend with just her and Clara. She turned to Brigita to tell her babysitting was off. But then she thought again.

²
37

Tomorrow was the
Murder Police
party. To which she had two invitations. She might as well go. What did she have to lose? All she needed was a date, and Poppy knew someone who’d be delighted to come.

She scrolled down her address book and pressed Meena’s number.

24

Naturally, Meena was thrilled.

‘A film première? Yay, Poppy! I’ll take the day off work.’

‘You don’t need to do that. It starts at seven thirty.’

‘But we’ve got to get ready. That’s gonna take hours. I’ll be round yours at three.’

True to her word, Meena was on the doorstep the following afternoon as punctual as a Japanese bullet train.

‘Ta-dah!’ she cried, flicking her long black hair over her shoulders and gesturing to the vast Samsonite suitcase she was wheeling behind her. ‘I’ve bought outfits! Where’s Clara? I have a fairy number for her.’

‘She’s with her nanny.’

‘Oh yeah, I forgot. You’re a proper trophy wife now. Staff and everything. Well…’ She produced a bottle of cava from a plastic bag. ‘With no child to keep up appearances for, let’s get ourselves in the mood.’

They turned the radio dial from Luke’s Radio
4
to Kiss FM and Meena set to work with her tools. It was just like old times.

‘Though really we should have got in a make-up artist and hair stylist,’ Meena declared, mouth gaping as she applied her fourth layer of mascara.

Poppy laughed. ‘Don’t be silly. That would cost a fortune.’

²
39

‘Yeah, but you’re a professional It-girl or whatever now. You need to dress up properly for these things. Paparazzi will be taking your photo.’ Meena hugged herself in excitement. ‘Oh my God, do you think Prince William will be there tonight?’

‘I doubt it.’

‘Brad Pitt? He’s the star, isn’t he?’

‘He’s married.’

‘No, he isn’t. He and Ange won’t tie the knot until American law changes so gays can get married too.’ Meena’s knowledge of such things was encyclopedic.

‘I’m still not sure I fancy getting into a fight with Angelina. You can imagine her getting nasty down a dark alleyway.’

‘Whatever. There’ll be plenty of chances now to meet famous guys. Because if you do this column, you’ll get invites like this all the time.’

‘
If
I do the column,’ Poppy said cautiously.

Meena placed both hands on her hips and glared ferociously at her.

‘What do you mean
if
? It’s a no-brainer. You’re getting paid to attend parties every night. And you’ll be
famous
. I mean properly, glamorously famous, not like your boring husband sitting behind a desk reading an autocue. God, if you weren’t my best friend I’d want to kill you I’d be so jealous.’

‘I need to check with Luke first.’

Meena snorted just like one of the ponies all the other Brettenden girls had been brought up with. ‘Luke wanted you to get a job and you have one. So what’s the deal? He’s off swanning round Paris. Why can’t you have fun?’

‘I’m sure he’ll be fine about it. I just think I should check with him first. As soon as he gets back I’ll ask him.’

Meena sat down on the bed. ‘Poppy, you’ve never said it in so many words but you’ve had it hard the past couple of years: you’ve basically been a single mum; you’ve hardly gone out, you’ve missed out on so many laughs and you’ve never once complained. I’m proud of how you’ve dealt with things, but I bloody think you deserve to have some fun now.’

Poppy felt a lump in her throat. Happily, she was spared from some kind of wind-beneath-my-wings moment by Meena, who’d been teasing her hair into a ponytail, saying, ‘What outfit is it going to be then?’

‘I’m not sure, I thought maybe my blue dress.’

‘No, no, it needs to be much funkier for a première.’ Meena started briskly leafing through Poppy’s wardrobe. ‘God, I can’t stand it. Don’t you own anything except fleeces and tracksuit bottoms?’

‘They wash easily.’

‘Oh, listen to you.’ She flicked on. ‘Right. These jeans. With this jacket.’

The jeans were an old pair of Radcliffes that were too smart for Poppy ever to wear now; the jacket a sequinned silver number she’d been given after a shoot and packed away at the back of the wardrobe because she suspected it made her look like a crooner on a cruise ship.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, I do. Put the jeans on.’ Poppy obeyed dumbly. ‘And now the jacket.’

‘But I need a T-shirt or something underneath.’

‘No you don’t; it’ll be far sexier without.’

Dubiously, Poppy followed her orders.

‘Perfect. Now… how about this necklace.’ Meena fastened a black jet number round her friend’s neck. ‘And those shoes.’ She pointed at a pair of snakeskin stilettos.

‘I can’t walk in those. I’ll break my ankle.’

‘Girlfriend, looking like you do, you ain’t gonna need to walk anywhere.’ She pushed Poppy in front of the cheval mirror. ‘Look.’

Poppy looked. As always, she was amazed at what a difference several litres of make-up and a decent hairdo could make.

‘Wow! Either I look like a complete tit or I look fantastic.’

‘The latter,’ Meena said smugly.

‘Are you sure? How do you know?’ Poppy twisted and turned.

‘Mummy pretty,’ Clara cooed, toddling in, Brigita behind her.

‘Hey! Brigita, this is my friend Meena. What do you think of our outfits?’

Brigita sucked her teeth, like a surgeon about to embark on a coronary bypass. ‘Yes, this jacket is good for you Poppy. It covers the top of your arms.’ She turned to Meena. ‘With that bum, I think this no skirt. Wear a trousers instead?’

‘I can’t believe Migsy Remblethorpe is responsible for this,’ Meena gasped, as the Bakerloo Line whisked them to the West End. ‘She always hated us. Used to call us the chav sisters.’

‘That was a long time ago,’ Poppy said.

‘Still, seems a bit weird to me, her suddenly being so nice to you. But I’m not complaining if it means loads of party invitations.’

‘I don’t know about loads. We’ll have to see how it goes.’

They emerged from the Tube at Piccadilly Circus. Three searchlights were combing the sky. Above Leicester Square floated a huge airship bearing the words
Murder Police
over the pouting features of Brad Pitt.

‘Oh my God!’ Meena screamed, linking her arm through Poppy’s. They crossed the square, passing nutters praising the Lord from soapboxes, cartoonists on fold-out stools doing bad drawings of grinning tourists, Peruvian Pan-pipers and a man selling roast chestnuts, hen-night parties, legs blue from the unseasonably chilly night, to the far corner of the square where a crowd was gathered round a metal gate, guarded by two bouncers. A white limo drew up and disgorged a tall, black girl in a purple taffeta balldress.

‘That’s Vonzella from
Celebrity Love Island
,’ Meena said. ‘That must be the way into the cinema. Quick, get out the invitations.’

Diffidently, Poppy showed them to the bouncers, convinced they’d be rejected as forgeries. They brusquely nodded them through.

‘We’re on a red carpet!’ Meena had always been fond of stating the obvious. It wasn’t quite like Poppy had imagined it would be. She’d had the impression you floated up it alone while adoring fans scrutinized your every sartorial decision. But in fact it was as busy as Selfridge’s on the first day of the sales with gaggles of sequin-clad women posing for the camera phones on the other side of the barrier. At the northern end a gang of photographers stood like cattle behind a pen, shouting at a small woman who expertly twisted and turned before them.

‘Amanda, here! Amanda, this way! Amanda, smile a bit more. Show us some leg, love.’

‘That’s Amanda Holden,’ Meena whispered. ‘Do you think
we
should pose for them?’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Poppy said, ‘they don’t know who we are.’

‘They soon will. Oh my God – there’s Trinny and Susannah!’ She fumbled for her phone. ‘Do you think it would be really uncool if I took their photo?’

‘Yes,’ Poppy said firmly, as a voice said, ‘Meena!’

‘Hey, Toby!’ Meena flung herself on the most handsome man Poppy had seen in a long time. Tall, with bushy brown hair, big eyes and a slightly hooked nose like a Red Indian chief. He was dressed in black jeans and a grey shirt.

‘Poppy, this is Toby. He used to work out at the club. What’s happened to you? I missed you.’

‘I moved to Shoreditch.’ He turned to Poppy and his eyes widened like a five-year-old in front of a cake-shop window. ‘Hi, Toby Hastings.’

‘Poppy Norton.’

A beaky-faced woman in a black suit wearing a headset hurried over to them.

‘Guys, you’ve got to take your seats
now
. The film’s beginning in five.’

‘Coming to the party afterwards?’ Toby said in a low voice to Poppy. ‘Oh, yes.’ ‘Come
on
, guys!’

25

Poppy found it hard to concentrate on the film. So, it seemed, did everyone else in the audience who, despite dire warnings on the tickets banning mobile phones, seemed to spend the entire two hours texting their friends, talking to each other, munching loudly on the free (‘Free!’ Meena cooed) bags of M&Ms or getting up to go to the loo. None the less, at the end everyone clapped wildly. Then they all trooped outside and across the square to Panton Street where a line of coaches waited to carry them like children on a school trip, to the Natural History Museum.

‘How lovely,’ Poppy breathed, entering the cathedrallike room with its dinosaur skeleton in the middle. She’d been here a dozen times with Clara but the place had been transformed with huge stands of exotic flowers and the vaulted ceilings with sparkling fairy lights. Two clowns in illuminated body suits were hopping round on stilts. A smoke machine tucked in a corner breathed out puffs of pseudo mist that whirled across the room and round the ankles of a group of toned men wearing dinner jackets and bearing wide, silver trays.

‘Canapé?’ said one.

‘Yes please! What are they?’

‘Deep-fried halloumi with a lemon dressing.’

Poppy took two, then had to cram them both in her mouth as another man with a tray of champagne approached. ‘Thank you,’ she managed to mumble, seizing a flute.

‘This is the life,’ said Meena, as they clinked glasses. ‘To many more of these.’

‘Assuming I can get a babysitter,’ Poppy said.

‘What’s that Brigita for? Or why can’t Luke do his share? I told you, you’ve sat in nearly every night for two years while he’s been out on the town. It’s your turn.’

‘I was hoping I’d see you again,’ said a deep voice behind them.

They turned round. It was Toby Hastings. Poppy felt suddenly nervous.

‘Did you enjoy the film?’ she twittered.

He shrugged. ‘Not really. A bit derivative, I thought. What about you?’

‘Oh, I thought the same,’ Poppy said, as Meena chimed in. ‘Oh my God, I see cocktails. I’m going to get one.’ She dashed off into the crowd.

‘How do you know Meena?’ Toby asked. Poppy’s dull reply was interrupted by a skinny girl with blonde dreadlocks. ‘
Tobes!
How are you, sweets?’

‘Irina!’ He turned his back on Poppy. She stood, nursing her glass looking nervously from side to side. It was just like being at a party with Luke. No one wanted to talk to her. She’d been a fool to think the column could ever work. She downed her glass and looked about for somewhere to put it, just as Meena rushed back to her, bearing two wide frosted glasses.

‘Look! Vodka gimlets.’

With her friend by her side and a cocktail in her hand,

things quickly improved. They wandered from room to room, gawping at the number of famous faces they recognized. Occasionally, Poppy would stop to study the glass cases full of stuffed exotic birds, but Meena dragged her away.

‘Don’t be boring, Poppy. Look, there’s Jude Law! Oh my God, he’s so much shorter than I thought he’d be. Is that Nicole Richie over there?’

‘No, I think it’s someone from
Emmerdale
. But
that
is definitely Gwyneth. Or at least someone who looks like her. Still no sign of Brad Pitt though.’

Time flew by. They helped themselves to a buffet as lavish as something from the last days of the Roman Empire, then found themselves in a room made out entirely like a sweet shop where they stuffed their faces with dolly mixtures. A DJ had set up beside a gently dripping ice sculpture. Meena started dancing. Poppy watched from the sidelines, wishing she could join in, but dancing always made her feel as though she was wearing concrete moon boots. She yawned slightly. Toby reappeared at her side.

‘Need something to help you stay awake?’

‘Sorry?’ Poppy blushed, unsure what he meant, but before she could ask there was another ‘Toby!’ This time it was a man. Old, perhaps not as old as Luke, about her mother’s age. He wasn’t exactly handsome but had a long, lean body, flaxen hair and a ruddy face that spoke of a lack of care with sunscreen. His eyes were crinkly and smiling in a way that suggested an absence of troublesome wives and children.

‘Charlie!’ The two men pumped hands. Poppy started to back away, but Toby said, ‘Charlie, have you met Poppy?’

‘Hello,’ she said shyly, holding out a hand.

‘I’m Charlie Grimes. What a pleasure.’ He grinned and winked at Toby. ‘Are you one of my friend’s harem?’

‘Piss off, Charlie,’ Toby said cheerfully. ‘We’ve only just met.’ He smiled at Poppy. ‘Though I’m hoping we’re going to see a lot more of each other.’

From the dance floor, Meena came bounding towards them like an over-excited puppy.

‘This is
great
!’ she yelled. ‘I’m having
such
a good time. Oh my God, look, there are the Dastardly Fiends.’ She pointed to the bar, where two members of the indie band of the moment were standing. Girls flocked round them like seagulls to a fish and chip van. ‘I’m going over to say hello.’ She pulled Toby’s arm. ‘Do you know them?’

Toby shrugged. ‘A bit.’

‘Can you introduce me?’

He laughed. ‘I don’t see why not.’

Meena dragged him off. Poppy watched them. Of course she already had a husband and Toby seemed ideal for Meena. But she couldn’t help feeling a little…

‘Jealous?’ said Charlie softly beside her.

Poppy started slightly. How had he read her mind? ‘Of Meena and Toby? No. Why should I be? I’m married.’

‘
Are
you? Surely, you’re a bit young. How old are you?’

‘Twenty-four.’

Charlie grinned ruefully. ‘That’s the age I still feel inside. You lucky thing. I envy you. All that time ahead of you; make the most of it.’

‘I’ll try,’ Poppy said, eyeing Meena and Toby. Meena was laughing hysterically, then went on tiptoes and whispered something in his ear. He grinned and nodded. Together they started pushing through the crowd. With an effort, Poppy turned back to Charlie.

‘Um, if you don’t mind me asking, what are
you
doing here?’

‘Too old for all this?’ he asked, grinning.

‘Oh no, no,’ she said, then, ‘Well, yes, a bit maybe.’

He laughed. ‘I appreciate the honesty. It’s true. I shouldn’t really be here. I should be at home watching
Rebus
in my incontinence pants, but I’m a gossip columnist for the
Daily Post
. Going to parties is what I do for a living.’

‘For the
Daily Post
?’ Poppy eyed him, suddenly wary, as if Hannah might be about to jump out of his pocket.

‘Yes.’ He looked at her curiously. ‘Do you read it? Most people your age don’t buy newspapers any more. They’re vanishing more quickly than the Amazonian rain forest.’

‘I do sometimes,’ she said cautiously. Actually, now she put the pieces together, Charlie’s cheery face was vaguely familiar from the top of his page, full of inane tittle-tattle about how Sophie Anderton was launching a new bikini range and Girls Aloud had had a great time filming their new video in Germany. Poppy usually read it straight after Hannah’s column, like a sweetie after vile medicine.

‘What a glamorous job,’ she breathed.

Charlie smiled. ‘Don’t be fooled. There are only so many halloumi and lemon skewers a man can devour and only so many times he can ask Jade Goody about her new career plans before he starts to go a bit doolally and yearn for a job reporting on advances in uranium trading.’ He shrugged cheerily. ‘But what can I do? My editor likes my column. Says I have an easy way with people.’

‘But all those parties…’ After all this could be Poppy’s new career too.

‘Oh, they can be fun. But I’ve got a terrible case of SID– that’s status-income disequilibrium before you rush off to wash your hands. My job gives me high status but it’s not reflected in my pay packet. I waltz round hotel ballrooms and make small talk with billionaires and then I catch the night bus back to Crouch End in the pouring rain. I have lunch with a movie star at the Ivy and dinner is a Pot Noodle on the sofa.’

‘Just like me! I love Pot Noodles.’

‘Good girl. Which is your favourite? Personally I’m a chicken and mushroom man, though I do have a sneaky fondness for beef and tomato.’

But before Poppy could exclaim on their extraordinary shared tastes, Meena and Toby returned, even livelier than before. They’d probably crept off for a passionate snog, Poppy thought. Then she registered the tiny white moustache on Meena’s upper lip. Oh.

‘I wanna dance. C’mon Poppy, I love this song!’ To the strains of Jay-Z, Meena pulled her on to the dance floor and began moving manically. Poppy shuffled awkwardly beside her.

‘You’re such a cow,’ Meena bellowed above the music. ‘Toby’s been telling me how gorgeous he thinks you are.’

Poppy’s heart fluttered, but she asked, ‘Were you doing drugs with him?’

‘Yeah! Do you want some?’

²
5
^:

Poppy shook her head. One go and you’re hooked. She knew that wasn’t strictly true. After all Meena wasn’t suddenly robbing old ladies for her next fix, but the only time she’d toked on a spliff she’d felt nauseous all evening and hadn’t enjoyed herself at all.

‘Go on! It’s really good stuff.’

Poppy could see Toby dancing with another girl, this one impossibly pretty with Cherokee cheekbones in a sort of leather shift dress. He was throwing back his head, laughing, showing very white teeth. She wished he was laughing with her.

‘I can go and ask Toby to give you some.’

Toby put his arm round the girl’s shoulder and said something in her ear. She smiled, nodded and they disappeared into the crowd.

‘Pops?’

Poppy shook her head. ‘No thanks.’ She nodded at the space where Toby had been standing. ‘What does he do?’

‘Toby? He’s a sort of fixer. He works for one of those concierge services that does rich people’s boring little jobs, like get them tables at restaurants, their names on the guest list at clubs, you know.’

‘Right,’ said Poppy, who didn’t know really.

By two o’clock, Poppy, feeling guilty about Brigita, kind of wanted to go. But, fuelled by three more glasses of champagne, she was having fun even though she didn’t see Toby again. Eventually, she and Meena piled into a cab at three, with Meena chatting away like an aviary bird.

‘I’ve had
so
much fun. Poppy, I can’t believe this is your new job. You’ve got to go for it!’

‘I just need to check with Luke,’ Poppy said, firmly.

‘Oh sod, Luke. Miserable git. I’m so happy you’re finally escaping from his clutches. You were always too good for him.’