Christmas on Primrose Hill (17 page)

Only, she couldn’t tell just half the story – the glamorous bit. To explain the campaign, she would have to reveal that she was dressing up as a giant blue bunny for a living, that she’d been spending her days getting arrested, being terrified, generally embarrassing herself . . . There was no way to tell her one part of the equation and not the other. She bit her lip and sat back in the chair, her eyes returning to the pretty, empty pagoda, feeling her excitement fizzle out because the problem they had – the big problem – was that Em still persisted in thinking of her as she was
before
, the girl she’d been when her life had still been a perfect promise and she had potential, not pathos in her destiny. Em couldn’t accept that possibilities had closed down for her now, that just coping was the furthest reach of her ambition, and while she was rocketing up the career ladder, Nettie’s job was plumbing new depths of the bizarre.

‘Not much, really.’

Em didn’t blink. ‘Any news on the flat hunt?’

‘No, not yet. Everything’s out of reach. Prices keep rising, so just when I think I’ve got enough . . .’ She shrugged, knowing that Em – whose parents had forked out the deposit for her place in Bloomsbury – was blissfully out of touch with the hardships of getting onto the property ladder.

‘Nightmare,’ Em tutted, shaking her head sympathetically.

Nettie thought guiltily of the look on Lee’s face when she’d told him she wouldn’t stretch to that final two and a half thousand. ‘What’s the latest on that complaint against you?’ she asked, changing the subject.

Em rolled her eyes. ‘Dropped, thank God. Shock, grief. It makes people crazy.’

Nettie nodded – didn’t it just? – and a small, strangely awkward silence bloomed between them. Nettie felt Em’s eyes on her and she averted her gaze to the pagoda again.

Em leaned forward in the chair, reaching her hand out to Nettie’s knee. ‘What is it, Nets?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I feel like you’re keeping something from me.’

Nettie shook her head. ‘No.’

‘Yes.’ Em cocked her head to the side. ‘Have you heard anything from Gwen lately?’

Nettie swallowed. ‘Just the usual monthly check-in.’

‘Still nothing?’

Nettie shook her head again.

Em leaned forward, her hand reaching for Nettie’s. ‘Do you feel she’s supporting you properly, Nets? Because you know you’re entitled to change your liaison officer if you want? If she’s not—’

‘Really, she’s great. There’s nothing more she can do than what she’s doing.’

Concern furrowed Em’s unwrinkled brow. ‘It’s just that you seem so . . . withdrawn lately. It’s like you’re here but not here.’ Em gave a wan smile at the irony of her words. ‘You know I can refer you to some support services? Grief counsellors . . .’

Nettie nodded. ‘I know. Thanks. But we’re fine, really.’

Em sat back in the chair, man-spreading her legs, fingers interlaced as she looked back at her thoughtfully. ‘Just don’t push me away, OK? I worry about you.’

Neither one of them noticed Jules approaching, weaving through the chairs with bright eyes. ‘Hey!’ she said, clasping the back of the empty chair opposite. ‘Did someone die?’

Em groaned. ‘Seriously?’

Jules just laughed. ‘Come on, missus, you’re up. We need to get you ready.’

‘Ready?’ Em enquired.

‘Yeah, we’ve got this press conference in ten minutes. Nettie’s co-hosting.’

‘
Really?
’ Em said, impressed. ‘You didn’t tell me that.’

‘It’s no big deal. It’s hardly the same as stopping a woman from bleeding to death.’

Both Jules and Em swapped looks.

‘Right, well, I guess I’d better get back too,’ Em said, standing up and giving them both hugs. ‘You guys around this weekend?’

‘Yeah, kicking about. It’s the Christmas Market tonight, and we’re going to check out the new Bond film tomorrow. Want to join us?’

‘Would love to, but I’m on call.’ Em shrugged.

Jules pulled a sad face.

They kissed goodbye, both watching as Em darted through the crowds like a kingfisher in the leaves – bright and vital.

‘You still haven’t told her, then?’ Jules asked as Nettie signed for the bill.

‘No.’

‘Don’t you think she’d keep the secret?’

‘Of course she would. It’s just—’

‘Your inferiority complex getting the better of you again,’ Jules grinned, shaking her head and slapping Nettie on the back. ‘When are you going to realize she’s not judging you? She’s your friend. She just wants you to be happy.’

‘I know.’

‘No, you don’t.’

Nettie pretended to fuss with her bag as she looked away. Jules, as ever, had hit the nail on the head – being with Em made her feel left behind, reminded her of how far her life had strayed from the path she had intended. Living at home, trapped in a directionless job she’d never wanted in the first place, hanging out only with people she’d known most of her life? She was trapped, stuck, stultified.

They made their way to the small side room where the bunny costume, which had been discreetly delivered earlier in a huge box, was on a hanging rail. Only Mike and the girls were allowed in here, and no one at White Tiger, outside of Jeremy and Scott, knew the identity of the girl in the blue bunny suit.

Nettie looked at the bunny head sitting on the table beside it – the black mesh that covered the eyes but allowed her to see out, vacant and dull, the long ears fallen over the head. How could
that thing
be the source of a popularity boost that now saw her with over 500,000 Twitter followers and 750,000 views on YouTube? It was farcical. Banal.

She climbed into it resignedly. At least she didn’t need to do anything other than pose for photos this afternoon. She’d even texted Dan to let him know she could probably meet him earlier at the Christmas Market. Every year it was the same – he never knew what to buy his mum and Nettie factored it in now when thinking about what presents she had to buy.

In the next room, the conference room, the steady hum of conversation vibrated through the walls, interrupting her distracted thoughts. This was a hot ticket, anything to do with the campaign was, and she could physically feel the excitement in the air. It was all because of her – and yet nothing to do with her at the same time. White Tiger had really ratcheted things up today, immediately after this morning’s meeting placing a full-page ad in tonight’s
Evening Standard
, asking outright, ‘Who’s the Blue Bunny Girl? And what will she do next? #ballzup #twelvedaresofchristmas #Tested.’

Nettie stood by the door and watched everyone talking intently, heads bobbing, hands gesticulating; loads of them were pointing to and looking at their tablets, smiles on their faces. She knew what they were looking at. The timing wasn’t coincidental, the shot having been uploaded exactly ten minutes earlier to show her #moneyfacing. Caro had gone to the bank especially and withdrawn a hundred pounds in every denomination of notes, asking for new ones where possible, including the rare red fifty-pound note, and they’d spent the afternoon folding the notes in half and trying out which illustrated figures could best match to her face.

They’d tried using the lower half of her face with Sir Isaac Newton on the five-pound note, but his wig made it too tricky, and they’d tried Abraham Lincoln on the US bills that Mike had in his wallet from a recent trip to New York. But they’d finally used Her Majesty’s image on the twenty, folding it so that just Nettie’s eyes were visible. Jules had had to stand at the far end of the office to get enough distance so that Nettie’s head was the same size, perspective-wise, as the Queen’s on the note. Nettie had been sceptical about the gag at first, but it had looked surprisingly good on the photo, and as Jules kept insisting, it was a tease, that tied in with White Tiger’s ad and gave the public a little of what they wanted: a flash of Blue Bunny Girl.

The question was, would anyone recognize her from it? Nettie thought her large, almond-shaped eyes looked too distinctive in the photo. Anyone who knew her was bound to make the connection, she feared, but Jules kept telling her she was being paranoid, a sure sign she was becoming a star.

‘OK, they’re ready,’ Jules said from behind her, and Nettie closed the door on the crowd.

She pulled on the bunny head and struck a pose. ‘How do I look?’

‘Like a mutant.’ Jules held her hand up for a high five. ‘Go get ’em.’

The journalists clapped as Jeremy introduced her and she ran out to stand with him under the balloon arch.

‘Now, as most of you are aware, White Tiger has long fostered a close relationship with our local communities and charities, but Blue Bunny here really is the jewel in our crown. It is down to her fearless – some might say foolhardy – stunts campaign that she has not only raised £384,000 in a single week, but that doctors and hospitals are already reporting a staggering 690 per cent increase in patients attending male health clinics. How many lives will be saved through early diagnosis and treatment because of this curious bunny?’

Nettie watched the journalists taking this point on board and felt a surge of pride that she was responsible for it. It seemed unreal that her antics and high jinks could have such a palpable effect.

‘But we’re not going to rest on our laurels. We know there’s still further to run with this ball, and I am delighted to announce to you all today that someone with a unique talent, someone who is already an established and cherished member of the White Tiger community has volunteered to sign up to complete this run with us – he’s a man who’s an icon to many, a man who knows that health comes before wealth. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you . . . Jamie Westlake.’

Nettie froze as the flashbulbs started going off.

No one could see that she had frozen, of course. The suit was too large around her frame to register small movements – or lack thereof – but she alone stood still as Jamie Westlake walked out onto the stage and came to stand with her and Jeremy under the balloons.

He was wearing black jeans and a green-and-black plaid shirt, and was looking even better than he had last night in the dinner suit.

Last night. There was no way this could be coincidence.

She stared in disbelief. What was going on? Was there any sense of normality left in her life? Even though he’d guessed that the girl with the supposed ballgown was also the girl in the bunny suit, how could he have known about
this
? It was confidential, agreed only this morning. How could he possibly have known White Tiger was looking for a celebrity to spearhead the campaign? White Tiger linked up with athletes, not singers. Didn’t they? No, this didn’t make sense.

Through the mesh of the eyeholes, she could see Jules, Caro and Daisy all jumping on the spot in delight. Daisy, in particular, looked thrilled that her missed opportunity had come around again.

Nettie looked over at Jamie, her heart beating double time to be in the same room as him once more. He was standing just six feet away, on the other side of Jeremy, holding his hands out and trying to get the journalists to stop asking their different questions all at once.

Jeremy handed the microphone to him.

‘Hi, everyone.’ His voice was relaxed and slightly gravelly – more gravelly than she had noticed last night and she wondered just how hard he had partied after the screening. ‘I just want to say I’m really pleased to be involved with this campaign. I think what they’re doing here, with this mad, crazy Bunny Girl is really cool.’ A titter of amusement rippled through the audience as he turned slightly towards her. ‘She’s been putting herself on the line to raise awareness of a cruel disease that is only as successful as it is because people are too bloody embarrassed to speak up. Well, I’m not embarrassed about it. It’s an important message that we need to get out there about men’s health and I’ll do whatever I can to help break down taboos with this campaign. I’m really proud to be involved with it, so with your help, let’s spread the word and make a difference.’

He handed the microphone back to Jeremy.

‘Thank you, Jamie. Does anyone have any questions?’

The voices rushed at him in unison again.

‘Yes.’ Jeremy pointed to a journalist in the third row.

‘Is Jamie going to be doing the pranks and stunts with the bunny?’

‘Well, Jamie is really the figurehead for the—’

‘I might, yeah,’ Jamie replied. ‘If I can keep up. She’s pretty extreme.’ He glanced over at her as everyone laughed and Nettie realized she should probably react in some way other than just standing there dumbstruck. She began jogging on the spot, parrying her paws like a boxer.

Nettie could see the girls in the team were still jumping up and down together in a line too, looking ready to scream.

‘And who is the Blue Bunny Girl?’ a journalist at the front asked.

‘I can’t answer that, I’m afraid,’ Jeremy parried. ‘That’s part of the fun of the campaign.’

‘Is it just one person?’

‘Indeed it is. Uh, yes, you in the green top.’

The questions kept coming, but Nettie didn’t concentrate. She wanted to get off this stage and out of this stupid costume. It was hot and heavy and ridiculous and undignified, and there was no good reason why it had to continue to be her who wore it.

‘. . . if you’d just like to stand here together for the photos.’

She tuned in again. ‘Sorry, what?’

‘The photos. If you can just stand next to Jamie.’

Nettie walked the few steps forward to where Jamie was waiting for her.

‘Hello again,’ he said under his breath as the flashbulbs began to pop. She was vaguely aware that his arm was resting round her shoulder, but of course she couldn’t feel it.

‘Hi,’ she said after a moment.

‘Surprised?’ He was managing to speak without moving his lips, his face turned to the cameras as the flashbulbs popped. He had a way of moving that was elevated, exotic even – like a panther amid gazelles. Everyone seemed skittish and flighty compared to his stealthy self-assuredness.

‘Me? No. Why should I be?’

He turned to face her and she could see he was trying to look past the black mesh to see her. She had that advantage, at least, and as the photographers’ lights kept flashing, she allowed herself a brief indulgence, her eyes roaming his face with a freedom that would never be possible in his gaze. Was it just her imagination or did he sparkle somehow? He didn’t look like anyone she’d ever seen before, as though his very skin was flecked with gold.