Dazzled (30 page)

“He’s really sorry, sweetheart, I know he is. He hates that you won’t talk to him.”

“Prue…”

She held up her hands.

“I know, love, it’s none of my business, but you and Miles have been friends ever since you were nippers. It worries me to see you both like this – Miles is terribly upset.”

Nice move, Prue.
She was deliberately making me feel bad for upsetting
her
.

“He knows he was a first class idiot, getting drunk like that, and he’s so sorry. Can’t you forgive him? For me?”

“Prue… I
have
forgiven him. I just can’t be around him… when he’s like that.”

She looked slightly mollified.

“Well, will
you
tell him that you forgive him? He needs to hear it from you, love.”

Emotional blackmail.
She ought to do interrogations for MI5 or some other spooks.

“He said he’s phoned and emailed you. If you could just give him a chance…”

Her face was so hopeful, I couldn’t refuse.

“Fine. I’ll email him. Happy?”

She smiled. “He’ll like that. But it’s his premiere tomorrow. I know he’ll want you to be there.”

Ugh!

“No, I don’t think so…”

“Oh, come on, love, it’s his big night! I know you wouldn’t want to miss that. Now Sheila and Graham can’t come, you’ll be representing the
Miltons.”

I threw mum a jaundiced look. “You’re not going either?”

“It’s your Aunt Paula’s 25
th
wedding anniversary that night, so we’re double-booked,” said mum. “When they changed the date of the premiere, there was nothing we could do.”

“Don’t worry, love,” said Prue, patting mum’s hand. “I’m sure Clare won’t let us down. Besides,” she said, turning to face me, “these things are always best fixed face-to-face.”

I wasn’t sure it was something that
could
be fixed, face-to-face or otherwise. But as Prue didn’t know the real reason for me not wanting to see Miles, it was impossible to explain how I felt.

Wow. I didn’t want to see him.
The knowledge hurt my chest.

“No, Prue. It’s not the right place… to talk.”

“So you will talk to him?”

Jeez, she was relentless
.

“Give him a chance, love,” she said, as she gripped my hand and pressed home her advantage. “It’s not like you to be angry with him. I’d always thought that you two… well, I’m sure whatever he said to upset you, he didn’t mean it. He’s a man – he can’t help it.”

My phone beeped in my pocket, but I resisted the urge to see who the text was from.

“Is that him?” asked Prue, an eager expression on her face.

Fuming quietly, I pulled the phone out and looked at the message. My traitorous, hopeful heart plunged again. It wasn’t from Miles.

“Nope. It’s from Polly. She worked on the film with… us.”

“That’s nice, dear,” said mum. “What does she say?”

“Nosy much!” I snorted.

What was with these two?! If they set up their own detective agency, they’d be solving mysteries from Jimmy Hoffa to the Loch Ness Monster
.

“I didn’t know it was a secret,” said mum, sharply.

Rolling my eyes, I opened the message.

“She says she’s coming to the premiere and wants to meet up. Happy now?”

“That’ll be nice,” said Prue. “You two can go to the premiere together.”

“I’m. Not. Going. To. The. Premiere!” I said, gritting my teeth.

Yeah, that was the plan, but after another 45 minutes of having my brain dragged out through my nostrils by Glinda and the Wicked Witch of West, um, North London, I would have given them my firstborn just to shut them up.

They hovered over me while I sent a text to Polly agreeing to meet at her hotel, so we could go to the premiere together.

I thought I’d probably be safe doing that. For one thing, if it was at all like the last premiere, I wouldn’t even get a chance to talk to him.

Prue winked at me as I pressed ‘send’, and mum just looked smug.

Harpies.

Then the Press descended.

The first we knew about it was an hour later when a couple of cars and a van pulled up outside, and I saw the telltale long black lenses of cameras pointed at Prue’s house next door.

“They’re here,” I said, in an eerie sing-song voice.

‘Poltergeist’ had scared the hell out of me the first time I saw it.

“Who’s here?”

“The press. Reporters. They’re waiting for Miles,” I added, quietly.

Prue peeped out through the net curtains and went pale.

“Is this what it’s like for Miles?” breathed mum.

I pulled a face. “Worse.”

She shook her head in disbelief.

“I think you’d better go out through the backdoor,” mum said to Prue.

“And you should call Melody,” I said. “You know, Miles’ agent? Tell her what’s happened. He won’t be able to stay here now.”

Prue looked shaken but she promised she’d make the call as soon as she got next door.

She slipped out through the back, clutching her cardigan around her like a security blanket. I understood how that felt.

Before Miles’ plane had even touched the tarmac at Heathrow airport, the whole of our road was mobbed with press.

All the neighbors had their noses pressed to the windows, waiting to see a guy that they’d seen a hundred thousand times before, and had grown up playing in that street.

Thirty minutes later, Prue phoned mum to say that Melody had booked her and Miles into the Dorchester, a hotel used to handling the security needed by celebrities, and that a limousine had been sent to pick her up.

We watched through the curtains as an enormous black car swept up to the pavement – or as near as it could get with 30 reporters and a dozen TV crews milling around. A pair of burly security guards cleared a route through the heaving bodies for Prue to exit safely, and she was whisked away into the night.

Mum threw me a nervous glance. I didn’t need to ask what she was thinking.

I already knew.

But it didn’t let me off the hook either. Mum insisted that I still had to go to the darn premiere, “because you promised”.

God, it was so irritating when she was right.

And I had to buy a dress. One I could afford, bearing in mind the size of my student loans.

I felt a momentary pang of regret for the beautiful dress I’d left behind in Miles’ apartment. I knew it wasn’t the thing to wear the same dress twice, but it wasn’t like anyone would have noticed.

A morning traipsing up and down Oxford Street, right in the middle of the winter sales, was a miserable experience. You needed a sharp pair of elbows and language like a docker to even get near the clothes rails.

Running out of time, and loooong out of patience, I found something cheap that I thought would do in
Top Shop
.

Which was why, one hour, two donuts and a bottle of champagne later, I was standing in Polly’s hotel room just off
Leicester Square, wondering why the hell I’d thought magenta would do anything for my complexion. Or my boobs. Or any part of me, in fact.

“I look like a friggin’
Quality Street,” I grumbled.

“Yeah, you’re quality, honey,” she said, absentmindedly.

I rolled my eyes. “No! A Quality Street is a chocolate – one of those wrapped in colored cellophane and… you know what, never mind.”

She wasn’t listening anyway.

“Does my butt look big in this?” she said, tugging at the day-glo orange frill around her hips.

“Yes,” I said, honestly. “Enormous.”

“You’re a bitch.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

She smirked. “Get used to it, honey, you’ll be hearing that a lot.”

Huh?

“Any particular reason?”

“Well, Lilia hates your guts.”

“The feeling is mutual – but why in particular?”

“Because.” She waved her arms around helplessly.

“Okay, you’re going to have to be more specific. Because, what?”

“You’ve got Miles and she hasn’t.”

“I haven’t ‘got’ Miles,” I snapped, tetchily. “We’re friends.”
I think.
“That’s all.”

“Hmm,” she said, a knowing look on her face. “Well, that’s more than she has right now.”

I scowled, wishing it were true.

“It’s her own damn fault. If she wasn’t such a cheating hag, she’d still have him.”

“Maybe. I’m kinda surprised she bothered coming to the UK – the Press here hate her.”

“The Press hate her everywhere – it’s unifying. Maybe she should try world peace next.”

Polly sniggered. “She probably will. A spell as a UN Goodwill Ambassador would look right for her
charidee
work.”

I laughed then flicked my eyes toward Polly’s ginormous suitcase.

“You sure you’re not going to wear the black dress?”

She shook her head. “Nope, but you can wear it if you want.”

With huge relief, I peeled off the pink monstrosity and tossed it onto her bed. You can’t beat the ole LBD when you want to feel confident. At least, that’s what I thought.

Unfortunately, Polly was half a size smaller than me and one of the seams tore as I forced the borrowed dress over my hips.

“Oops.”

The champagne we’d shared had definitely mellowed Polly because she just shrugged her shoulders.

“Um, what do Americans call safety pins?” I said.

Polly rolled her eyes. “Safety pins.”

“Oh. Have you got any?”

“No, sorry. Maybe they’ll have some at the reception desk. Or failing that, you could staple it?”

Great. I was going to a film premiere where
he
would be there with
her
, in a dress held together with staples.
Isn’t that life’s way of saying you should have stayed in bed?

But then my phone beeped with a text.

Don’t get too excited – it was from my mum.

Is it there yet?

God, she was rubbish at texting.

I sent a message back.

I’m with Polly.

We’re just leaving.

Speak to you later.

Just as I was about to head down to get my dress stapled, there was a knock on the door.

I looked at Polly, who shrugged her shoulders.

A guy in the hotel’s uniform was standing there with a suit carrier.

“Miss Milton?”

“Yes?”

“This is for you, madam.”

Madam?

“I didn’t order anything.”

“For Miss Clare Milton.”

I nodded, bemused.

“Sent by courier, madam.”

He pushed the bag toward me, waited for a moment, presumably hoping for a tip, then huffed and stalked off down the corridor.

“Thanks!” I called after him.

“What is it?” asked Polly.

“Dunno. But it says it’s for me.”

Just then my phone rang.

“Hi, mum.”

“Has it arrived yet?”

“Oh! It’s from you? Yeah! What is it?”

“Open it,” she said, her voice excited. “I’ll wait.”

I pulled open the carrier and forgot how to breathe.

Inside was a gorgeous, floor-length, emerald green gown. You couldn’t call it a dress.
This
was a
gown
.

“Holy shit!”

I wasn’t sure whether I said that or it was Polly. Either way, we were both thinking the same thing.

I picked up the phone, stunned.