How Not to Shop (12 page)

'Yes Owen, I know,' she'd soothed, managing only a glancing kiss on the top of his head, before he'd ducked away. 'I'm sorry. It won't happen again, OK.'

But too late, Ed had heard, and then he was in the hallway asking, 'Shopping bag? Surely you've not been shopping, on your budget of 28p a day or whatever it is?'

'An incredibly, incredibly cheap mini-handbag from a chain store, seriously!' she'd defended herself.

'Show!' he'd insisted, while moving in for a proper hug and kiss.

She'd opened the carrier and shown him the bracelet, bag and . . . er . . . necklace she'd picked up in the shop. But a big part of her resented having to do this. She may have been relying on Ed's savings to get them through the next few months, but she certainly didn't want to be interrogated about every single little thing she might happen to pick up for herself.

'Watch it,' she warned him, 'I might get snappy.'

'OK,' he backed off with a smile. 'They look very nice.'

That's when she'd decided to go and see Lana. At least she would understand and appreciate a bargain accessory. 'Lana's in her room,' Ed told her, 'she's never out of her room. She's become the most studious person I know.'

'Must be your good influence,' Annie said with a wink. 'OK, well, I think I'll go and say hello. Then come back to my boys in a little bit.'

'I hope you mean us and not the cats,' Ed replied, watching as his two saggy old house cats, Hoover and Dyson, wound their way, purring like engines, around Annie's legs.

It was three short flights of stairs to the attic level where Owen and Lana each had a little bedroom. Annie tapped on Lana's door.

There was a frantic blast of keyboard tapping and then Lana's voice asked, 'Is that you, Mum?'

'Yeah,' Annie said, stepping into the room. 'Is it all right to come in or am I disturbing the next Einstein?'

'Oh very funny.' Lana swivelled her chair away from her desk and turned to smile at her mum. 'How was your day?' she asked.

'A bit stressful in parts,' Annie told her. 'How about yours?'

'Oh, I'll get over it,' Lana joked.

'Me too . . . I think,' Annie said, then she took a seat on the edge of the very crowded bed. A huge assortment of Lana's clothes, bags, books and belongings had been scattered about here.

'Planning your weekend wardrobe?' Annie asked with a smile.

'Ermm . . . something like that,' Lana replied.

'It's only Tuesday,' Annie reminded her.

'Just as well. Nothing's come together yet.'

'Something big happening at the weekend?'

'Well . . . Daisy's having a birthday party. At her home,' Lana added quickly: 'parents around, nothing too wild.'

'Sounds fine,' Annie responded, 'but you know I trust you. You're older and so much more sensible. I hate you getting older, but I like the sensible bit,' she admitted. 'Maybe it's my compensation.'

She took a long look at her daughter, with her pretty, pale, sweetheart face and dark hair. The older she got, the more she looked like her very handsome actor dad. Annie allowed the thought to cross her mind.

There were only a few moments in the day when she let herself think about the late Roddy Valentine, whom she had been married to for six years. Very happily married to, until a small, completely unlucky and unnecessary accident had taken him away from them all.

As she occasionally explained to people who asked: no, you didn't 'get over it', not a loss like that. You eventually just had to pick yourself up and somehow 'get on with it'. Especially for the children's sake. Somewhere along the way, along the years, she'd let go of the fury raging inside her head and made some sort of 'peace' with the situation.

Losing Roddy had become a part of who they all were: Annie, Lana, Owen, Dinah, Connor, even Ed.

The only thing that still broke her heart, whenever she allowed herself to dwell on it, was how proud, how fiercely, fiercely proud Roddy would have been of his children. But they were never going to hear that from him.

So she had to over-compensate. 'You're looking really nice,' she told Lana, 'I like your hair like that.'

'Oh, thanks,' her daughter smiled and pulled her locks over her shoulder a little shyly.

'I'm glad it's not so black any more. I mean, it was fine,' Annie corrected herself, 'but it made you look a little deathly.'

'Yeah, bit too Gothy. I'm over that,' Lana agreed. 'So what happened on the shoot today?' she asked, not able to hide the excited smile that the thought of her mum working on TV conjured up.

'Oh babes, I have no idea what is going to happen next,' Annie blurted out. 'The woman I'm supposed to be transforming from top to toe and sending to the ball to meet Prince Charming doesn't want to go. I've got her the dress, the bag and the shoes, but I can't get inside her head. Well, not in the five minutes I'm allowed to spend with her in front of the cameras, anyway. I've no idea what's going to happen now.'

Annie lay back on the sprawl of teenage clothes on the bed. It took Lana hours to get ready to go out at the weekend. Sometimes it would take her two whole hours just to get to the point of going out, then she'd still have to rush upstairs and make another complete outfit change at the very last minute. She was almost as insecure about going to parties as Cath was proving to be – a thought which inspired Annie to ask her next question.

'How do I turn ordinary, plain Jane Cath into Cinderella for the cameras, baby? How am I going to do that? She hasn't been to a party for years. She's too self-conscious. But this is the happy ending that the producer wants. He needs Cath to look gorgeous and beam happiness and confidence at every handsome stranger she meets at the ball. I mean, good grief! Impossible or what! He doesn't just want a makeover, he wants a personality transplant!'

'Cinderella only knows three other people at the ball and they don't even recognize her,' Lana said thoughtfully. 'It's much easier to pretend to be someone else if you don't know anyone there and if you're in disguise. I'd love to go to a party in disguise. No-one would recognize me and I could just be a fly on the wall. A mysterious guest!'

'Yes?' Annie was trying to understand what her daughter meant. 'So I should put her in disguise?!'

'But she's going somewhere where she won't know anyone, isn't she?' Lana asked.

'Yes . . . I think so. I mean, it's not a family party or anything. She's supposed to be taken to some sort of party. I don't know what yet.'

'So why don't you take her to a masked ball or something like that?' Lana asked enthusiastically, 'Somewhere she won't know anyone and she won't be known. Somewhere where she can hide all her awkwardness behind a mask?'

'You know, babes,' Annie said, feeling a sense of lightness and relief, 'that is a very, very good idea. That is such an amazingly good idea I might have to speak to someone about it right now!'

Lana shot her mum a smile but then her attention seemed to be caught by her computer screen again.

'You're working so hard,' Annie told her, 'I'm so proud of you.'

'Thanks,' Lana replied, but then glanced down at her feet as if almost embarrassed by the praise.

'You are going to do really well in your exams, aren't you?' her mother asked.

'I hope so,' Lana said, a little shyly.

'I'm very proud of you,' Annie repeated.

'Would it matter if I didn't do well in my exams?' Lana asked.

'For goodness sake!' Annie shooed the comment away, 'you're up here slaving away every night. You're going to do brilliantly!'

Miss Marlise on set:

Tight black jacket (Helmut Lang)
White shirt (M&S)
Tight leather leggings (Les Chiffoniers)
Black shoe boots (LK Bennett)
Bright red lipstick (Clinique)
Total est. cost: £940

'Ha!'

'A masked ball?!'

Finn, clipboard in hand, Bluetooth round his ear, was looking at Annie in obvious astonishment.

'Just where the heck are we supposed to find a masked ball?' he asked her. 'And won't our ladies have to wear ball dresses, which we can't afford to buy? And anyway, if everyone's wearing masks, just how will we keep track of them? We'll end up filming the wrong women for half the evening.'

Miss Marlise gave a derisive little giggle and roll of her eyes, as if to let Finn know that this was all you could expect if you let the 'wardrobe lady' come up with ideas.

Annie could also feel the weight of Bob and Nikki's eyes upon her in this claustrophobic little room.
OK
, she felt like shouting out,
it was just a suggestion.

Instead, in her defence, she said, 'Cath may seem really cool and collected, but she doesn't do parties. I really don't know if she's going to cope. No-one seems to have mentioned the whole dating party thing to her when she agreed to come onto the programme . . . somehow.' Annie didn't want to point any fingers, but she suspected this might have something to do with either Nikki or Finn.

'I think she might have a panic attack, lock herself in the Ladies for the evening or something like that, unless we really help her out,' Annie added.

'Oh for God's sake!' Finn said with exasperation, 'there's no way we can drop her now! We've spent far too much time and money filming her already. Plus, we'd have a job getting her to part with her shiny new things now, wouldn't we?' He shot Annie a glare, as if this was somehow all her fault. None of it was her fault! She'd done everything he'd asked her to do. She could make Cath over, but she couldn't change her into a different person.

Just then Svetlana swept into the room. She'd always had a loose grasp on the concept of punctuality and appearing on TV wasn't about to change that, despite Finn and Nikki's carefully detailed schedules. So she wasn't just a minute or two late for this briefing, she was a full and glorious twenty-five minutes late.

Still, when she entered, blonde hair tumbling over a white fur coat, no-one complained; there was just a collective intake of breath. Although Annie noticed Miss Marlise raise her eyebrows and take a look at her watch. That Miss Marlise was jealous of Svetlana and all the attention Svetlana seemed to inspire had been clear from day one. Instinctively, Annie felt that both she and Svetlana should watch out for that woman. Hadn't Bob said that she would claw her way over anyone in her quest for the top?

'Svetlana, hi,' Finn smiled welcomingly. 'Don't suppose you've got any spare invitations to a masked ball lying around your Mayfair pad, do you?'

This was obviously a flippant little joke. But Svetlana, settling down in the one empty chair in the room, elegantly shrugged off her fur and in her richly accented voice, replied casually, 'Yes, but of courrrrrrse.'

Which shot a fresh surge of energy into the room.

'Really?' Finn asked.

'Of courrse,' Svetlana gave a little shrug of her shoulders. 'At the Tate Modern next Friday there is big Art Ball. You can wear masks, you can wear costumes, armour, dresses, overalls . . . whatever you like. It's artistic . . . for charity . . . people always do vhat they like.'

'Would they let us film there?' Finn asked, sounding quite breathless with excitement. A wear what you like, major glamorous event, being staged at no cost to him whatsoever. He would just need to turn up with a camera.