The Forgotten Girl (29 page)

‘I thought you might have learned something,' he said as he did up his jeans. ‘I thought after what happened with Jen, you might have realised that some things are more important than work.'

I didn't speak, so Damo kept going.

‘Friendship,' he said, as he poked his head through the neck of his t-shirt. ‘That's more important than work.'

‘Damo,' I began, but he hadn't finished.

‘Suze won't talk about the sixties because she feels so bad about what happened to her friend,' he said. ‘She could be massive off the back of this relaunch. You and her together would be on fire – you'd be on bloody Woman's Hour, and Newsnight, and Piers bloody Morgan.'

I winced. I'd thought the same thing.

‘But she won't do it, because the memory of her friend is too much,' Damo ranted. ‘You? You'd do it in a heartbeat.'

‘That's not true,' I said. But it was true, really.

‘You shat all over Jen and now she's done the same to you, and you still haven't learned your lesson,' he went on, shoving his feet into his shoes and running his fingers through his hair. ‘I thought maybe we had something here. That you'd realised it's okay to have fun. That you can enjoy yourself and the world won't fall apart. That sometimes work has to come last. But no.'

I pulled the duvet further up my chest and hugged it.

‘Work is really important to me,' I said weakly.

‘You're trying to prove yourself to your parents,' Damo said, his face softening a bit. ‘And there's no point. Nothing you do will ever be good enough for them, Fearne. Nothing. But that's okay. Because it's good enough for everyone else. You've done it. You're editor of Mode. And that's great. But you need to have a life as well.'

I nodded.

‘You're right,' I said. ‘I will never, ever meet Mum's expectations.'

‘It's a waste of time even trying,' Damo said.

‘I can't help it,' I whispered. ‘It's not even about her any more. I just need to keep going. To keep striving. To be a success.'

‘You already are,' he said.

I shook my head.

‘It's not enough,' I said. ‘It's never enough.'

Damo sat on the edge of the bed and pulled me close to him.

‘It's enough for me,' he said. ‘You're more than enough for me.'

I closed my eyes.

‘You're a distraction,' I said. ‘This was unprofessional and it could jeopardise the relaunch.'

‘No it couldn't,' Damo said.

I nodded.

‘I'm so close, Damo,' I said. ‘I can't take my eye off the ball now.'

‘Don't you dare,' he said. ‘Don't you dare do this again.'

I pulled away from him.

‘I'm sorry,' I said. ‘You have to go.'

He stood up and picked up his jacket.

‘Really?' he said.

I didn't say anything. He stayed for a minute, then he turned and left. I heard my front door slam and he was gone.

The last time I'd dumped Damo because work was more important, I'd known he was heading hundreds of miles away. This time, he was heading to my office – and I was about to follow. Somehow, I thought, it wasn't going to be easy to get over him.

I lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. I'd messed everything up. Again. And I wasn't sure that I could fix it.

I picked up my phone and opened my emails, scrolling through my drafts until I found the one I'd written to Mum. I opened it, and without reading it again, I pressed send.

Damo was right. Nothing I'd do would be good enough, but I wanted her to know what I was working hard for. What I'd fallen out with Jen over. What I'd hurt Damo – all over again – for. And I really hoped it was worth it.

Chapter 47

1966

I'm not sure why I told the ambulance men that Suze's name was Nancy. Just like I'm not sure why when they asked if I wanted to come with them to the hospital, I shook my head.

‘Where are you taking her?' I said.

‘UCH,' said one.

‘I just need to tell some people what's happened,' I said, thinking of George – who was probably on his way to Paris by now – and Bruno, and Margi at Mode. ‘I'll come later.'

The man looked at Suze's battered face and then back at me.

‘Don't be too long, eh?' he said.

In a daze, I picked up my bag, and followed them down the stairs and watched them carry Suze into the back of the ambulance. Then I wandered off towards the office. Mode wasn't owned by the same company that owned Home & Hearth but their office wasn't ready yet so Rosemary had arranged for the interviews to be held in a meeting room on the top floor as a favour for Margi. I went into the building and pressed the button for the lift.

Gayle the receptionist, glanced at me.

‘Margi just arrived,' she said.

Then she frowned, taking in my crumpled outfit.

‘You're going for an interview, right?'

I should have said no. I should have asked her to phone up to the top floor and tell Margi that Suze had been taken ill and we wouldn't be able to interview today. But I didn't. Instead I smiled.

‘Yes,' I said. ‘I'm going for an interview. Just going up to change first.'

She gave me thumbs up.

‘Good luck,' she said.

In the lift, I checked my watch. I was early to see Margi. I had time. Time to make this right and get my life – and Suze's life – back on track. We were down, that much was true, but we were not out. If anything, all our problems – Dad, Mum, Gordon and now Suze being poorly – just made me more determined to get this job and get things going.

‘She's not poorly,' a little voice in my head whispered as I pressed the button for the Home & Hearth floor. ‘She's taken too many pills. She could die.'

‘She's going to be fine,' I said out loud. ‘And I will get this job so she has something to look forward to.'

With a ping, the doors opened on my floor and I took a breath. Time to go to work.

It was quiet at Home & Hearth that afternoon, just as I'd hoped. Rosemary wasn't around – she must have been at her meeting – and there were just a few people on the subs desk. I dashed in, and headed for my rail in the fashion cupboard, finally thankful that I had so many spare clothes at work, given that my carefully selected interview outfit was now lying, discarded, on the floor of Suze's squat.

I picked a bright blue dress with buttons down the front and threw it on, straightening my skirt in the mirror. My new haircut was limp and flat, so I dug some dry shampoo out of the beauty cupboard and sprayed it on. Then I backcombed my hair at the roots to give it some height and pulled a wide hairband from the accessories drawer, knowing Lucy, the fashion editor, wouldn't mind if she even noticed. I put on some make-up, carefully hiding my bruise, and looked at my reflection. It wasn't as good as I'd planned, but it would do.

Then, I slunk out of the fashion cupboard and up the stairs to the meeting room. Sitting outside waiting to be called by Margi, I gave myself a talking to.

‘This is the biggest moment of your life,' I said in my head. ‘Do this, and everything else will fall into place.'

I checked my bundle of papers were in the bag, and tried not to panic. This was it.

A woman with artfully tousled Brigitte Bardot hair came out of the meeting room and smiled at me.

‘Ah,' she said. ‘I know who you are.'

I blinked at her.

‘I've just been reading your Rolling Stones piece in Viva,' she said. ‘I recognise you from the photos – I like your haircut. I'm pleased to meet you, Suze. I'm Margi.'

I stood up and shook her outstretched hand.

‘Hello,' I said.

‘Aren't there supposed to be two of you?' Margi said.

I stared at her, not sure what to say.

She looked expectantly at me and I pulled myself together.

‘Sorry,' I said. ‘It's been a long morning. My friend's ill, I'm afraid.'

Margi looked at the sheet of paper she held in her hand.

‘Nancy?' she said. ‘Nancy's ill?'

I took a breath. Now was absolutely the time to say that, no, she had it wrong. I was Nancy and Suze was ill. But once more, I didn't.

I nodded.

‘That's right,' I said. ‘She's really sorry, but she honestly couldn't have got here. She's going to get better soon though.'

Margi gave me an odd look, and for a minute I thought she was going to say something. Then she obviously changed her mind.

‘Come on in,' she said. ‘Let's have a chat.'

Once I was talking about my ideas for Mode, I felt better. Calmer. More in control. I talked Margi through all our features and she asked lots of questions about the Rolling Stones. I stumbled a bit when she asked about the marriage feature. Of course, I'd written it but she thought I was Suze. So I had to pretend it wasn't my writing, which got a bit tricky but I somehow got through it.

When it came to our ideas – and our presentation – I was on firmer ground. I was so excited about Mode and the chance of being involved in it from the beginning that I didn't have to pretend. I told Margi all about how we saw the magazine developing and I was pleased when she started to take notes.

‘We made a dummy issue,' I told her. ‘But my dad…'

I paused.

‘He accidentally threw it away.'

Margi smiled.

‘Bad luck,' she said.

‘We worked all night to get ready,' I said, sounding slightly desperate.

‘I can see that.'

Margi leafed through my presentation.

‘Can I keep this?' she asked.

My heart leapt.

‘Please do.'

‘Suze, you've obviously worked very hard,' Margi said. ‘I'd love to have you as part of my team at Mode.'

‘Really?' I said, hardly able to believe that this terrible day had turned round.

‘Really.'

‘And my friend?' I said.

‘If she's anything like you, then we need her too,' said Margi. She handed me a business card. ‘Get her to phone me and we can arrange another time to meet.'

I wanted to throw my arms round her and tell her she'd just given two desperate girls a chance in life, but I didn't. I shook her hand and thanked her, and left the building in a calm manner that didn't reveal how excited I was inside.

I planned to go and see Suze in hospital, but I had a few things to do first.

Of course, I had to tell George everything that had happened but I had no idea how to make an international phone call or even where he'd be staying in Paris. Instead I wrote a note saying I'd be at Suze's and he had to come and find me SOON, and posted it through his letterbox.

It was all happening, I thought as I headed for the tube station. I was going to see Suze at hospital and tell her, yes, we were really doing this. She would be Nancy and I'd be Suze and we had jobs, and we'd get a flat, and we'd be safe. It was the beginning of our new lives, and I couldn't wait to get started.

Chapter 48

2016

For the first time in my whole life, I was late for work that morning. I slunk into the office, hoping to avoid Damo's accusatory stares, but when I dared lift my eyes to his desk, he wasn't there.

‘Where's Damo?' I asked Emily.

‘He's gone to the cover shoot,' she said.

‘That's this afternoon.'

‘He wanted to go early,' Emily said, frowning with the effort of remembering. ‘Think he said he had something to do first. Or afterwards.' She gave me a dazzling smile. ‘Something like that.'

He wanted to avoid me, more like. But relieved that I wouldn't have to face him – yet – I didn't mind. I was going to the cover shoot too. Like Suze had suggested, we were filming it for the website and I was interviewing Amy Lavender too. One of Emily's friends in digital was streaming parts of our chat live to our Facebook page. It was all terribly high-tech and made me feel a bit like my nanna when she tried to leave a message on my voicemail. But I was looking forward to it. Amy was always fun, disarmingly honest and absolutely gorgeous so I knew the pictures would look great. And there would be enough people around that – hopefully – things wouldn't be too awkward between Damo and me.

I spent the morning going through Lizzie and Vanessa's plans for the pop-up stalls selling Mode. The ideas were really good, the budgets all looked good to me, and I thought it wouldn't be long before lots of other magazines were doing a similar thing. I was very grateful I'd not mentioned Vanessa's ideas in detail to Jen, otherwise I was pretty sure Grace would be doing it already.

Just before lunch there was a knock on my office doorframe and Emily came in clutching a package.

‘Just arrived by courier,' she said. ‘It's from Paris.'

Vanessa had obviously filled her in on our chat with George Mann.

‘Ooh it must be the photos,' I said, taking the parcel. ‘I thought he was emailing them.'

I tore open the brown paper wrapping at one end, peered inside and pulled out a postcard with a beautiful black and white portrait of Jane Birkin on one side. I showed it to Emily and she nodded approvingly.

‘Nice.'

I turned it over and read the message, which was written in a neat Sharpied handwriting.

‘Dear Fearne,' it said. ‘I sensed time was of the essence so rather than spend hours scanning in these prints and emailing them, I am sending them “snail mail” which ironically will end up being faster. Lots here of Nancy, a few of Nancy and me together, and a couple of Suze. I have the negs of course, so you're welcome to keep these. All I would like in return is a copy of your sixties-inspired magazine when it is printed. Those years were some of the happiest and the saddest in my life. Regards, George.'

‘Oh he is adorable,' I said. ‘What a sweetheart.'