Twenties Girl

SEVENTEEN

Next morning I feel a bit dazed. Charleston music is ringing in my ears and I keep having flashbacks to being The Great Lara. The whole thing feels like a dream.

Except it’s not a dream, because Clare Fortescue’s résumé is already in my in-box when I arrive at work. Result!

Kate’s eyes are like saucers as I print out the email.

“Who on earth’s this?” she says, poring over the résumé. “Look, she’s got an MBA! She’s won a prize!”

“I know,” I say nonchalantly. “She’s a top, award-winning marketing director. We networked last night. She’s going on the Leonidas Sports short list.”

“And does she know she’s going on the short list?” says Kate in excitement.

“Yes!” I snap, flushing slightly. “Of course she does.”

By ten o’clock the list has been finalized and sent off to Janet Grady. I flop back in my chair and grin at Kate, who’s staring intently at her computer screen.

“I’ve found a picture of you!” she says. “From the dinner last night. Lara Lington and Ed Harrison arrive at the Business People dinner.” She hesitates, looking puzzled. “Who’s he? I thought you were back with Josh.”

“Oh, I am,” I say at once. “Ed is just… a business contact.”

“Oh, right.” Kate is gazing at her computer screen, a little dreamily. “He’s quite good-looking, isn’t he? I mean, Josh is too,” she amends hastily. “In a different way.”

Honestly, she has no taste. Josh is a million times better-looking than Ed. Which reminds me, I haven’t heard from him for a while. I’d better call, just in case his phone has gone wrong and he’s been sending texts and wondering why I haven’t been answering.

I wait until Kate has gone to the bathroom so I have a little privacy, then dial his office.

“Josh Barrett.”

“It’s me,” I say lovingly. “How was the trip?”

“Oh, hi. It was great.”

“Missed you!”

There’s a pause. I’m pretty sure Josh says something in response, but I can’t quite hear.

“I was wondering if your phone was going wrong?” I add. “Because I haven’t received any texts from you since yesterday morning. Are mine getting through OK?”

There’s another indistinct mumble. What’s wrong with this line?

“Josh?” I tap the receiver.

“Hi.” His voice suddenly breaks through more clearly. “Yeah. I’ll look into it.”

“So, shall I come over tonight?”

“You can’t go tonight!” Sadie appears out of nowhere. “It’s the fashion show! We’re getting the necklace!”

“I know,” I mutter, putting my hand over the receiver. “Afterward. I have a thing first,” I continue to Josh. “But I could come around ten?”

“Great.” Josh sounds distracted. “Thing is, I’ve got a work bash tonight.”

More work? He’s turning into a workaholic.

“OK,” I say understandingly. “Well, how about lunch tomorrow? And we can take it from there.”

“Sure,” he says after a pause. “Great.”

“Love you,” I say tenderly. “Can’t wait to see you.”

There’s silence.

“Josh?”

“Er… yeah. Me too. Bye, Lara.”

I put down the phone and sit back. I feel a bit dissatisfied, but I don’t know why. Everything’s fine. Everything’s good. So why does it feel like there’s something missing?

I want to call Josh back and say, “Is everything OK, do you want to talk?” But I mustn’t. He’ll think I’m obsessing, which I’m not; I’m just thinking. People are allowed to think, aren’t they?

Anyway. Whatever. Move on.

Briskly, I log on to my computer and find an email waiting in my in-box from Ed. Wow, that was quick off the mark.

Hi, twenties girl. Great evening last night. Re: your corporate travel insurance. Might want to look at this link. I’ve heard they’re good. Ed

I click on it and find a site offering reduced insurance rates for small companies. That’s just like him: I mention a problem once, and he instantly finds a solution. Feeling touched, I click Reply and briskly type an email:

Thanks, twenties guy I appreciate it. Hope you’re dusting off your London guide. PS: have you demonstrated the Charleston to your staff yet?

Immediately an answer pops back.

Is this your idea of blackmail?

I giggle and start browsing online to find a picture of a dancing couple to send him.

“What’s funny?” says Sadie.

“Nothing.” I close down the window. I won’t tell Sadie I’m emailing Ed. She’s so possessive, she might take it the wrong way. Or, even worse, start dictating endless emails full of stupid twenties slang.

She starts reading the Grazia that’s lying open on my desk and after a few moments orders me: “Turn.” This is her new habit. It’s quite annoying, in fact. I’ve become her page-turning slave.

“Hey, Lara!” Kate comes rushing into the office. “You’ve got a special delivery!”

She hands me a bright pink envelope printed with butterflies and ladybugs, with Tutus and Pearls emblazoned across the top. I rip it open, to find a note from Diamanté’s assistant.

Diamanté thought you might like this. We look forward to seeing you later!

It’s a printed sheet with details about the fashion show, together with a laminated card on a chain, reading VIP Backstage Pass. Wow. I’ve never been a VIP before. I’ve never even been an IP.

I turn the card over in my fingers, thinking ahead to this evening. Finally we’ll get the necklace! After all this time. And then-

My thoughts stop abruptly. Then… what? Sadie said she couldn’t rest until she got her necklace. That’s why she’s haunting me. That’s why she’s here. So when she gets it, what will happen? She can’t…

I mean, she won’t just…

She wouldn’t just… go?

I stare at her, suddenly feeling a bit weird. This whole time, I’ve only been focused on getting the necklace. I’ve lost sight of what might happen beyond the necklace.

“Turn,” says Sadie impatiently, her eyes avidly fixed on an article about Katie Holmes. “Turn!”

In any case, I’m resolved: I’m not letting Sadie down this time. The minute I see this bloody necklace, I’m grabbing it. Even if it’s around someone’s neck. Even if I have to rugby-tackle them to the floor. I approach the Sanderstead Hotel feeling all hyped up. My feet are springy and my hands are ready to snatch.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” I mutter to Sadie as we walk through the bare white lobby. Ahead of us, two skinny girls in miniskirts and heels are heading toward a pair of double doors decorated with swags of pink silk and butterfly helium balloons. That must be it.

Nearing the room, I see a babble of well-dressed girls milling around, knocking back glasses of champagne while music thuds gently. There’s a catwalk running through the center of the room, with a net of silver balloons strung above it, and rows of silk-swagged chairs.

I wait patiently as the girls ahead of me are ticked off, then I step forward to a blond girl in a pink prom dress. She’s holding a clipboard and gives me a chilly smile. “Can I help you?”

“Yes.” I nod. “I’m here for the fashion show.”

She scans my top-to-toe black outfit dubiously. (Pencil trousers, camisole, little cropped jacket. I chose it especially because all fashionistas wear black, don’t they?) “Are you on the list?”

“Yes.” I reach for my invitation. “I’m Diamanté’s cousin.”

“Oh, her cousin.” Her smile becomes even more frozen. “Lovely.”

“In fact, I need to talk to her before the show; do you know where she is?”

“I’m afraid Diamanté’s tied up-” the girl begins smoothly.

“It’s urgent. I really, really do need to see her. I’ve got this, by the way.” I brandish my VIP backstage pass at her. “I could just go hunting. But if you could locate her it would help…”

“OK,” the girl says after a pause. She reaches for her teeny jewel-encrusted phone and dials a number. “Some cousin wants to see Diamanté; is she around?” She adds in a barely concealed murmur, “No. Never saw her before. Well, if you say so…” She puts her phone away. “Diamanté says she’ll meet you backstage. Through there?” She points down the corridor to another door.

“Go ahead!” I instruct Sadie in a whisper. “See if you can find the necklace backstage! It must be easy to spot!” I follow a guy with a crate of Moët down the carpeted corridor and am flashing my VIP backstage pass at a bouncer when Sadie reappears.

“Easy to spot?” she says, her voice trembling. “You must be joking! We’re never going to find it! Never!”

“What do you mean?” I say anxiously as I walk in. “What are you-”

Oh no. Oh bloody hell.

I’m standing in a large area filled with mirrors and chairs and hair dryers blasting and the chatter of makeup artists and about thirty models. They’re all tall and skinny, slouching on their chairs or milling around talking on their mobile phones. They’re all wearing skimpy diaphanous dresses. And they’re all wearing at least twenty necklaces piled high around their necks. Chains, pearls, pendants… Everywhere I look there are necklaces. It’s a necklace haystack.

I’m exchanging horrified looks with Sadie when I hear a drawling voice.

“Lara! You came!”

I wheel around to see Diamanté teetering toward me. She’s wearing a tiny skirt covered in love hearts, a skinny vest, a studded silver belt, and patent stiletto shoe boots. She’s holding two glasses of champagne, and she offers one to me.

“Hi, Diamanté. Congratulations! Thanks so much for inviting me. This is amazing!” I gesture around the room, then take a deep breath. The important thing is not to seem too desperate or needy. “So, anyway.” I aim for a light, casual tone. “I have this huge favor to ask you. You know that dragonfly necklace that your father was after? The old one with the glass beads?”

Diamanté blinks at me in surprise. “How d’you know about that?”

“Er… long story. Anyway, it was originally Great-Aunt Sadie’s, and my mum always loved it and I wanted to surprise her with it.” My fingers are crossed tightly behind my back. “So, maybe after the show I could… er… have it? Possibly? If you didn’t need it anymore?”

Diamanté stares back at me for a few moments, her blond hair streaming down her back and her eyes glazed.

“My dad’s a fuckhead,” she says at last, with emphasis.

I stare at her uncertainly until the penny finally drops. Oh, great. This is all I need. She’s pissed. She’s probably been drinking champagne all day.

“He’s a fucking… fuckhead.” She swigs her champagne.

“Yes,” I say quickly. “He is. And that’s why you need to give the necklace to me. To me,” I repeat, very loudly and clearly.

Diamanté’s swaying on her shoe boots, and I grab her arm to steady her.

“The dragonfly necklace,” I say. “Do-you-know-where-it-is?”

Diamanté turns her face to survey me a minute, leaning so close I can smell champagne and cigarettes and Altoids on her breath.

“Hey, Lara, why aren’t we friends? I mean, you’re cool.” She frowns slightly, then amends, “Not cool, but… you know. Sound. Why don’t we hang out?”

Because you mostly hang out in your massive villa in Ibiza and I mostly hang out in the wrong end of Kilburn? Maybe?

“Er… I dunno. We should. It’d be great.”

“We should get hair extensions together!” she says, as though seized by inspiration. “I go to this great place. They do your nails too. It’s, like, totally organic and environmental.”

Environmental hair extensions?

“Absolutely.” I nod as convincingly as I can. “Let’s definitely do that. Hair extensions. Great.”

“I know what you think of me, Lara.” Her eyes suddenly focus with a kind of drunken sharpness. “Don’t think I don’t know.”

“What?” I’m taken aback. “I don’t think anything.”

“You think I sponge off my dad. Because he paid for all this. Whatever. Be honest.”

“No!” I say awkwardly. “I don’t think that! I just think… you know…”

“I’m a spoiled little cow?” She takes a gulp of champagne. “Go on. Tell me.”

My mind flips back and forth. Diamanté’s never asked me for my opinion before, on anything. Should I be honest?

“I just think that…” I hesitate, then plunge in. “Maybe if you waited a few years and did all this on your own, learned the craft and worked your way up, you’d feel even better about yourself.”

Diamanté nods slowly, as though my words are getting through to her.

“Yeah,” she says at last. “Yeah. I could do that, I suppose. ’Cept it would be really hard.”

“Er… well, that’s kind of the point-”

“And then I’d have an obnoxious fuckhead of a dad who thinks he’s bloody God and makes us all be in his stupid documentary… and nothing in return! What’s in it for me?” She spreads her skinny tanned arms wide. “What?”

OK. I’m not getting into this debate.

“I’m sure you’re right,” I say hastily. “So, about the dragonfly necklace-”

“You know, my dad found out you were coming today.” Diamanté doesn’t even hear me. “He called me up. He was, like, what’s she doing on the list? Take her off. I was like, fuck you! This is my fucking first cousin or whatever.”

My heart misses a beat.

“Your dad… didn’t want me here?” I lick my dry lips. “Did he say why?”

“I said to him, who cares if she’s a bit of a psycho?” Diamanté talks right through me. “Be more fucking tolerant. Then, you know, he was on about that necklace.” She opens her eyes wide. “He offered me all these substitutes. I was like, don’t patronize me with fucking Tiffany. I’m a designer, OK? I have a vision.”

The blood is beating hard in my ears. Uncle Bill is still after Sadie’s necklace. I don’t understand why. All I know is, I need to get hold of it.

“Diamanté.” I grab her shoulders. “Please listen. This necklace is really, really important to me. To my mum. I totally appreciate your vision as a designer and everything-but after the show, can I have it?”

For a moment Diamanté looks so blank, I think I’m going to have to explain the whole thing again. Then she puts an arm around my neck and squeezes hard.

“’Course you can, babe. Soon as the show’s over, ’s’yours.”

“Great.” I try not to give away how relieved I am. “Great! That’s great! So where is it right now? Could I… see it?”

The minute I clap eyes on this thing, I’m grabbing it and running. I’m not taking any more chances.

“Sure! Lyds?” Diamanté calls to a girl in a stripy top. “D’you know where that dragonfly necklace is?”

“What, babe?” Lyds comes over, holding a mobile phone.

“The vintage necklace with the cute dragonfly. D’you know where it is?”

“It has yellow glass beads in a double row,” I chime in urgently. “Dragonfly pendant, falls to about here…”

Two models walk past, their necks piled high with necklaces, and I squint desperately at them.

Lyds is shrugging easily. “Don’t remember. It’ll be on one of the girls somewhere.”

It’ll be in the haystack somewhere. I look around the room hopelessly. Models are everywhere. Necklaces are everywhere.

“I’ll look for it myself,” I say. “If you don’t mind-”

“No! The show’s about to start!” Diamanté starts pushing me toward the door. “Lyds, take her in. Put her in the front row. That’ll show Dad.”

“But-”

It’s too late. I’ve been ushered out.

As the doors swing shut, I’m hopping with frustration. It’s in there. Somewhere in that room, Sadie’s necklace is hanging around a model’s neck. But which bloody one?

“I can’t find it anywhere.” Sadie suddenly appears beside me. To my horror, she seems almost in tears. “I’ve looked at every single girl. I’ve looked at all the necklaces. It’s nowhere.”

“It has to be!” I mutter as we head back down the corridor. “Sadie, listen. I’m sure it’s on one of the models. We’ll look really carefully at each one as they go past, and we’ll find it. I promise.”

I’m being as upbeat and convincing as I can, but inside… I’m not so sure. I’m not sure at all.

Thank God I’m in the front row. As the show starts, the crowd is six deep, and everyone’s so tall and skinny there’s no way I would have got a view from further back. Music starts thudding and lights start flashing around the room, and there’s a whoop from what must be a group of Diamanté’s friends.

“Go, Diamanté!” one of them yells.

To my slight horror, clouds of dry ice start to appear on the catwalk. How am I going to spot any models through that? Let alone any necklaces. Around me, people are coughing. “Diamanté, we can’t bloody see!” yells some girl. “Turn it off!”

At last the fog starts to clear. Pink spotlights flash onto the catwalk and a Scissor Sisters track starts thumping through the speakers. I’m leaning forward, alert for the first model, ready to concentrate as hard as I can, when I glimpse something out of the corner of my eye.

Opposite me on the other side of the catwalk, taking his seat in the front row, is Uncle Bill. He’s dressed in a dark suit and open-necked shirt and accompanied by Damian, together with another assistant. As I stare in horror, he looks up and catches my eye.

My stomach lurches. I feel frozen.

After a minute he lifts a hand calmly in greeting. Numbly, I do the same. Then the music increases in volume and suddenly the first model is on the catwalk, wearing a white slip dress printed with spiderwebs and doing that sashay-model walk, all hip bones and cheekbones and skinny arms. I stare desperately at the necklaces jangling around her neck, but she whizzes past so quickly, it’s almost impossible to get a good view.

I glance over at Uncle Bill and feel a prickle of horror. He’s scanning the necklaces too.

“This is useless!” Sadie appears from nowhere and leaps up onto the catwalk. She goes right up to the model and peers intently at the jumble of chains and beads and charms around her neck. “I can’t see it! I told you, it’s not there!”

The next model appears, and in a flash she’s examining that girl’s necklaces too.

“Not here either.”

“Super collection,” a girl next to me exclaims. “Don’t you think?”

“Er… yes,” I say distractedly. “Great.” I can’t look at anything except the necklaces. My vision is a blur of beads and gilt and paste jewels. I’m feeling a growing foreboding, a sense of failure-

Oh my God.

Oh my God oh my God! There it is! Right in front of me. Wound around a model’s ankle. My heart is hammering as I stare breathlessly at the pale-yellow beads, casually twined into an anklet. An anklet. No wonder Sadie couldn’t find it. As the model sashays nearer, the necklace is about two feet away from me on the catwalk. Less than that. I could lean over and grab it. This is absolutely unbearable…

Sadie suddenly follows my gaze and gasps.

“My necklace!” She zooms up to the oblivious model and yells, “That’s mine! It’s mine!”

The moment that model is off the catwalk I’m going after her and I’m getting it. I don’t care what it takes. I glance at Uncle Bill-and to my horror his eyes are glued on Sadie’s necklace too.

The model is sashaying back now. She’ll be off the catwalk in a minute. I glance across, squinting as a spotlight catches me right in the eye, and see Uncle Bill getting to his feet and his people clearing a way for him.

Shit. Shit.

I leap to my feet, too, and start making my way out, muttering apologies as I tread on people’s feet. At least I have an advantage: I’m on the side of the catwalk nearer the doors. Not daring to look back, I fling myself through the double doors and sprint up the corridor to the backstage area, flashing my pass at the bouncer guy on the door.

The backstage area is mayhem. A woman in jeans is barking instructions and pushing models onto the stage. Girls are ripping clothes off, having clothes put on, having their hair dried, having their lips touched up…

I look around in breathless panic. I’ve already lost sight of my model. Where the hell is she? I start moving between all the hair stations, dodging rails of clothes, trying to catch a glimpse of her-when suddenly I become aware of a row at the door.

“This is Bill Lington, OK?” It’s Damian, and he’s obviously losing it. “Bill Lington. Just because he doesn’t have a backstage pass-”

“No backstage pass, no entry,” I can hear the bouncer saying implacably. “Rules of the boss.”

“He is the fucking boss,” snaps Damian. “He paid for all this, you moron.”

“What you call me?” The bouncer sounds ominous, and I can’t help smiling-but my smile dies away as Sadie materializes, her eyes dark and desperate.

“Quick! Come!”

I start to move, but Sadie vanishes. A moment later she reappears, looking wretched.

“She’s gone!” she gulps, hardly able to get the words out. “That model girl has taken my necklace. She was hailing a taxi and I dashed back to get you, but I knew you’d be too slow. And when I returned to the street… she’d gone!”

“A taxi?” I stare at her in horror. “But… but-”

“We’ve lost it again.” Sadie seems beside herself. “We’ve lost it!”

“But Diamanté promised.” I swivel my head frantically, looking for Diamanté. “She promised I could have it!”

I’m hollow with dismay. I can’t believe I’ve let it slip away again. I should have grabbed it, I should have been quicker, I should have been cleverer…

Massive cheers and whoops are coming from the main hall. The show must have finished. A moment later, models stream into the backstage area, followed by a pink-faced Diamanté.

“Fucking fantastic!” she yells at everyone. “You all rock! I love you all! Now let’s party!”

I struggle through the melee toward her, wincing as stilettos puncture my feet and shrieky voices pierce my eardrum.

“Diamanté!” I call over the hubbub. “The necklace! The girl wearing it has gone!”

Diamanté looks vague. “Which girl?”

Jesus Christ. How many drugs is she on?

“She’s called Flora,” Sadie says urgently in my ear.

“Flora! I need Flora, but apparently she’s gone!”

“Oh, Flora.” Diamanté’s brow clears. “Yeah, she’s gone to Paris for a ball. On her dad’s PJ. Private jet,” she explains, at my blank look. “I said she could wear her dress.”

“But she’s taken the necklace too!” I’m trying really hard not to scream. “Diamanté, please. Call her. Call her now. Tell her I’ll meet her. I’ll go to Paris, whatever it takes. I need to get hold of this necklace.”

Diamanté gapes at me for a moment, then raises her eyes to heaven.

“My dad’s right about you,” she says. “You’re nuts. But I quite like that.” She gets out her phone and speed-dials a number.

“Hey, Flora! Babe, you were awesome! So are you on the plane yet? OK, listen. Remember that dragonfly necklace you had on?”

“Anklet,” I interject urgently. “She was wearing it as an anklet.”

“The anklet thing?” says Diamanté. “Yeah, that one. My crazy cousin really wants it. She’s gonna come to Paris to get it. Where’s the ball? Can she meet you?” She listens for a while, lighting a cigarette and dragging on it. “Oh, right. Yeah. Totally… Of course…” At last she looks up, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “Flora doesn’t know where the ball is. It’s, like, some friend of her mum’s holding it? She says she wants to wear the necklace ’cause it totally suits her dress, but then she’ll FedEx it to you.”

“Tomorrow morning? First thing?”

“No, after the ball, yeah?” says Diamanté, as though I’m very slow and stupid. “I dunno what day exactly, but as soon as she’s done with it she’ll send it. She promised. Isn’t that perfect?” She beams and lifts her hand to give me a high-five.

I stare back at her in disbelief. Perfect?

The necklace was two feet away from me. It was within my reach. It was promised to me. And now it’s on its way to Paris and I don’t know when I’ll get it back. How can this in any way be perfect? I feel like having a total meltdown.

But I don’t dare. There’s only the thinnest, most fragile chain linking me to the necklace now, and the strongest link in it is Diamanté. If I piss her off I’ll lose it forever.

“Perfect!” I force myself to smile back and high-five Diamanté. I take the phone and dictate my address to Flora, spelling out every single word twice.

Now all I can do is cross all my fingers. And my toes. And wait.