New York Valentine (33 page)

‘Oh … the night of the crème brûlée.’

‘Well, he loves you. He may have mentioned to you that he’s got plans for a personal finance programme. Well, he’s very keen on you and I think he’s getting keen on me too. We’re meeting tomorrow.’

‘That is interesting, babes, very interesting.’

‘But meantime, you’re signed up with Connor and his new fitness phenomenon. So that is brilliant. That keeps you on screen and right in our minds and hot, hot, hot. Plus, you’ll get into shape too, which never hurt anyone. Not that I’m a body fascist.’

‘I thought you liked the “real” me.’

‘Real yes. You don’t need to go size zero on me …’

‘As if.’

‘But supersized, no,’ had been the brutal reply.

So that was why, right now, Annie was in the gym with Connor, who kept leaning over and nudging up the speed on her machine.

‘Stop it!’ she warned, ‘or I’ll be a
dead
celebrity guinea pig and no use to you at all.’

When the mobile in her back pocket began to ring, Connor protested, ‘A mobile! In the gym? You can’t have a mobile in the gym, it’s against the rules. How can you feel the pain with Gawain if you stop and chat on the phone?’

Annie wasn’t listening. She’d already jumped off the machine with relief. Anyone could be calling, she didn’t care, as long as she had an excuse to get off the treadmill.

‘Annah!’

There was no mistaking the voice at the other end of the line.

‘Svetlana, how are you?’

‘Vonderrrrful. Dresses sell out all over New York, everybody want one. Now we are worrrking very hard to get new range in place. New fabrics, new colours, playing a little with the styles. Is all so good and so fascinating, no? I go over again next week to make sure everything going well.’

Annie felt the pang of jealousy in the pit of her stomach. Back to Manhattan. Back to the fashion business …

‘So I phone you to talk again about our plan.’

‘Yes …’

‘I think it is a very, very good plan. I think it will be amazing. I already organize a bigger apartment.’

‘In the same area?’

‘Almost. Very nice, very safe. But Manhattan much safer than London. No?’

‘So you really think this will be OK?’

‘Yes, I already organize work permit with the consulate.’

‘Really? And it wasn’t a problem?’

‘No problem. All organized. So you need to book ticket.’

‘Really?’ Annie gripped the phone tightly. She could feel her heart thud with the heady mix of excitement and fear. ‘I can’t quite believe it,’ she said. ‘Thank you so much. It’s amazing. It’s a really amazing opportunity.’

‘I know. But good for us too. And the weather is still warmer than London, but winter is coming and maybe there will be lots of snow. When are you going to come?’

Annie at Heathrow:

Trench coat (Aquascutum)
Skinny jeans (Gap)
Highest black heels (Jimmy Choo)
The sea-green bag (Mulberry)
Beige and green scarf (Otrera)
Minty gum (Wrigley’s Extra)
Pocket hankies (Kleenex Balsam)
Total est. cost: £1,600

‘It’s not like I’m retired yet …’

The ticket and the passport were checked by the slightly exhausted but nevertheless smiling lady behind the counter, and the two large suitcases were tagged with labels bearing the big black letters: JFK.

‘This flight begins boarding at 8.30a.m., gate number 54, so if you’d like to make your way through security. Have a pleasant journey.’

Annie held the boarding card in her hand and walked at an unusually slow pace through the airport with Lana, trying to stave off the moment when they actually arrived at the entrance to security.

Thank you so much for coming to see me off. You really shouldn’t have. It’s a long journey and so early in the morning.’

‘Don’t be mad, of course I was going to see you off.’

‘I’m going to miss you.’

‘Not half as much as I’ll miss you, darlin’.’

‘Mum, I’ll be OK, won’t I?’ Lana looked at Annie with a half-nervous, half-smiling expression which Annie understood perfectly.

Lana was scared.

Annie was terrified.

But it was Annie’s job to hug her daughter very, very tightly and tell her that of course she would be OK. Because that was her job here. She was the very good mum who was going to give her fledgling bird the nudge out of the nest, so she could learn to fly.

Putting both arms around her and nearly squeezing the life out of her girl, Annie insisted: ‘Yes, my darlin’, you’re going to be more than OK. You’re going to be brilliant. Fantastic. You’ll take NYC by storm! You will love your new job and you’ll be so fantastically good at it. Plus, you’ve got a great new place with Elena, with your own room! And Elena will look after you … she’ll be the big sister you always wanted.’

‘It’s only for a year, though – and you’ll all come out and visit. You will come out, won’t you?’ Lana’s big blue eyes fixed on Annie’s anxiously. ‘You promise?’

‘Babes, my November winter shopping spree is already booked. Then you’re back with us for Christmas. We’ll see more of you like this than when you were spending all day moping in your bedroom,’ Annie said, sounding brightly cheerful but suddenly aware that tears were rolling down her cheeks.

‘Don’t cry!’ Lana exclaimed, but now she was crying too.

‘Oh, I love you,’ Annie said, hugging her daughter again, ‘I love you. This is so exciting, I am so jealous! I wish I was moving to New York to work for a wonderful new dress label; swanning about Fifth Avenue with a Ukrainian executive and her super-mum. It’s so exciting!’

‘I wish you were coming.’

‘I know … but I have babies, and a day job, and Owen at school – and Ed.’

Lana nodded with understanding.

‘But you …’ Annie ran her finger over Lana’s cheek and brushed away the tears, ‘you’re eighteen. You have a whole fabulous new grown-up life ahead of you.’

‘Oh … Mum,’ Lana said and hooked her chin over her mum’s shoulder for the last time … in a long time.

‘Obviously I have lots of fabulous new exciting things ahead of me too,’ Annie added, mainly to cheer herself up: ‘it’s not like I’m retired yet or it’s game over … or anything.’

‘Ooh, I’ve got a present,’ Lana said, remembering.

‘Oh no …’ Annie dragged a paper hankie across her face, she didn’t know if she was strong enough to make it through a present: ‘me too!’

For a moment they both searched in their handbags and brought out small wrapped gifts. Then they each sniffed hard, tried not to cry and fumbled with wrapping paper.

Annie was the first to gasp out her thanks. In her hand was a framed photo of Lana, taken by Sye for the Perfect Dress campaign. Annie hadn’t seen it before and now that she looked at her daughter’s beautiful, serious, oh-so-grown-up face, she felt a fresh wave of pride, mingled with nostalgia and a growing sense of loss.

‘Oh thank you, you’re beautiful, babes. Look after yourself over there, won’t you? Beware all the Taylors, find yourself a nice boy … or be too busy with work to find any boy at all,’ she said gruffly into her daughter’s hair as she hugged her again.

‘Oh Mum! You shouldn’t have!’ Lana exclaimed, holding up the beautiful bright blue, hideously expensive patent wallet which was her present.

‘Yes, you’re a working girl now, you have to have a lovely purse,’ Annie insisted, ‘for your business receipts and travel tickets and … oh … all grown-up.’

For a moment, Annie wasn’t sure if she could bear to let Lana go. Then she remembered: it was her job. This was what she had to do. The nest would always be here. She would always welcome Lana back. But now she had to give her the little push to go.

‘Send Manhattan my love,’ Annie said, setting a big smile on her face and somehow managing to let her arm pull back from Lana’s slight shoulder.

‘I will,’ Lana said, brightening at the thought of the huge adventure she was about to set off on.

‘See you very, very soon, my darlin’.’

‘Yeah … OK …’ Lana took a deep breath, ‘I guess I better go then …’

‘The duty-free perfume counter is waiting for you,’ Annie tried to joke.

Lana tucked the brand new purse into her handbag. She hugged and kissed her mother one last time, turned to go, turned back once again to smile and wave. Then she was gone.

Annie stared at the space where Lana had been, needing this time to try and compose herself enough for the walk back through the airport.

As she turned to face the airport again, she saw a young mother hurrying towards the departure gate. Holding her hand tightly was a serious-faced girl of about five or six with long dark hair. In the girl’s hair was a little clip with a blue gingham bow.

As soon as Annie registered the hair clip, she felt undone.

All that time! All that very happy, peaceful time she’d spent brushing out Lana’s long dark hair, over so many years, ever since she was tiny. Brushing it, plaiting it, clipping it back from Lana’s little pale face. That time had passed.

Annie felt as if her heart might break.

Gawain ready to train:

Silky black boxing shorts (Lonsdale)
Grey sweatshirt (Nike)
Black boxer boots (Lonsdale)
Total est. cost: £90

‘Are you ready to roll?’

‘Mum!! I’m phoning from the pavement outside Bloomingdale’s. One whole window … a whole window, Mum, is Perfect Dress. I’ll send you a photo right now!’

Annie heard the thrill in Lana’s voice and told her: ‘You should be very proud, very proud, darlin’. You and Elena.’

‘And you!’ Lana insisted, ‘it was your idea to go skip hunting in Brooklyn and to have the fashion show
and
to send a dress to Emily Wilmington!’

‘Aw, thank you, babes. I do feel proud. The window of bloomin’ Bloomingdale’s, no less! But you’re the ones supplying the orders, manning the business. Be very proud of all you’ve done. Darlin’ I have to go. I’m filming! Yes … right now. You should see me, I look like a freeeeeeak! See you very, very soon. It’s less than a fortnight now. Love you. Mwah! Byeeeee.’

Annie hung up and took care to switch off. She now had first-hand experience of what Gawain did to people who let their mobiles ring when he was training them.

It involved many, many press-ups and it wasn’t at all nice.

‘Annie, c’mon, we’re all ready for you!’ the director called from the centre of the studio.

There, a treadmill, a cross trainer and several other instruments of torture were set out for her. Gawain, glistening oiled skin popping with muscles, was standing beside the treadmill in silky shorts and a cut-off sweatshirt, his dark locks pulled back from his face with a sweatband.

‘Hello, girl,’ he said, looking friendly, but with his hands on his hips, meaning business.

Annie felt a little nervous, but OK. This was going to hurt. Again. But somehow when she was being filmed, when she knew she was going to share the pain, the agony, but also the ultimate triumph with her viewers, it didn’t hurt quite so much.

She shuffled along to the treadmill, the plastic clothes she was wearing scrunching as she walked.

It was an experiment. She was in a tight T-shirt and tight cycle shorts (grotesque, every dip and rise of cellulite on view), and over this she was wearing a top and trousers both made of clear, elasticated plastic. Apparently this was to keep her hot and sweating so she could work her muscles and lose weight more effectively.

‘I look like a boil-in-the-bag,’ she said directly to the camera, then gave a little twirl.

Bob, the man behind the camera – who had filmed most of the episodes in Annie’s
How Not To Shop
series, not to mention the disastrous digital TV show they’d been involved with before – began to laugh.

‘Don’t forget your chicken,’ the director said, pointing to an assistant who was holding a red plate studded with tiny cubes of white meat.

‘Chicken boil-in-the-bag!’ Annie joked, then straight to camera she explained: ‘OK, as well as working out and swathing myself in plastic, I’m also going to be eating a piece of lean protein every fifteen minutes. Apparently this will stoke my metabolism to a raging furnace and burn, baby, burn.’

Annie tried to check the smirk that was threatening to break out over her face.

Gawain was shaking his head in an ‘I didn’t sign up for this’ kind of way. ‘Are you ready to roll?’ he asked Annie.

She nodded, and he pointed to the cross trainer.

As she slid her feet into the stirrups, he began to encourage her in the inimitable Gawain way. Crouching low so he could talk right into her ear, he began to tell her all the good things she was going to achieve as he whacked the speed up higher and higher.

‘No gain without pain, that’s why we train, train and train with Gawain!’

Now the loud, cheesy, disco music Annie had chosen began to thump out of the speakers, and she pushed her feet forward and back, forward and back, faster, faster, until she began to pant with the effort.

‘C’mon now, you can do this. I’ve seen you go much faster. You can run, girl, feel the wind in your hair,’ Gawain urged.

‘Whoooooo-hooooo!’ Annie cried, then began to sing along with the music. She reached over for the chicken cube the assistant was offering her. Her plastic clothing flapping in the wind, she carried on speeding along, chewing, sweating and singing.

Bob pushed his lens forward and zoomed in on her face.

‘Annie!’

Annie looked up. There, at the edge of the studio space, was Tamsin’s assistant, Amelia, committing the cardinal sin of interrupting a shoot.

Annie whacked the stop button on the machine and jumped off, feeling a rush of panic. ‘Is everything OK?’ she panted, gasping for breath.

‘It’s Tamsin …’ Amelia began, holding out her mobile phone. ‘She says she has to tell you something right now. She doesn’t care what you’re doing.’

It was Tamsin … Annie gulped down a lungful or two of air and tried to calm herself. This was a work call. No family emergency had occurred.

‘Hi—’ she began, trying not to pant too hard down the line.

‘ANNIE! I know your phone’s off, I know you’re filming … but I’ve just had incredible news. Guy Kettner – Guy Kettner and the BBC!’ Tamsin was so excited she could hardly tell the story straight.