Shopping With the Enemy (4 page)

She’d helped so many people find their dream outfit, their brand new look, their ‘wow is that really me in the mirror?’ moment, so why could she not work her magic on her own lovely daughter?

‘What are you ideally looking for?’ Annie ventured.

‘I need a jacket, for summer,’ Lana replied, ‘something cool but girlie, just not too … you know?’

‘Right.’

Annie squared her shoulders and took a calming breath. She was prepared to go out there on to the shop floor once again to search high and low for exactly the right jacket. But she felt well and truly despondent now. In all honesty, she was out of tune with Lana’s new look.

Two days ago, Lana had burst through the arrivals gate at Gatwick airport looking as if she’d got five years older in the space of three months. She was thinner, taller, paler. The slightly gothy teenage
thing
had gone, to be replaced with something much more angular.

Annie would once have known exactly what to buy Lana: jeans, trainers, chiffon blouses, ruffled miniskirts and distressed leathers. Darkest hair and kohl-rimmed eyes, those had completed the Lana vibe.

But the glamorous girl who’d rushed up to her, arms wide, at Gatwick … well, Annie had done a double-take. This girl had caramel streaks through her hair, a severely short fringe, pale make-up, heels, a pencil skirt and a Markus Lupfer sweater with a giant pair of glossy lips embellished across the front.

‘Wow!’ Annie had breathed, slightly shocked. ‘You’re stunning!’

Now, she toured round the rails in search of something she hadn’t brought in to Lana yet. Marc by Marc Jacobs? Maybe there was something for the new Lana here? She began to look, but the colours … the cuts … she couldn’t blame Mr Jacobs, it was everywhere she had searched today.

Things weren’t right this season. There was a sludginess, a bagginess … dirty pink baggy tops tucked into teeny grey shorts, saggy trousers with narrow cuffs, manly leather ties, weird jangly bangles, checked pork pie hats. It all felt off.

‘So what did she think of the silver satin?’ Paula,
a
former colleague of Annie’s, appeared on the other side of the Stella McCartney concession.

‘It wasn’t her thing. To be honest, I’m not quite sure what her thing is. She wants a summer jacket, but nothing I’ve brought her has been right.’

‘What about … Come over here and tell me what you think of this? I mean I LOVE. I’ve got one in cerise.’

Paula beckoned Annie to a rail where silky blazers were hanging in a variety of bold colours: dark pink, cobalt blue, black and white.

‘Ooooh,’ Annie agreed, ‘very New York.’

‘Yeah – wear during the day then bling up for evening. You don’t even need to go home and change.’

‘The blue,’ Annie said, without hesitation. Her daughter’s eyes were a startling, forget-me-not blue and in cobalt silk her eyes and her pale skin, would look amazing.

‘I’ve found this,’ Annie told the velvet curtain back in the changing suite. ‘It’s fabulous and I think you’re going to love it.’

‘Good, because this is hopeless.’

Lana stepped out of the changing room in the strange, pale green, wispy dress she’d insisted on trying on even though Annie had told her it wasn’t her colour.

‘No,’ Annie agreed, ‘I mean, it’s nice, but you could be so much lovelier.’

Lana scowled, as if she wasn’t convinced.

‘Maybe I should be wearing the Perfect Dress collection at all times,’ she said. ‘I’m guessing you’ve seen the latest sales figures?’

‘Yes, I’ve seen the figures,’ Annie told her daughter cautiously, ‘but Svetlana says we shouldn’t get too het up, because it’s a difficult time. Sales of everything are down. Even toilet paper. I wish I didn’t know that fact but it’s lodged in my brain and I can’t get rid of it.’

‘Yes, but we’ve had a nearly 20 per cent fall,’ Lana countered, ‘Spring/Summer is down nearly 20 per cent on last year’s Autumn/Winter. That is huge. If we take another drop like that, end of story. The next collection will have to pull something incredible out of the bag – which is what Elena and I are going to talk to you about when we have the meeting.’

‘You know Svetlana’s feelings: stay classic and stay true to the original idea, a really wearable elegant dress that works for day and night,’ Annie said. ‘Classic and elegant. Those are her watchwords, darlin’.’

Lana scowled again.

‘Classic and elegant didn’t work last season. There’s no guarantee it will work next time.’

‘Women always want classic and elegant,’ Annie
protested.
‘That’s why the label began: to fill a gap in the market. It’s all about the timeless, wear-anywhere, any-time dress: a classic.’

‘Well, even classics need updating, I bet the Yves Saint Laurent tuxedo gets tweaked every season.’

‘Tweaked maybe, completely changed and revised, never. But Lana … you know you have to come home in the summer, no matter what happens with Perfect Dress.’

Annie hadn’t exactly wanted to have this conversation right now, but here it was, raising its awkward head.

‘Am I?’ Lana asked, eyes flashing. ‘You can’t make me.’

‘You’re too young to give up studying. There’s this course I wanted to tell you about, I think it’ll give you a perfect grounding in the fashion business.’

‘What? And working for a fashion label won’t?’ Lana protested. ‘Where is this course?’

‘Look, I don’t want to get into all the details now, this isn’t the right place to—’

‘Where?’ Lana repeated, her eyes narrowing.

‘Dagenham Tech—’

Annie wasn’t allowed to finish the sentence.

‘WHAT! Dagenham? I’ve never been to Dagenham and I’ve no intention of ever going!’

‘Oh be quiet, Lana, I’m sure there are lots of nice
things
about Dagenham … and anyway, the course is perfect. No other college has anything like it: retail fashion and business – it’s totally suited to you.’

‘Mum! Who, just who in their right mind would give up a job in New York for a course in Dagenham? No one!’ Lana stormed, hands on her hips, ‘Not one single person on the face of the planet. This is my life, Mum, can you please stop trying to completely ruin it?’

‘Lana!’ Annie felt properly rattled now, ‘how can you say that? I would never try to ruin your life, I’m just trying to help. Look, we are not going to talk about this now.’

She glanced around the changing rooms, but apart from Paula, there was thankfully no one else within earshot.

‘Not going to Dagenham,’ Lana said firmly, ‘not ever. Right, let’s see this jacket you’ve found for me then.’

It sounded like a challenge.

Annie had been hiding the cobalt blue with its silky sleeves and shiny gold zips out of sight, but now she brought it forward with a flourish.

‘Da-nah! Isn’t that adorable?’ she enthused, trying to lighten the mood, ‘The perfect shade of blue for you and your beautiful eyes.’

‘Muuuuuuum!’

Lana’s brows scrunched together in a frown: ‘That
is
hideous! Even some disco diva from the 1970s would think that was totally lame!’

Oh.

Annie tried to swallow her disappointment.

‘Mum, what is going on with you? You always had such amazing taste.’

Annie didn’t like the sound of this. There was a nasty, critical feeling in the air. Lana had one hand on her hip and a look on her face.

‘You used to have such brilliant style,’ Lana went on.

Used to?
Annie’s stomach clenched.

‘And you were really arty and creative and just had a knack for putting things together …’

‘Oh!’ Annie couldn’t help gasping out loud.

‘What is going on? You just don’t look as together as you used to.’

The concern in Lana’s voice, mixed in with the criticism, made Annie really upset. She held her breath. This was horrible. Why was Lana doing this? Well, that was obvious: because Annie was pulling the plug on New York and bringing her daughter home.

‘Maybe you need a change of scene, Mum. Maybe I’m the one who should be making you over.’

‘Just get changed,’ Annie snapped and swished the curtain closed on her daughter.

‘Fine!’

Rooted to the spot, her pride seriously dented,
Annie
felt a lump in her throat and drew her lips tight into an unhappy line. She turned to Paula, who was trying to back tactfully out of the changing area, and shrugged helplessly.

Paula gave her a sympathetic smile and Annie felt her lump grow even bigger.

‘It’s a tricky age,’ Paula whispered. ‘What about knitted shorts? We have some Missoni, they are going down a storm?’

‘I don’t know,’ Annie whispered. So Paula came over and put one of her endlessly long arms over Annie’s shoulder.

‘A tricky age,’ Annie repeated and swallowed.

Paula walked Annie away from the pink velvet curtain and added, ‘I know I was a complete nightmare for my mum when I was her age.’

‘Right …’

Annie wasn’t sure if this was helping. She looked up and caught her reflection in the huge mirror in the heart of The Store’s changing suite. She’d stood here so many times in the past admiring, tweaking and perfecting the lovely new outfits she’d cooked up for her thousands of happy customers.

It didn’t exactly help that Annie was standing next to Paula – a six-foot-plus, stunning, black girl with the figure of an Olympic athlete. It was hard to stand in front of a mirror next to a woman like that and not look yourself over critically.

Two years since the twins had been born and Annie was still considerably chunkier than she would have liked. Her blonde hair was at the unfortunate stage of growing out from short and she’d bundled it into a stubby ponytail at the back of her head, which looked OK from the front, but –
help
– comical from sideways on.

Her skirt, top and shoes were … well, nice, nice enough, but they didn’t scream
fashion, happening, style setter, follow my lead!
the way she would really like them to.

‘Let’s face it, Paula,’ she wailed, ‘I thought it was fashion that was off this season, but maybe it’s me.’

Chapter Five

London

Ebeny is fashion:

Creamy chiffon and lace blouse (D&G sale)

Navy-blue velvet waistcoat (Camden market)

Teeny denim cut-off shorts (Levi’s)

Tights with skull print (Leg Avenue)

Rubber-heeled purple boots (Camper)

Enamelled flower necklace (New Look)

Total est. cost: £210

ANNIE PEERED OUT
from backstage, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The live fashion event, in front of an audience of 5,000 and cameras, was almost over – just one more item to go.

So far, she thought it had gone well. There had
been
a high street fashion show, with glammed-up models rocking the latest chain store looks. Then armed with a table full of samples, she had talked everyone through the latest lingerie fashions.

Two teenagers had been let loose on a rail of clothes from Primark and now, as the final event, Annie was to do ‘the Ultimate Fashionista makeover’ live on an audience member.

‘Ready to go back out there?’

At her elbow was Tamsin, the show’s producer, her ultimate boss and the woman who had made Annie the minor TV star she was today. Annie smiled as confidently as she could.

‘Live events wreck my nerves, darlin’, I’ll be sinking at least one bottle of fizz as soon as this is over.’

‘You’re great out there. Stop worrying.’

‘Do you think? I get the feeling the audience isn’t really livening up today.’

‘You’re doing fine,’ Tamsin assured her. ‘All set?’

Annie nodded, but she felt her pores open despite the thick blanket of powder on her face and layers of antiperspirant all over her body. If all those people who longed to be on TV knew how nerve-churningly awful it could be, maybe they would reconsider.

The music started up and, big smile set on her face, she walked out on to the set again.

‘Hello! Welcome back to my favourite part of the
show:
the Ultimate Fashionista makeover. Darlings, right behind me is a rail of the most fabulous clothes: silks, satins, cashmeres, labels to die for, prices that would kill you! But one lucky person here today is going to be dressed from head to toe in the ultimate outfit. Ready to play an elimination game so we can find our lucky winner?’

There was loud applause.

‘Ladies, hands up if you are a size 12.’

Annie looked out across the raised hands. Somewhere in the audience, she knew, Lana and Elena were watching but she hadn’t been able to locate them.

‘Keep your hands up if you’re over thirty-two but under thirty-seven.’

The number of hands halved.

‘Keep your hands up if you’re blonde.’

Again, the number lowered.

‘Keep your hands up if you have children … if you’re wearing something blue … if your name begins with any letter in the alphabet that comes after h.’

There was only a scattering of hands left now.

‘OK … only keep your hands up if you’re not wearing heels.’

A pause. The audience looked around and began to clap: only one hand was left in the air.

‘And we have our winner! Come on down!’

As the audience clapped and whooped, the winner stood up, picked her way through the crowd, heading towards the stage. Blushing frantically, she was hooked up with a microphone.

Several minutes later, Nancy from the audience was standing right beside Annie, panting with nerves and looking as if she might cry.

Annie immediately put a calming hand on her arm: ‘Well done, you’re going to be fantastic … deep breaths, inner calm,’ she whispered, away from her mic.

As Nancy answered a handful of questions about herself, Annie sized her up and tried to think through the items on the designer rail. Nancy was obviously not a fashionista; in fact, some might even describe her as a little frumpy, but she was not the worst case Annie had seen. Not that Annie ever really thought of anyone she helped as a case. To her they were all clients in need of personal attention and helpful coaxing.