Authors: Sarah Manning
Unsticky (5 page)
‘You said a
light
dressing,’ Grace insisted, snatching up the salad and considering the leftovers. Her banana really hadn’t hit the spot. ‘There were actual witnesses, you know.’
light
dressing,’ Grace insisted, snatching up the salad and considering the leftovers. Her banana really hadn’t hit the spot. ‘There were actual witnesses, you know.’
‘If you argued less and worked a bit more, you’d probably be Editor by now,’ Kiki hissed, throwing the minutes of the last planning meeting at Grace. They missed completely but the point had been made. ‘Now get out and close the door behind you. You’ve wasted enough of my time.’
chapter three
The fashion team sat right at the end of
Skirt
’s large open-plan office space; the fashion cupboard was a small, windowless room that extended into an L-shape behind them. After Liberty’s, it was Grace’s favourite place in the whole world, her little sanctuary where she was queen of all she surveyed - the groaning clothes rails lining the walls, shoes and bags carefully arranged under them, and the shelves above where she kept the accessories, from handfuls of brightly coloured tights and scarves and belts to plastic see-through crates crammed full of costume jewellery.
Skirt
’s large open-plan office space; the fashion cupboard was a small, windowless room that extended into an L-shape behind them. After Liberty’s, it was Grace’s favourite place in the whole world, her little sanctuary where she was queen of all she surveyed - the groaning clothes rails lining the walls, shoes and bags carefully arranged under them, and the shelves above where she kept the accessories, from handfuls of brightly coloured tights and scarves and belts to plastic see-through crates crammed full of costume jewellery.
It had been a mess when Grace first arrived but now she had a system and the fashion team respected that system. Maybe respect was too strong a word but when Grace issued an edict about fashion-cupboard etiquette the rest of the staff listened to her. After months of lectures, they even wrote stuff down in the
Fashion Cupboard Book of Comings and Goings.
When they were doing a lot of shoots and there had been a lot of deliveries, there was only enough space in the cupboard for a maximum of two people, which suited Grace just fine. She’d mutter some vague excuse about ‘doing inventory’, which would make everyone else suddenly try to look industrious, and Grace was safe to shut the door and try on dresses.
Fashion Cupboard Book of Comings and Goings.
When they were doing a lot of shoots and there had been a lot of deliveries, there was only enough space in the cupboard for a maximum of two people, which suited Grace just fine. She’d mutter some vague excuse about ‘doing inventory’, which would make everyone else suddenly try to look industrious, and Grace was safe to shut the door and try on dresses.
After her pep talk with Kiki, Grace sequestered herself in the cupboard, jumped up and down twice at the prospect of going to New York, then curled up in a corner so she could start pairing up wedge sandals. She was completely engrossed in her task when the door burst open with a loud bang.
‘Gracie, did you tell me that you’d broken up with Liam?’ Grace’s best friend Lily demanded with her hands on her thirty-four-inch hips. ‘I have absolutely no memory of it.’
‘I told you on Thursday night.’ Grace stashed the last pair of sandals under the day-dresses rail. ‘But I was pretty drunk and you were absolutely hammered. I think I cried, though.’
‘I remember you crying but I thought that was because you’d drunk too much vodka and you were regretting the black hair dye. Oooh, shiny!’ Lily’s attention was momentarily distracted by a pink sequinned shift dress, which she began to wriggle into over her jeans and Cacharel top. ‘I was sure we talked about your hair at great length . . .’
‘I was crying about being dumped but Liam dumped me because of my hair so I can see why you thought that.’ Grace hadn’t thought about Liam for at least an hour but it was already corralling the New York happiness to the furthest corners of her mind. ‘Or he said it was my hair when we both knew it was just a lame excuse. Hey, Lils, I love you but if you keep trying stuff on without undoing zips, I swear to God, I will kill you.’
‘Sorry! It’s just so sparkly.’ Lily stopped wriggling and stood stock still as Grace struggled to her feet so she could unzip the pink dress and carefully ease it down Lily’s sylph-like frame. There was a full-length mirror against the one piece of wall that wasn’t obscured by a clothes rail. Grace had spent hours tilting it by micro-degrees for the optimum flattering angle and now Lily smiled serenely at her reflection for a split second, then schooled her features into something more sympathetic.
‘OK, I’m done. Now, back to this whole dumping thing. I think Liam’s regretting his extreme lameness. He seemed very angst-ridden last night before he went to the pub with Dan. I can’t believe he dumped you on your birthday. That’s just
rude
.’
rude
.’
‘And did he tell you where he dumped me? In Liberty’s -
and
he punched a Marc Jacobs bag in a fit of temper.’
and
he punched a Marc Jacobs bag in a fit of temper.’
‘That’s awful,’ Lily breathed, eyes wide. ‘Was it one of the new season’s quilted totes? Why would he do that? Me and him are going to be having serious words. Oh poor Gracie, do you need a hug?’
Grace shook her head. ‘I’m OK. But if you really wanted to make me feel better you could call me in some
Crème de la Mer
lip balm.’
Crème de la Mer
lip balm.’
‘Consider it done. I’ll get them to send over some hand lotion too,’ Lily promised, and even though Grace had nixed the whole hugging thing, Lily gave her arm a quick squeeze.
There was something to be said for having a best friend who was a junior beauty editor. There was also something to be said for having a friend like Lily, though sometimes Grace felt as if they came from different planets. Maybe even different solar systems.
Grace could still remember the first time she saw Lily, because Lily’s celebrity lookalike was Marianne Faithfull before the Rolling Stones had got their grubby paws on her. She had the most perfect silvery-blond hair, which owed nothing to Clairol and everything to really good genetics, and she’d been wearing a tiny gold dress that shimmered in the strobe lights. So when she saw Lily hanging out in the DJ booth at a little hole-in-the-wall club Grace used to go to in Hoxton, Lily had made an immediate impression.
It had been strange because after that, Grace had seen Lily everywhere she went: rifling through a box of button badges at the next stall along when Grace was working at Shoreditch market, buying a bag of Haribo Starmix at Grace’s local Co-op, and even doing a sedate and elegant breaststroke at the Gospel Oak Lido with her head at an odd angle so she wouldn’t get her hair wet.
Grace didn’t normally go in for girl crushes but she’d had an out-of-control pash on for Lily because Lily was the stuff of dreams. The kind of girl you wanted to be if you weren’t the girl you were. But Grace had never even smiled at Lily, let alone spoken to her, until her first day at
Skirt
when she’d been skulking in the kitchen too scared to drink a cup of tea at the ramshackle intern desk in case she spilled it on some vitally important piece of paper, when Lily had strolled in.
Skirt
when she’d been skulking in the kitchen too scared to drink a cup of tea at the ramshackle intern desk in case she spilled it on some vitally important piece of paper, when Lily had strolled in.
‘Hey, it’s you! God, I see you everywhere I go!’ Lily had yelped in her breathy Surrey tones, while Grace had stared at her feet and felt her cheeks heating up. ‘Last time I saw you, you had the most adorable leather bag. Did you get it in TopShop?’
Grace had looked up to see Lily staring at her, blue eyes wide and friendly. ‘I found it in a Cancer Research shop in Worthing,’ she said shyly.
‘Oh, you’re one of those girls who have a freaky ability to source the really good vintage,’ Lily had sniffed. ‘I hate charity shops. They smell of old people who don’t wash properly. We should do lunch and maybe if I sit next to you, I might absorb some of the vintage ability. Y’know, like a radio signal.’
It had been the start of a beautiful friendship, because Lily and Grace had everything and nothing in common. They were both lowly magazine assistants, but Lily’s boss, the Beauty Director, adored Lily and regularly insisted that she accompany her to St Barts in the French West Indies to sip cocktails while they shot skincare stories.
Both girls had managed to run up thousands of pounds in credit-card debts, but Lily’s father, owner of several successful used-car dealerships in Surrey, loved writing huge cheques so his little princess didn’t have to put on a Polish accent and a quizzical expression when the bailiffs came round.
They both dated boys in the same band, but after three months, Dan had declared his undying love and moved into Lily’s Tufnell Park flat, which her father had bought her, while Liam had just dumped Grace.
They both wore a size eight, but Lily had a super-fast metabolism whereas Grace couldn’t afford to eat anything other than bananas and ramen noodles.
Yes, they were both the same. But different. And though Grace sometimes found it teeth-grindingly irritating that Lily was like some modern-day Pollyanna whose life was all puppy dogs and free spa treatments, she still couldn’t believe how much she’d lucked out in the best friend lottery.
‘So, if Liam realises that he’s been an arsehole, would you get back with him? If he really grovelled?’ Lily wanted to know, as she started wriggling out of the pink dress without unzipping it.
‘Stop right there!’ Grace growled, turning Lily round and sliding down the zip herself. ‘Me and Liam are done. My three months were up. I’m, like, the queen of the three-month relationship.’
‘Grace, don’t go all dark side on me. One day you’ll meet some foxy boy who’ll worship the ground you walk on. Seriously. He’ll get down on his knees to kiss your feet on a daily basis.’
‘Does Dan kiss your feet on a daily basis?’ Grace asked with a grin, as she made a concerted effort to shuck off her Liam-sponsored bad mood.
‘Not yet, but I’m working on it.’
Lily’s unwavering optimism was interrupted by the arrival of two guys from the postroom, wheeling in a trolley heaving with garment bags.
Lily clapped her hands in delight. ‘New clothes!’ she squealed.
Grace glanced at the trolley. The sight of an expensive cardboard bag with a designer name printed on it in an interesting font always perked her up no end. Perched precariously right on top was a gift box from Liberty’s.
‘This isn’t ours,’ she started to say because she hadn’t called the press office . . . then she saw the label:
For Grace, aged 23 c/o
Skirt
Magazine.
For Grace, aged 23 c/o
Skirt
Magazine.
Curious.
Kneeling down, Grace placed the box on the floor so she could snip away at the taped sides with her scissors. Then she lifted the lid and burrowed through the tissue paper until she caught a glimpse of tomato-red leather.
Curiouser.
Grace’s hands were shaking slightly now as she picked up the bag. The unfortunate Marc Jacobs bag which had been stroked, patted, punched, then wept over.
Even curiouser.
Maybe Liam had seen the error of his ways, knocked over a bank and was offering restitution. And maybe she was delusional. Grace ran reverent hands over the bag and her fingers closed round a piece of card tucked into the side pocket.
The tear stains have seriously compromised its resale value,
someone had written in a slashing black scrawl.
Happy belated birthday. V.
someone had written in a slashing black scrawl.
Happy belated birthday. V.
Vaughn. It had been four days since the strangest lunch-hour of her life. Grace hadn’t forgotten a single moment of her forced abduction but she’d been trying not to remember, because every time she replayed the memory of his unwavering stare, his cut-glass drawl, her stomach would lurch and she’d get the shivers.
She turned the card over.
J. Vaughn Acquisitions Consultant
There was a Mayfair address and a mobile number prefixed by the international country code.
What the hell was an acquisitions consultant? An arms dealer? A white slave trader?
‘Let me touch it!’ Lily was already snagging the bag so she could see what it looked like hanging from her arm. Grace had to concede that it looked better. Everything always did. ‘What story is this for?’
Grace looked furtively over her shoulder. ‘It’s not for a story. It’s for me. From that guy.’ Her voice was an urgent whisper to match the gravitas of the situation.
‘What guy?’ Lily asked shrilly. ‘What guy has just bought you a one-thousand-pound Marc Jacobs bag? Why have you been holding out on me?’
‘Jesus, Lils, you have to start remembering the stuff I tell you when you’re drunk! The guy! The guy I met in Liberty’s two seconds after Liam stormed out, who dragged me off for champagne and cake and was just . . .
weird
.’
weird
.’
Lily’s face registered 10 out of 10 on the blank scale.
‘He was wearing a Dries Van Noten suit,’ Grace prompted.
‘No!
Nuh-huh!
I would have remembered that.’ Lily’s inner turmoil was written in each wrinkle in her forehead, even though she’d sworn off frowning the month before as a last-ditch attempt against preventative Botox at the suggestion of Maggie, the Beauty Director. ‘Wait! Something’s coming back to me - something about cufflinks . . .’
Nuh-huh!
I would have remembered that.’ Lily’s inner turmoil was written in each wrinkle in her forehead, even though she’d sworn off frowning the month before as a last-ditch attempt against preventative Botox at the suggestion of Maggie, the Beauty Director. ‘Wait! Something’s coming back to me - something about cufflinks . . .’
‘He asked me to help him out with his cufflinks,’ Grace reminded her, as she started to tick off items on the post docket.
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