through the snow. It was no good her looking with longing. She knew that was not what Callum was about, and she had never been either till now. Funny how things changed. More and more she looked at pregnant women with an envy she hadn't ever experienced before. Wistfully, she wondered what it would be like to hold a baby of her own in her arms. Her nieces and nephews just didn't count.
While you're with Callum you'll never know, Sarah admonished her from afar.
Shut up, sis, said Emily. It's my life, not yours. She turned down the tiny lane that led to her cottage, but then took time to stop and watch the families sledging on the lower reaches of the downs. There was one dad with two girls, one dark, one fair, who were all wet and snowy, shrieking with laughter. Emily wondered if she'd ever have fun like that. She envied the man's wife. He looked like such a devoted dad. She tried and failed to picture Callum larking about like that, without worrying about his hair being ruined.
Shaking her head, she made her way down the lane to her house. It was time to take control of things. A new year soon. A new start. The purity of the snow seemed like an omen. Somehow her life seemed to have got bogged down in a way she couldn't have imagined. Perhaps she needed some purity too. She should take Callum in hand, get their relationship on track, and start to plan a future.
First things first, though. She opened the front door, switched on the light and looked at her cosy little lounge with pleasure. She was back. And for the first time since she'd lived here, it felt like she'd come home.
‘Remind me what I'm doing here again?’ Emily stared into the mirror with a frown as she applied some lippy.
‘Emily Henderson, what are you like? Because there's free booze, we get to meet famous people and it's a laugh,’ Ffion assured her. ‘Come on, you know you'll enjoy it.’
‘Oh, right,’ said Emily, staring at herself critically. God, she was a mess. Her normally sleek dark bob was uncharacteristic ally unkempt, and she had dark circles under her pale blue eyes. She was looking gaunt. Even her mum had commented on it at Christmas. No wonder, with so many late nights since she'd been back at work. Working hard and playing hard. It was one way of not thinking about things, she supposed.
‘Besides,’ added Ffion, with characteristic thoughtlessness, ‘you've been as miserable as sin since Christmas. You need cheering up.’
And why would that be, I wonder? Emily thought to herself. She really had tried to keep her resolution of looking on the New Year as a new beginning, but the grey cold of January had sapped away all her resolve, and she felt more miserable then ever. And less clear than ever about Callum. Like an idiot, Emily had mistaken the tenderness Callum had shown her briefly as they shared brunch together on New Year's Day for something else. Then she'd further compounded the mistake by mentioning babies. Callum had been pretty elusive since.
Emily followed her friend reluctantly out to the trendy bar, jammed full of Z-listers and their acolytes eager to buy copies of Jasmine Symonds's autobiography, Jasmine: My Story So Far. All Ffion cared about, with her endless invites to celebrity functions, launch parties, tickets for the Brits and the like, was hanging out with famous people. As if some of that shiny stuff would rub off on her. It was only a matter of time before she appeared on some crap reality TV programme.
‘Hey, look.’ Ffion dug Emily in the ribs as they picked up their free glass of dubious chardonnay from a bored-looking waiter. Crackers was the trendy bar much beloved of the celebrity set (or zedlebrities, as she and Ffion had taken to calling them. Mind you, such sarcasm didn't stop Ffion from wanting to join their ranks), and the place was heaving.
‘What?’ Emily had a headache and was thinking longingly of a long, hot bath and the Margaret Atwood she'd been given for Christmas. The thought of Jasmine writing anything was risible, let alone such an impossibly thick volume for someone who was a mere twenty-two years old.
‘There's Twinkletoes Tone,’ said Ffion. ‘They must have made it up again.’
As Twinkletoes Tone went over to kiss Jasmine – a small, dumpy, rather cowlike creature – full on the mouth, the fact that they had indeed made up was plain for all to see.
‘Tony babe,’ Jasmine purred. ‘Get me another chardonnay, will you?’
‘Maybe they're just snogging for the cameras,’ said Emily, thinking, ‘like, do we care?’
‘Of course we care,’ Ffion scolded her.
Damn it. Emily's annoying habit of thinking aloud had snuck out again. One day it would get her into serious trouble. Luckily Ffion was too preoccupied with the various permutations of Jasmine's love life to take much notice.
‘But yes, you could be right, they could be just doing it for the PR.’ Ffion's beady little eyes lit up with excitement. How she got so titillated by all this stuff was beyond Emily. ‘Word on the street is that ever since Tony got ditched from his club, Jasmine's been looking for ways to get rid.’
‘That's a bit rich, isn't it?’ laughed Emily. ‘For someone whose sole claim to fame is being the first person in Love Shack ever to have performed live fellatio on TV, she's hardly famous for her own merits. At least Tony has talent.’
‘Hmm, tell that to his team mates,’ said Ffion. ‘Wasn't it his lack of talent that caused them to go crashing out of the FA Cup?’ Twinkletoes Tone had earned his moniker by scoring an own goal in last year's FA Cup final, thereby earning the never-to-be-forgotten Sun headline: ‘IT'S ALL GONE TITS UP FOR TWINKLETOES TONE!’
‘Well, I feel sorry for him,’ said Emily. ‘I mean, what has Jasmine got that is so wonderful?’
They watched as Jasmine scrawled her illegible signature across the front of an adoring fan's book.
‘Ooh, Jasmine, I want to be just like you,’ the girl, a spotty fifteen-year-old, gushed.
‘It's easy,’ said Jasmine with a lascivious wink, ‘all you need to do is get your tits out on TV and you can do anything.’
‘Jeez, there's an ambition,’ muttered Emily.
‘I dunno,’ said Ffion. ‘Jasmine's just signed a mega-deal with that cosmetic dental chain Smile, Please! ’ Ffion's PR firm, A-Listers, represented Jasmine so she knew these things. ‘Smile, Please! are going to be huge, you know. Everyone wants cosmetic surgery these days. And if that works out, who knows? According to OK! magazine, her aim is to be the face of L'Oréal.’
‘Jasmine?’ Emily snorted into her glass. ‘I didn't know they were planning to put heifers in their ads.’ ‘Okay,’ admitted Ffion, ‘her looks are more bovine then elfin. But you don't know how she'll look after Smile, Please! have finished with her. And you've got to admit, those teeth … now they do look fantastic.’
They watched as Jasmine flashed her brilliant smile at another sappy group of fans.
‘Well, I think without the smile she wouldn't be the face of anything,’ replied Emily. ‘God,
