already mentally planning her outfit. ‘We could drop her off at yours and then get the tube into town. Christ, I haven’t been into town for about three years! Do you still need an Oyster card, or is it all done by electronic implants these days?’
‘Perfect! I’ll get out of work a bit early. Come any time after five. Oh, and what’s Nora’s favourite dinner? I want to make everything perfect for her.’
‘Fish fingers and chips and she’ll love you forever,’ she replied. ‘Not too many chips though, no sweets and limit screen time.’
‘Sounds like great fun. But don’t worry, I’ve got something planned.’ I smiled into the phone. ‘See you Friday.’
Back at work, Joseph had taken our new concept for the windows to Jeff and it had gone down a storm with the boardroom bosses, so we were working long days to get the revised plans off the ground. They were to feature a ‘world first’ interactive treat for the senses with scratch-and-sniff panels smelling of ice lollies, sun cream and coconut – all the scents of high summer against a backdrop of beach huts and candy-coloured fashion. In another major window, digital touch screens featuring summer rope-soled platforms and seventies sunglasses which could be viewed from any angle and followed you down the street; and another featuring slick city styles for polished power dressers, with voices calling out to passers-by, transporting you to the trading floor on a blistering hot afternoon. The whole thing was a meeting of high-tech and high street and we were bursting with excitement about it all – I was even a little peeved I wouldn’t be around to see it all come to fruition.
As Friday rolled around, I worked through my lunch to ensure an early exit so I could get Nora’s dinner under the grill before she arrived, thus winning me brownie points from Lucy before Project Pinky came into play. Also, there was no way I’d get Nora to sit still and eat dinner once Rob had come round with the evening’s miniature entertainment. I’d instructed him to ensure Pinky was groomed to perfection: ‘Think Crufts for pigs,’ I said, ‘make sure Pinky’s had a bath and smells nice. Lucy’s got a nose like a blood hound. There’s no way she’ll take him if he’s smelly.’
I was just making my way to the front of the store to go home, when I noticed something going on. There were crowds of shoppers being held back by security guards. Oh God, not a fire drill or worse, a terror alert. I’ve not got time for this.
‘Stay back everyone, won’t be long now,’ the head of security was telling the excited faces all around him. Locking the doors to one of London’s premiere stores on a Friday afternoon was a very rare occurrence. I scanned the area for a member of staff I recognised, finally spotting one of the girls on the Mac counter who I’d befriended once when I was hungover and in desperate need of an in-store makeover. I elbowed my way through the crowd, flashing my staff pass to reach her.
‘Hey Sam, what’s going on?’
She was craning her neck and barely took her eyes away from the direction of the boxed-off Hermès area as she spoke: ‘Celebrity in the store.’
Although this was a relatively common occurrence in Selfridges, it was still exciting. My eyes widened. ‘Ooh – who?’
‘We’re not meant to say, but seeing as she’s currently trending on Twitter.’ She leaned towards me and whispered: ‘It’s Amanda Sykes. Word got out and suddenly tons of fans have turned up, trying to get a selfie with her. It was so crazy they had to close the doors. She’s currently buying up the entire Hermès concession. Literally all of it, according to Lisa in fragrance.’
Amanda Sykes. ‘Wow,’ I gasped. Amanda Sykes was the biggest thing to hit the internet since Kim Kardashian’s bottom. Even Amanda Sykes’s right foot had its own Instagram and Snapchat accounts, with millions of followers. And those accounts had thousands more spoof accounts.
I looked in the direction of Hermès too.
‘Have you seen her?’
Samantha ushered me close. ‘Seen her? You can’t miss her. Let’s just say, her waistline is now a coastline, if you get my drift.’
I giggled. ‘I need to see this.’
I was just about to ask her if it would be okay if I stood on one of the make-up-counter stools to try to get a better view, when a frenzy of flashes went off outside the store. They lit up a whole window. Word spread that Amanda was holding up a necklace to the light.
Six security guards struggled to hold back more fans, who were trying to storm through the doors from the street.
I spotted Mike, one of the security guards I had got to know when working through the night on the windows, and pushed my way through a gaggle of Japanese tourists to reach him – they all had their iPhones and cameras lifted in the hope of snapping the top of Amanda’s head.
‘The doors – are they really locked, Mike? I need to get out.’
‘Afraid so,’ he replied. ‘You’ll have to use the staff exit. But we shouldn’t be more than five minutes now. There’s barely anything left in the concession, according to one of Ms Sykes’s body guards.’
I pulled out my phone to check the time: 4.45 p.m. There was a text from Lucy:
5 minutes away from yours. Lxx
Shit! I was really late for Nora’s arrival.
‘I don’t have five minutes,’ I pleaded. ‘I’ve got to get home for my five-year-old niece.’
‘It’s intense out there right now, you’ll have to wait until she’s gone,’ Mike explained.
I looked through the doors; the crowd around the window closest to where Amanda was believed to be shopping was ten people deep.
‘Honestly, I can’t, I beg you, Mike, it’ll take me two seconds to get out. I really need to.’ My mind was racing to come up with a reason why I couldn’t wait. ‘I really need to go to Superdrug because I think I might be getting my period,’ I pleaded. His face reddened. Before I had to elaborate, he surreptitiously opened the door a few inches, indicating I should squeeze through. Behind me, the perfume counters were seeing an unexpected rush, as fans masquerading as shoppers gathered to witness Amanda leave the store and get into her waiting car.
Squeezing out, I found myself in the middle of the throng, still clutching my Selfridges staff pass.
‘Hey, do you work at Selfridges?’ one girl shouted in my direction. I shoved the pass into my pocket quickly. ‘This girl works at Selfridges!’ she continued, ‘I saw her pass. Can you get us in? We want to see Amanda.’
‘Sorry, but the store’s closed,’ I replied, feeling a little intimidated. Fans this close to their idol were a force to behold. In seconds the crowd around me had doubled. Chants of ‘Aman-da! Aman-da!’ filled the air. In every direction were pointing fingers, phones and excited conjecture about when Amanda might be coming out and where she might be going next. I had to admit, I felt buzzed by it too.
I made my way through the tightly packed group, towards the kerb, where a large, blacked-out people carrier was parked. I’d found myself a good vantage position now, and there was a kerfuffle going on around one of the shop doors, so I imagined Amanda might be on her way out. Seeing as everyone else was doing it, I stopped, just a quick look at Amanda in the flesh would make an interesting story for Lucy and Nora this evening; I might even get a
