out anyway, not what I’d class as being a proper smoker, but I could really really do with a full-tar Benson right now.
‘OK. Calm down. Of course we are, but who wants to plod on with their real life when they can have a much more fabulous pretend one crammed full of staged spontaneity?’ Eddie says, clapping his hands together. And I give up.
Pushing past him into Tom’s office, I stop short and instantly want to die. Kelly is standing right in front of me with her Lord Kitchener pointy finger sticking out and a massive grin spread across her face. And I bet she’s heard everything.
‘Hi, I’m Ronald McDonald,’ she says, immediately confirming my fear and not missing a beat. ‘And you must be Georgie, the star of the show! Oh oh oh, oh oh ohhhh …’ she sings, whipping up her other hand and flicking it backwards and forwards, just like Beyoncé does in the ‘Single Ladies’ video. I stare goggle-eyed and speechless as she then turns to the side, tilts her body forward slightly, bends her elbows and starts pumping her arms up and down, left then right, in sequence with her alternating legs.’
Cuckoo! And she must know the whole dance routine. Sam was right, this woman is an utter fruit loop. Her big curls are flailing around. I jump back, suddenly conscious that she could whip my eye out without a moment’s notice if I’m not careful.
‘Err, yes. Um, sorry about that,’ I eventually manage to speak. ‘I, err … came to see Tom.’ I do a desperate scan of the room, but he’s not here. Kelly throws her arms around me, almost winding me in the process, before pulling back to study me.
‘Chillaaax,’ she says, in a kind of ‘far-out’, dreamy voice on seeing my tense face. She makes a peace sign with her fingers to emphasise her point. Whaaaat? Who even says that anyway? I resist the sudden urge to roll on the floor in hysterics and swivel my eyes around the room again instead. ‘You and I are going to be besties,’ Kelly ploughs on. ‘Calling me Ronald McDonald is hilarious and those Beyoncé moves of yours were TV gold. Priceless. But we’ll need to get Millie to sort you out before we can actually turn you towards the camera,’ she says, leaning in to scrutinise me while I wonder what’s wrong with my face.
‘Who’s Millie?’ I manage, desperately trying to get a grip.
‘The hair and make-up girl, of course. Will you want hair extensions?’ she fires. ‘Oh you’re bound to. Hang on.’ Looking back over her shoulder, she bellows towards Tom’s private bathroom. ‘Zara, call Xavier at Hair Fairies in Mayfair and tell him to bring the Balmain bag. Now, where were we?’ she turns back to face me.
‘Look, I don’t mean to be rude but where is Tom?’ I say, backing away from her. I wasn’t planning on having an audience when I confronted him.
‘Getting styled,’ she replies, as if it’s the most obvious answer ever. ‘Won’t be long. Come and sit with me and we can talk about my new show. Kelly Cooper Come Instore. Has a certain ring to it, don’t you think?’ She flounces around flamboyantly before flinging herself down on one of Tom’s leather sofas, kicking her pumps off and making a loud jangling noise when she swings her feet up onto a couple of raw silk Santa Claus motif cushions, which only last Friday were on display in Homeware. I know, because I helped Mrs Grace unpack them from their special cashmere dust bags. She said we were lucky to get them as Selfridges were still waiting, according to her friend’s granddaughter who works up there. Kelly crosses her legs, setting off the jingle-jangle sound again. She must have at least ten of those silver bohemian ankle bracelets on each leg. Hmmm, on closer inspection, a slight exaggeration maybe, but there’s definitely a lot.
‘I’d rather stand, thanks.’
‘Fair enough.’ She grabs a copy of OK! magazine and starts thumbing through it. Silence follows. I check my watch and see that it’s nearly eight thirty, opening time. I think of Annie. I hope she’s made it into work. She called me last night in tears. She’s mortified too. And convinced she’s going to be sacked and have to go back to cleaning and looking after her numerous brothers, sisters, nieces and nephews all day long. Annie is a Traveller and the first girl in her family ever to have a paid job. She said she’ll never get another one because jobs are like gold dust in these double-dip times. And people are reluctant to employ her when they find out that she lives on the Traveller site on the outskirts of Mulberry, so she’s worried she’ll end up with the Flo Rida tatt and the memory of Vince with the gold teeth for ever more. I make a mental note to tell Tom about that too. Maybe he can get her some flowers or something to apologise. He can’t just go around upsetting the sales assistants. ‘Ooh, will you look at them?’ Kelly pipes up, and thrusts the magazine out to show me a pic of Kate and Wills. You know, you have a look of her about you.’
‘Mmm, if I lose about two stone and hand out beer goggles to everyone who glances my way,’ I say, reluctantly. I don’t really want to get into a conversation with Kelly when there’s no point. The sooner this is over, the better, and I can go back to my normal life. Once Tom sees sense he’s bound to have second thoughts and send her on her way. Kelly snorts with laughter.
‘Don’t be daft … oh you are so hilarious,’ she chortles, eyeing me up and down. ‘And never mind, soon all the designer brand managers will be bombarding you with goodies; there’ll be red-carpet events and you’ll be getting free makeovers left, right and centre. I even had a sailor from my last series who got free sponsorship for a whole year from one of those gourmet diet delivery services. He lost six stone and scooped ten grand for a nearly nude spread in some sleb mag.’
‘Really?’ I say, instantly hating myself for showing an interest, but I’ve always fancied the idea of having food cooked and delivered to my door. Most of the time I’m so tired when I get home from work after being on my feet all day that I can’t be bothered to cook proper meals from scratch. And I wonder if Sam knows which sailor it was.
‘Oh yes, you wait and see. Ahh, here he is … ’ Kelly’s eyes swivel towards the door. But it isn’t Tom coming in, it’s Zara, and she’s swinging the gorgeous caramel-coloured Anya bag in her left hand. I bloody knew it. And Mrs Grace was right. She’s utterly stunning in real life. Oh God, even I’m doing it now. This is real life. I say it over and over as a mantra inside my head as a reminder. I’m convinced it’s the only way to keep a lid on this totally surreal scenario. ‘Where’s that gorgeous man, Tom? There’s somebody here to see him,’ Kelly says, flashing me a smile.
‘He won’t be long.’ Zara jumps up on the corner of Tom’s mahogany desk and tosses her cascade of honey-hued big hair around for a bit. And I’m sure her eyes narrow when she glances in my direction.
‘Nice bag.’ I can’t resist.
‘Perk of the job,’ she replies, giving the buttery soft leather a quick stroke before discarding the exquisite bag down on the floor next to a wire-mesh bin that’s overflowing with rubbish. ‘I can take a message if you like, save you hanging around. I’m guessing you need to dash back down below stairs, as it were, to dust your shelves or something,’ she giggles superficially, giving me the once-over like I’m the hired help. I ignore her and study the pattern on the wallpaper instead, wondering what her problem is.
The door opens again and Tom appears.
‘I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.’ He flashes a polite smile around the room but there’s a flicker of apprehension when he sees me. After jumping up, Kelly dashes towards him, flings an arm around his chest and gives him a big squeeze. ‘Oooh, the things I could do to you,’ she says in a saucy voice, nestling her face into his left pec before pushing up on tiptoes and planting a big kiss on his cheek. Tom coughs discreetly and adjusts his cufflinks.
Momentarily
