more opportunities like this. Make the most of it.’
I tried to make myself look away from the orgy of muscles and hair gel below and concentrate, my heart thrumming at the words ‘raw talent’.
‘I know it looks obvious from the outside,’ I said, playing with the hem of my stripy T-shirt. ‘But I really do love advertising. Maybe it doesn’t sound as sexy and exciting as being a photographer, but it is to me. It’s not like I was looking for something to save me from the dark, depressing days of a real job. Starting my own agency was something I used to dream about and let’s be real, it’s a more sensible option than starting out as a photographer at twenty-eight; it’s definitely more secure.’
Paige nodded slowly. ‘Starting out in the business isn’t easy,’ she admitted. ‘I’d hire you though.’
’Thanks,’ I said with a smile.
‘You’d be cheap,’ she added.
‘Thanks,’ I said without a smile.
‘So, only you can answer the question.’ Paige shrugged her shoulders, sending her long curtain of blonde hair cascading down her back. I made a mental note to ask her which conditioner she used before I left. And then to scalp her. ‘Is it going to be photography or advertising?’
‘That’s not really the question though, is it?’ Amy barrelled up the stairs behind me and blew into Paige with a hug so aggressive, anyone would have been forgiven for thinking she hadn’t seen her in ten years. It had been three days. And that was the first time they had ever met. Five seconds later, she dropped Paige in a heap and hurled herself across the sofa to treat me to the same hello.
‘You got my text then?’ I choked when she finally let me go. Amy nodded, her black hair glossy under the studio lights and her polka-dot shorts riding up dangerously high as she leapt up and threw herself towards the mezzanine railings.
‘Fuck me,’ She spun around to face us and pointed down at the shoot below. ‘I’ll take the blond. Or the brunette.’
‘Which one?’ Paige asked.
‘I don’t care,’ Amy replied. ‘This is amazing.’
‘Didn’t you have a job interview today?’ I asked. ‘How did it go?’
‘Shit,’ she said, pinching the tight skin above her exposed belly button. ‘It was for TopShop. They wanted me to work weekends. And they kept asking me whether or not I thought I was reliable and professional.’
‘Well, yeah, I think most Topshops are open on the weekend.’ I didn’t bother to ask if that was what she had worn to the interview because I already knew that it was. But what did I know? Maybe nothing said ‘please give me a job in fashion retail’ more than denim polka-dot shorts and a cropped pink T-shirt bearing the slogan ‘It’s not me, it’s you’. I think you’re reliable and professional.’
It was a lie. I thought she was reliable when it came to turning up on my doorstep with a bag full of Galaxy and three bottles of wine, but I thought she was horribly unreliable and, if possible, even more unprofessional when it came to keeping a job. And mostly I thought that because it was true. In and out of retail jobs, a brief flirtation with teacher training and a puppy love infatuation with the idea of becoming a twenty-first century Avon lady, Amy had a commitment problem when it came to work. And men. And everything else on earth.
However, that didn’t seem like a helpful opinion in that moment so I kept my mouth shut and smiled. Amy gave me a cheerful grin in return and slipped her arm through mine. Ours was a long-term love affair. We’d been friends since before we could talk and some days I wished we could go back to those times. Like now.
‘That is very good to know,’ she said with a big grin. ‘Because I’ve been thinking. You clearly can’t work out whether to shit or wind your watch without help so I’m coming to Milan with you.’
‘No you aren’t,’ I said, stunned.
‘I am,’ she corrected. ‘I’m going to be your assistant. Like that lady down there.’
I peered over the balcony and saw an exhausted, harangued-looking girl rubbing oil into one of the model’s chests.
‘You might actually need an assistant,’ Paige said, shrugging. ‘And god knows, you do need a life coach. Like, all the time.’
‘And that’s what I’m here for.’ Amy spread out her arms with a flourish. ‘I can fetch, carry and make sure you don’t ruin your life, all at the same time.’
‘Amy, I—’
‘I’m a great multitasker,’ she added, nodding at Paige.
I sat and stared at my best friend, clicking the tips of my bitten-down fingernails together.
‘Tess …’ Amy reached across the sofa and took both my hands in hers. ‘It’s going to be awesome.’
Why did her words sound more like a threat than a promise?
‘I’ll have to clear it with my agent,’ I muttered, accepting defeat far too easily. I’d never been able to say no to Amy. It was like denying a pitbull puppy a treat. So little and cute, you couldn’t bear to turn it down and you kind of knew that if you did, it would rip your hand off and take it anyway.
‘Now, are we still pretending to talk about work? Is this yours?’ she asked me, letting go of my hands and reaching over to grab a full-to-the-brim glass of white wine from the coffee table. ‘Amazing, thank you.’
‘What else would we be talking about?’ Paige asked, straightening her pink silk top and grabbing her own wine to get it out of Amy’s reach. It was nice to see the new friends had at least one thing in common: getting hammered in the middle of a work day.
‘Nothing,’ I replied as fast as I could, quietly glad that Amy had taken away my wine. I was not a good drinker. ‘One hundred per cent work talk only.’
‘If you really want to go for the advertising job as much as you say you do, maybe you should go for it.’ Paige casually glanced over at the shirtless men, flickered an eyebrow and shook her head. ‘Photography won’t be the easy option.’
‘Yeah, and maybe you could even go from working six days a week to the full seven?’ Amy replied. ‘I’m sure it would only freak you out to have to spend your birthday with your friends instead of in the office. Or Christmas. Or New Year.’
‘You work over Christmas?’ Paige looked horrified. Then took a drink. Then looked horrified again.
‘No, it’s fine,’ Amy said, waving her hands and her wine around in the air. ‘Tess isn’t normal. Tess is a martyr. She’s happiest when she’s miserable.’
Paige nodded. ‘That explains why she went for Nick.’
‘I’m happiest when I’m busy,’ I said before Amy could pounce on the mention of his name. ‘There’s a difference.’
For the want of a better plan, I picked up an empty glass and poured in a couple of slugs of wine. I was not a big drinker for good reason. More than three drinks and I could not be held responsible for my actions. More than
