Date with Destiny

Chapter Three

Across the room, I catch my sister’s eye and she gives me the signal.

Swallowing a sigh, I paste on my Helping Face.

A sleazy-looking guy is lounging across the counter as I approach, asking the same question she hears all the time: ‘So is your dad’s name “Tony”?’ He gestures at the name tag on her left boob, making no attempt to hide the simultaneous leering.

‘Er, no,’ Toni replies, and only I can detect the bone-deep sigh in her voice.

‘How is your relationship with your dad?’ He leans even closer, trotting out a line he no doubt read in one of those disgusting pick-up advice books. The ones that teach idiotic men that women are all vulnerable, emotional, jealous hags with daddy issues.

And only some of us are like that.

‘How are you getting along?’ I ask in my best professional voice. ‘Can I help at all?’ Sleazo looks annoyed by the interruption but straightens up off the counter.

‘No, no, I think Toni here has got it covered.’ His eyes trail lazily across my breasts but, finding them underwhelming, he returns his gaze to Toni’s more curvaceous chest. Instinctively I pull my hair from my shoulder to cover my nametag.

For some reason, men like this seem to feel they have a weird kind of power over you – like they think they own a little bit of you – when they’ve learned a personal detail like your name.

‘Unfortunately, we need Toni in the back office,’ I lie, directing myself at her. ‘Your boyfriend Shawn is on the phone.’ I see her tense shoulders relax by millimetres as I turn back to the customer. ‘But I’m available if you’d like to see anything else, sir?’

He is undeterred. ‘Weeeeell…’ He huffs out his chest and I get a hit of Lynx Africa wafting off him. ‘If Toni leaves for her boyfriend at this crucial moment, you’re going to lose a sale here.’ His tone is playful but it’s clear he’s a man used to getting his own way. ‘I work in sales, too, see? And we all know building a relationship – a bond – with the customer is key.’ He leers at Toni again. ‘And Toni and I have bonded quite nicely. You wouldn’t want to ruin that, would you?’ He turns back to me, eyes swivelling across my chest as he tries to locate my nametag under all the hair. I feel a small catch of triumph as he frowns, failing. ‘And I was planning on spending big today,’ he adds teasingly. Behind him, I catch the tension returning to Toni’s shoulders. ‘What do men’ – there is that assumption, always – ‘spend on engagement rings these days?’ he asks, the supercilious note still there in his voice. ‘On average, two, three grand I’d guess, right?’

I suppress a sigh.

There are so many plus points to working for the family business, a luxury jewellery store, Celeste’s Stones. But today seems to be mainly lows.

I demur, unwilling to admit he’s in the right area. I wouldn’t tell him, not even if he was actually a decent human being. Celeste says money is gauche; we’re not even allowed price tags on our stock. She gets this sour look on her face when someone asks how much a certain ring or bracelet is. And, on the very rare occasion she’s actually in store and working these days, she always hands over the payment part to me or Toni. Honestly, I think she’d rather let clients wander off with a ￡50k ring than actually go through the horrifying process of asking for money from them.

‘And I was planning on spending upwards of ￡10k on a ring,’ Sleazo continues. ‘To be honest, Toni,’ he still can’t see my name and I swear in that moment to never cut my hair short again, ‘I’m really only getting this,’ he gestures now with a sneer at the array of rings behind glass, ‘to stop the little lady from nagging so much.’ Rolling his eyes, he does the puppet hand to represent his future wife daring to speak. ‘She’s seriously high maintenance but her dad’s my boss, so what are you going to do?’ He laughs like none of this is a problem.

But then, you’d be surprised how many men come in here to buy an engagement ring for their future wife and behave like this. Poor Toni often gets the brunt of it, being so young and so buxom. It’s like a lot of men feel they have to pretend they’re not really in love. Because being in love is a silly, emotional, female thing, of course. Many of our male clientele come in and do this little song and dance about being ‘tied down’ and how they’ve ‘given in’ on the marriage decision. It happens less than it did ten years ago, when I first started working here at the store, but I’m sad to say the male ego is still alive and repugnant.

I’m really glad Daniel’s not like that.

‘Excuse me,’ a female voice behind me clears her throat and I turn away from Sleazo, abandoning my poor sister to her fate. Sorry Toni, I tried, I internally whisper as a young woman who can’t be more than twenty-one waves anxiously at the rings. ‘I’d love some advice on all this stuff.’

‘Of course!’ I say warmly. ‘Anything in particular you’re looking for?’

‘Well, I want to buy a ring…’ she hedges and my smile gets wider.

The rings are my favourite area of the store. They’re our speciality. We do a broad range of jewellery, but engagement rings account for probably three-quarters of our trade. And despite the many idiots we see in here, like that particular sleazo idiot still staring at my sister’s boobs over there, I love, love, love my job. There’s nothing like helping people with this huge, exciting moment in their life. Even if you’re not a big, fat, hopeless romantic – which I am, for the record, despite everything I’ve seen about much of the male population – it would be impossible for anyone to work in a boutique jewellery store and not get sucked into the romance of it all. For every guy like Sleazo, there are five adorable, sweet couples who are head over heels, dribbling love out of their very pores and thrilled by the notion of promising the rest of their existence to each other.

Actually, I keep a secret list of my favourite proposal stories clients tell me – what they’re planning or what they’ve done – and read them sometimes when I get yet another cynical sleazo in store. I’ll definitely be pulling it out to read later.

‘Absolutely,’ I lead the young woman over to a nearby counter, a discrete distance from Sleazo. I don’t want anything to ruin this exciting moment for her.

I give her a moment to review the gleaming gorgeousness, taking in the array of yellow, white, rose gold, platinum and palladium options. We have every type of gemstone here, from amethysts to sapphires, in every kind of setting. Her eyes scan across the vintage section now, lighting on one of my favourites: a yellow gold heirloom from the 1800s, with three deep blue and green opals surrounded by tiny diamonds. She won’t be able to tell through the glass, but there’s an inscription on the inside that reads: 9th November 1867. It makes me want to cry thinking about everything it must’ve been through and seen since that date.

‘Is it a gift or a, er, special occasion?’ I fish as the woman hops excitedly from foot to foot. Her eyes are lit up with excitement at the prospects before her.

I really want her to say she needs an engagement ring. She’s too young to be getting married, obviously, but I love it when women propose.

Though, to be honest, most people who come in here on their own are just here to gawp at—

‘So, like, oh my god, it must be sooo cool to work for Celeste Bretherton!’ The young woman is no longer looking at our rings. Instead she’s suddenly very close to my face, stage-whispering as she eyeballs a huge framed photo behind the counter. It’s a promo shot from the third series of Engage!

In the poster, Celeste stands in a power pose, hands on hips. She’s covered head-to-toe in sparkling diamonds, looking huge and Amazonian, glaring down into the camera at her feet, as an oncoming storm darkens the sky behind her. The tag line declares, ‘Engage! Returns for a new series on 8 Jan.’

Five years ago, my mum screen-tested for a brand-new streaming show called Engage!, where contestants with an eye for design create bespoke rings within a time limit. It was billed as Great British Bake Off meets MasterChef for jewellery fans, and right from the start, my mum was an obvious candidate for judge. By that point Celeste’s Stones had already established itself as the newer, sexier Tiffany Co., more modern than Cartier, more upmarket than Pandora. And with my mother as its face, the brand had acquired a huge cult following online, close to a million followers on Instagram, with people clamouring to watch her daily reels. She would describe, in her throatiest voice, all about her high-end, hand-curated stock; every item depicted in intimate, sexy detail. Every diamond was ‘naked’, every gleaming gem ‘erotic’. She was accused of being the Nigella of jewellery and when she early-adopted TikTok ahead of the teenagers, there was no stopping producers piling through our door.

I smile, a little tightly. ‘Yes, it’s incredibly cool to work for your mum,’ I add a small laugh, covering my disappointment. She’s not really here for a ring; she’s here to celebrity-spot my mother.

Her eyes land on me with astonishment. ‘She’s your mum?’ She takes me in, disdain lighting her eyes at my obvious lack of star quality. ‘Wow, that’s amazing. Do you ever get to go on set?’

‘I have done,’ I nod. ‘But it’s probably not as exciting as you think. I watched a bit of filming, but mostly just sat around on the catering bus talking to crew.’

‘Oh.’ She’s dissatisfied again.

‘So,’ I clear my throat, ‘back to the rings…’

She looks caught out for a second, before smoothly replying. ‘Sure, er, I need a ring for my… gran. She’s turning sixty-five. But, er, actually I’m mostly just, y’know, looking today. Doing my market research, you get it.’

‘Of course,’ I reply smoothly.

We go through the rigmarole of discussing options before I leave her to wander around on her own. I know before I’ve walked two feet away, she’s already WhatsApping her friends about the encounter. She went into Celeste’s Stones and met the Celeste Bretherton’s daughter! And she was lame!!!

That might be the biggest problem with this job. I don’t really mind the sleazos or the cynical celeb-chasers. But I do mind my mother. Working for your mum would be bad enough but she’s also the world’s worst manager. She’s a short-tempered, controlling, micro-manager who wants you to do everything for her but then will also redo it all because it wasn’t exactly the way she would’ve done it.

It’s what makes her such sensational telly, but, as her eldest daughter, I can tell you – Celeste Bretherton is A Lot.

And, oh god, speak of the mother-devil.

Celeste sweeps in through the back entrance, already booming out in that lusty voice of hers.

‘Where’s my darling birthday girl?’ She yells this at me, even though I’m right in front of her. ‘I need a cuddle, my darling!’ She opens her arms wide and I glance around, embarrassed. The young woman with the fake gran is by the door, face white, eyes wide; her hands visibly shaking. Sleazo is watching with big eyes, too, Toni and her boobs momentarily forgotten.

There’s no denying my mother has that celebrity thing. She sparkles. Which, yes is another one of Engage!’s tag lines, but it’s also true. Celeste is effervescent in that undefinable way some women are. She’s other-worldly, somehow. I think that’s why I always think of her as Celeste, rather than Mum. I know it bothers her and I try my best to say Mum out loud. She says she doesn’t mind being Celeste Bretherton to the world, but she wants us – her family – to see someone else underneath.

The trouble is, she so often forgets to leave the character at the door. I guess, when the whole world sees you a certain way, how can you not be affected by that? I watch Celeste perform even for us, like we are her fans and viewers. It sometimes feels like I don’t know the real person there, underneath all that Celeste Bretherton. Maybe it’s easier; hiding. I wonder if my dad ever gets to know the real her?

The truth is, I don’t even know how old she is. Her stage age is between forty and fifty-five but I think she must be closer to sixty, if not tipping over. But her skin is flawless. She loves all the non-surgical surgery and has weekly laser-y, sonic-y, Gwyneth-y facials that keep her looking tight and blank in an ageless way.

Myfanwy says the moment she turns forty, she’s going to get everything Celeste has done. Personally, I’ve always said I wouldn’t do it, but now I’m in my thirties – thirty-two today actually – I’ve started noticing certain upsetting changes. Things are happening around my face that are really starting to bother me. In my twenties, if I had a rough night or got ill, sure, I’d have awful eyebags and my face would sag a bit, but after a decent night’s sleep, it would spring back to its usual self. That doesn’t happen so easily now. The eyebags and sagging have just become part of my existence. I find myself looking in the mirror every day, whispering at my reflection hopefully you’ll look better tomorrow.

Now I wish I hadn’t said quite so publicly that I would never get anything done.

It’s easy to say you’ll age gracefully before you’ve really started ageing.

I allow myself to be enveloped in a Celeste hug, and it’s a lot nicer than last week’s hen-do sick one. The huge silk dress she’s wearing – perfect for a red carpet, or apparently, a visit to the office on a Wednesday in late June – rustles around me.

‘Toni! My darling!’ she calls out now, releasing me from her grip. Across the room, my sister smiles tightly, ‘I’m just with a client!’ she says smoothly, gesturing at Sleazo, who is fully ignoring her now to stare at the vision of Celeste before him.

Celeste pouts. ‘Toni is so unaffectionate, isn’t she, Ginny?’

I murmur a vague dissent but my mother is already off on one.

‘She’s never going to get Shawn to marry her if she continues like that,’ she declares, at a volume that Toni can clearly hear. ‘She’s so beautiful, but it’s not enough, is it, darling? She needs to be an appealing prospect to a man or she’ll end up alone and lonely, won’t she?’ Her questions rarely require an answer. Her viewers play drinking games during Engage!, taking a shot every time Celeste Bretherton asks a question and then answers it herself.

It’s a shame I’ve not been invited to contribute to our conversation because actually I’d like to point out that Toni is one of the warmest, most open and affectionate people in my life, and Shawn doesn’t deserve to be near her, never mind marry her; I really don’t like her boyfriend choice. He’s much older than her – more like my age – and has an arrogance I can’t stand. He’s always showing off and one-upping everyone in the room. Toni can do a thousand times better, but it’s not my place to tell her that. She’s only twenty-three; she has to figure out about dickheads on her own.

Toni and I weren’t that close growing up, what with the nine-year age gap, but it’s been the nicest thing ever, working with her at the store and getting to know her as an adult these last few years.

Celeste is still talking to me, slash herself. ‘No hugs for her mummy, and meanwhiles Daddy’s abandoned me again.’ She pouts. ‘He’s back in Canada for another scouting trip.’

It cringes me out so hard that she says Mummy and Daddy. As of 6.02am today, I’m thirty-two! Plus Daddy sort of implies a very hands-on, papa bear-type figure. Whereas my dad is actually quite a sweet but distant, barely around presence. He does the stone sourcing for our business, and is constantly in faraway places on lengthy research and purchase trips. We’ve made such a big thing in the press about being conflict-free and ethical about our jewellery practices, so Mum and Dad decided many years ago that he had to be totally involved in that side of things. We can’t afford to let a blood diamond through the net.

He’s currently in Canada, which compared to his other regular destination – Australia – is just around the corner.

‘Has Daniel got something nice planned tonight for your birthday?’ Celeste regards me seriously and it takes a moment to realize this is one question I’m actually meant to answer.

I smile shyly. ‘Oh, I don’t know – I don’t think so. To be honest, I think we’ll keep things low key. It’s not a special birthday and we do have kind of a big party coming up…’ I give a short laugh.

‘Don’t you dare call the wedding of the century a party!’ Celeste looks horrified and I try not to flinch at wedding of the century.

‘Well, anyway,’ I shake off the fear, ‘he’s probably too distracted getting excited for his stag do this weekend to worry about birthday stuff. He’s already started packing!’ I laugh at his enthusiasm, remembering how I tripped over a large suitcase and two rucksacks in the hallway this morning. Daniel and his friends are only going for three days, but the man has packed enough for a month. He’s always been more high maintenance than me; his stuff takes up 90 per cent of our bathroom cabinets.

‘Oh darling, well, let me take you out for the evening then!’ Celeste cries excitedly and I panic-backtrack.

‘Um, right! Er, that’s so nice of you, Mum, but actually, now that I think about it, Daniel did tell me to keep the evening free, so maybe we’re going out for dinner or something?’ I lie unconvincingly, catching Toni’s eye a few feet away.

‘Hmm, OK,’ she replies with more than a hint of sulk to her voice. ‘As long as he’s making a proper fuss of you. You’re so special and beautiful, you deserve to be celebrated at every opportunity.’

This is the thing about my mum. She’s controlling and annoying but I’ve never been in any doubt about how much she loves me. The need, like, pulses out of her in this cloying, aggressive way, spurting in every direction. It’s part of why I struggle to tell her to back off, because I know it’s mostly coming from a place of love. Dysfunctional, aggressive love, but still love. I think it’s also this misguided idea she has that Toni and I are an extension of her. She assumes that everything she would want must be what I would also want. So of course I’d want an over-the-top hen do with fifty people I’ve never met, collectively doing an array of insane, boring or dangerous activities. And of course I’d want a wedding with 300 virtual strangers watching me walk down the aisle in a venue with 2,000-foot ceilings. And of course I’d want a birthday extravaganza on a random Wednesday evening.

Because it’s what she’d want.

‘Hey,’ she smiles beatifically down at her Celeste’s Stones brand watch. ‘It’s almost five, why don’t you finish early and go home to Daniel? I’m sure he’s got lots of wonderful presents for you.’

I grin, because he probably has. He’s always been so fun and unpredictable when it comes to surprises.

As it turns out, even I couldn’t have called just how unpredictable.