Chapter One
‘You’ll never believe it.’ I grinned at Mum. My forehead was sweating lightly. I knew this because my mother was looking up there, rather than at my lips.
As it turned out, no, she could not believe it, in fact it made no sense to her at all, because she had no idea who Mandy Sykes was.
This was hugely frustrating for me. I mean, gah! What planet does she live on?
I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that Mandy Sykes is the biggest thing to have hit the internet since Kylie Jenner’s lips or Prince Harry’s todger.
Following her bunion operation last year, Mandy’s right foot gained the highest ever number of likes on Instagram and spawned its own TikTok account, which swiftly paved the way to an eponymous range of bunion correctors to ‘Cheat feet into wearing the heels you deserve!’ Heels by Mandy Sykes, of course.
Where have you been, mother dearest?
We were in Peter Jones because Mum was trying to cheer me up.
She wanted me to play her personal stylist and source a mother-of-the-bride outfit for her to wear to my sister Lucy’s wedding.
Less because she actually wanted this service from me, more because she thought it would be a good distraction from the fact I was being made redundant from my job in the visual merchandising department at Selfridges.
So here we were, in ladieswear, on this busier-than-usual afternoon. The novelty had worn off on both of us.
‘Yellow is definitely not me,’ Mum stated, turning her nose up at practically all of the spring/summer collections on the floor.
I tutted loudly. ‘It’s more mustard than yellow.
Won’t you just try the dress, so we know for certain that it’s not you?
Mustard is a good colour for you. Mustard is bang on trend – and that’s the brief you gave me, if you remember?
’ I pulled out my phone at this point and began scrolling to find the WhatsApp message in which she had commissioned me to find her, and I quote, ‘an on-trend wedding outfit’.
She brushed the phone away.
‘It’s just now that I see the options, I don’t know if I could actually wear them.’
I sucked in my cheeks. I’ve had way more disingenuous clients in the past, but there’s something about being related to one that is next-level difficult.
‘And one hundred quid minimum for a dress?’ Mum was complaining. ‘This is scandalous!’
‘How about a print?’ I offered, guiding her from one concession to the next. ‘Prints are huge this season.’
Mum fingered a price tag. ‘Three hundred and fifty pounds!’ she exclaimed loudly, turning her head for dramatic effect in the hope of catching the eye of a kindred spirit to back her up.
‘I thought you wanted to get something special, Mum – you’re the mother of the bride. Believe me, you’d pay a lot more for bespoke. And you told me you wanted to look fashionable at this wedding.’
‘Prints are ageing and yellow is for WAGs,’ she replied as if the matter was closed. ‘I want to look age appropriate.’
‘WAGs,’ I scoffed. ‘Very Noughties.’ It’s like shopping with a teenager!
‘The only thing that feels appropriate right now is for me to disappear,’ I muttered, looking hurt.
‘Oh, don’t be silly, Amber. It’s just that after all these years, I like to think I have some idea about what suits me.’ We walked on.
‘So why are we here, if you don’t really want my advice?’ I asked belligerently.
She ignored me. We both knew the whole thing was a ruse; a way to build our relationship.
After the three months I had spent with Rob in New York, I had felt distant from Mum, as though we couldn’t just pick up where we left off anymore.
An unspoken Sahara Desert appeared between us where she didn’t really understand my world and I felt estranged from hers.
Plus, getting made redundant had hit my ego hard.
The truth was, I felt like a failure. Even though I tried to tell myself I didn’t want to be a window dresser forever, so to see it as an opportunity, I was worried about the future and what I would do next.
Plus, not having a steady income would affect Rob’s and my plans to buy a flat together.
She had suggested the girlie trip to ‘cheer me up’, but it was having the opposite effect.
Being with my decisive, high-achieving lawyer mother was making me feel even more inadequate.
A partner in a prestigious law firm, with no plan to retire any time soon, Mum seemed so capable of anything she put her mind to.
Sometimes it’s hard to believe I came from her womb.
I sucked in my cheeks as Mum squinted at her mobile phone. What could be more important than a whole floor of new season collections?
‘Is it a work thing?’ I probed.
‘It’s your father,’ she said, not looking up. A serious expression fell across her face. ‘I forgot to tell him to take the steak out of the freezer.’
I puffed out my cheeks and then slowly released the air inside. I thought about all the times when I was sixteen and I could be so frustrated, so disgusted , by things my mum said that I would storm off in a huff. It was a shame I couldn’t get away with petulant behaviour anymore. Adulting is hard.
‘Okay, Mum.’
Things improved marginally once we found Ralph Lauren and a sale rail containing a dress almost identical to a navy-and-cream one she wore to the last family wedding.
When I reminded her of this fact, she muttered, ‘At least I already have a matching hat. Anyway, if not the wedding, maybe it will work for the hen do? I’m going to need something for that too. It’s quite Parisian, don’t you think?’
I bristled at the mention of the hen. ‘It’s quite plain, to be totally honest. But if you like it …’
There was something I needed to tell Mum today, but so far there hadn’t been a right moment; probably because there was no easy way of saying it.
She tried on the dress and the twelve was too big and the ten too tight. I breathed a sigh of relief – which was more than she could do in the ten – and then we both decided we needed some time out. And a cheese scone.
In the café, I snuck a look at my phone.
I had been expecting something to come through from my boss at Selfridges, Joseph, about my redundancy package, but I found a very different email – one that was infinitely more welcome.
And now that I had this email in my possession, I wasn’t going to let a failed shopping trip dampen my mood.
While Mum went to the loo, I phoned Rob. He’ll know how big this is.
‘Mandy who ?’
My heart sank. Clearly, he hadn’t been looking at Instagram every five seconds for years, like me.
I googled a photo and sent it to him as a reminder.
‘Oh her ,’ he conceded. ‘The one with the bunion. She’s epic, isn’t she? That’s great news, baby, it could be perfect timing! Shall I cook later? We’ll have to stop splashing out on takeaways. I’m near Sainsbury’s?’
I had a quick re-read of the email. It was short, but to the point:
Dear Miss Green,
Ms Mandy Sykes is looking for a UK-based personal stylist. We wondered if you would be interested in coming for an interview?
Ms Sykes will be in London on 1 March and can see you at Corinthia London.
Please let me know as soon as possible if you can meet with Ms Sykes and her team with regards to this position.
Best wishes,
Julie-Ann Morris
Agent to Ms Mandy Sykes
It took me a nanosecond to decide if I was interested.
With no job, no takeaways for the foreseeable, and the renewal of my mobile phone plan coming up, this email could be the answer to my prayers.
It was also, as of now, my only option. A pang of worry about money was lodged in my mind, like a heavy rain cloud.
My life-savings would cover my share of our rent for the next few months but that was it.
I hadn’t been expecting to be made redundant.
‘Efficiencies are being made across the company,’ Joseph had told my co-worker Shauna and me when he called us into a meeting yesterday morning.
‘The graffiti’s off?’ Shauna jumped the gun, assuming he was referring to our proposal to involve the hottest street artists for the summer shop windows.
‘I don’t just mean the graffiti idea has been slammed – although it has.’ Joseph avoided eye contact with us. ‘I mean they have asked all managers to look at efficiencies in other areas too.’
We sat in silence for five seconds. I knew it was five because I counted as the second hand moved on the wall clock.
‘Are you trying to tell us we might be out of jobs?’ Shauna asked. I could always rely on her to be direct.
‘Nothing is concrete yet,’ Joseph continued awkwardly.
‘But I’ve been asked to make you aware that your role is at risk of redundancy and, at about six p.m. today, the company will be sending out emails to certain individuals, either confirming the redundancy or offering an alternative role for you within the company. I’m sorry for this news.’
Shauna flicked her nails in the way she did just before she was about to blow up.
‘When you say “certain individuals”, do you mean both me and Amber, or just one of us?’ Her brow was furrowed. ‘I mean, I’m assuming you wouldn’t be telling us this, if we weren’t getting the email?’
Joseph stroked his chin, the way he did when he was anxious about something. ‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ he replied.
‘Are they mad?’ Shauna scoffed. ‘I mean, do they seriously think it’s possible for you to manage the window designs on your own? They have no idea—’
‘It’s hard to swallow, mate, but the reality is that physical sales have been impacted by AI and online systems, making it easier for people to shop from home,’ he said. ‘The lack of footfall in the store is having an impact on all aspects of retail – including the window displays.’
‘Great, so we’re going to be replaced by AI?’ Shauna said scornfully.
‘Enter the robo-stylists …’ I muttered, backing her up.