Chapter Four
T he email from Julie-Ann was a job offer – a three-month contract to be Mandy’s in-house stylist during her time in the UK.
When Julie-Ann said ‘in-house’ she meant it literally.
As part of the deal, I was required to move into the mansion which Mandy and her entourage would be inhabiting for the full twelve weeks.
During which time, they would document her life on social media and for her YouTube channel, work on brand endorsements and generally raise her profile this side of the Atlantic.
After signing an NDA, I was informed that the house was in Surrey – a suburb just outside of London – which felt reassuringly close to my home with Rob.
But here came the catch: This is an exclusive agreement whereby you will work full time for Mandy for the full twelve weeks, and not be permitted to see anyone outside of the house, aka your ‘work family’, for the duration of the contract, to ensure complete confidentiality.
For the avoidance of doubt, this includes your spouse or significant other.
Holiday days must be reviewed and agreed in advance and your contract is subject to termination without notice if necessary .
Yikes.
The salary was better than my pay at Selfridges had been, plus it included accommodation, food, a few expenses, and a very appealing bonus of the same amount again, payable once the twelve weeks were fulfilled, to serve as an incentive.
With Rob and me saving for a deposit for a flat together, the bonus was a huge plus.
My role was to dress Mandy daily, for all engagements taking place both within the house and on location.
Plus, there might be a trip abroad. It was going to be like styling a photoshoot every single day.
It sounded exciting, different – a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
And the fact my job at Selfridges no longer existed, there was little risk in accepting a short-term contract because it wasn’t as if I had any other job prospects at this moment.
The only negative was three months without Rob.
I wondered how he would feel about me moving out of our flat – and his entire life – for that period of time.
It would be hard, but there was no rule about FaceTiming and phone calls, and when you broke twelve weeks down to eighty-four days, it didn’t feel too long.
Did it? Plus, it would be worth it for the bonus at the end; it was the kind of sum that would add a huge chunk to our savings for a flat.
It might actually make our home-owning dream a reality.
Rob had to agree it was worth it. I decided to break the news to him this evening.
After years of ‘living in sin’ as my mum and dad called it, raising their daughter, Nora, out of a matrimonial home, Lucy’s boyfriend of ten years, Rory, had finally done the right thing – in my parents’ eyes – and proposed.
He did it on Lucy’s birthday last October over dinner at a fancy Japanese restaurant in central London.
‘Very flashy for Rory, do you think something’s up?
’ Mum had excitedly fished over the phone, while she was babysitting for Nora that evening.
In retrospect, I’m sure she was in on it, as we discovered Rory had done the traditional thing and asked for Dad’s approval to marry his daughter the weekend before, and there was no way Dad could keep that secret from Mum.
Sure enough, when they arrived home that evening, Lucy was sporting one of Nora’s toy rings on her wedding finger.
Rory was far too sensible to purchase a diamond without seeking Lucy’s approval in advance, knowing how fussy my sister was.
This was the person who would not enter a coffee shop until she was sure they sold her preferred brand of oat milk and the beans were a hundred per cent fairtrade.
‘Lucky I said yes, or he would have ruined my birthday forever,’ Lucy remarked dryly, as she retold the story to me with her trademark cynicism over FaceTime the following day.
She may have tried to sound cool, but I could see the excitement ripple from the upturned corners of her lips to her eyes as she began to visualise what their wedding might be like.
She told me Nora was already plotting what the bridesmaids would wear – herself as the chief, naturally.
By the time I arrived at Lucy’s house this evening, I had fully convinced myself that this job was my destiny.
Nora opened the door, dressed head to toe as Harry Potter.
‘Hey, Harry! Don’t put a spell on me!’ I pretended to hide behind my hands.
‘Don’t laugh. Anyway, I’m not Harry. I’m Nora!’ the little girl replied, sounding cross. ‘Grown-ups are so stupid sometimes.’
‘Nora Potter,’ I said, undeterred. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I can wear what I like,’ she commanded indignantly. ‘It doesn’t change who I am, you know.’ She threw the glassless round spectacles onto the floor.
‘Of course you can – and you are perfect as you are , ’ I said, marvelling at how strong-minded she was. Nora was my kindred spirit. I set my bag down and crouched, taking Nora’s hand, the one that wasn’t clasping a wand. ‘Are you going to invite me in then, birthday girl?’
‘Do you have a present?’ Her eyes fixated on the canvas bag over my shoulder. I greatly admired her directness.
‘Of course I do. Would you like it now?’ She nodded in response. ‘And by the way, you can dress any way you want to. Do you know why?’
‘Why, Auntie Nana?’ Nana was Nora’s nickname for me, since before she could properly speak. It did nothing for my street cred, but I had learnt to love it.
‘Because it makes life much more fun. And do you know what else?’ She looked at me, wide-eyed, with such innocence, it made my heart swell. ‘If you feel happy, then you will make other people smile too – that’s the most special thing.’
‘Yes, Nana,’ she said. She picked up the glasses and put them back on her nose. ‘Can I have my present now?’
I took it out of the bag and handed it to her, then she turned and marched me into the house.
Six months on from Rory’s proposal, the July wedding date was drawing closer and wedding planning was a constant topic of conversation in our family.
Lucy and Rory were having a registry wedding followed by a meal and big party for all their friends at a country hotel with a marquee in the garden, not far from my parents’ house in north London.
Mostly on a Sunday evening, a flurry of WhatsApp messages would come from Lucy or Rory, asking for final names for the guest list and sharing dilemmas such as whether to have champagne or prosecco.
Then there were questions from Mum about additional outdoor heaters and there was even a thread about the type of seat cushions they should choose for chairs in the ceremony.
Until now, I had no idea that a wedding could have so many components – the thought of getting hitched seemed like an administrative nightmare.
I was under no illusion that today’s gathering for Nora’s birthday wouldn’t soon turn into a meeting to finalise the additional jobs we should each take on to help.
My sister’s penchant for delegating had not gone unnoticed by me.
Lure them in with the promise of cake and then – pounce!
I was feeling nervous about what Lucy might expect of me.
Being in PR, she had never been shy of straight talk and lists.
Arranging her hen do and associated matters was already taking up a lot of my time, yet Lucy was one of those people who believed nothing could ever be as busy or important as raising a child, so it was taken for granted that I, being childless, had an abundance of empty hours at my disposal. Hours in which I could assist her.
I walked into the kitchen to find my family assembled around the kitchen island, picking from a depleted bowl of Wotsits and the remains of some crudité and sandwiches, presumably leftovers from Nora’s birthday party earlier in the afternoon.
Lucy was holding a mug of tea.
‘Children’s parties are a special kind of exhausting,’ she said, and pulled me in for a hug with her free arm. ‘It’s been intense.’
‘Present from Nana!’ Nora cooed, tugging at the ribbon tied around the gift.
‘Did you bring wine by any chance?’ Lucy asked. ‘I meant to ask you to stop by the offie.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll go,’ Rory chipped in. ‘I could do with some air.’
‘Couldn’t we all,’ Lucy muttered under her breath.
‘Evening, Amber, lovely to see you as always.’ Rory gave me a peck on the check as he passed, and grabbed his keys from the side.
‘First things first, something for my favourite niece.’ I smiled, cutting the ribbon on the gift for Nora and leading her to the sofa in the lounge area of the open-plan kitchen. ‘I literally cannot believe you are now seven years old.’
She ripped off the paper to reveal a palette of child-friendly make-up and a set of nail polish in a unicorn vanity case.
The kind of gift that was my ultimate wish at her age – but not one my own parents ever granted.
‘It’s make-up, Mama!’ Nora squealed. ‘This is the BEST present ever! Thank you, Auntie Nana!’ And she flung her arms around my neck.
‘I’m so happy you like it,’ I said through a steady stream of sloppy kisses planted square onto my lips. ‘What are you going to put on first?’
From the corner of my vision, I noticed Mum’s eyes roll.
Leaving Nora happily exploring a cacophony of eyeshadows, lip glosses, and cheek blushes, I went back to the breakfast bar to join Mum and Lucy who were now picking at a bowl of crisps. Mum was nursing a glass of wine.
‘How much have you two had?’ I asked.
‘Not enough,’ replied Lucy. ‘Rory will be back with more in a minute.’
I felt like a child in a toy shop with my news buzzing around my head, I was so desperate to tell someone. But in my mind, I had decided to wait until Rob arrived before sharing it.
‘How did it go at work today?’ Mum asked.