Chapter 12
SOPHIE
‘Why the bloody hell is it so bloody hard to—’ I growl, struggling to zip up the back of my gown.
‘Here, allow me,’ says Connie.
I stop contorting myself, dropping my hands in defeat as she steps in and saves the day. Or, in this case, the evening.
‘Not sure why I’m even going,’ I mumble as I turn this way and that, scrutinising my reflection. I’m grasping for any excuse not to go, but the gown is still a perfect fit – damn it. And it really is beautiful – a Bliss Designs floor-length emerald sheath dress with beaded capped sleeves.
‘Because,’ Connie says to me in the mirror, her hands resting lightly on my shoulders, ‘it will be brilliant fun.’
‘Will it?’ I scoff, then catch myself.
Connie doesn’t know about the work situation with Drew, and I don’t want to burden her with it. As far as she’s concerned, Drew’s that handsome American bloke from the Emberstone party and nothing more.
But work was rubbish today.
Jane was offsite overseeing logistics for the set build, meaning she wasn’t around to run interference between me and Drew. I spent the entire day at my desk, head down and researching my bum off so I didn’t have to face him. I only left my cubicle to go to the loo.
But then he stopped by to offer me and Harlow a ride to Leicester Square in a town car, as if everything’s hunky dory between us. I declined – I’ll expense a cab – but I’ve had more enjoyable conversations with my gyno during a pap smear.
‘Of course it’ll be fun,’ says Connie, stepping away to sit on the edge of the bed. ‘I can’t remember the last time I saw Harlow this excited.’
‘She’s such a little schemer,’ I say with a soft snort. ‘Even before Drew asked me about it, she and Maisie had exchanged a hundred messages.’
‘A hundred?’ Connie smirks at me dubiously.
‘Give or take,’ I reply. ‘But she made it impossible to say no, the little scamp.’
‘Why would you want to say no to a film premiere in Leicester Square?’ Connie asks with a laugh, bringing us full circle to the Drew Dilemma.
Imagine if I told her exactly what was going on – all of it.
Oh, you know… Because not only did Drew win this account, trouncing the best campaign idea I’ve ever had – and may ever have again – but now I’ve been benched.
And even if I wasn’t, what if I never get past the first ten minutes of that frigging Christmas movie?
What if I’m as useful to this campaign as a chocolate teapot?
Oh, and did I mention that Drew’s had the starring role in every sexual fantasy I’ve had for the past three years? And now I’m all dressed up and there’s a teeny part of me – okay, it’s a not-so-teeny part – that wonders what Drew will think when he sees me.
‘Sophie,’ says Connie, her expression shifting, ‘I’ve been thinking…’
Oh, god, please let this not be about Drew.
‘What about?’ I ask, steeling myself.
‘Well, I know you were hoping to take Harlow to Australia for Christmas this year…’
Ugh – way worse than bringing up Drew.
‘And you were hoping to land that account for the bonus…’
She’s broaching this as sensitively as she can, but it’s obvious where this is going.
‘Connie…’
‘You’re going to say no, but I’d be more than happy to give you the money for the fligh—’
‘No,’ I say gently. ‘But I appreciate the offer – truly.’
‘You’re sure?’ she asks, her eyes brimming with kindness.
‘I’m sure.’
It’s not the first time Connie has offered to help financially, but I’ve never accepted. She already does so much for us – being there for me, helping raise Harlow. And we’re not struggling – we’re doing fine.
‘Coco, I need you!’ Harlow bellows.
Connie winces at Harlow’s less-than-ladylike ways, then smiles serenely. ‘Be right there, darling.’
She pats my arm as she passes and I exhale, turning to face the mirror.
‘You might even have fun,’ I tell myself.
My gaze lands on the crevice between my eyebrows. I’m positive that not too long ago it was a faint line. Now it’s the Mariana Trench. I think my face might be trying to tell me something – something like, Stay home!
But when the star of your advertising campaign invites you to his movie premiere, it would be rude to decline.
I’ll just have to ignore that Drew will be there.
Drew with the cobalt-blue eyes. Drew with the muscly forearms. Drew with the infuriatingly sexy swoop of hair that flops onto his forehead by the end of every workday.
Drew who demoted me yesterday.
Yeah, super easy to ignore the man who’ll be standing next to me on the red carpet. My daughter’s new best friend’s favourite uncle.
Gah! It’s bad enough when my lusty thoughts escape the confines of my house and sneak into the office. This will be a thousand times worse – it’ll be in public!
I inhale deeply and puff my cheeks, then blow out a raspberry. My eyes catch the photo of Daniel and I pick it up, perching on the edge of the bed with it cradled in my hands.
‘Hi, babe. I’m all dressed up, see? It’s a work thing, so don’t worry, I’m not going on a date or anything.’ Was that to reassure Daniel or me?
‘This is the dress I wore to that charity gala, remember?’ I forge ahead.
‘I found it in Oxfam for ￡20. Still fits me perfectly – your mum helped me with the zip this time. And she did my hair,’ I say, lightly touching the loose tendrils at my nape.
‘I’ve got to be careful though – she used one of those fancy French hairpins.
One false move and it will all come tumbling down.
’ I gulp, swallowing the lump before it takes hold.
Daniel always preferred my hair down. ‘I even put on eyeshadow,’ I say, batting my eyelashes at him.
I look down at my lap, not sure if I should say the next part out loud, because there’s every chance I won’t hold it together.
I take in another deep breath. ‘Dan, I mi—’
Too late. The lump lodges and my throat closes, tears prickling my eyes. Nope, I can’t do it.
And Daniel knows I miss him. Or he doesn’t.
I’ve never quite worked out how I feel about the afterlife. Sometimes I sense his presence, other times I’m convinced it’s all in my head, a fairy tale I tell myself so my heart won’t stop beating.
Either way, I’m far from ready to ‘get back out there’. The thought of having to trawl through my history with someone new, re-tell all my stories, list my favourite things… ugh. And being intimate with someone else? No thanks. I’ll stick to fantasies and alone time.
‘Mum! You look like a movie star.’
I lift my head to find Harlow in the doorway, looking very grown-up in a gorgeous red dress Connie bought her last Christmas. I’m surprised it still fits – and relieved. Nothing fun about scouring the shops last-minute for the perfect red-carpet outfit.
I quickly blink away the tears before she notices. ‘You look beautiful, Lo.’
‘Coco helped me with my hair,’ she says, twirling a barrel curl between her fingers.
‘Me too – good thing we have a hairstylist in the family, huh?’ I ask, glancing at Connie who’s lingering in the doorway, smiling.
Harlow comes to sit beside me.
‘Are you talking to Daddy?’ she asks.
‘Yep. I was showing him my outfit.’
‘I’m going to meet Max Stirling, Daddy!’ she tells him. She gives me a dimpled grin.
‘Shall I take a photograph – mark the occasion?’ Connie offers.
‘Great idea, thanks, Connie.’ I set down Daniel’s photo and stand, smoothing the dress over my hips.
‘Let’s do it in front of the fireplace,’ says Harlow, skipping past Connie. A moment later, I hear her footsteps on the stairs.
I pick up my evening bag from the bed and take one last look in the mirror.
‘You really do look beautiful,’ says Connie, her head to one side.
‘Thank you.’
‘And I have no doubt your American friend will think so as well.’
‘Connie!’ I say with an exasperated laugh. ‘He’s just a colleague.’
‘Mm-hmm,’ she murmurs, her eyebrows raised.
I give up – there’s obviously no convincing her.
I’ve elbowed my way through Boxing Day sales, fought the crowds at Wimbledon on women’s final day, and queued up for Pirates of the Caribbean at Disneyland Paris in July.
Nothing could have prepared me for the choreographed chaos of a movie premiere in Leicester Square – the boisterous crowd, the press vying for vantage points, the security…
Harlow and I wait for Drew and Maisie near the Mary Poppins statue across the square as planned, me on my tiptoes, scanning the crowd and trying to ignore how chilly the night’s become. I should have worn a coat. I thought about it, but I don’t really have one fancy enough for this dress.
I finally spot Drew and wave. He waves back, and he and Maisie jog towards us, dodging clusters of fans.
‘Hey,’ he says, grinning.
‘Hi,’ I say, grinning back.
The girls collide in a hug, squealing and talking over each other in that breathless little-girl way. While they chatter, Drew’s gaze flicks to my shoes and travels back up.
‘You look incredible,’ he says.
‘Thanks,’ I reply, though it comes out as a scratchy whisper.
He does too in that slim-cut charcoal suit. A well-cut suit will make most men look good, but Drew’s not most men – he looks like he’s stepped off a catwalk.
‘You’ve got goosebumps,’ he says. ‘Want my jacket?’
He takes it off, and before I realise it’s happening, he steps closer to drape it around my shoulders. God, he smells good. Too bad it’s not the done thing to nuzzle your colleague’s neck.
‘Thanks,’ I say again.
‘No problem.’
I tear my eyes from his potent gaze. ‘Maisie,’ I say, drawing her attention. ‘You look wonderful.’
‘Thank you, Sophie!’ She beams and gives a dramatic twirl, Barbie-pink from head to toe, including her wool coat and sparkly Mary Janes. Drew smiles down at her proudly, and it strikes me that his tie is the exact shade of her dress.
‘And you do too, Harlow.’
‘Thanks, Drew.’ She looks up at me, and we share a smile.
‘And that concludes this meeting of the Mutual Admiration Society,’ says Drew, making me laugh. ‘Should we go walk the red carpet?’