Chapter Twelve
On the day of the Olivier Awards, Ellie sat in her room quietly losing her mind.
There was no backing out now. Today was the day their fake relationship would be revealed.
The cramped space of her box room was dominated by moving boxes, as well as the bric-a-brac furnishings from the flat she’d shared with Hannah. She looked like one of those secret hoarders, surrounded by all of her shit.
Her suitcase for the Bahamas was by the door, already packed, as was her hand luggage. The essential toiletries bag sat on top of them, so she could still dip in and out of them when needed. In two days, she’d be last-minute squishing it into her suitcase and jetting off to a tropical paradise.
Her hands began to tremble and she flicked her wrists to try to dispel some of her nervous energy, before placing her elbow firmly on the dressing table. ‘Right, come on! Draw a fecking straight line.’ Five minutes later she was admiring her reasonably straight eyeliner.
The mannequin in the corner kept drawing her gaze, and she took a minute to admire the dress waiting for her.
The dress mannequin was still the best investment Ellie had ever made.
The sections could be adjusted individually for any measurement rather than dress size, which meant she could tailor it exactly to her body – important when you were making a silk scarlet dress that clung to every curve.
She was going for a Grecian style, something Venus might have rocked after stepping out of her clamshell if she’d had a lot of red silk going spare.
‘Soon, my love,’ she cooed, more to entertain herself than anything else. She winced when she remembered her mother’s reaction a few days ago to the half-finished dress, as if it were a patch of black mould on the wall.
‘Is that your dress?’
‘Yep,’ Ellie had mumbled, concentrating on hand-stitching the beads she’d bought to glam up one of her clutches.
‘It doesn’t look very forgiving on the hips.’ Her mum had frowned at the dress in the same way she’d always done when Ellie had eaten a dessert.
‘It’ll fit just as well as everything else I’ve ever made for myself.’
‘Yes, and you’re very good at making things to flatter a fuller figure, but for such a big event wouldn’t you rather something a bit less…
clingy? And the straps! You won’t be able to wear a normal bra, and strapless bras are always so uncomfortable.
You’ve got a few more days, why don’t you join me on that soldier’s diet?
You’re meant to be able to lose half a stone in just five days. ’
Ellie had counted to ten in her head, but it still hadn’t been long enough. Why did her mum always have to bring up her weight like this? As if it were a hurdle to overcome, a shame to hide.
‘No, thanks. I’d rather eat more than a boiled egg for every meal.’
When her mum had continued to grimace at her dress, Ellie had had to put her needle down to stop herself from stabbing her. ‘I’m never going to be skinny, Mum.’ She’d almost added, ‘and neither are you,’ but that would have been unkind.
‘Only because you refuse to do anything about it!’
Which was rich considering Ellie had spent years undoing the damage caused by her mother’s constant yo-yo dieting and negative comments.
It was a vicious cycle of reward and punishment that never ended.
Her mother would fall into depression about her weight, then start one of her hideous diets that were so unhealthy she would immediately jump back on the wagon for sheer survival.
Ellie’s own self-esteem and eating habits had only become more balanced once she’d moved in with Hannah and had taken positive steps to focus on being healthy rather than thin.
What people never seemed to understand was that being thin didn’t necessarily mean you were healthy.
Ellie at her slimmest had been exercising until she’d felt faint, saving her diet points for alcohol and chocolate, nutritionally starving herself because she couldn’t cope with such a strict calorie deficit, and always needing some kind of small treat to get her through the week.
Her body had been broken, and Hannah had helped heal her relationship with food, because she’d had issues of her own. They’d worked together to overcome their problems.
Ellie had lost weight, though not as much as her mother insisted she should.
But she’d finally arrived at a place that she was happy with, through a healthy balance of nutritious food, enjoyable light exercise, and just allowing herself to bloody live.
She never regulated treats any more, or wallowed in guilt after an indulgence, and weirdly she ate less because of it.
But her mum had never understood that. ‘There’s going to be models there. You’ll look like a whale against some of those twiglets.’
Ellie’s needle slipped and she pricked her finger. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a fairytale and she didn’t slip into a coma, unable to hear her mother’s words.
‘I’m fine as I am, Mum. I exercise, I eat and drink whatever I like because it makes me happy.
I may never complete a marathon, but I can always run for a bus, or dance the night away, or whatever.
I’m happy with my body as it is. Yes, I’d love to get into some skinny jeans and not look like a link of sausages, but that’s not my figure.
I’ve got massive boobs, a nice waist and strong legs.
Everyone has to work with what they’ve got.
And, honestly, I’m going to look so hot in this dress, so please don’t worry about me. ’
Ellie knew that, just as some people were naturally slim like Hannah, she would always be a plus size by today’s standards.
Frankly, she was done with hating herself. Unfortunately, her mum hadn’t got the memo. She was still searching for the impossible, soul-destroying, ideal BMI. A calculation invented nearly two hundred years ago by a man – of course – who wasn’t a doctor, but a mathematician.
‘But the straps…’ her mum had grumbled, pointing an accusing finger at the offending material.
Ellie had turned her back in silent dismissal. ‘I’ll be wearing enough tit tape to raise Tower Bridge. So stop worrying.’
Today the dress was complete and waiting patiently for her. Ellie peeked beneath her fluffy dressing gown and chuckled. She really was wearing enough tit tape to raise Tower Bridge. She rose and put on the dress, and was delighted when it slipped into place and hid the tape perfectly.
She gave a little squeal of delight as she spun around in front of her tiny bedroom mirror, giggling to herself as she almost got her heel stuck in the rug. She then contorted her spine to check out her bum, and grinned. She looked hot.
She’d had her hair and nails done that morning, then spent hours doing her make-up and securing her boobs – she’d had to rope poor old Nanna into helping her with that. But it was so worth it.
‘Oh, you look gorgeous, love!’ said Nanna, grinning when Ellie entered the kitchen.
‘Thank you.’ She tottered over to where Nanna was sitting and bent down to give her a squeeze.
‘Your mum will be so impressed.’
‘Hmm…’ murmured Ellie, unconvinced, as she put her lipstick and phone into her hand-decorated purse.
‘Of course she will.’ Nanna stood and smoothed a stray hair from Ellie’s carefully blow-dried hair. ‘You look like a Hollywood star.’
Nanna was always the peacemaker between Ellie and her mum. A thankless task.
Her phone buzzed, and she scrambled to check it. ‘He’s five minutes away. I best head down.’
Nanna’s voice stopped her at the door, brooking no argument. ‘Go show your mum first.’
She gave a huff of acknowledgement, and stomped into the lounge on her way down, her sky-high heels punching into the carpet. ‘Mum, I’m leaving,’ she said from the doorway. They’d barely spoken since last week.
Her mum and Mark were watching the telly. He glanced up at her, and grunted, ‘You look nice.’ Then he turned back to the screen. Typical brother.
Her mum stood and stared at her open-mouthed. ‘Oh, love, you look lovely… All secure?’ She eyed Ellie’s substantial cleavage as if it were a bomb.
Ellie jumped up and down, causing her bosom to bounce, but, importantly, not to fall out. ‘Locked and loaded.’
Her mum’s eyes became a little misty. ‘You really do look gorgeous, darling.’ She came over and gave her a light peck on the cheek and a squeeze to her arm.
Unused to compliments from her mother, Ellie backed out of the room. ‘Well, best head out. It’ll take me for ever in these heels.’
Her mum blinked. ‘You won’t be taller than Alex, will you?’
And normal Mum was back. ‘Nope. Alex is huge, remember? Even with these on, I’ll come up no higher than his nose.
’ Her phone beeped. ‘Ah, that’s him, best get a wiggle on.
Bye, Nanna,’ she shouted up the stairs, and then gave a little wave to her mum and brother before heading down to the ground floor.
Alex was waiting inside the yard; she’d left the gate open earlier in case he was followed by paparazzi, though judging by his laid-back stance he’d not had any trouble.
He stared at her and gave a low whistle that may as well have been a full-on kiss for all the goosebumps it gave her. ‘You look so beautiful! Did you really make that?’
A blush rushed up her face and she did a joyful spin on her heels. ‘Yes, and thank you, I’m glad you like it.’
‘Like it?’ He chuckled. ‘I love it!’
She took the arm he offered her, and then she realised he also looked different – still hot, but more sleek-hot than casual-hot. ‘Are you wearing contacts? And, have you had your hair cut.’
He nodded. ‘Richie insisted, said I was starting to look like a hobo.’
‘I’ll cut out his tongue,’ she said with mock horror, and Alex chuckled.
‘So, you don’t mind me as a hobo?’
She grinned. ‘You’re perfect in every version.’ As they stepped out into the back street, she waved at the cab driver. ‘Hey, Martin!’ He waved back. In a lower voice she asked Alex, ‘Do you have Martin on speed dial, or what?’