The Look of Love (29 page)

Bella felt hot in the custard-coloured cashmere sweater that Daisy was making her wear. Beautiful as it was – and it certainly suited her – it was definitely one
for a far more wintry day, plus it had silly puffy mid-length sleeves and was tight around her arm just below the elbow. The silky caramel tulip skirt was too big and for the sake of the shot had been held together at the back with tiny bulldog clips. Pins would have marked the fabric. ‘Don’t sit down, whatever you do,’ Daisy ordered. ‘The skirt will crease across the front and you’ll have latitude marks over your thighs.
Not
attractive.’ All very well, Bella considered, feeling lucky she didn’t want to go to the loo: she’d have had to take a helper and the whole lot would have had to come off. She leaned against the door frame, hoping that was allowed, and shifted her weight from foot to uncomfortable foot. Five-inch-heeled shoes that each had four lots of buckles to be fastened were ‘not practical’, as Dina had daringly put it, when Daisy had said that this was a ‘perfect everyday look’. Jules backed up Dina. ‘Exactly; imagine you’re a mum trying to get your kids off to school. Are you really going to have time to do up eight buckles on your own shoes when you’ve just battled to get your four-year-old to put hers on the right feet and fastened?’

‘But you don’t have a four-year-old, do you?’ Daisy looked blank.

‘But the viewers might have!’ Dina snapped back. Revolution brewing again, just as with Esmé the colour expert, Bella thought, wishing she felt more enthusiastic.

‘The shoes are well cool,’ Molly said. ‘I’d love them.’

‘You see?’ Daisy counted this as an all-out win and strode off to talk to Saul.

Bella kept her distance, but watched how the two of them interacted. There was nothing to suggest any intimacy, past or present, nothing beyond a professionally easy manner of working. They seemed to be very much in tune about how this programme should go – that was what their job demanded, though. That must have all been worked out way back at the pre-production stage. But then Saul and Daisy laughed together about something and Daisy gave Saul a brief hug before coming back to join the others. Saul caught Bella looking at him and gave her the kind of smile he’d had in bed the night before, after sex. She smiled back, turned away and went into the house, where Daisy told her to stand up straight and not slouch about and crease the skirt. Thanks, Daisy, she thought.

Apart from the choices they were each now wearing to start the afternoon’s session, the clothes that each of them had selected from the wardrobe wagon were on hangers, strung out on the brightly coloured washing lines.

‘It reminds me of my old mum’s back garden on a Monday,’ Daisy murmured, looking a bit faraway. She gazed at the clothes for a moment, then snapped back
into the present and strode out across the lawn to alter the arrangement of clothes on the line that contained Molly’s selection.

‘Are you all right?’ Saul was suddenly by Bella’s side. ‘I’ve been dying to talk to you, touch you,’ he whispered. ‘It’s agony trying to keep this professional-distance thing going.’

Bella moved a step away from him, partly to stop herself wrapping her arms round him and nestling against his body. Just physical, she told herself. It’s just lust; get over it.

‘I’m OK,’ she said, wishing she felt as cool as she sounded. ‘This is just something to be got through. Only a couple of days, then it’s over.’

‘And then we can …’ She felt his hand stroke her back, slide under her top on to her bare skin.

‘No, wait …’ She pulled away further.

‘Sorry!’ he laughed. ‘I know, I know. I mustn’t touch the clothes in case we completely muck up the whole look and Daisy puts us in detention.’

Bella felt herself freeze a bit at his casual mention of Daisy. So easy. So normal. So – some time, possibly even now – married to her.

‘And we don’t want to confuse the issue either,’ he went on, as if nothing could possibly be wrong. ‘Pleasure and business and all that. Can I see you tonight, though? Stay on after they’ve all gone and
maybe take you out for a drink or something? That pub by the river?’

‘Look … I just …’ Oh hell, this was difficult. ‘Thing is, I really need to spend some time with Molly later. She’s had a boyfriend disaster. And maybe … maybe we’ve gone a bit fast into this?’

Saul frowned, looked intently at her. His eyes were full of disappointment and she felt terrible. But couldn’t he see that her eyes might be expressing the same? Why couldn’t he
read
her need for honesty?

‘OK – I get it,’ he told her. ‘What’s that saying? “If it seems too good to be true, then it probably is.” You want a bit of distance, space. I can give it to you, really I can. I’m ridiculously in love with you – I really want you to know that, but you can have anything you want. Just … ouch.’

He moved away from her and turned to the crew. ‘Right you lot, five minutes! Places, everyone!’

After a day of being kitted out and zipped in and out of clothes and shoes and draped with necklaces and bracelets till she felt she’d almost rather spend the rest of her life stitched into one big snuggly Babygro, Molly would have preferred to visit any other shop than a clothes store, but Shirley had texted and told her to get on a bus and whizz into town to meet her as soon as she’d finished being a fashion victim for the day. It felt like an order, but quite a nice one. What could be bad about spending time with her gran? She was like an extra mum but with an element of safe distance. Molly could tell her things knowing they wouldn’t be dragged up and used in evidence against her at some future time, which she and her friends found usually happened with mothers.

Molly found Shirley waiting for her at the entrance to
the shopping mall, where she was watching a quintet of exuberant violinists busking in the middle of the pedestrianized street and getting in the way of the shoppers.

‘Are you all right, Gran? And oh … isn’t this the place where you got …’ Molly dropped her voice to a whisper, ‘…
arrested
and that? Is this the first time you’ve been back?’

So that was what it was about, she thought. Shirley had lost confidence and needed her support. She felt both privileged (after all, Shirley could have asked Bella) and a bit sad. She didn’t want her gran to be feeling shaky about something as simple as mall-visiting. That would be mad. No one was going to be pointing at her and hissing ‘
Shoplifter
’.

‘It is where I had that
mix-up
, yes. But don’t worry, Moll darling, I haven’t asked you along because I can’t trust myself not to nick several fancy hats and a cashmere coat. I just thought you might need a bit of cheering up, so I decided I’d take you out and treat you to something lovely. So … let’s see what you’ve learned from these
Fashion Victims
people,’ Shirley told her as they went through the doors and felt the cool, welcome draught of air-conditioning. ‘And I’d like the company of my beautiful granddaughter for a while. Are you all right, darling? How is it going with the boyfriend situation?’

‘
Ex
-boyfriend,’ Molly reminded her, sidestepping a group of shrieky pre-teen girls sprinting suspiciously fast out of Claire’s Accessories. ‘Carly says Giles hasn’t been in school. I think he’s keeping out of Aimee’s way. He’s sent me about twenty texts today. All too much too late. And
texts
. He couldn’t like, just
call
? Why can’t boys talk?’ On cue, Molly’s phone beeped again. She glanced at the caller ID and switched the phone right off.

‘You could reply to him. Let him lead up to the talking part,’ Shirley suggested. ‘If you don’t encourage him to talk to you, you’ll never get past this pointless stalemate.’

‘Yeah, but Gran, he can’t undo what he did. So what’s he going to say? That it’s twins? That Aimee gave him a nasty disease as well? Last week, when I was thinking it was me that had done something wrong, I couldn’t get a
word
out of him. Couldn’t he even begin to imagine how that felt, after how we’ve been to each other for the past five months? I thought he’d decided to dump me just because I’m a bit picky as to where I have sex with him. Obviously he’s
not
so picky, as it turns out. Not even about who he has it with.
And
it had to be Carly who told me about the stupid
baby
, not him. Sorry. You don’t need to hear all this really, do you?’ It would probably be an odd conversation to have with anyone who wasn’t Shirley. Her mother would be too sympathetic and soppy, trying to hug her and reassure
her. She didn’t want that. Right now she wanted to rant. Shirley, thank goodness, was looking completely unfazed.

Molly felt slightly sick now she’d mentioned the child out loud. This made it a human. A person. A real live small child that didn’t just lie in a frilly cot, waving its limbs randomly and looking cute, but a real growing little girl or boy that in no time would be off to school, have play dates, birthday parties with mad cartoon cakes and believe in Father Christmas. She wished now she’d said ‘pregnancy’. It seemed less real. Certainly less permanent. What was Aimee thinking of? Did she really want a baby? And if so, did she really want to share it with
Giles
? He didn’t even like her. She probably didn’t like him much, either. He was just another tick on the to-do list.

‘I don’t mind what I hear, darling. I have no shock gene at all, as your poor mother remembers all too well from her own teen years. But I do want you to be happy again. I hate to see you so miserable over a boy. And you won’t be happy till you at least talk to him, see what can be salvaged, if anything. And even if nothing can be, at least you won’t be in this miserable limbo any more.’

‘You know, I can see he’d want to do
all that
with Aimee,’ Molly went on. ‘I mean, like, well everybody else has, and she probably does it … like … er, really well?’ She could feel her face going pink and hot. ‘But why
would she want to keep
his
baby? If she really wanted one, why not take the morning-after pill this time and then pick out someone who actually quite likes her and get pregnant with him?’

‘She sounds a poor little mixed-up thing to me,’ Shirley told her. ‘I’m inclined to feel a bit sorry for her, to be honest.’

‘I used to be, too,’ Molly admitted. ‘Till it was my boyfriend she sha— stole.’

Shirley stepped on to the escalator and Molly followed. On the first floor, Shirley led her towards a branch of Zara and stopped in front of the shop’s window display. ‘I like this place … there’s always something good and a bit quirky in here. Let’s go in and have a quick look.’

Molly indicated a mannequin sporting a floral micro smock-style dress, cinched in with a wide, obi-style belt in black leather.

‘Carly likes that belt.’ Molly pointed to it. ‘But … well, she’s not nine inches wide like the model. I think it would look all wrong on her. And that dress, she likes that too, but it would bunch up over her bum and make her look fatter than she is. Not that she
is
, not really.’

‘You did pay attention, didn’t you, darling? That Daisy knows her stuff. And I don’t care what your mother says – learning how to make the best of yourself
is
useful. However low your mood, wearing something
that delights you can lift you just that bit from the depths.’

‘You always look cool but you never had lessons, did you?’

‘No – but when I was younger we didn’t have the choices that you have. And clothes had to last, so you learned to choose carefully. Now – whatever Daisy’s taught you about what
suits
you, there’s another game with clothes … dressing to have the impact you want on the people you’re aiming at. Let me show you …’

The last shoes, the last bracelet had been packed away for the night in the wardrobe truck, and most of the crew had already left. Only the brightly coloured washing lines remained, strung across the garden like leftover party decorations. At just after six o’clock it was still warm enough to sit outside, and Daisy, Saul, Fliss, Jules and Bella were in the garden having a well-deserved glass of wine and some olives and nuts kindly left for them by the caterers. Dominic had rushed off to a handbag launch party, leaving Daisy looking a bit crestfallen at not having been invited along. She’d been moping for much of the afternoon, ratty with Fliss and abrupt with the victims. Twice Saul had had to stop the filming to tell her she had a face like a slapped arse and would she please smile occasionally for the camera.

‘I can’t,’ she’d whined, flicking her blue-black hair
about. ‘I’m pissed off. I want Dom to take me with him tonight and he says no.’

‘Think of your pay cheque,’ Saul snapped. ‘That should make you smile.’

Molly had vanished somewhere into the teenage unknown and Dina had gone home the minute they’d finished filming, saying something about needing to feed her cat but looking far more glittery and excited than the prospect of opening a sachet of Whiskas merited. Bella knew it was something to do with James, and was glad. Someone had to have a go at the day’s happy rations, and anything that distracted James from trying to move Bella into a beige bungalow had to be welcomed.

Bella was aware of Jules’s eyes flicking in flagrant curiosity between her and Saul, looking for signs of, presumably, love’s crackling flame. She wasn’t going to find any. Saul was being friendly enough, but even allowing for the pact on being cool and professional, he was being far more remote than she could have ever wanted. In spite of her misgivings about him, she didn’t want ‘remote’ at all, deep down. She wanted uncomplicated, honest passion. And if the unalloyed euphoria of the night before was now damaged, she still longed for him to grab her hand and race out of this house with her, drive her in the little Merc to Soho, then take her up to his roof garden where they could lean on
the railings side by side, bodies tantalizingly touching, watching London life drift past below them, and he could tell her about … oh yes … being married to Daisy. Pop went the wild-fantasy bubble. Bella, so uncomfortably close to Daisy on the bench that every now and then a foot or a thigh would come into accidental contact, felt sickeningly conscious that she was sitting beside the wife (current or otherwise, oh
surely
not current – by how vast a margin would that make him the world’s biggest cheating bastard?) of the man she’d slept with – and had felt herself falling in love with – the night before.