Shopaholic to the Stars (14 page)

‘They want some pin-tucks down the front as well. Did you finish the hem?’

‘Um.’ I swallow. ‘Nearly.’

‘So, finish it and put in the pin-tucks.’ She claps her hands. ‘Come on! They’re waiting! Now!’

‘Right.’ I nod, and hastily start up the sewing machine again. ‘Pin-tucks. Coming up.’

‘And two extra sleeve tucks at the shoulder. You can do that?’

‘Sleeve tucks. No problem.’

I briskly sew a seam, then turn the blouse and sew another seam. She’s still watching me. Why is she still watching me? Doesn’t she have anywhere else to go?

‘So,’ I say. ‘I’ll just … put those tucks in.’

I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m pushing the shirt back and forth, criss-crossing seams all over it. I don’t dare stop; I don’t dare look up. I’m just willing the girl to leave.
Go, please go
…
please, please go …

‘Are you nearly done?’ The girl listens to her headset. ‘They’re waiting for it.’

I feel like I’m in a never-ending sewing nightmare. The shirt is a mish-mash of random wavery stitches; in fact I’ve actually stitched the whole thing together. I’m sewing more and more feverishly, backwards and forwards, praying that something gets me out of this …

‘Hello? Excuse me?’ She raises her voice over the sound of the sewing machine. ‘Can you hear me? Hey!’ She bangs a hand on the table.
‘Can you hear me?’

‘Oh.’
I look up as though hearing her for the first time. ‘Sorry. I was just sewing.’

‘The shirt?’ She holds out her hand.

I stare steadily back at her. The blood is pulsing in my ears. Any minute now she’s going to grab the shirt from the sewing machine and it will all be over. And she won’t let me leave and I’ll be arrested by the studio secret police in dark jackets and my whole plan will fail before it’s even begun.

‘Actually … I think I’m going to change career,’ I say in desperation.

‘What?’ The girl gapes at me.

‘Yes. I’ve had a sudden realization. I don’t want to be a seamstress any more, I want to work with animals.’

‘Animals?’
She seems absolutely pole-axed and I take advantage of this fact to get up and start edging past her to the door.

‘Yes. I’m going to go to Borneo and work with gorillas. It’s always been my dream. So, er, thank you for the opportunity.’ I start backing out of the room. ‘Say thank you to Deirdre, too. You’ve all been lovely to work with!’

The girl is still staring at me, open-mouthed, as I hurry out of the double doors. I can hear her calling something, but I don’t stop to listen. I have to get out.

By: OUR MOVIE REPORTER

When 70-year-old Edna Gatterby from St Louis went on a tour of Sedgewood Studios she expected to end up with a souvenir or two. Instead, she came away with a part in a major Sedgewood production,
Fought the Day
, a World War Two weepie which begins production next month.

The Missouri senior found herself being screen-tested by director Ron Thickson after an encounter in the gift store. ‘I was browsing for a gift when an old lady tumbled to the ground,’ explained Thickson. ‘As I ran to help her, I caught sight of her face, and she matched perfectly my vision of Vera, the hero’s grandmother.’ Edna was screen-tested later that day and has been offered the small role.

‘I’m ecstatic beyond belief. I’ve always wanted to act,’ commented Edna. ‘I have to thank Rebecca,’ she added, but would not elaborate on who ‘Rebecca’ is.

What a disaster. I never got to meet Nenita Dietz. I never got to meet anyone. When I got outside I was so flustered, I almost ran all the way to the exit, looking behind me all the time for the men in dark jackets. I didn’t even buy any souvenirs, so the whole thing was a total waste. And then Luke wanted to hear all about it, and I had to pretend I’d had a brilliant time.

As I get Minnie ready for Little Leaf the next day, I’m still downcast. And my misery has been increased about a million-fold because we’ve had an email saying Alicia wants to address all the parents today about a fund-raiser, so could we all please stay behind after drop-off for an informal gathering.

Which means, after managing to avoid her these last few days, I’ll have to face her again. I don’t know how I’m going to keep my cool.

‘What shall I do?’ I say to Minnie as I plait her wispy little locks into a braid.

‘Cup of tea,’ replies Minnie seriously, and passes me a plastic cocktail glass. We’re sitting on the terrace outside, which is where Minnie chooses to get dressed most mornings (I can’t blame her, with this lovely sunshine), and all her teddies and dolls are sitting around, with a cocktail glass each. As Luke steps out of the house, briefcase in hand, he looks aghast at the sight.

‘Is this Alcoholics Anonymous for teddies?’ he says.

‘No!’ I giggle. ‘They’re our garden cocktail glasses. Minnie found them in the outdoor kitchen. They won’t break, so I let her play with them.’

‘Daddy, cup of tea,’ says Minnie, handing him a cocktail glass.

‘OK,’ says Luke. ‘A quick cup of tea.’ He crouches down and takes the glass from her. A moment later, his gaze focuses on the teddy in front of him. Damn. I know what he’s seen. I should have hidden it.

‘Becky,’ he says. ‘Is that bear wearing my Asprey cufflinks? The ones you gave me?’

‘Er …’ I assume an innocent expression. ‘Let me see. Ah. Yes, I believe it is.’

‘And my Cartier watch.’

‘So it is.’

‘And that doll has got my old college tie on.’

‘Has it?’ I’m trying not to giggle again. ‘Well, Minnie wanted to dress her toys up. You should be flattered she chose your things.’

‘Oh really?’ Luke grabs his watch off the bear, ignoring Minnie’s protests. ‘I don’t notice you volunteering any of
your
priceless jewellery.’

‘Your cufflinks aren’t priceless!’

‘Maybe they’re priceless to me because they came from you.’ He raises his eyebrows at me and I feel a little flicker, because although I know he’s teasing me, I also know he means it.

‘Drink
tea
, Daddy!’ says Minnie sternly, and Luke puts his cocktail glass to his lips obediently. I wonder what all his board members in London would say if they could see him now.

‘Luke …’ I bite my lip.

‘Uh-huh?’

I wasn’t planning on bothering him with my problems, but I can’t help myself.

‘What am I going to do about Alicia?’

‘Alicia,’ says Luke tersely, and raises his eyes to heaven. ‘God help us.’

‘Exactly! But here she is, and I’m going to see her today at pre-school, and everyone thinks she’s marvellous, and I want to yell, “If only you knew what an evil witch she is!”’

‘Well, I wouldn’t do that,’ says Luke, looking amused. ‘Not in public.’

‘It’s OK for you! You’re really good when you meet people you don’t like. You just go all calm and stony. I get all flustered.’

‘Just think dignified. That’s my best advice.’

‘Dignified!’ I echo, despairingly, and Minnie perks up.

‘Digna-dive,’ she enunciates carefully, and Luke and I both laugh, whereupon she says it again, beaming back at us. ‘Digna-dive. Digna-dive!’

‘That’s it,’ says Luke. ‘Digna-dive. I have to go.’ He rises to his feet, swiping his Asprey cufflinks off the teddy bear as he does so. I take a pretend swig of my tea, wishing it was a real cocktail, and that Luke could take the day off, and that Alicia lived in Timbuktu. ‘Sweetheart, don’t fret,’ says Luke, as though reading my thoughts. ‘You’ll be fine. Chin up, eyes flinty.’

I can’t help giggling, as that’s
exactly
how he looks when he’s angry with someone but isn’t about to make a scene.

‘Thanks.’ I put an arm around him and kiss him. ‘You’re the most digna-dive person I know.’

Luke clicks his heels and bows like an Austrian prince, and I laugh again. I truly do have the best husband in the world. And I’m not biased at all.

As I arrive at Little Leaf, I’m resolved. Luke has inspired me. I’m going to be totally serene and
not
let Alicia get to me. Minnie prances off straight away to play with her friends, and I head for the parents’ lounge, which is where Alicia is apparently giving her talk. I can hear a vacuum cleaner operating inside, so I assume the room isn’t ready yet, and lean against the wall to wait. A few moments later I hear footsteps, and Alicia appears round the corner, immaculately dressed as ever in yoga wear, and holding what looks like a brand-new Hermès bag.

OK, here I go. Chin up. Eyes flinty. Stay calm.

‘Hello,’ I say, trying to sound detached, yet engaged, yet unflustered, while maintaining the moral high ground. All in two syllables.

‘Becky.’ Alicia gives a nod and leans against the wall directly opposite me. I feel as though we’re in some weird game of chess, only I don’t know what the next move is.

Anyway. It’s not chess, I tell myself. This isn’t a battle. I’m not even going to
think
about Alicia. I’m going to … check my phone. Yes. As I start to read through a bunch of messages I’ve read before, I see that Alicia is doing the same thing, opposite. Only she keeps laughing softly, and shaking her head and exclaiming, ‘You’re kidding! Oh, hilarious,’ as though to demonstrate what an entertaining life she leads.

I’m furiously telling myself not to notice her, not to think about her … but I can’t help it. Our mutual past keeps flashing through my head like a film. All the times she’s undermined me, all her scheming, all her bitchiness …

My chest is starting to rise and fall in indignation, my fingers are clenching, my jaw is tightening. After a few moments, Alicia clearly notices, because she puts down her phone and surveys me as though I’m an interesting curiosity.

‘Rebecca,’ she says, in that new-agey, softly-softly way she has that makes me want to slap her. ‘I know you’re hostile towards me.’

She pronounces it ‘hostel’ now. Of course she does.

‘Hostile?’ I stare at her incredulously. ‘Of course I’m hostile!’

Alicia says nothing but just sighs, as though to say,
How sad that you feel this way, but I have no idea why
.

‘Alicia,’ I say evenly. ‘Do you actually remember the way you’ve behaved towards me over the years? Or have you blanked it all out?’

‘Let me tell you a little about my journey,’ says Alicia seriously. ‘When I met Wilton I was in a very unhappy place. I believed I was deficient in every possible way. He helped me to self-actualize.’

Argh.
Self-actualize
. What does that mean, even? Self-obsess, more like.

‘The old Alicia was in a very toxic cycle.’ She looks wistful. ‘The old Alicia was still a child in many ways.’ She’s talking as though ‘the old Alicia’ has nothing to do with her.

‘That was you,’ I remind her.

‘I know our relationship in the past was maybe …’ She pauses as though to select the right word. ‘Unbalanced. But now I’ve righted the scales, we should move on, no?’

‘Righted the scales?’ I stare at her. ‘What scales?’

‘Why else did I recommend your daughter to Little Leaf?’ she says, looking supremely pleased with herself.

The pieces suddenly fall into place in my head.

‘You recommended Minnie … what, to make amends?’

Alicia simply bows her head with a faint smile, as though she’s Mother Theresa giving me benediction.

‘You’re welcome,’ she says.

Welcome?
I’m prickling all over in horror. I feel like striding into the toddler playground, plucking Minnie out and leaving Little Leaf for ever. Except that would be unfair to Minnie.

‘So you think we’re quits now?’ I say, just to make sure I’ve got this right. ‘You think everything’s square?’

‘If that’s the way you see it, then that works.’ She shrugs easily. ‘For me, the world isn’t so linear.’ She gives me a patronizing smile, just like she used to when she was in financial PR and I was a journalist and her suit was more expensive than mine and we both knew it.

‘Forget linear!’ My thoughts are so scattered and furious, I’m finding it hard to articulate them. Let alone stay digna-dive. ‘Just answer me one question, Alicia. Are you actually sorry for anything you did to me? Are you
sorry
?’

The words hang in the air like a challenge. And as I stare at her, my heart is suddenly pounding in expectation. My cheeks are hot and I feel like a ten-year-old in the playground. After all the damage she caused Luke and me, if she really wants to make amends, she has to say sorry. She has to say it and
mean
it. I’m holding my breath, I realize. I’ve been waiting to hear this for a long time. An apology from Alicia Bitch Long-legs.

But there’s silence. And as I look up to meet her blue eyes, I know she’s not going to do it. Of course she isn’t. All this talk of amends. She isn’t sorry a bit.

‘Rebecca …’ she says thoughtfully. ‘I think you’re obsessed.’

‘Well, I think you’re still an evil
witch!
’ The words burst from me before I can stop them, and I hear a loud gasp from behind me. I wheel round to see a cluster of mothers standing behind us in the corridor, all with eyes wide and some with hands to their mouths.