A Girl's Best Friend Read online

  London had decided to play nicely for the Belle Christmas party and the miserable, rainy weather that had been bothering the city all day had been replaced with a beautiful crisp, clear night sky. Paige, wrapped up in long scarves and fluffy mittens, looked like a winter fantasy dream girl and with the beautiful backdrop of Somerset House behind her and bright white ice shining below, it was like a Christmas card come to life.

  ‘Apart from bullying your friends into playing model, what else have you been up to since you got back?’ she asked, reaching up to pull her perfectly imperfect blonde fishtail plait over her shoulder. ‘I’ve hardly seen you.’

  ‘That’s because you keep cancelling on me to play with your fancy new fashion magazine friends,’ I pointed out. Paige had moved from Gloss to Belle while I was working in Milan and now it seemed like she never had time for anything but work. Her new job sounded just like The Devil Wears Prada only without so much eye candy or free Chanel accessories. ‘I’ve been working for this photographer, Ess? He’s doing a shoot for No-No mag and he needed a second assistant. Do you know him?’

  Paige screwed up her face and gagged.

  ‘You have had the pleasure then.’

  ‘Repulsive little turd,’ she nodded. ‘But his photos are amazing. I’ve got him booked in for a celeb shoot in a couple of weeks.’

  ‘Really?’ I wobbled on my skates. ‘You’re using him at Belle?’

  ‘The editor loves him and all the celebs want to work with him,’ she nodded. ‘Otherwise, you know, I absolutely would have asked you if you were available.’

  Personally, I thought his photos were cheap, overexposed and tacky but who was I to judge? It wasn’t as though I could do a better job. Oh wait, yes I could.

  ‘Oh, that’s not what I was getting at,’ I said, waving away her embarrassment. ‘I mean, I’d love to shoot for Belle, but really, I’m not loving assisting. Today I had to pretend to be a giraffe to give his model “inspiration”. Do you know what noise giraffes make? I didn’t. I had to google it.’

  She frowned, flexing her cold fingers and blowing on them, just in case I hadn’t realized how cold she was.

  ‘Do giraffes even make a noise?’ she asked.

  ‘It sounds like an angry cow that’s being strangled,’ I said, wincing at the memory. ‘I think that’s the reason we don’t hear their dulcet tones all that often.’

  ‘I can’t even begin to imagine it.’ Paige wrinkled her tiny nose. ‘That sounds horrible.’

  I let my camera hang around my neck and cleared my throat. ‘Yeah, it’s like, ngggghhhh—’

  ‘Tess!’ She cut me off loudly. ‘Dear God, woman, pull yourself together. This is why I can’t take you to nice places.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ I stared at her. ‘I’ve turned into Amy.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s a thing that’s happened,’ Paige said with sympathy in her voice, but not on her face. ‘Are you wearing her clothes?’

  I looked down at the cropped black T-shirt emblazoned with a neon unicorn that was peeking out from underneath my skimpy black cardigan and accessorized with a strip of very white stomach, covered in goose bumps. I’d had to take my bulky coat off to shoot and I could barely feel my fingers any more. And Paige thought she was cold?

  ‘The T-shirt is hers,’ I agreed, making a mental note to do a load of washing as soon as I got in. ‘And the cardigan. When did this happen?’

  ‘Oh, doll,’ she sighed. ‘So long ago.’

  There was a time when I would never have gone out on a Friday night looking like such a tramp. Admittedly, not much of a time since I had spent almost every Friday working late since I graduated six years ago, but still. I would have been in my casual Friday best and neon unicorns were definitely not covered by the office dress code.

  ‘How’s she getting on with Al?’ Paige asked. ‘Everyone is talking about the AJB presentation. It’s crazy.’

  ‘She seems OK,’ I said. ‘It’s hard to tell with Amy; she doesn’t really take things very seriously.’

  ‘A lot of fashion people were annoyed he’s launching at Christmas instead of at fashion week,’ she said, reapplying her lip gloss as she spoke. ‘The powers that be don’t like it when you don’t play by the rules.’

  ‘I don’t think he cares about the powers that be,’ I admitted. ‘When I last spoke to him, he said he was dead set on Christmas because it was his wife’s favourite time of year. Amy tried to convince him to show in Milan or Paris but he wasn’t having it.’

  ‘Must be nice to be so sure of yourself,’ Paige replied and I nodded in agreement. ‘So, other than working for a tosspot and swapping lives with your sartorially challenged best friend, what else has been going on with you? I’ve been so busy with work and Christmas parties and everything, I feel as though I haven’t seen anyone.’

  ‘Oh yeah, all those parties must be a nightmare,’ I said, trying to capture the white light of the fairy lights that decorated the giant Christmas tree as they bounced off her pointy chin. ‘You sound gutted.’

  ‘You know work parties are never that much fun,’ she argued. I zoomed in on her face and clicked as her pale cheeks flushed. ‘There are always a lot of events at this time of year and none of them entertaining. And the weather’s been awful. And there’s nothing on TV. And, you know, stuff.’

  I hadn’t known Paige nearly as long as I’d known Amy but it didn’t matter. She was a terrible liar.

  ‘Paige Sullivan.’ I narrowed my brown eyes and zeroed in on her green ones. ‘Why are you babbling? What aren’t you telling me?’

  ‘Nothing, there’s nothing,’ she scoffed, her face glowing more brightly than Rudolph’s red nose. And since there was a twenty-five-foot illuminated version of everyone’s favourite reindeer right behind her, it wasn’t a difficult comparison to make. ‘Like, what are you even talking about?’

  ‘Oh, no way!’

  Delighted, I clapped and immediately lost my balance, the skates sliding underneath me. I threw my arms to steady myself as she tried to cover up a quiet laugh.

  ‘There is something! Spill, immediately. You have to tell me, I’m brilliant at keeping secrets.’

  ‘You can’t even keep your own secrets,’ Paige pointed out. ‘Why on earth would I tell you anything?’

  ‘Fine, I’ll guess.’ I stared until I had her locked in uncomfortable eye contact. ‘New job?’

  ‘No, no and there’s nothing. I’m not keeping any secrets,’ she protested, looking anywhere but at me. ‘You know, you didn’t have to wear skates to go on the ice. You could have worn your trainers.’

  ‘Where’s the fun in that?’ I asked. ‘Oh my God, are you pregnant?’

  ‘Christ no!’ she yelped. ‘At least, I hope not.’

  And then it was obvious. She was calmer than usual. She had only complained about her terrible luck with men once all night and she was wearing flats. Paige Sullivan. Art Director at Belle magazine. Out on a Friday night. In London. In flat shoes.

  ‘Oh!’ I threw my hands in the air, knocking myself off balance and landing on my arse with a hard bump. ‘You’ve got a boyfriend!’

  At first she didn’t say anything, she just sat there, concentrating on her mittens and shaking her head, while smiling. ‘I haven’t,’ she said eventually. ‘I haven’t, Tess, honestly.’

  ‘You’re a filthy liar,’ I replied in a strangled voice, waiting for my breath to come back. Ow ow ow. Broken coccyx for Christmas, brilliant. Maybe, if I was really lucky, I could spend Kekipi’s wedding sitting on an inflatable doughnut. ‘And lies make Baby Jesus cry. Do you want to make Baby Jesus cry this close to his birthday?’

  ‘I don’t have a boyfriend,’ she insisted, pulling out the hair tie in the end of her plait and looking up to meet my eyes. I took this to mean the photoshoot was over. ‘God’s honest truth. I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘Fine,’ I said, crawling over to the edge of the ice and taking her hand as she helped me up, my camera swinging wildly around my neck. ‘I won
’t ask any more questions. I’ll just assume you’re secretly boning some wonderful man’s brains out on the sly and when you’re ready to talk to me about it, you will.’

  I stared at her for a moment, holding her eyes before she looked away. She looked sad. Which made me sad. Which I did not care for.

  ‘Or I could have him killed?’ I offered. ‘The mood I’m in, I’d be very happy to do it.’

  She considered it for a moment then shook her head. ‘We can let him live for now. I’m all right, Tess, I promise.’

  ‘Well, of course you are,’ I said as we flopped down on the bench next to the ice. I sucked up a sharp breath as my bruised bum bones hit the cold, hard stone. ‘That goes without saying; you’re amazing. Whatever’s going on, you know you can talk to me about it though, don’t you? Absolutely no judgement.’

  ‘I know,’ she nodded. ‘You’re a good friend. It’s all right though, there’s nothing to talk about.’

  It couldn’t have been clearer that that was not the case. I wondered what it could be. Did they work together? Was he famous? Was he married?

  ‘What about you?’ Paige fingered a delicate gold chain around her neck and gave me a nudge. ‘You still haven’t—’

  ‘No.’ I cut her off before she could ask. If she didn’t want to answer my question, I certainly didn’t want to answer hers. ‘I haven’t.’

  ‘And he hasn’t?’

  ‘No.’ I shook my head firmly and turned on the screen on the back of my camera, flicking through the fruits of our photoshoot.

  ‘Tess,’ Paige said, pushing my camera down onto my lap. ‘Don’t you think it might be worth giving him a call? It’s been months.’

  ‘Nope,’ I replied swiftly. ‘For now, I think it’s best I pretend it never happened.’

  ‘If only it were that easy,’ she agreed. ‘Why hasn’t someone invented a pill for that yet?’

  ‘Because there aren’t enough women scientists yet,’ I replied. ‘The ones we do have are busy trying to cure terrible diseases while all the men scientists work on inventing vibrating razors with five blades. We’ll get there eventually.’

  ‘I hope it’s sooner rather than later,’ she said. ‘It’s only two months until fashion week in New York and I’ve got outfits to think about. All this man drama is taking up altogether too much brain space.’

  ‘Priorities,’ I agreed, resting my head on her shoulder and watching the Zamboni buzz quietly around the ice in a graceful figure of eight. ‘And that’s another reason why I haven’t called him. I can only deal with one massive brain drain at a time. At least it’s nearly Christmas.’

  ‘I’m thinking about getting really fat and then juicing for all of January,’ Paige said.

  ‘I’m definitely in for the first bit,’ I said, pulling Amy’s T-shirt down over my belly. ‘Might give the second bit a miss.’

  ‘Me too,’ she admitted. ‘Kale makes me retch. Maybe I shouldn’t plan on porking out this close to fashion week.’

  ‘Or you could always quit your job,’ I suggested, patting her knee while she shrugged, considering her options. ‘Let’s go and get a proper drink before my fingers fall off.’

  ‘Now you’re talking,’ said my model as she hopped off the bench and helped me untie my ice skates. ‘First round’s on me.’

  Seriously, one of the best human beings I had ever met.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘Jess, can you lift that reflector up, please?’

  ‘It’s Tess,’ I said, stretching my arms higher above my head, wobbling as I went. My arse was still killing me from the coccyx incident the night before and I did not feel steady on my feet in the slightest. ‘My name is Tess, actually. Sorry.’

  Celebrated celebrity photographer extraordinaire Ess – no last name – took a moment to throw me a filthy look, then went back to staring at nothing through his viewfinder. I couldn’t really complain, it was the first time he’d looked me in the eye all day, having been far more interested in my tits ever since I’d arrived on set at 6 a.m.

  I had been so excited when my agent got me the job with Ess. It was a real opportunity, she said. I’d learn so much, she said. So far, I’d made four cups of tea that hadn’t been drunk, been out on two coffee runs in the pouring rain and contorted myself into more uncomfortable positions than the average yoga instructor, all while holding an arm-breakingly huge reflector. And that was just today. The closest I had been to a camera all week was when Ess accidentally hit me in the arse with his while I was underneath a desk, plugging in the MacBook. This was not the hands-on training I’d been hoping for.

  ‘Jess, I need it higher. For Christ’s sake, woman!’

  I closed my eyes, prayed to whoever would listen that I wouldn’t be spending Christmas with a broken leg to go with my bruised bum and pressed up onto my tiptoes, swaying back and forth.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘Is this better?’

  ‘Not really. Doesn’t help that you’re waving it around like a fucking flag,’ he replied, snatching the camera away from his face and throwing it at his first assistant, a small, scared-looking bleached blond boy called 7. Not the word seven, the number seven. He had been quite clear about that. Never the word, always the number, he’d said defensively. ‘It’s supposed to be still. You’re supposed to reflect light. Do you even know how to stand still, Jess?’

  ‘Nope,’ I whispered before pasting on my brightest smile and holding my breath. ‘Any good?’

  ‘No. Get down and we’ll find something for you to do that isn’t as taxing as standing still,’ Ess said. He scratched his muttonchops and leered at my backside as I clambered off the stool he had balanced on the chair that stood on top of a suitcase. He did not offer to help. ‘Veronica said you were going to be good at this.’

  It was delivered as a statement, no obvious question, no definitive inflection.

  ‘That’s nice,’ I said, tiptoeing across the all-white studio set-up. ‘And not at all like her.’

  ‘You doing her?’ he asked.

  ‘Sorry?’ I blinked.

  ‘Shagging her?’ he said.

  ‘No,’ I replied, shaking my head. ‘I don’t think so. Is she gay?’

  ‘She’s never tried it on with me,’ he said, shrugging as though that was an answer. ‘If you were good, you’d be able to hold up a reflector properly.’

  He signalled for me to stand on the T-shaped mark 7 had created on the floor with duct tape. ‘Veronica isn’t usually wrong about people. You sure you’re not shagging her?’

  ‘I’m definitely not,’ I said, pulling the elastic from around my ponytail and securing as much of my curly copper hair as I could. ‘And I’m sorry if I’m not getting everything right straight away. I’ve never actually assisted before. I’ll get it, though, I promise. I’m sorry.’

  It was as though I had apologetic Tourette’s. I couldn’t stop saying I was sorry even though an apology was not owed and unlikely to ever be deserved.

  ‘Oh, so you’re one of them,’ Ess said, eyes narrowing as a tight smile took over his bristly face. ‘You think you’re a real photographer so you’re too good to dirty your hands assisting me.’

  ‘Not at all,’ I replied quickly. ‘I mean, I am a real photographer but I don’t think I’m too good to assist you.’

  I did though. I thought I was far too good but since no one had hired me to be a ‘real’ photographer for nearly three months, I didn’t have a lot of choice. It turned out that lucking into two jobs, no matter how brilliant they might have been, did not a career in photography make.

  ‘Yeah? You got lots of nice pictures of your dinner on Instagram, have you?’ he asked while 7 tittered in the background. ‘Maybe the odd cat? Few nice duckface selfies?’

  ‘No,’ I replied, tossing my head like an indignant pony. ‘I mean, yes, obviously, but not just that. I shot Bertie Bennett for Gloss magazine and I worked with him on the book he’s writing.’

  ‘Never heard of him.’ Ess dismissed my
job of a lifetime without a second thought. ‘Gloss’ll be closed inside six months, mark my words. All those gash mags are going under.’

  Apparently the look of horror on my face didn’t faze him one little bit.

  ‘Gash mags?’

  ‘Mags,’ he nodded, making a chopping motion with each word. ‘For gash.’

  ‘I’m not following,’ I replied. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘You,’ he pointed at me with a thick, unappealing finger, ‘are gash. Mags for you. Gash mags.’

  Agent Veronica had warned me not to mess up this job. Those weren’t her exact words because Agent Veronica loved to swear like most people loved to breathe, so the whole exchange had been a lot more colourful than that but when she told me not to mess up, I just thought she was warning me not to be late or break anything. Dropping a camera seemed as though it would be considerably less damaging to my career than sprinting across the room and stabbing Ess through the heart with a biro.

  ‘Jess, are you with us?’ Ess snapped his fingers in front of my face and pointed at the mark on the floor. ‘I need to check lighting on this shot. You’re tall, well done. Get down on your hands and knees so I can see where to position the daft model tart when she finally shows up.’

  Taking a short, sharp breath in, I reminded myself of how important this job was, of how much I wanted to get somewhere in my career. How this was all vital experience for my very light CV. Besides, what else was I going to do with my Saturday? I only had three episodes of Game of Thrones to watch and then I was completely caught up. After that, I was going to have to put myself into a medically induced coma until the new season started if I didn’t find something else to do.

  ‘Shall I just stay here?’ I asked, kneeling down and holding a hand over my eyes as 7 turned on the blinding studio lights, all aimed directly at my face. ‘Is this good?’

  ‘Look up at me,’ Ess directed, looking through his camera and edging closer to me. ‘Look right into the camera.’