A Summer Fling (37 page)

It looked as if it did too. The material was cheap and tacky and didn’t lie in soft folds but stuck out stiffly and made even the slim Denise appear thick-waisted.

‘Oh, you pair of moaners! You can change straight after the wedding, you don’t have to wear it all day. Eeh, it’s a bonny colour though, isn’t it, Dawn? Nice and bright for summer,’ Muriel enthused.

Dawn took a deep breath and sucked back the comment that Pumpkin Orange was much more suitable for Hallowe’en. And she didn’t want the bridesmaids changing straight after the wedding. She would have liked them to wear the dresses all day so they were in them for any evening photos. Rage was bubbling in her and she was scared to unleash it fully, so it seeped out through pinholes.

‘I’d bought all the peach ribbon to match for the favours and the invitations!’

‘No one notices stuff like that!’ said Muriel, waving it off as another one of Dawn’s pernicketies.

‘I do,’ said Dawn, getting about as shirty as she could.

‘Ooh, you want to save your “I do’s” for the big day,’ laughed Bette, sending her five chins into vibration.

‘Oy, Mam, talking of “do’s”, she don’t want a hen do,’ mocked Demi, thumbing at Dawn.

So her future sister-in-laws had been gossiping about her. Again. That made Dawn feel extra fine and dandy.

‘It’s just that I don’t have anyone to invite,’ Dawn tried to explain.

‘You’ve got us and Bette,’ said Muriel. ‘And I daresay Demi and Denise have some mates that’ll want to come and beef up the crowd.’

‘Calum’s having his stag do on the Saturday before the wedding,’ said Demi.

‘Is he?’ It was the first Dawn had heard of it.

‘Oh, didn’t he tell you?’ gloated Demi. ‘Mind you, if you’re as miserable with him as you were about not wanting a hen night, there’s no wonder.’

Ouch!
Dawn felt suddenly outlawed by them all. Blood in this family was about twelve million times thicker than water. She was wishing more with every passing hour that she’d never started this whole wedding process. She had liked the family much more before their relationship got smothered by cakes and karaokes.

‘Well, it would be nice to have a hen do, I suppose,’ said Dawn, caving in because she didn’t want to cause more bitching behind her back.
What would be the point in marrying Calum if his family hated her?
However much she didn’t want to admit it to herself, belonging to a loving family again had influenced her decision to be Calum’s wife. Of course it had.

‘Good, you can leave all the arrangements to us then,’ said Denise, her face returning to her usual cheeky, cheerful look. ‘I promise you, we’ll have a night to remember.’

Dawn suspected it would be more a night to forget.

In the kitchen of West House, Grace was making dinner for her temporary landlord and landlady. She was happy in a kitchen, especially one of that size which had comforting, family vibes. She felt she wanted to thank these two lovely, kind people who were caring for her and sharing their home most selflessly with her, so she pulled out all the culinary stops.

‘Can I help?’ asked Niki, putting his head around the door. ‘I’m the best potato peeler this side of Leeds.’

‘I’m not doing potatoes, so go away and let me cook for you,’ said Grace with a smile.
Not cooking potatoes!
That was rebellious in itself. For years she had boiled potatoes every Saturday night to accompany Gordon’s pork chops. Even when they were on holiday self-catering. That single thought of Gordon brought a grim cloud with it, drying up her smile. An over-soft part of her would worry about him coping on his own if she let it. Sarah had watered that particular seed with her ‘Who’s going to look after Dad when he comes home?’ questions. Gordon was, she had reminded her daughter, only fifty-nine, not eighty-nine. He would just have to learn how to stuff his washing in the machine and iron it afterwards. But still, being indifferent and self-protective didn’t come naturally to her.

‘Let me pour you a glass of wine,’ said Niki. He and Christie were sitting out on the patio in the back garden, enjoying the balmy late afternoon.

‘Well, if you insist.’

‘I do,’ Niki said. ‘A lovely chilled pink Pinotage Rosé for madam.’ He handed her a glass with a long, fragile stem.

‘Thank you, Niki.’

He stared at her long after he had handed over the wine, which disconcerted her. Then he suddenly realized that he was embarrassing her and apologized.

‘Sorry, Grace, forgive me. I was just thinking about what you’ve been through. No one could ever tell from looking at you. You’re so remarkably . . . together. I don’t know how you do it.’

‘Inside I’m not, Niki, trust me,’ said Grace, grating some gruyère cheese into her white wine sauce. ‘I can’t stop thinking about that weekend and a whole host of “what ifs”. What if no one had come for me? What if I’d never been chosen to work with your sister and I didn’t have her to sound the alarm when she did? When I don’t take a tablet, the “what ifs” keep me awake at night and when I do fall asleep, I sometimes dream that I’m back living with Gordon and I wake up in a panic.’

She dropped the grater and Niki came to pick it up at the same time as she bent to it. Their heads bumped and Niki reached out to Grace, rubbing her head soothingly.

‘Oh God, Grace, I am SO sorry. Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine,’ said Grace, laughing despite a second or two of sickening pain. ‘You have a very hard head, you know.’

‘Russian genes,’ said Niki. ‘Our ancestors grew thick skulls when they were slaves, pre-emancipation.’

His soothing fingers left her scalp but he didn’t move away.

‘Grace . . .’ he began in that beautiful, deep, fruity voice. ‘Grace, I think you’re wonderful. That’s all I wanted to say.’

There was a sudden intensity between them that Niki sensed Grace was not ready for, so he stepped back from her and lightened up. ‘And I’m sorry I nearly smashed in your cranium.’

‘I’ll live,’ said Grace, feeling hot and shaken and confused but hiding it. ‘I just hope I remember the recipe through the concussion.’

‘If you don’t, there’s the Oriental Dragon less than five minutes away. Best spring rolls in this hemisphere. Anyway, –
Na zdorov’ya,
as we Russians say!’ He raised his glass to Grace. ‘To your health. Especially to the skull part of your health. I pray to my gods for its quick recovery.’

‘Cheers, Niki,’ said Grace, raising her glass in his direction. In his kind, smiling, handsome direction.

Vladimir was waiting outside Darq House, a tall, unsmiling figure with strange, beautiful eyes scanning the drive for her. Anna gulped as he opened the car door and presented his hand to help her out. It was the heart-touching hand.

‘Our last shoot, Anna,’ he said. ‘Are you ready?’

‘As I’ll ever be,’ she said, thinking how cool his skin was, despite the lovely warm air of the evening.

‘Hiya, babe,’ called Bruce. Mark blew her a kiss, Chas waved, Flip had a coffee waiting for her, Leonid nodded courteously at her to acknowledge her presence, Jane gave her a big hug and Maria pushed her down onto a chair and started cleansing her face. Anna felt her eyes watering and coughed the tears back before Maria slapped her legs.

She was made up to the ‘natural look’ for the first part of the evening. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mark setting up the laptop.

‘No, not again!’ groaned Anna.

‘Oh shush,’ laughed Jane. ‘You’ll love this one.’

They had projected two images of her this time on the side of that Leeds building. The left one, the same as last time where she was wearing her rubbish underwear, and on the right, the picture that Leonid had taken of her last week in ‘The Darqone’ bodyshaper. No one was more surprised than Anna to admit that she didn’t look half bad. There was certainly a big difference between the two pictures. She looked thinner and younger on the right one, as if she’d been Photoshopped.

Are these before and after surgery pictures?
said one passer-by.

Is it the same woman?

This woman has a nice figure but the one on the right has an amaz
ing figure.

Absolutely gorgeous. The one on the right is the younger sister, isn’t she?

I’d say she was about thirty-six, thirty-seven tops.

‘What do you think of those reactions, Anna?’ asked Jane.

‘I’m amazed but I’m thrilled to bits,’ smiled Anna, in shock. ‘I felt so much better about myself when the second pictures were taken and it must show. Vladimir’s underwear really does make me feel confident and womanly. I wouldn’t have believed it.’

‘Cut!’ called Mark. ‘Bloody fantastic. This will be magic. Anna, we’re going to be turning this one around fast as a special to pilot the new series, so be in front of the TV on Thursday the nineteenth.’

‘Which month?’

‘This month.’

‘So soon!’ croaked Anna.

‘Full make-up time and your grand finale photoshoot time!’ smiled Jane, pointing Anna to Maria’s chair and gently shoving her forward.

As Maria brushed and dabbed, Anna listened to Leonid and Vladimir conversing in very fast Romanian. It sounded like a record being played backwards containing subliminal messages about the Anti-Christ. God, she would miss these manic evenings. She’d even miss the untalkative Maria who was now lifting up her hair and twirling it around, dropping it and rearranging it. Anna loved having her hair played with. She found herself drifting off, her eyes closing, and then she felt a sharp jab in her shoulder.

‘Don’t go to sleep,’ barked Vladimir, making her jump to attention.

‘I wasn’t!’ she protested.

For once, there was a screen to allow Anna to strip off completely and put on the highest price point lingerie set which Vladimir had made. Professional models might not have minded about photographers and make-up artists seeing their bum, but Anna certainly did. She went behind and slipped off her clothes and into the velvety pants he had made which caressed her bottom cheeks and promised not to crawl up. They actually pushed her stomach in flat while allowing her to breathe and bend. Never mind ‘higher price point’, these things were
priceless.
Then she called for him to assist her with the corset, a beautiful red one that made her feel very queenly. ‘The Darqone’ was an amazing creation and would transform the figures of thousands of women, but his premier collection was
so
worth saving up for. His fingers worked slowly and carefully on the hooks and she felt his cool breath blow against her neck and she shivered. There were strangely no mirrors around that evening so the only reflection she was holding was one in her mind. She hoped when she did see the mirror that it wouldn’t shatter the illusion she was holding of herself: small-waisted, busty, long-legged, lips a sex-slash of scarlet.

He held up a pair of stockings. Black and sheer and sparkly, she had never seen hosiery as gorgeous. To her horror, he bent to help her put them on.

‘No, I’m fine, I can do it!’ she rushed, feeling the heat in her cheeks again as her brain presented her with a mini-play of Vladimir smoothing the stockings onto her legs, clipping the deep lace at her thigh. The ferocity of her imagination shocked her and by the time he had straightened up, the colour in her face would have matched ‘boiled lobster’ on a Dulux paint chart. He did a double-take of it and shouted over the screen, ‘
Maria,
i-a dat cu prea mult fard de obraz
! She has too much blusher on!’

No one needed to know any Romanian to work out that what Maria screamed in return intimated that she wasn’t too fond of his criticism. Anna madly fanned at her face, trying to cool the blood vessels and persuade them to retreat.

Vladimir helped Anna into the dress he had made for the photoshoot, red velvet with a fishtail skirt. It was very plain and very gorgeous. He was silent as he zipped her up and smoothed the material over her back. She tried to rein in her imagination before her cheeks started cooking again. Then Vladimir held up the highest pair of blood-red shoes she had ever seen in her life. She would need oxygen after getting into them. Luckily she didn’t have to walk far in them, just stand there and look like a woman worth shagging for the camera.
Yeah, easy.
Actually, she did feel worth shagging in these clothes. Her legs felt about six feet long in these shoes.

‘Anna, how do you feel?’ Vladimir asked her.

‘Nice,’ she replied in a breathy voice.

‘Nice?’ he growled. ‘
Nice?’

‘OK, I feel fantastic,’ said Anna, clicking her tongue at his indignation. ‘Can I see myself now?’

‘
Nu,’
replied Vlad firmly. ‘Anna, I want you to remember how you feel.’

‘Oh ho, that sounds suspiciously like I don’t look as good as I feel,’ sighed Anna with disappointment.

‘Let me show you your mirror for today,’ he said. He beckoned her out from behind the screen and she did her best to walk gracefully in the stilt heels.

The jolly banter going on between the film crew dried up immediately. Maria and Leonid raised their heads to see her and their eyes widened so much their eyeballs nearly dropped out. Leonid dropped his camera and swore in his native tongue. ‘
La dracu!
’ Which was mirrored in English when Bruce said ‘Fucking ’ell!’ Maria was shaking her head now in total and utter disbelief – and then she actually smiled. It wasn’t much of one, admittedly, but then Maria didn’t look as if she would crack her face if she was being tickled by three feather-duster-bearing octopuses.