Love...Among The Stars: Book 4 in the Love...Series (Love Series) (28 page)

Of course, there's no renting going on when it comes to Laura's dress. That just wouldn't do at all. If a woman is called upon to attend a swanky event, she
must
wear a brand new outfit that has never seen the light of day.
One costing a truckload of cash.
This is just one of those universal truisms, so it's best we don't dwell on it too much and get on with our lives.

Given that there are only two days between invite and premiere, Laura has to make her mind up about which dress she wants far quicker than she would have liked. I'm not going to go into details about the hunt for the dress right now. Suffice to say that I've seen the inside of one too many designer clothes shops over the past forty eight hours.

Laura eventually settles on a flowing grey number, replete with a splash of sequins. This was after rejecting a smart black off the shoulder job that was too tight around the boobs, and a long, silky, white strappy dress that she thought made her calves look fat. The grey dress suits her figure down to the ground - and now I'm going to stop talking about ladies dresses before you mistake me for
Gok
Wan.

There was a brief shining moment I thought we might get out of our public appearance, when we struggled to get a babysitter for Poppy. We usually rely on a sweet, good natured girl called Amber who lives down the road from us, but she was busy the night of the premiere. Luckily - for Laura, not me - Terry steps up to the plate once again, and agrees to take our daughter for the night.

I am rather worried that Terry is becoming very useful - and indeed, indispensable. I'm still waiting for him to do something hideously wrong, but as yet, he's been everything he said he would be upon his return. This obviously pleases Laura no end, but she isn't blessed with my rampant cynicism, so I am still concerned that a moment will come when the house of cards will fall down, and the man that buggered off and left his child in the formative years of her life will return with a vengeance. For now though, I have to grudgingly accept that Terry is being every inch the apologetic father, and doting grandfather. Even if he did introduce Winklebastard into my life,
and
prevent me having a decent excuse not to trudge down a red carpet in a rented tuxedo, I have to give him some credit, don't I?

The gala premiere for Lost Lives And Broken Hearts is at the Odeon in Leicester Square - the site of many a movie's opening night over the years. Given the fact that we're in for an evening out in London, Laura and I have to spend yet
another
night this year at a hotel in the city. I'm starting to understand why the rich buy a second flat here. I know I would if I could, just to know for certain what kind of bed I'd be sleeping in.

This time around, we spring for a night in a decent boutique hotel in Kensington called The
Radley
Suites. This lies somewhere between the opulence of The Dorchester, and the down to Earth austerity of the Premier Inn. We don't feel completely out of our depth, but we also don't feel like we're slumming it.

I say 'don't feel like
we're
slumming it', but you probably know me well enough by now to know that I would have been quite happy with the cheapest option. My wife on the other hand, has different ideas. 'I'm not attending a star studded film event, and coming back to a ruddy Premier Inn, Jamie,' she told me. 'Book us somewhere a bit nicer, and a bit more appropriate.'

I think £59 for a night in London is
perfectly
appropriate, but then I have absolutely no taste, given that I am a man, and am therefore an idiot.

At least Craig and his agent friend have arranged the transport for the evening.
A chauffeur driven limousine, no less.

It'll have to be a large one, as Craig has informed us that we will be travelling to the premiere with him and his girlfriend Maxine, Sanjapat Hathiristipan and his wife, and the old man's agent Caroline Denham, with her partner Alberto. Four couples in total - only two of which have any real business being at the event.

If there were a time to take on the legendary role of spare prick at a wedding, then this is truly it.

'We'll be fine, Jamie,' Laura again has to reassure me as we stand in the foyer of The
Radley
Suites, waiting for Craig and his entourage to arrive.

'How much do you want to bet me?'

Laura thinks about this for a moment. 'A month's loading the dishwasher?'

'You're on.' We shake hands, and I start to feel a bit better. I may be about to accidentally touch one of Keira Knightley's boobs while Sky News films it, but at least I won't have to scrape food into the bin and try to neatly stack plates in a dishwasher for the next few weeks.

The limousine arrives and Laura and I get in. The interior is just what you'd expect. Black leather seats, dark blue carpet, tinted windows. You know, the type of thing that twats like to ride around in.

'Evening Jamie and Laura!' Craig barks, holding out two champagne glasses. 'Have a drink!'

Oh fabulous, I'm going to be hammered by the time we hit the red carpet. Craig will have shoved half a bottle of fizzy
plonk
down my throat before we hit the congestion charge zone. But then I remember that Laura is here, and that her control over me is even greater than Craig's. She won't let me get drunk. We're on our best behaviour tonight, after all. I therefore take the champagne in the secure knowledge that it will be the only alcohol I have access to this evening.

Laura and I sit down in two of the plush seats that ring the limo's interior while Craig does the introductions. Caroline Denham is a tall, thin-lipped woman of indeterminate age. She might be thirty or fifty under all that make-
up,
I have no way of knowing. Alberto is a trophy husband of the highest order. He's Italian. He must be. He has thick, black, swept back hair and is wearing a lime green suit that he actually manages to
pull off
. Italians are the only people in the world who can get away with clothing of such a hideous colour. It's genetic.

Sanja is a small, prune like individual, with dark brown wrinkled skin and bright, searching eyes. He is dressed in a
sombre
grey suit that is a little too large for him, and looks quite, quite furious about something. He's trying to hide his anger, but you can see it trying to bubble to the surface when he speaks. He's all eye twitching and lip curling. As someone who knows what it's like to suppress your frustration at the world on a horrifyingly regular basis, I know the signs of someone forming an ulcer in their stomach from a mile away.

'Good evening,' he says to us, his accent perfectly English, other than a hint of exotic Far Eastern spice attached at the ends. 'This is my wife, Sunil.' He indicates a rather worried looking Asian woman sat next to him in a sari. She knows her husband is mad about something, that's for sure.

'Hello to you both,' she says.

Last, Craig introduces Maxine, who I'm fairly sure is an escort girl. I don't mean that Craig has paid for an escort girl for the evening, I just mean that Craig likes to
date
escort girls. This is supreme evidence of Craig's enormous self confidence, and should be applauded by every straight man in England. Maxine looks like a walking blowjob in
Manolo
Blahniks
. I make a point not to look directly at her. I know which side my bread is buttered, and Laura is holding the knife.

'Are you excited, Laura?' Craig asks, knowing full well that my wife is beside herself, and probably wearing one of the other dresses she rejected yesterday.

'Yes! I'm hoping to speak to Maggie Smith. I love her!' I have to grin at Laura's open fan girl enthusiasm. Even if I'm looking forward to this about as much as root canal surgery, she's excited enough for the both of us. She turns to Sanja. 'And it's an honour to meet you Mr Hathiristipan.' How the
fuck
did she manage that? 'I thought your book was just wonderful.'

This gets a warm smile from Sanja, which temporarily breaks through all of that suppressed anger. 'Thank you, my dear. I'm so glad you liked it.'

'I did! I'm hoping the film does it justice.'

Sanja's face darkens immediately.

Aha!

I think we've come to the root of the matter. Sanja isn't happy with the movie for some reason. It's written all over his face.

'We shall see,' he answers noncommittally.

'It'll be
wonderful
,' Caroline Denham assures him, patting one of his wrinkled little hands. Sanja's having none of it, and regards her with cynicism.

I'm really starting to like this little fella, for some reason.

The rest of the limo journey passes in idle chit chat. Alberto and Maxine don't say much, but they're essentially ambulatory fashion accessories anyway, so that doesn't come as much of a surprise. Amazingly, Sunil has read Love From Both Sides. I don't know whether to be pleased or worried, given how much of an insight it is into what
pillocks
Laura and I are.

Luckily, before Sunil has chance to ask us about how true the fajita incident is, we turn into Leicester Square, and a rather large crowd of people.

It's rather large, as opposed to
enormous
, because this is a period drama, rather than the latest Marvel blockbuster. If Keira and Ralph wore capes and fought Sir Ian McKellan in a helmet, the crowd would be three times the size, I have no doubt. The media are still out in force though. Nobody likes a good film premiere more than the 24 hour news cycle.

As the limo approaches the cinema entrance and the legendary red carpet, I start whispering a mantra under my breath. "Don't do anything stupid, don't do anything stupid,
don't
do anything stupid." I will approach this event as one might approach a pit of exploding scorpions.
Very carefully
.
If Laura and I can just negotiate our way through the public aspect of this premiere and get into our seats, things might not go too badly for us.

Stop making that face.
Stop it!

The limo parks up directly in front of the cinema. 'After you Sanja,' Caroline Denham says, waving a hand in the direction of the door. Sanja is up out of his seat like a man who just wants to get this shit over and done with. The door is opened by the chauffeur, and the little man steps out onto the carpet with a decidedly unimpressed look on his face.

No-one in the crowd pays him the slightest bit of attention. This is to be expected, of course. We don't get into the writing game for the public fame and adulation, after all. That's the job of the actors who have already arrived at the premiere, and are being
papped
to within an inch of their lives.

The rest of us bundle out of the limo and find ourselves at the back of a queue. The queue is being held up by Ralph and Keira, who are taking part in interviews for Sky and the BBC respectively. Miss Knightley looks as glamorous as you'd imagine. The girl needs to eat a bloody pie though. There's nothing of her in that grey, sequined dress she's wearing.

Oh shit.

Her dress looks like Laura's.
Exactly
like Laura's.

Now, do I turn to look at my wife's expression? Or should I just pretend she doesn't exist for the next few hours?

I take a chance. 'Don't worry sweetheart, I think you look much better in yours,' I say, as I see the thunderstorm brewing.

'Don't be such a fucking idiot, Jamie,' she replies. 'That's Keira Knightley. She'd look beautiful in Poppy's chicken costume.'

I take her hand. 'Okay, but please just try to relax. We're not here to cause a scene, are we?'

Laura manages to successfully wrestle her emotions under control. She's as determined as I am that we don't make fools of ourselves tonight. That starts with not flying off the handle because one of the biggest movie stars in the world is wearing a more expensive version of the same dress. Laura counts to ten under her breath... and we're back in the game.

Caroline grabs Sanja and Sunil, and leads them off in the direction of the Sky News camera, lining up behind Keira for a chat with Kay Burley.