Pearced (63 page)

TC: “Yes, they are.” don’t know what to say.

Nothing.

DP: “See you then” ’I’m losing him.

TC:  “Daniel, I miss you” that’ll do it, I regret it as soon as I hit send, but it’s true.

DP: “See you at the office Tharie” gone, using my name tells me I’ve lost him.

DP: “Tharie?” ’Hope?

TC: “Daniel?” Please, I beg my phone, please a little piece of the man, it’s all I need just a crumb.

....waiting

DP: “I like your haircut” that’s it? I sit down in the reception, the revolving door sending sporadic blasts of freezing cold air over me, I shudder. Pack my things and head to the office.

I need a strong cuppa right bloody now!

TC: “Newton, get the kettle on, I’m coming in”

Chapter forty-eight, Monday
:
18thnovember2013 – what now?

My heels re verb around the cavernous space that is the 'hall’, not sure what to expect when I get there so in a pensive mood I head to my studio upstairs. Heading my way with a huge smile on his face is Newton with a large steaming cup of tea for me, I am so grateful, small acts of kindness please everyone, especially if they're in a crap mood.

“Hope your brother is OK Tharie, Mike and I were at the gig, we are
huge
fans!” I manage a thanks between gulping longingly at my tea.

“Thank you Newton,” I tell him sincerely, “he’ll be fine, he only had to cancel the Apollo gig, the rest are fine.” Newton shakes his head and smiles, happy his hero is fine.  I offer him one of my chocolate buttons.

“No thank you Tharie,” he pats his tummy, well what there is of it, “
he
tells me I’m putting on weight” and rolls his eyes. Sounds like
he's
been speaking to someone's Mum!

“Have you considered being vegetarian?” Recalling how he eats bacon sandwiches, two of them every day for breakfast. “Would help with the fat intake, not to mention cholesterol.”

“Can't,” he smiles, “I like eating sausage too much.” He winks at me.  I asked for that didn't I?
Bet
you do, is all I can think of, so I simply smile.

My phone vibrates, it’s Daniel.

DP: “Stop talking, and come.
”
contact!

TC: “Don’t be so bossy” playful, yet true.

DP: “I
am
the boss.” true, he is.

TC: “Don't I know it?” playful, but tasteful I think.

DP: “Now please” nice. My insides flutter like hundreds of butterflies are in there.  Hope I think that is, or wind.

TC: “Wait
”
too much?

DP: “Tharie” stern voice, nice.

Daniel appears in my doorway, he looks incredibly handsome, and makes me feel twice as bad. His shirt is open at the collar and his tie is loose, he wears slim black tux trousers to the ankle with Chelsea boots. His shirt sleeves are rolled and he looks incredibly hot. His hair is mussed and floppy, I’m remembering what he smells like and feels like, I shudder and look at my hands, wishing someone would text me as a distraction.

He just stands there, eyes looking directly at me, those beautiful soft grey green eyes, a relaxed and casual stance. 
His
breathing normal,
mine
? Erratic.

“Baby,” he speaks low as a whisper, my heart catches fire at the sound of my nickname, the name he calls me by, consuming me from the inside, I have missed him. I feel light all of a sudden, buoyant hopeful.

“Tharie.” The bubble bursts and I float back down to earth, he uses my name.  “Please trust me,” he rakes his hands through the tangled quiff looking at his feet.

“Daniel?” I beg him.

“Please.”  He raises his hand palm outward to stop any further conversation, and he spins round and leaves. A man of many words Mr Daniel Pearce.

OK.

More tea? Too bloody right.

Chapter forty-nine, Wednesday
:
20thnovember2013, friends

I sit waiting for Liza, the magazine open on the table, a photo of Daniel at a party with Jess on his arm, actually that’s not quite accurate, she is hanging off
his
arm, leaning into him laughing.  But that's not the point is it?

Caption: Denim Guru Daniel Pearse and his beautiful companion Jessica Stein of the Buntonn Group, High Street Fashion Retailer last night at the ‘The Yard’.

The Yard? I could go there I tell myself, wondering straight away why I would want to. Bloody dance and garage music, bloody cocktails, bloody hell.

LC: “Sorry late, just round the corner” snap out of the funk Tharie.

TC: “OK babes, shall I order the usual?”  Thankful for a job.

LC: “Thanks” see you in a tick.

“I think I’m in love with him Tharie.” Liza tells me over a glass of apple juice and Vogue magazine.  “He is gorgeous and fun, and his body...” she looks at me over the top of her Raybans and jerks her brows.

“I don’t want the details.” I tell her, “the men in that family eh?” I suck my juice up the straw attempting to find the storage unit up there in my brain, where I keep all the old snapshots and Daniel memorabilia.

“I haven't trained at all this week, Mousse will get fat.” She laughs, “He'll love the rest.”

“Bloody hell, it must be bad, what about the Regional's?” She shakes her head, she wants to talk about me.

“Are you going to the party?” She tries for casual and fails, “That's what we really want to talk about isn't it?” She's good
.
“Not sure I can be in the same room with him yet Liza, it’s too soon,” I admit.  Knowing I’m being weak, and I hate myself for it.

“He may not even go, Kurt says he’s not heard from Danny in days” really? I try not to appear interested.

“I know where he’s been” I say sliding the magazine over the table.

Liza shakes her head, trying to look cross for my benefit, she’s a good friend.

“You’re usually so certain about things Tharie, not used to you being like this.” She takes another sip.   “Blimey this
is
good juice.” it bloody
is
too.

“Marks and Spencer,” I tell her, “with a touch of elderflower.” I nod in true appreciation to the craft of juice blending.

“You’ve got a dress?” It wasn’t a question of have I? It was more, as you have, why don’t you wear it?

I smile, remembering trying it on, “Vivienne Westwood” I tell her, “you’ll love it.” I am so proud of my choice, it’s perfect. I’ll look like a pale Gothic fairy-tale.

“Kurt has a new tux, he looks so handsome in it, we might not get to the party at all!” Liza is amused by her choice too. Her dress will naturally be strapless, she rocks a boob-tube.

“Don’t rub it in.” I pout, but really I am happy for her, honestly I am, well some, a bit happy, actually I’m not happy at all, I secretly wish the event doesn't happen, oh go to hell brain!

The news of Daniel being out with Jess Stein makes the party pages of the Drapers Record too. The photos of them are damning. But I am healing, and trying not to break something.

EC: “Don’t forget to brush your hair” that's better, all's well in the world.

TC: “Thanks Mum, love you too”
I really do.

Chapter fifty, Friday
:
22ndnovember2013, party

It’s a beautiful starlit night, the moon is full and large and it’s almost light enough to see by. It smells crisp and cold, and my bashed-up old wartime khaki parka is the perfect accompaniment to my floor length black Westwood masterpiece. It's an odd concoction, but I make it work, I'm a
designer
.

I am uncomfortable in my dress, its skirt is huge and bodice very tight, my underwear is boned and laced up but it does make me sit up straight. My small breasts are thrust skyward and I look like Marie Antoinette at a funeral.  Surrounded by millions of layers of the finest black silk tulle smelling of Tom Ford Black Orchid.  My hair loosely piled  on top of my head, my eyes dark and smoky with make-up Pete applied skilfully after encouraging me to wear some, it's not me,  but 'me' could do with a break right now, so happy to have a mask on, I sit at my table quietly people watching.

I hardly touched dinner, the vegetarian option as is usual at these events, is some brown overcooked lump with beans in it, and a lumpy dark brown gravy, Yuk. I'll get proper food on the way home, there's a brilliant chip shop down the road on Berwick Street.

I keep checking my phone, hoping some sort of happy incident will extract me from my discomfort, but nothing.

Pete and James have left our table to dance and Liza and Kurt have gone upstairs, to look for something apparently. Lucky buggers. Though, good luck getting out of that Haider Ackerman dress and back into it afterward, without Pete's maid and the detailed illustrated instructions it came with!  Did I just see Pete's maid in the lobby by the way? Bloody hell that woman plans for
everything
, expect that's why she's so successful eh?

“Knock his socks off has been my instruction, if you have to go, go, but look unbelievably incredible so it hurts him to look at you.” She had said.

“I promised his Mum & Dad I would go, I can’t let them down.” I had offered in pathetic response, not terribly convincing tone, but it was the best I could manage through floods of sobbing tears.

I sit alone on a huge round table, after dinner everyone is milling and networking around, playing the room. Graham has said hello to me and we had a brief chat about life since we returned home.  I had chatted to Nigel at dinner too, but he's gone home now, something about a lecture he had to write a speech for, not too convincingly either.  Barbara comes over, discouraging calls from every direction to speak to me, she leans down and hugs me condescendingly, “Daniel couldn’t come?” She asks me looking around expectantly, air kissing me on both cheeks, hoping Daniel would be at my side.  His family don’t know where he's been the last couple of days either.

“No Barbara, he couldn’t make it.” I tell her not sure how to parry her blow of questioning. “I think he has someone he needs to see.” I'm wary of her, and she knows it, and is not at all sorry either.

She nods her head at me sadly but there’s something else there too, pity? No, she doesn’t like me and is quietly happy about it, bingo!  She fakes an elegant understanding, already looking around for someone else to talk to, boredom in her face. “It's Jess isn't it?” She takes my hand, “we saw them together at the charity event, the photographer taking pictures of them, they do make a very handsome couple.” She’s already found a friend in the crowd of well dressed women and is mouthing my name to her.  At which a look of understanding crosses the face of the recipient and she shakes her head in pity.   I’d really like to slap the smug look off her face, despite her well-chosen Gucci gown and matching shoes, bag, earrings, stole, husband and bank account.

She smiles creepily. “And the Designer of the Year event, they looked very good in those photos too didn’t they?” She reapplies her lipstick, Chanel of course. It’s an old one, it’s well curved shape fits precisely to her thin smirking lips.

I want to cry again, my chest feels constricted like something heavy lays on it, it’s not just the corsetry, and nausea permeates me once more. But there'll be no slouching in this dress, expect regular wearers of Westwood, rarely have back problems.

“They do look good don’t they?” I ask with what little voice I have left, wondering what he saw in me, plain little me. He's high-profile and strong cheekbones and needs a partner that reflects who he is to the world, and that makes me? A slightly strange woman with hay in her hair?  His bit of
filth, which thought once would have satisfied me, but not now, and I do often have hay in my hair, we were never going to be together were we?

“They have a lot in common Tharie,” she sips her champagne from the wide shapely bowl of her glass, her huge diamond rings clinking on the outside of the curve.  She's looking down at my heavy glass tumbler with easily a triple shot of Jack Daniels in it as if that explains everything, a twitch of disgust she just can’t hide. “They've known each other for years.”

She pats me condescendingly on the shoulder as she leaves me with my mouth open holding my breath, and heads off to a waiting group of friends all whispering to each other and looking over.  I heave another deep breath, they are right, I’m no match for these people. Either she just told me I’m out of his league or I am not thinking straight, and I haven’t known him for very long at all, but I feel like he's the other half of me.    I ask myself not for the first time why I’m here, and no answer is forthcoming, my brain must be busy, so I leave a message. I should be spending this time with the boys, and just as I resolve myself to leave, packing my phone away for the hundredth time into my clutch bag, I see someone heading my way.