The Making of Mia (6 page)

When Jo didn’t say anything, Amelia studied her face carefully, and lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Don’t worry about what
everyone thinks,’ she said, grabbing one of Jo’s hands and giving it a squeeze.

But Jo did. As soon as Amelia walked away Jo noticed a
pair of skinny girls looking at her curiously. Immediately Jo felt like a rare animal in a cage with no way to escape, and
she wished she could run to the ladies’ and hide. Instead, she tried to hold in her stomach, and when that failed she crossed
her arms over her chest protectively. Amelia swung herself into a seat, and splashed some drinks on to the black leather coasters
on top of the table. Her cheeks were glowing.

‘So what do you think?’

‘I think everyone’s staring at me and laughing,’ Jo said flatly.

Amelia grinned. ‘What? No, what do you think of Gigolo? It’s incredible, isn’t it? Bet it beats the bars in London.’

Jo forced herself to look around, being careful not to catch anyone’s eye. Although she wasn’t about to admit that it was
the first time she’d been in a bar, she agreed that it was extraordinary. From the outside the doorway looked as though it
led into an average Edwardian building, but inside the walls alternated from leopard skin to a deep blue-black that was flecked
with glinting pieces of silver. The ceiling had ornate Victorian-style coving painted a luscious gold, and antique chandeliers
swooped down over the red velvet chairs. It was an
Alice in Wonderland
fantasy, and Jo suddenly felt as though she had stepped into the glossy pages of a style magazine. In such an alluring setting
her make-up felt right, and Jo felt a world of possibilities open up before her. If she could fit into a bar like this, she
could fit into the glamorous publishing world – one of designer clothes, fast men and beautiful girls.

‘It’s astonishing,’ she told Amelia, as her eyes flicked across the men brandishing red fifty-pound notes at the bar, the
opulent lighting that cast a luxurious glow over everyone, and the expensive diamond-cut glasses. ‘I’ve never seen anything
like this!’

Amelia, who was sipping a cocktail, nodded. ‘His brother
– who owns most of the pubs and bars in Hampshire – said Charlie could have Gigolo for his twenty-first birthday as long as
he lived in the flat upstairs and ran the bar to profit. It’s only a matter of time before he makes his name in the scene
in London.’ She took another slug of her cocktail and grinned a pink, sticky grin. ‘Charlie is going to take London by storm,
and I’m going to be right by his side.’

Somehow hearing his name mentioned through the big-beat track, Charlie Rutherford sauntered over to their table and sat down
next to Amelia. He casually draped his arm around her. ‘Hey, babes,’ he said, his accent giving away his public-school roots
despite his scruffy jeans and blazer combination. ‘Been showing off again?’

Amelia punched Charlie jokingly, and swooped in for a kiss. ‘Only because I’m so proud of you!’ she said, happily. As Amelia
kissed her boyfriend, Jo checked him out – he looked rich, like he had never wanted for anything. He had thick, sweeping,
dark hair, haughty brown eyes and a body to die for. He was all lean muscle, height and sex appeal.

‘Jo, this is Charlie. Charlie, this is Jo, my friend from school.’

Charlie smiled lazily at her. ‘Whassup?’ he asked stupidly, before composing himself and saying, ‘Good to meet you,’ despite
not meaning it for a second.

Amelia was keen for Jo to feel comfortable as soon as possible, and thought her boyfriend was the man to help achieve it.
‘Charlie, want to give her the tour?’

Jo began to protest. ‘It’s fine, really—’ she began, but Amelia interrupted her.

‘You should really see the private rooms.
GQ
called them “the jewels in the crown of the best bar outside London”,’ Amelia parroted like a PR girl. ‘They’re bloody cool.’

Jo reluctantly followed Charlie through the crowds of people, refusing to take her eyes off the shining black floor.
Charlie made mindless small talk, knowing Jo wouldn’t be able to hear him over the sound system pumping out Fatboy Slim, but
he was aware that Amelia was watching them and that he needed to give a performance to stay in her good books. As they reached
a narrow corridor, Charlie paused.

‘Only the regulars know what bit of the walls to press to get into the exclusive spaces. Let me show you one of the main ones.’
He casually leant against the wall and pushed an invisible door into a dark room lit with ultra-violet lights. Jo felt a waft
of cigarette smoke hit her, and it was a moment before she could get her bearings. As she gazed around the room she saw there
was a group of five girls sitting at a mirrored table, and she tried to appear nonchalant when she saw that they were cutting
lines of cocaine with a black credit card.

‘Fancy some blow?’ Charlie asked when he noticed Jo watching them. He gave her a cruel smile. ‘As you’re a friend of Amelia’s
I’ll let you have the first line for free.’

Jo shook her head, but Charlie laughed in her face. It was a different laugh to the one Jo had seen when he was with Amelia.
It was mean.

‘You know you want to,’ he said, leaning towards her. Jo could smell the alcohol on his breath, and she squirmed slightly.
She didn’t want to seem rude, but she didn’t like Amelia’s boyfriend leaning in so close.

‘Fat bitches like you are always desperate for coke,’ Charlie leered, and his voice was syrupy. ‘It’s the only thing that
stops you eating … although looking like you do, I imagine you don’t get much very often. Go on, Jo-Jo,’ he encouraged nastily.
‘I bet you’d mainline it if it was sugar.’

A young-looking blonde girl came over to them, and she hung her arms around Charlie’s neck while giving Jo a critical once-over.
Charlie began to stroke her hair, and Jo could see she was wearing a tiny, flimsy scrap of material that doubled
up as a dress. As Charlie’s hands moved down past her neck and on to her breasts, Jo didn’t know where to look, but as soon
as they started kissing passionately, she fled.

Amelia was sitting at their table in the VIP area, and she beamed when she saw Jo approach. She didn’t notice that she was
out of breath from rushing back to her.

‘Isn’t Charlie great?’ Amelia gushed, and for a second Jo wondered if she was talking about her boyfriend or cocaine.

‘He’s … he’s certainly a charmer,’ Jo said, hesitantly, and that was all Amelia needed to start singing his praises.

‘He’s amazing – so much cooler than those stupid little boys I used to write love letters to when we were at school. And …’
she said, leaning towards Jo conspiratorially, ‘he is incredible in bed. He makes me come every single time. It’s unheard
of!’

Jo took a sip of her drink.

‘And he’s just so nice to me,’ Amelia continued, blissfully unaware that Jo’s face was like thunder. ‘He’s always giving me
free drinks. I joke that he’s trying to get me drunk, but he’s just such a sweet guy he wouldn’t do that. Mummy adores him;
she calls him my bit of “rough” even though he went to Eton. You can see why he’s one of Winchester’s most eligible bachelors
– every girl wants to be with him!’ she cooed, and Jo downed her drink in one, despite it tasting like cough mixture.

‘Do you trust him not to go with them?’ she said flatly.

‘He doesn’t even notice other girls,’ Amelia slurred. ‘But don’t take my word for it, let me go and get him … Where did you
leave him?’

Jo panicked. She didn’t want Amelia to go and get Charlie at all, or worse, find him in a compromising situation with another
girl, but she was already on her feet and looking around the bar. ‘Is he in a private room?’ she asked, and Jo shrugged. She
hated not telling Amelia the truth, but
Cosmopolitan
always said never to get involved in other people’s relationships – especially if you suspected one of them to be having
an affair.

Amelia teetered on her heels and walked off, and suddenly Jo felt incredibly alone and vulnerable. She was the only person
sitting in the VIP area, and it was like she was on a stage, with hundreds of people watching her every move. A particularly
loud group of giggling, awkward-looking teenagers who were dressed in practically nothing and had far too much make-up on
were strutting around close to her, and every so often one of them would look at Jo and puff her cheeks out. It was worse
than school, Jo thought. At least at St Christopher’s she knew how to escape.

Gathering all her courage, Jo stood up with as much dignity as she could muster, and moved into the main area of the bar.
As she walked past people she could hear them laughing at her, and although she wanted to ask someone where the ladies’ was
she didn’t dare – she was much too shy. Eventually Jo found them – hidden behind a glossy black door that merged seamlessly
into the wall – and she took cover in a cubicle just before a couple of girls stumbled in to reapply their make-up.

‘So, like, the bastard told me if I refused to work Saturday to help the editorial team meet the deadline he’d sack me!’ Jo
lifted her head from her hands and stared at the cubicle door.

‘And what did you do?’ a bored-sounding girl asked.

‘What could I do? I worked the Saturday. It was such a fucking pain, but I’ve only been there for a couple of months and the
last thing I need is for everyone to know I got sacked from
Sparkle
magazine.’

Jo held her breath. A girl who worked on a real magazine was only a few feet away, and Jo was desperate to hear what she said
next. This girl, Jo thought, could be the person who
helped her with her career – if only she stopped being so scared of everyone.

‘Don’t know why you bother working there anyway,’ the girl’s friend said. ‘It’s just a crappy teen magazine.’

‘Yeah, true, but it’s a foot in the door, isn’t it. I don’t want to be a secretary all my life, but it’s a way in. Today
Sparkle
… tomorrow
Tatler
. Well, that’s the plan.’

Jo’s drive for wanting to work on a magazine banished her shyness – she flushed the toilet and approached the sinks. Both
of the girls were tall, skinny and blonde, and Jo felt like a frumpy mess standing next to them. They looked like they’d stepped
out of
Sex and the City
. She took a deep breath.

‘Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear …’ she began meekly. ‘But do you work on
Sparkle
magazine?’

The prettier of the two girls looked Jo up and down. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Why?’

Jo beamed. ‘I’ve always wanted to work on a magazine,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘How did you get to be a secretary there?’

The pretty blonde girl smirked and gave her friend a side-long glance. ‘My agency sent me there …’ she began slowly, as if
she were considering something. ‘You know, you could be a secretary too … it’s really easy.’

Jo’s mouth dropped open. ‘Do you really think I could?’

‘Sure,’ the girl said, and Jo was so overwhelmed that she may have found a way into a magazine that she didn’t notice the
other girl giggling.

‘Look, why don’t you phone them up? The woman I deal with is Felicity, and she’s great. Have you got a pen? I’ll give you
the number.’

Jo wrote the phone number down carefully on an old receipt, and thanked the girls gratefully as they sauntered out of the
toilets. The door slammed behind them, and as
soon as they were out of earshot they both fell about with laughter.

‘I wish I could see Felicity’s face when that fat girl turns up,’ the girl said to her friend, who couldn’t stop giggling.
‘That will teach her for putting me on an assignment where I have to work weekends.’

Luckily Jo didn’t hear a word of their conversation, as she was too busy counting her blessings. Who needed A-levels and journalism
college when there were other ways to work on a magazine? she thought to herself, with a tiny smile. She carefully tucked
the phone number into her bag, and, thinking that the haughty-looking girls in the bar weren’t that bad after all, went to
find Amelia.

Jo stood in the West End of London looking at the sky. Dark clouds were overhead, masking the afternoon sun. Jo checked her
tattered watch and realised she was early for her appointment at the recruitment agency. She pulled at her jacket nervously
– she wasn’t convinced it was big enough for her, and she also wondered if she had dressed correctly. Jo wasn’t so sure she
had.

‘Think of it as a job interview,’ Amelia had advised the week before, when she’d appeared in the morning with a killer hangover.
In the cold light of day Jo still felt awkward about having seen Charlie with another girl, and it wasn’t until Amelia asked
Jo what she planned on wearing to her interview that Jo realised she had to put what she had seen the night before out of
her head. Amelia had knocked back an Alka-Seltzer and dragged Jo back to the maternity shop in Winchester – they managed to
find a skirt that sat on the knee, along with a simple white blouse and navy jacket. When Jo put it on she felt about thirty,
and when she teamed it with black flats and black tights, she felt forty. The whole outfit had cost far more than Jo could
afford, but Amelia
made her realise it was an investment in her future. Amelia said secretaries in London dressed like this all the time, so
Jo thought she should get used to it.

But as Jo watched some secretaries in the West End taking their lunch-breaks, she wasn’t convinced Amelia knew what she was
talking about after all. Most of the girls looked like models. Many wore tight little blouses and tiny Top Shop mini-skirts
that showed off lean, tanned legs, and all of them sashayed around the shops on heels, ranging from killer stilettos to demure
kittens and sensible courts. Worst of all was that every single one of them had perfect hair.

Jo ruefully remembered how beautiful her hair had looked after Amelia had been at it with her professional hairdryer, but
she resolved to not let her frizzy split ends put her off. She absolutely had to get on this agency’s books and she was determined
to make them see past her appearance. Felicity – the Sloaney-looking recruitment consultant with an Alice band and twin set
– didn’t seem so enthusiastic.