The Other Side of the Story (39 page)

27

We sent flowers to Macko's dad's funeral and he must have forgiven us because the following Monday four of the builders appeared. They had an unfamiliar air of purpose about them and it looked like the lintels might finally be installed when Bonzo veered around too quickly and accidentally stuck a scaffolding pipe through the stained-glass fanlight over the front door, shattering it as if he was splintering light.

I had endured these neanderthals discussing my au pair's nipples, spending far too much time in my bathroom with the
Sun
, and teaching Ema how to swear in Irish, all without a word of complaint. But the fanlight was old, beautiful and irreplaceable. It was too much for me. Everything, all the waiting and disappointment and terror that the house would never be finished, tumbled in on top of me and, in full view of Bonzo, Macko and Tommo, I cried my heart out.

Weeks of exhaustion, money worries, trying to write a book that did not want to be written and dread of what Gemma would do to my family, all washed out through my eyes.

Tommo, the most soft-hearted of all of them said, awkwardly, 'Ah, now.'

But as punishment for criticizing him, even obliquely, Bonzo stalked out. Then he stalked back in again and angrily summoned his colleagues, who trooped sheepishly after him. Two days later, they had not yet returned and I hit rock bottom. Every time something went wrong I thought of Gemma. I feared she had magical powers. Bad ones. She was Darth Vader to my Luke Skywalker and Voldemort to my Harry Potter and — illogically — I felt she was orchestrating the demise of every good thing in my life. I tried telling Anton, but he - quite sensibly — said it was nothing to do with Gemma.

'Even
I
feel homicidal,' he said. 'The Dalai fucking Lama himself would lose his equilibrium in this house.'

We talked about getting another crew in to finish the job but we had no money and would not have until I got my royalty cheque at the end of September, a month away.

Anton was too depressed to have sex and I had given Zulema every cosmetic I owned except for my Jo Malone flight bag, so I had no choice but to ring Macko and ask for Bonzo to return.

'You've hurt him,' Macko said.
As I was hurt
, his tone said,
when your live-in lover mocked the death of my only father
.

'I'm sorry,' I said. 'I didn't mean to hurt him.'

'He's sensitive.'

'I really am sorry.'

'I'll talk to him and see what I can do.'

The phone rang. It was Tania Teal. But her voice was stretched thin and she was speaking very quickly.

'Yes, Lily, news, good news really. Decided to redo the jacket for
Crystal Clear
. Old one, very pretty, but too similar to
Mimi's Remedies
. Done a new one, biking it over to you for approval.'

'Oh. I see.'

'Good really. Don't want confusion with
Mimi's Remedies.'

'Are you OK, Tania?'

'Fine,' she said. 'Yes, fine, fine. But need fast appro. Must get to printer today. Can't miss our pub date. Bike on its way now. Ring me if it's not there in half an hour, I'll send another.'

Within half an hour the new cover arrived. It was brown and blurry, very serious-looking. The polar opposite of the current jacket, but actually far more appropriate for the book. I liked it. I rang Tania who was still talking a mile a minute.

'You like it? Good, great. Obviously the airport editions have the lavender cover but when the book comes out in the real world, it'll have this new one.'

'And you're sure you're OK?'

'Yes, fine, fine.'

Something's going on
.

It was quite the Dalkin Emery day because then Otalie, my publicity person, rang.

'Great news!
Elevenses
want you on!'

Elevenses
was a cheesy daytime television show; despite its name, it was on from ten-thirty to midday and was presented by two women who allegedly hated each other but treated each other with disturbing sweetness. It got massive viewership.

'I know
Crystal Clear
isn't out yet, but it's national television, too good a chance to pass up!'

When do they want me?'

'Friday.'

The day after tomorrow. I spasmed with fear. I was a mess. Again I thought of Gemma; if she were to go on
Elevenses
, she would look stunning. Gemma had sharp suits, glossy (thick) hair and high heels, she always looked groomed. At the best of times I was a mess and these were not the best of times. 'Lovely!' I said, hung up and rang Anton. 'I have to go on
Elevenses
on Friday!' I was almost shrieking. 'National fucking television! And I hate myself. I have no clothes, I still haven't got my Burt Reynolds-style weave and I hate myself.'

'You already said that. Let's go shopping.'

'Anton! I need you to be practical. I need you to HELP ME!'

'Meet me under Selfridges clock in an hour -'

'We can't go to Selfridges. WE HAVE NO MONEY.'

'We have credit cards.'

'WHAT ABOUT EMA?'

'I'll ring Zulema on her mobile and ask her to stay late.'

'SHE'LL BLEED YOU DRY!'

'So be it.'

He was so calm that it began to affect me.

'Selfridges,' he repeated. 'One hour, we'll kit you out.'

'Anton.' I managed to hook some air and drag it down into me. 'Seriously, we have no money.'

'Seriously, we have two credit cards. Which are not up to their limits. I don't know about you, but I'm never comfortable with a credit card that isn't at its limit. I get that nagging feeling, like I've left the gas on…'

He was already waiting when I showed up, my face like thunder. I reached him and kept walking. 'Come on. I need black trousers and some type of top. As cheap as possible.'

'No.' He stopped and made me stop too. 'No. We're going to have fun with this. You deserve it.'

'Let's go to the ground floor. The clothes there are reasonably priced.'

'No. We're going to the unreasonably priced second floor. That's where the good stuff is.'

I took a breath. Another one, then I surrendered to him. I felt myself do it, like it was an actual physical sensation. He was taking charge so I did not have to feel guilty. Responsibility lifted, leaving me giddy, almost airborne.

'Remember, Lily, we're not here for a long time, we're here for a good time.'

'OK. Lead on.'

On the second floor, Anton began pulling clothes from rails and loading up his arms. He chose things I had not even noticed and although some were unwearable, some surprised me with their desirability. This was a metaphor for my life with Anton: he expanded my vision, made me look at life, and clothes — and myself— in a new way.

In no time he had bagged an assistant, who picked up on his mood; between the two of them they drowned me in beautiful clothes.

He urged me to try tons of things: short leather skirts,

'Because you have the legs, Lily.' Sexy black Lycra dresses, with panels cut out, 'Because you have the skin, Lily.'

I tried out several identities — I was an angular rock-chick, a soignee French film star, a Prada-clad librarian. My black fear had dissipated and I was laughing and having fun. This was Anton at his very best; a man of big gestures, extravagance and vision.

Since we had first got together, he had regularly bought me presents — things I would not buy for myself because they were so indulgent. Like my Jo Malone flight bag, which I had read about in a magazine and longed for like a six-year-old girl longs for a pink bike. I rarely went on flights, I did not
need a
perfect little bag of goodies but Anton, with his incredible attention to detail noticed that I
wanted
it. And although I berated him for spending money we did not have, I loved it so much I slept with it. It was the one thing I had not - and would not — give to Zulema.

He fully indulged this you-may-not-need-it-but-do-you-want-it sensibility as he ferried clothes to and from the changing room. I was forbidden from knowing the price of anything and he said, 'I will only close this changing-room door if you promise not to look at the tags.'

After over an hour of trying beautiful things, I made my decision: a pair of black trousers with a breathtaking cut and a strange torn top which revealed my shoulders. Anton also persuaded me to buy one of the short leather skirts and a clingy, cashmere dress.

'Can I wear the trousers and top now?' I asked.

Compared to these beautiful duds, the clothes I had come in were elderly and saggy. Having endured months of dust and squalor I discovered I was
longing
for shiny new things.

'You can do whatever you like.'

Anton went to the cash desk to pay and from the wistful looks on the girls' faces, they were thinking he was a flash fuck and I was a spoilt bitch. If only they knew that both Anton and I were praying for the card not to be declined.

But the card was not declined and the dress, the skirt and my nasty old clothes were wrapped in tissue. As we moved away from the cash desk, Anton said, 'Now for the shoes.'

'What shoes? You're pushing your luck.'

'No need to push it, the luck is with us.' That was how it was with Anton. If you got him on a good day, life with him was supercharged. I went along, happy to be compliant; it took him moments to find the perfect shoes — boots, actually. I tried them on and they seemed to nuzzle my feet, whispering reassurance.

Anton watched me and his face was set. 'They're yours.'

'They're Jimmy Choos! I don't even want to know what they cost!'

'You're a best-selling author. You deserve Jimmy Choo boots.'

'OK.' I could not contain a - mildly hysterical — giggle. 'Why the hell not?'

'Do you want to wear them right now?'

'Yes. And what shall I do about my hair?'

'Blanaid's got you an appointment tomorrow morning in some new groovy Soho place.' Blanaid was his and Mikey's assistant. 'She says all the models go there. She hasn't booked you for a follicle transplant,' he said quickly. 'I don't think they do that. But they'll blow-dry it the way you like it.'

'With volume,' I said anxiously.

'Yes, with volume, that's what I told her to say.'

'And what about my nails? I can't paint them myself, I get varnish all over my fingers.'

'I can ask Blanaid to get you a manicure. Or I can paint them myself.'

'You, Anton Carolan?'

'Aye. In my youth I used to paint model soldiers with some degree of precision. At the time I was accused of being a geek, but I knew it'd come in handy some day. I also painted my van with the Furry Freak brothers. I'd broken my leg and couldn't get around on my bike so I took up painting instead. I'll do your nails.'

'Fabulous!'

The purchase of the boots went through without any drama - it was that kind of day - then we left. On the ground floor, as we cut through the cosmetic department, we were assailed by a perky girl who asked if I would like a make-over. I hurried on; I could see daylight. I was terrified of those women, although they usually blanked me.

'Lily,' Anton called, 'do you want a make-over?'

Frantically I shook my head and mouthed, 'NO!'

'Come back,' he coaxed. 'Let's see what she —' he looked at her badge — 'what Ruby has to say.'

Although I did not want to, I found myself sitting on the low-backed high stool having a cotton ball wiped over my face, while passers-by sniggered at me.

'You have good skin,' Ruby said.

'She does, doesn't she?' Anton beamed.' That's mostly down to me. I buy stuff for her.'

'What brand do you usually use?' Ruby asked me.

'Jo Malone,' Anton answered, 'Prescriptives and Clinique. Although I don't buy her the Clinique stuff, she gets it free from her mate Irina.'

'I'm going to apply a light base,' Ruby said.

'Good,' I said. Any base, light or heavy, was good. Sitting in the middle of Selfridges with a naked face was too bloody. Sod's law said I would meet someone I knew.
Gemma
flashed into my head, even though Gemma lived in Dublin.

Ruby did her stuff, while Anton asked questions. 'What's that pink gear?'

'How do you get the eyeliner to go on so thin?' And when she was finished I looked like me, only far, far nicer.

'You're beautiful, Babe,' Anton told me, then to Ruby, 'She's going to be on
Elevenses
on Friday morning. She'll probably wear this top. Have you anything to make her shoulders shiny?' Ruby produced an iridescent compact and a big fat make-up brush and buffed up my shoulders.

'We'll have to take that,' Anton said. 'And the pink gear and the thin eyeliner, so Lily can do it herself at home.' To me he said, 'It's an investment.'

I gave him a look. This was not an investment but, caught up in the mood, I did not care.

'Anything else you'd like?' he asked.

'Perhaps the base,' I said, in a little voice. 'And I liked the lipstain.'

'Both of them, so,' Anton told Ruby. 'And sure, fire in the mascara while you're at it. After all her work,' Anton murmured to me, as Ruby crouched down to retrieve products from drawers, 'it would have been criminal not to buy something.' Before she sealed the bag, Ruby threw in several free samples. 'That's fantastic,' Anton said. 'That's so nice of you.'

'Oh.' Ruby seemed surprised by the extent of his gratitude. 'Have a few more.' She grabbed another handful and chucked them into the bag and I smiled to myself.

Anton was without guile and I loved how people loved him. He flirted non-stop, but never in a sleazy way.

Then Ruby handed over the glossy bag and we left the store. I was high: high from shopping, high from looking good, high at my shiny dust-free newness. 'I don't want to go home.'

'That's good because you're not going home. Zulema is on duty. We're going out, you and me.'

He took me to a private members' club in Soho, where he seemed to know everyone. But we sat in a secluded corner, in a padded-leather booth and everyone stayed away. Anton did not ask me what I wanted to drink; there was never any doubt that we would have champagne. I sat in my shiny new clothes and shiny new face and forgot, for a while, our destroyed house, sugar-coated floors and ever-present Gemma-generated dread. I felt glamorous, beautiful and madly in love.