Trophy Life (16 page)

Clara hugged her tightly before pulling back, surveying her with a less than subtle up and down appraisal. Amy stood stock still, ready for the critique. Usually, her mum found her lacking, something would be off. She would stare at her forehead before touching it and telling her she hadn’t blended her makeup or her clothes didn’t flatter her, but instead her mum nodded approvingly. Amy silently thanked Giselle for her styling tips which today found her wearing perfectly fitted tight blue cropped jeans, silver ballet pumps and a lacy white top with a cropped grey blazer.

'Where’s Harry?' She looked beyond Amy in case he was still in the car.

'He had to work.' It was probably true. In fact Amy had no idea where he was. She had awoken that morning to find him gone. She had been grateful for this, pleased that they wouldn’t have to walk on eggshells around each other after last night’s row. Perhaps they could simply forget it. Brush it under the carpet. Pretend it hadn’t happened.

Accustomed to this response, Clara let her daughter in. The sounds of Julia arguing with their dad emanated through the glass double doors that led to the back room of the house, a vast expanse that housed a kitchen and seating and TV area with large doors onto the garden. It was where they all spent the majority of their time. 

'Seriously dad you have to stop mum buying the
Daily Mail
. It’s vile! Just look at this,' her sister was saying, pointing to the front page of the newspaper. Her sister, Mark and her dad were sitting at the table while the kids happily played with toys on the floor. Flynn and Jenny both rushed over to hug their aunt while Izzy clapped her chubby hands from the floor until Amy came to pick her up. Then she poked her nose tenderly into Amy’s cheek. 

'Don’t look at me!' their dad laughed. 'Your mum buys it.'

'I’ve seen you flick through it, don’t deny it,' their mum said as she walked into the room, playfully wagging her finger at him. 'Anyway, I only read it for the gossip.'

'Liar!' Amy, Julia, their dad and even Mark said at once and they all laughed.

This was how it had always been at home. Warm, loving, full of playful banter. She and Julia had always felt so safe and secure. Divorce had been something that happened in other households, to other families. Something desperately sad, but alien to them. She had always been so grateful for this. Had never taken it for granted. This was what she’d always wanted for herself as an adult. Had assumed she would have. Yet by comparison her house was so quiet. So stayed. Nothing like the fun and funny scene unfolding before her.

Yet was her life so different though, she wondered? After all, she had a husband who looked after her. A secure marriage. A lovely home. Just like her parents. Why did it feel like it was a world away? Maybe the only difference was that they didn’t have children yet. Didn’t have the noise and hubbub that went with the pitter patter of tiny feet. That must be it. Surely.

'You’re looking very glam, Aims,' her sister said, bearing a striking resemblance to their mum as she looked her up and down. Amy self-consciously touched her new top. This was yet another outfit chosen by Giselle who, without being invited or asked to do so, had undertaken a thorough reworking of her wardrobe. She had thrown out anything she had deemed 'tacky' or 'ugly' (which incidentally was most of what had been there). She had then taken Amy to Selfridges where she had, item by item, genre by genre, given her a full tutorial of what to wear.  Amy’s wardrobe was completely unrecognisable. 

Gone were the comfy jeans and oversized jumpers. Thrown away the unflattering t-shirts and old tops. Instead, everything there looked like it wouldn’t be out of place on a
Tatler
photo shoot. Amy now had no choice but to dress beautifully because that was all that there was in her selection.

'And you’ve lost weight. We won’t be able to recognise you soon,' her sister added. Was there a hint of annoyance in her tone? 'Where’s Harry by the way?'

'Working,' Clara replied before Amy could. 'Doesn’t he work so hard?'

'Puts us all to shame,' Mark said, flicking his wife what looked like a warning look. There was a moment of silence loaded with meaning. It had never been said, barely so much as hinted at, but Amy knew Julia didn’t love her husband. She knew she thought he was stuffy and perhaps a bit pretentious, but she wished her sister would make more of an effort to hide her dislike.

Mark broke the tension, asking, 'Did you see
MasterChef
last night?' And with that all was forgotten. Laughing and shouting they relived last night’s episode, each adding their own opinions. The kids interjected with demands for food and drink and requests to play outside and the rest of the morning passed in a haze of family togetherness.

The sense of happiness and warmth enveloped her all the way home in her car and right up to when she walked through her front door. However, as soon as she closed it to be greeted by cold silence, the smile on her face disappeared. In that moment of stark clarity uninterrupted by sound of any kind, she knew she had never felt so alone. 

Chapter 12

Amy had nothing to wear. This wasn’t an exaggeration, really. Her wardrobe was well and truly devoid of any outfit that was even close to being suitable for a night out with other human beings. She surveyed her wardrobe with unmitigated disgust and despair, berating herself for her lack of style, lack of imagination and, most of all, lack of preparation. In the past, she would never have dreamt of leaving her outfit choice for a night out to the last minute. Yet it had been so long since she had last
been
out, she was decidedly out of practice. She could barely remember how to apply mascara.

It was the afternoon before Lucy’s birthday party and Amy was trying to decide what kind of evening it was likely to be. She never used to have this problem. At university she had always instinctively known whether it was a night for jeans or a dress, heels or flats. But she was out of the loop. Without a job to go to and people to see on a regular basis – besides her parents – she no longer felt like she knew anything about her peers. She was like an old aunt trying to be hip with the kids. Awkward. Stilted.

She thought about texting Lucy to find out what she was wearing, but that wouldn’t help. Lucy always wore the same thing to parties. Black trousers with a black top. The cut of the top might change slightly – sometimes asymmetrical, sometimes not - but overall, Lucy’s aim appeared to be to blend in, if not disappear. Amy considered this option, but she had no black trousers so she moved on.

In the end she opted for a floaty knee length skirt she had bought in Topshop a few years ago on a whim together with a simple silky white vest that clung to her slim waist and ample bust, which she teamed with a pair of strappy black heels that made her legs look especially slim and almost long. She made the effort to straighten her hair to an especially sleek shine and, with a careful slick of mascara and a touch of lip gloss, surveyed herself in the mirror. The result was respectable.

Amy had agreed with Lucy that she would stay there for the night, an arrangement that meant she could drive the distance from her parents’ home in the North London suburb of Totteridge to Lucy’s far more central maisonette in the young, trendy area of West Hampstead, and still drink. The maisonette was a gift from Lucy’s stepfather who, keen to have his own home to himself and his wife, was happy to throw money at the problem of a step-daughter who could not afford London prices on a graduate salary. Lucy greeted her with a bright smile and a squeezy hug.

'You look so pretty!' Lucy exclaimed as she pulled back.

'Thanks,' Amy smiled. 'So do you.' This wasn’t exactly true. It was always hard for Lucy, with her bulky frame, to find the right clothing. And today was no exception. She was wearing a black wrap dress that accentuated every curve and jewellery that pinched at her wrists and neck. Nevertheless, to Amy she was always pretty, her rosy cheeks and bright smile making her glow.

'I love the dress!' Amy said appreciatively. This was a definite step away from the trousers she had expected.

'I have someone I want you to meet,' whispered Lucy. 'Oh hold on.' The doorbell had rung again. 'Go in and I’ll come in soon.' And with that they parted, Amy going inside where she found a handful of people scattered around the living room, others congregating in the kitchen. She looked to see if she knew any of them, but except for recognising their faces from the odd Facebook post, they were strangers.

She was surprised to see that this was going to be much more than a small gathering. It had the makings of a proper house party, with all the furniture moved out and a bar set up in the corner. Indeed, the room began to fill, slowly at first and then in the blink of an eye to an unexpected density of people. Soon, it was hard to find standing space, yet Amy still didn’t know anybody. When had Lucy accumulated such a large social circle? She knew that a lot of them must be from Lucy’s work. She wished Georgie was here, but she was travelling. She would have been just as happy to see Scott or Steven. Or Freddie. She sighed. She decided that the best way to get through the evening was with a drink or two. Just enough to give her the courage to mingle.

Grabbing a glass of white wine, she was standing in the corner of a room when a determinedly smooth voice spoke up beside her.

'You ok? You look a bit lost.'

She turned to see who was addressing her and was greeted by hooded brown eyes and a grin that exuded complete, unshakeable confidence. Arrogance?

His hair was a mess of dark brown curls and his outfit a curious approximation of what the Prime Minister might wear in an ill-advised attempt to look like 'just Dave'. It was made up of a navy V-neck jumper with a blue shirt underneath, the collar unbuttoned just so. His trousers were khaki corduroys and his shoes Tom’s loafers. Everything he wore was undoubtedly worth more than her car. Definitely not her usual scruffy, easy going type. He had a look about him that said nothing significant had ever gone wrong in his entire life. Like failure wasn’t an option. He was physically flawless in every way. Except for one thing perhaps. His height. Amy estimated him to be 5'6 at a stretch and, in her heels, they were almost eye to eye, something Amy wasn’t used to with the opposite sex. It was like somebody had shrunk him in perfect proportion. She realised it was her turn to speak. She smiled back politely.

'I guess I am a little lost,' she admitted. 'I suppose I don’t know as many of Lucy’s friends as I thought.'

'Oh, well, I’m Harry.' He extended his hand for her to shake. 'Now you know me.' She shook it.

'Nice to meet you Harry. I’m Amy.'

'Amy. What a beautiful name for a beautiful lady,' he smouldered, still holding her hand. She resisted the urge to laugh at his clichéd line and overzealous delivery, but couldn’t help a little giggle escaping. Everything was so exaggerated, so dramatic, it was like talking to a cartoon. And he was so undeniably good looking; it was difficult not to melt just a bit.

'Oh, um, thanks. How do you know Lucy then?'

'My father knew Lawrence,' he said, naming Lucy’s stepfather. 'We grew up in the same circles. Eton to her Cheltenham, that sort of thing,' he chortled, referring to Lucy’s time at a top girls’ boarding school.

Amy laughed in reply.

'Of course then Lucy decided to go against the grain. Didn’t even get into St. Andrews or Bristol poor lamb. Ended up at Birmingham of all places.' He practically shuddered in revulsion. 'How do you know her, Amy?' Her name dripped like honey from his mouth, sickly sweet.

'We were at university together. Did the same course.' Her eyes looked at him challengingly. 'Poor lambs.' Her deliberation was slow and measured, pronouncing every syllable. Her eyes stayed on his, her eyebrow raised.

To her surprise he burst out laughing. He continued laughing for a good minute. So long in fact that she couldn’t help but join in. People started looking round at the spectacle of them both doubled over laughing.

After a while he managed to get some words out. 'Sorry,' he said, trying to catch his breath. 'That was quite bad form, wasn’t it?'

'It was a bit. Yes.'

'So, let’s pretend that never happened. Please.'

She thought for a moment. It wasn’t like she had anyone else to talk to. 'Deal.'

'So. What course did you do?' he asked.

'Law.' She sipped at her wine. This wasn’t a subject she was particularly keen on.

'Me too,' he replied, looking pleased. 'Are you a lawyer then?'

'I suppose, technically. I did qualify. But I’m looking to try something else. It, um, wasn’t for me.'

He didn’t seem interested in pursuing this any further. 'You’re something a bit different aren’t you? Gorgeous and smart. I’m at Braker and Ball by the way. Just been taken on in the family department actually.' Amy knew this was one of the most difficult family departments to qualify into in London and couldn’t help but be impressed. 'Another drink?'

Amy looked down and realised she had finished her wine. Why not? They continued to chat. Actually, to be more precise, Harry did most of the talking, stopping every few minutes to greet a variety of people he knew, the greetings often accompanied with back slapping and banter. Yet, she was happy to listen. Happy to passively float along on a river of chat where all she had to do was smile and sip.

It didn’t take Amy long to realise that Harry came from a very different world to her own and listening to him was like learning of another species. For a start, it was one where nobody seemed to be referred to by their first name. Instead he told stories which featured a variety of people with improbable nicknames like La La and Camel with no explanation of who they were. It was like she was expected to know. Judging by some of the guys who came to say hello, Harry’s own nickname seemed to be 'M ’Laud', clearly a reference to his new job.

Another aspect of Harry’s life that struck her was that it was extremely lavish; incredibly, unbelievably so. He spoke of private jets and high end holidays as she might about visiting the local supermarket. She was pretty sure he had been namedropping by the way he had lowered his tone at certain points, but she had no idea who he had been talking about. She was transfixed. Maybe one day she could write about a lifestyle such as this. She would certainly never get to experience it.

She was nearing the end of her fourth glass of wine when he looked at his watch. 'I must leave you dear Amy,' he declared, with more than a touch of knightly melodrama. 'But before I go, I must have your number.'

She thought about this. There was no harm in giving him her number. It wasn’t like she would ever date a guy like this, but she doubted he would call anyway. After she had finished reciting the digits, he actually kissed her hand. It was a slightly cringe-worthy experience, but she once again smiled politely.

'Oh my gosh Luce, I just met your friend, Harry,' she told her, finding her friend in the kitchen after he had gone. 'He’s a character.'

'Oh yes, I saw you two chatting. What do you think?'

'Well he’s slightly full on isn’t he? He actually kissed my hand!' She laughed.

'They were all like that at Eton,' Lucy said blithely. She smiled. 'Did you give him your number?'

'Oh yeah, but can’t imagine he’d call me. I’m not a Foo Foo or Fee Fee or anything like that.' she shoved a handful of crisps into her mouth. 'Did you have a nickname like that by the way?'

'Not one that anyone used to my face,' she mumbled. 'To be a Foo Foo or Fee Fee you also had to have a title and a waist the size of a blade of grass. Let’s just say girls’ school was harsh.' She gave a wry smile.

'I can call you Lu Lu if that’s what you’d like,' Amy smiled at her. 'What would that make me do you think?' They both stopped and thought.

'Am Am? No, definitely Mu Mu.' Lucy said and they both burst out laughing.

Once everyone had gone home, Amy and Lucy settled down, Amy in Lucy’s spare room. She was in a good mood, albeit slightly hungover when she went home the next day. Her phone buzzed with a Facebook notification.

You have been tagged in a photo.

Her newsfeed showed that Lucy had tagged her in a photo with Harry, both of them laughing. She studied it. Was he good looking? Yes. There was absolutely no question of that. Now that she was able to look at him uninterrupted, that much was clear. And yet, she still wasn’t sure if she was attracted to him. She wondered if it was his height – or lack of it - that was putting her off. After all, at 5'2, she had never expected to find herself struggling with that issue. She had taken it for granted that her boyfriends were much taller than her. But no, surely she wasn’t so shallow. Maybe it was just his overwhelming presence. She could just remember constant talking and she didn’t think it had been her doing the chatting. It was like an unrelenting torrent of words. What did it even matter? She was sure she would never see him again unless at one of Lucy’s parties.

Underneath the photo, there were a couple of comments already.

'Who’s the babe Mi Laud?'
one guy had written to which Harry (whose surname turned out to be Green) replied, '
Wouldn’t you like to know Snout'
.

As if sensing her reading his post, Amy saw a text message notification pop up on her screen from Harry.

'Looking beautiful in our first photo together. Fancy another drink?'
It felt as though he was suddenly everywhere. She shook her head as if to shake him out of it and went to shower. When she was back out and drying her hair with a towel she saw another text.

'Oh come on. You know you want to…'

She couldn’t help a smile. And she couldn’t deny that she was enjoying the attention, something to distract her from her weary work-free world.

She looked at the photo on Facebook again. Was he her type? He certainly seemed nice enough and what else was she doing? It wasn’t like she had loads of dates knocking down her door. Or a job to keep her busy.

Biting her lip she texted back.

'What did you have in mind, M’laud?'

The next thing Amy knew, she was standing in Soho Square, which she had walked to from Tottenham Court Road tube station, waiting for Harry to meet her. The location had been his suggestion. He had wanted to collect her from home, but she couldn’t face him meeting the parents.

It was strange getting ready for a date after all this time. Her last one had been a blind date Georgie had set up in exasperation, declaring that, 'You really have to get some before you shrivel up!' Her friend had been referring to the fact that, since her ‘almost’ night with Freddie, she hadn’t so much as looked at another guy.