If I Never Met You(44)
‘Incredible. Really gorgeous, Laurie,’ Emily breathed. ‘If I could look like that, I would look like that all the bloody time.’
Laurie grinned at her. ‘Instead, sadly you are a plain, pious, devout sort of woman.’
Emily was flushed, triumphant, and snuck off and paid for the haul before Laurie could protest. She then dragged her up two flights of escalators and forced Laurie to try on a black maxi dress with wisps of lace for sleeves. Laurie fully expected to refuse exhortations to buy it, yet when the zip flew straight up her misery-diminished frame and Laurie saw an elegant, Audrey Hepburnish creature of the night looking back at her, she needed no convincing.
If nothing else, it’d solve the whole ‘what to wear to first date Jamie Carter’ conundrum. That sort of thing was tricky enough when you were hopeful your date would be knocked out; when you didn’t care and it was a performance for someone not present, it was yet more admin.
‘Could I happen to run into you?’ Emily said, as Laurie paid and Emily practically bounced up and down. ‘No intrusion, a drive-by eyeballing. Where is it?’
‘The Ivy in Spinningfields. I guess so? Remember, on pain of death, you’re not supposed to know what we’re up to. Act like you’ve caught me out and ask who he is. Etc.’
‘Ten four, Red Leader.’
Jamie had inquired if it was the kind of place Laurie went, had she been before? When Laurie answered in the negative, Jamie replied with the gnomic:
That’s no bad thing tbh
She didn’t ask if it was a Jamie Carter sort of haunt, but he added:
It’ll probably be nouveau riche AF, but.
Laurie vaguely wondered why they were going somewhere Jamie didn’t go or rate much either. As she tapped her fingers waiting for the taxi, a few hours later, the answer came to her: so he doesn’t see anyone he knows, stupid.
18
The good thing about this fashion for very long dresses, Laurie told herself, as she felt her ankles snugly circled by thick fabric in the footwell of the cab, is there was very little of you on show, considering it was a special occasion look.
She knew why she was jittering: she was either going to feel woefully underdone or dollied up mutton for this date, and she’d firmly landed in the second category. The chances of hitting the sweet spot of ‘herself, enhanced’ was always minimal and she’d overshot the runway by some distance.
Hair by Honey, face by Tess, dress by Self Portrait: the sort of label that would pass muster with Suzanne from Emily’s firm, anyway.
The twin constrictions of the dress and heels necessitated a Marilyn Monroe-ish totter out to the Toyota Avensis that was her Cinderella pumpkin chariot.
Her driver Jabal looked at her curiously in the rear-view mirror and said: ‘Are you going to awards?’
Laurie winced.
Yes, Mad Bint of the Year.
She could’ve badly done without her Shirley Basseyness pointed out and muttered: ‘Nope’ with a fierce enough intonation that he didn’t inquire further.
Jabal said nothing, obviously thinking: these award-attending divas.
Laurie’s stomach fizzed and rolled as she walked into the ground-floor brasserie and scanned for Jamie. Heads turned and Laurie felt she should be wearing a sandwich board saying I am not anyone from Corrie or with a footballer, go back to your Manhattans.
She thought of Emily saying: ‘a huge part of getting attention is signalling you’re up for attention’ and felt the truth of it. Her clothes and make-up commanded: look at me. Inside she howled: don’t.
She saw Jamie, treacle-dark head down, looking at his phone, sitting on a chair at the other side of the circular bar. It was a small island of glass and light, the staff working away within it, noisily rattling ice in shakers above their shoulders. Laurie realised the location might also have been chosen for its scene-setting potential.
Laurie picked her way carefully towards him, the prospect of going arse over tit too awful to contemplate. Jamie glanced up as she approached and did what seemed to be a genuine double-take, eyes widening, mouth open an inch, phone immediately abandoned.
Laurie was too uncomfortable to feel any compliment. It was hard to separate out making an effort for the caper, from simply making an effort for him, and the thought he’d suspect the latter was mortifying.
She reached Jamie and said: ‘Hello.’ There was a pause. ‘Well. Getting on that chair is going to be interesting.’
‘… He left you for who, again?’
Laurie rolled her heavily made-up eyes. ‘I was going to say “It’s not a competition” but if it isn’t, why am I here? Moral high ground was in short supply, huh.’
‘Well, seriously, morality aside, you look incredible.’
‘Haha. Thanks.’
He stood down from his seat so it was easier for Laurie to heave up into hers. Jamie was wearing a black shirt and slim-cut grey wool trousers, the angles and planes of his face set off wonderfully by the low lighting, and Laurie relaxed a notch, thinking, at least I look like I’m supposed to be here. It was a close-run thing, but feeling too scruffy for the company and clientele would’ve been worse. Inspecting the room, it was indeed the sort of place for beefy men, still glowing pink from their early evening power shower, their rail-thin wives in Kurt Geiger stilettos and everyone flashing American Express cards.