Shopaholic to the Stars

TWENTY-ONE

Where am I supposed to start? I mean, how do you find a middle-aged man and a slightly troubled aristocrat who could be anywhere in LA, or California or … anywhere?

Suze rang the police last night, but it wasn’t a success. They didn’t exactly rush round to the house with their sirens blaring. In fact, they didn’t rush anywhere. Suze didn’t tell me what they said, but I could hear her getting quite shirty down the phone. I think they implied that Dad and Tarkie were probably just at a nightclub and would reel back in the morning and she should stop stressing out.

Which, you know. Might be true.

I’ve searched Dad’s room for clues, of course. The first thing I found was a jolly note on his pillow, telling me that he was off on a ‘little trip’ and he had ‘something to put right’, but that I wasn’t to worry and he would be back with Tarquin in ‘two shakes of a duck’s tail’. Apart from that, my findings consist of:

1. The map from his trip, all those years ago

.

2. A copy of Vanity Fair from 1972

.

3. A napkin from Dillon’s Irish Bar. (Relevant?)

I look yet again at the map. I’m holding it really carefully, because it’s pretty fragile, and I’m tracing my finger over the ancient red-biro line marking their route. Los Angeles … Las Vegas … Salt Lake City …

What is he ‘putting right’? What’s been going on?

I wish for the millionth time that I’d listened more carefully when Dad was telling me about his trip. I can remember vague details and stories – like the time they staked their hire car in a poker game, and the time they got lost in Death Valley and thought they were going to die – but nothing solid. Nothing that actually helps us.

Mum had no idea about it when I spoke to her on the phone, either. In fact, she was in such a state that I couldn’t get much sense out of her at all. She was packing, and Janice was helping, and the two of them were getting in a total tizzy about how to carry their money without being mugged. She and Janice are both coming out on the next possible flight to LA, leaving Martin to ‘man the phones at home’ as Mum put it. She’s convinced that Dad is dead in a ditch somewhere, and kept talking about ‘If the worst should happen’ and ‘If he’s alive, God willing’ until I finally snapped and yelled, ‘Mum, he’s not dead!’ Then she accused me of being insensitive.

I’ve left about five messages for Brent Lewis’s sister, Leah, but she hasn’t replied. The only thing I can think of doing now is going back to that trailer park where Brent Lewis lived. I know he’s been evicted, and I haven’t heard from his daughter, but maybe some neighbour will have a number for him, or something? He’s my only connection with Dad’s trip, or any of it.

‘If you’ll take the children to school, I’ll head over to the trailer park straight away,’ I say to Suze. ‘Jeff will drive me.’

‘Fine.’ Suze doesn’t look at me properly. She hasn’t looked at me properly since last night. Her phone is clamped to her ear, and she’s stirring her tea obsessively with her other hand, round and round and round.

‘Who are you phoning?’ I venture.

‘Alicia.’

‘Oh.’ I turn away.

‘Hi,’ says Suze into the phone. ‘No. Nothing.’

I feel a tweak of hurt. She’s talking in the kind of intimate shorthand you use when you’re really close to someone. Like the way we talk. Used to talk.

I can almost feel tears rising at the thought of Suze and Alicia being that close, but then I have only had about two hours’ sleep. I kept checking my phone for messages from Luke, but there weren’t any. I’ve composed a million texts to him, but I haven’t sent any of them. Every time I even picture him, I feel such a tidal wave of hurt that I don’t know where to start.

I rub my eyes and drain my coffee. ‘OK, Jeff,’ I call. ‘Shall we go?’

As Jeff comes into the kitchen, his demeanour is gloomier than ever. He hasn’t reacted well to the news of Dad and Tarkie disappearing. He seems to feel it’s all his fault, even though I keep reassuring him that it isn’t.

‘The site’s secure,’ he says. ‘Mitchell’s on patrol in the yard with Echo.’

‘Great,’ I say. ‘Thanks.’

Jeff heads to the kitchen door and checks it, then goes to the window and runs a finger along the glass. He murmurs into his headpiece, then goes back to check the door again. God, he’s making me edgy.

‘The kitchen’s fine!’ I say. ‘We’re safe! Look, Jeff, my dad just took off. It wasn’t your fault.’

‘Shouldn’ta happened,’ he says heavily. ‘Not on my watch.’

‘Well, let’s go, and maybe we’ll find something out.’ I push my chair back with a scrape. ‘Suze, I’ll keep you posted.’

‘Fine.’ Suze’s eyes are fixed resolutely beyond me. Her jaw is tight and her hair is lank. I know she didn’t get any sleep at all.

‘Look, Suze,’ I say tentatively. ‘Please don’t worry. I’m sure everything’s fine.’

She doesn’t even answer. I can see her mind grimly whirring around all the worst possibilities. There’s nothing more I can say.

‘OK.’ I bite my lip. ‘Well … I’ll talk to you later.’

We’ve been driving twenty minutes or so when my phone rings and I reach for it eagerly. But it’s not Suze or Dad, or even Luke, but Sage.

‘Oh, hi Sage.’

‘Hey, Becky!’ Her voice peals happily down the phone. ‘Are you super-excited?’

‘What?’ I say blankly.

‘Our Camberly show! It airs in, like, ten minutes! I’m totally psyched. Aran was just on the phone. He was, like, this is huge already, babe. I mean, have you seen the hits on YouTube? And that’s just the trailer!’

‘Right. Right.’ I try to wrench my head away from Dad and into the world of Sage. ‘Yes, I saw that. It’s phenomenal!’

It’s true, it is pretty phenomenal. There have been wall-to-wall trailers for the last two days, for what they’re calling The Big Showdown: Lois Meets Sage. They were on this morning while I was making coffee, but we turned the telly off because it was all getting a bit too much.

(Well, in fact, Suze threw her phone at the telly and yelled, ‘Shut up! Shut up!’ So I zapped it off.)

‘So are you watching?’

‘I will be!’ I say, hastily turning on the in-car TV. ‘I’m in the car but I’ll be watching it in here. I can’t wait. I’m sure you’re amazing in it.’

‘I’m awesome,’ says Sage in satisfaction. ‘So the other thing is, I had this great idea for my premiere outfit tonight. You have to come over and help me with it. Where are you now? Could you be here in, like, fifteen minutes?’

‘Fifteen minutes?’ I stare at the phone. ‘Well … no. Sorry. I have some stuff I have to do this morning. It’s kind of a family emergency.’

‘But you’re styling me!’ says Sage, sounding affronted.

‘I know. I’m coming round later, remember? Can we discuss it then?’

There’s silence down the phone. Oh God. Is Sage pissed off?

‘What’s the idea?’ I say hastily. ‘I bet it’s brilliant.’

‘I can’t tell you. I have to show you.’ She gives a huffy little sigh. ‘OK, if you really can’t come now I guess we’ll meet later. You’ll be, like, totally oh my God.’

‘Wow! Sounds amazing. I’ll see you later. OK?’

I ring off and turn up the volume on the TV. It’s showing a weather report for the East Coast and I find myself wondering if Dad and Tarkie could have got on a plane.

No. They wouldn’t do that. Would they?

Even though I’m sure both Mum and Suze are overreacting to the situation, I feel a little chill. People you love shouldn’t disappear, simply telling you vaguely they have ‘something to put right’. They shouldn’t do that.

Suddenly I realize the Camberly show is starting. The familiar titles are zooming over the screen and shots of Camberly in evening dress and running along the beach with her dog are flash-cutting with shots of her famous white house, where it’s ‘filmed’. (It’s really filmed in LA, on a studio set. Everyone knows that.) Normally, there are several sections in the show. There’s an interview and a song and a cooking slot, and often a competition. But today is a ‘special’. It’s all about Lois and Sage. As soon as the music dies away, the camera focuses on Camberly, looking sombre, and a backdrop of Sage’s and Lois’s faces blown up, glaring at each other. It all looks very dramatic.

‘Welcome to my home,’ Camberly says, in serious tones. ‘And to a unique and momentous hour-long special. Sage Seymour. Lois Kellerton. Meeting for the first time since their infamous encounter at the ASAs. We’ll be back after this.’

Music plays again, and the titles swoosh around the screen. I stare at it in slight outrage. An ad break already? I will never get used to American telly. Yesterday I started watching an advert and it went on for twenty minutes. Twenty whole minutes! (It was quite good, though. It was all about this brilliant barbecue grill thing, which gives you a ‘restaurant-quality finish’ with none of the calories. I wrote the number down, actually.)

I sit impatiently through a zillion ads for pain relievers, and then watch as Sage appears on the screen, sitting on the sofa with a rapt Camberly. At first, it’s very boring, because she gets Sage to tell her exactly what happened at the awards ceremony, in every detail, and shows the video clip about ten times, and asks Sage over and over, ‘And how did that make you feel?’

Sage is acting devastated. She keeps using phrases like ‘I felt so betrayed’ and ‘I just don’t understand Lois’ and ‘Why me?’ in a broken voice. I think she’s overdoing it, myself.

Then it’s another ad break – and then it’s time for Lois’s appearance. And even though I know they’ve cooked all this up, my heart is beating faster at the thought of them together on the sofa. God knows what the American public is feeling. This really is a TV event.

Suddenly we’re back in the studio, and Lois walks on to the set, wearing skinny cigarette pants and a billowy white silk shirt and … holding the clutch bag! I can’t help gasping, and Jeff looks in the rear-view mirror.

‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘Just watching the telly.’

Sage and Lois are staring at each other like two hostile cats, with a kind of crackling, unsmiling tension. The cameras keep switching from close-up to close-up. Camberly is watching silently, her hands to her mouth.

‘Have your clutch bag.’ Lois throws the bag down on the floor. Camberly jumps in shock and I make a squeak of protest. She’ll damage the diamanté!

‘You think I want it?’ says Sage. ‘You can keep it.’

Hang on. I’m a bit offended, here. That’s a really nice clutch bag. Which, by the way, no one has ever paid me for.

‘You two girls haven’t seen each other since the awards ceremony,’ says Camberly, leaning forward.

‘No,’ says Sage, not taking her eyes off Lois.

‘Why would I want to see her?’ chimes in Lois.

And suddenly I lose patience with the whole thing. It’s so unreal. They’re going to fight and be mean and then they’ll probably hug each other and cry at the end.

‘We’re here,’ says Jeff, pulling the car over. ‘You wanna keep watching?’

‘No thanks,’ I say, and switch off the TV. I look out of the window, trying to get my bearings. There are the galvanized gates. There are the rows of mobile homes. OK. Let’s hope I find some answers here.

‘This is really the address?’ says Jeff, who is peering out of the window dubiously. ‘You sure about that?’

‘Yes, this is it.’

‘Well, I think it’s advisable I come along with you,’ he says firmly, and gets out of the car.

‘Thanks, Jeff,’ I say, as he opens my car door.

I’m going to miss Jeff.

This time I walk straight to no. 431, without looking right or left. The eviction notice is still on the door, and the trailer opposite is shut up. I can see my card, still stuck in the window frame. Great. Clearly that woman didn’t pass it on.

I walk past an old man sitting outside a trailer about three along but I don’t feel like approaching him. Partly because he keeps giving me funny looks, and partly because he has a massive dog on a chain. I can’t see any neighbours other than him. So what do I do now? I sit down on a plastic chair which seems to be randomly in the middle of the path, and heave a big sigh.

‘Are you visiting with someone?’ says Jeff, who has followed me without comment.

‘No. I mean, yes, but he’s been evicted.’ I gesture at the notice on the door. ‘I want to find out where he’s gone.’

‘Uh-huh.’ Jeff digests this for a few moments.

‘I was hoping to speak to a neighbour,’ I explain. ‘I thought I could get a forwarding address or something …’

‘Uh-huh,’ says Jeff again, then nods at the trailer. ‘He might be in there. Back door’s open.’

What? That hadn’t even occurred to me. Maybe he’s come back. Maybe Dad’s in there with him! In excitement, I hurry to the trailer door and bang on it.

‘Hello?’ I call. ‘Brent? Are you there?’

There’s a pause, then the door swings open. But it’s not Brent. It’s a girl. She’s a little older than me, I’d say, with wavy sandy hair and a freckled, weatherbeaten face. She has pale-blue eyes and a nose ring and an unfriendly expression. I can smell toast and hear Michael Jackson’s ‘Beat It’ playing faintly in the background.

‘What?’ she says.

‘Oh, hi,’ I say hesitantly. ‘Sorry to disturb you.’

A little dog comes running out of the door and licks my toes. He’s a Jack Russell, and he’s wearing the cutest lime-green harness.

‘Gorgeous!’ I say, and squat to pat him. ‘What’s he called?’

‘Scooter.’ The girl doesn’t unbend a millimetre. ‘What do you want?’

‘Oh. Sorry.’ I rise up and give her a polite smile. ‘How do you do?’ I extend a hand and she cautiously takes mine. ‘I’m looking for someone called Brent Lewis. Do you know him?’

‘That’s my dad.’

‘Oh!’ I exhale in relief. ‘Great! Well, he was a friend of my father, and I think my dad’s gone off looking for him, but I don’t know where’s he’s headed.’

‘Who’s your dad?’

‘Graham Bloomwood.’

It’s as though I’ve said ‘the Antichrist’. Her whole body jolts in shock. But her eyes stay on mine, unwavering. There’s a gimletty hardness to them which is starting to freak me out. What’s wrong? What have I said?

‘Your dad is Graham Bloomwood?’ she says at last.

‘Yes! Do you know him?’ I say tentatively.

‘So, what, you’ve come here to gloat? Is that it?’

My mouth falls open a little. Have I missed something here?

‘Er … gloat?’ I echo, at last. ‘No. Why would I come here to gloat?’

‘Who’s that guy?’ Her eyes suddenly fix on Jeff.

‘Oh. Him.’ I cough, feeling a bit embarrassed. ‘He’s my bodyguard.’

‘Your bodyguard.’ She gives a bitter, incredulous laugh and shakes her head. ‘Figures.’

It figures? Why does it figure? She doesn’t know anything about me—

Oh, she’s recognized me! I knew I was famous.

‘It’s just been since the whole ridiculous business on TV,’ I say, with a modest sigh. ‘When you’re in my position you have to hire security. I mean, I’m sure you can imagine what it’s like.’

She might want an autograph, it occurs to me. I really should get some of those big shiny pictures to carry about with me.

‘I could sign a napkin,’ I suggest. ‘Or a piece of paper?’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ says the girl, her tone unchanged. ‘I don’t watch TV. Are you a big deal?’

‘Oh,’ I say, feeling suddenly stupid. ‘Right. I thought … Well … no. I mean, kind of …’ This conversation is excruciating. ‘Look, can we talk?’

‘Talk?’ she echoes, so sarcastically that I wince. ‘It’s a bit late to talk, don’t you think?’

I stare at her in bewilderment.

‘I’m sorry … I don’t follow. Is something wrong?’

‘Jesus H. Christ.’ She closes her eyes briefly and takes a deep breath. ‘Look, just take your little bodyguard and your little designer shoes and your little prinky-prinky voice and go. OK?’

I’m feeling more and more upset by this conversation. Why is she so angry? I don’t even know her. Why did she say I’d come here to gloat?

And what ‘prinky-prinky voice’? I don’t have a prinky-prinky voice.

‘Look.’ I try to stay calm. ‘Please can we start again? All I want is to track down my father and I’m quite worried about him, and this is the only place I can think of, and—’ I break off. ‘I’m sorry, I haven’t even introduced myself properly. My name’s Rebecca.’

‘I know.’ She looks at me strangely. ‘Of course it is.’

‘And what’s your name?’

‘Rebecca too. We’re all called Rebecca.’

It’s as though time stands still. I gape at her blankly for a few seconds, trying to process her words. But they make no sense. We’re all called Rebecca.

We’re all … what?

What?

‘You knew that.’ She seems puzzled by my reaction. ‘You had to know that.’

Am I missing something? Have I moved into some weird, parallel universe? Who’s we?

What the bloody hell is going ON?

‘Your dad did see my dad. Couple days ago.’ She gives me a challenging stare. ‘I guess they had it out at long last.’

‘Had it out about what?’ I say in despair. ‘What? Please tell me!’

There’s a long silence. The other Rebecca is just staring at me with her narrow blue eyes, as though she can’t work me out.

‘What did your dad tell you about that trip?’ she says at last. ‘The trip in seventy-two.’

‘Nothing much. I mean, just little stuff. They went to the rodeo, they ate ice-cream, my dad got really sunburned …’

‘That’s all?’ She seems incredulous. ‘Sunburn?’

‘Yes,’ I say helplessly. ‘What else was there to tell? What do you mean, we’re all called Rebecca?’

‘Jesus H. Christ.’ She shakes her head. ‘Well, if you don’t know I’m not telling you.’

‘You have to tell me!’

‘I have to tell you nothing.’ She looks me up and down, and I can feel the contempt in her eyes. ‘I don’t know where your dad is. Now fuck off, princess girl.’ She picks up the little dog, and to my horror, bangs the trailer door shut. A moment later I can hear the back door being locked, too.

‘Come back!’ I beat furiously on the door. ‘Please! Rebecca! I need to talk to you!’

As if in answer, the sound of ‘Beat It’ from inside gets louder.

‘Please!’ I can feel tears rising. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about! I don’t know what happened!’

I bang on the door for what seems like for ever, but there’s no answer. Suddenly I feel a huge, gentle hand on my shoulder.

‘She ain’t opening that,’ says Jeff kindly. ‘I say you leave it. I say we go home.’

I can’t reply. I stare at the trailer, a painful fullness in my chest. Something happened. And I don’t know what, and the answer’s in there, but I can’t get at it.

‘I say we go home,’ repeats Jeff. ‘Nothing you can do now.’

‘All right,’ I say at last. ‘You’re right. We should go.’

I follow him past the mobile homes, past the man with the scary dog, out of the gates. I don’t know what I’m going to say to Suze. I don’t know what I’m going to do, full stop.

As Jeff starts up the car, the TV comes on, and I’m assailed by the sound of sobbing. Lois and Sage are in each other’s arms on-screen, mascara dripping down both their faces, while Camberly watches, her hands clasped in delight to her mouth.

‘I’ve alwaaaays respected you …’ Sage is hiccuping.

‘I’ve had such a damaaaaged life,’ Lois sobs back.

‘I love you, you know that, Lois?’

‘I will always love yoooooou …’

They both look absolute wrecks. They must have worn non-waterproof mascara on purpose.

Lois cradles Sage’s face between her hands and says tenderly, ‘You have a beautiful spirit,’ and I can’t help snorting with laughter. Is anyone going to believe in this ‘reconciliation’? I have no idea. And right now, I don’t care. All I can think is: where’s Dad? What’s going on? What on earth is going on?

When I get back, Suze is out. Presumably she’s with Alicia. Presumably they’re having really long, heartfelt conversations, because Suze can’t talk to me, her oldest friend, who helped her have her first baby, does she remember that? And spent a whole week jiggling him in my arms while Suze slept, does she remember that? Where was Alicia then? She was swigging cocktails and planning how to ruin my life, that’s where she was.

Anyway. If Suze wants to be best friends with Alicia, then fine. Whatever. Maybe I’ll make friends with Robert Mugabe, to match.

I leave her a voicemail, giving her the bare bones of what happened, and do the same for Mum. But then I feel at a loss. I can’t just head off randomly in search of Dad. I don’t have a single other clue.

So at last I pack up my bag and get Jeff to take me to Sage’s house, which is surrounded by paparazzi. (Proper paparazzi, not just Lon and his mates.) As we approach, I realize they won’t be able to see inside the blacked-out SUV. I wind down the window and they start snapping away at me inside the car, while I ignore them elegantly and Jeff shouts, ‘Wind that window up!’ (He doesn’t have to be so cross. I only wanted some air.)

When I finally get inside, the whole place is pumping with music, and there are about ten assistants milling around, making smoothies and telling people on the phone that Sage is not available. Sage herself is dressed in grey leggings and a T-shirt reading SUCK ON THAT, and seems totally hyper.

‘So, wasn’t Camberly awesome?’ she says about five times before I can even say hello. ‘Wasn’t it incredible?’

‘It was amazing! Did you wear non-waterproof mascara on purpose?’ I can’t help asking.

‘Yes!’ She points her finger at me as though I’ve got an answer correct on a quiz show. ‘That was Lois’s idea. The make-up people were all like, “You might cry, people often do on this show,” and we were like, well so what? We want to be honest, you know.’ She blinks at me. ‘We want to be truthful. Mascara runs and that’s the truth, and if it’s not your perfect put-together look, then too bad.’

I clamp my lips together so I won’t laugh. Truthful? Only I can’t say anything because she’s my client, so I just nod earnestly.

‘Wow. You’re so right.’

‘I know,’ she says in satisfaction. ‘So, some dresses arrived. Where did I put them?’

After some searching, I find a Danny Kovitz box in the corner of the room. It was sent over this morning from Danny’s LA showroom and contains three dresses. He’s such a star. (I talked to Adrian at the Danny Kovitz headquarters today. Apparently Danny has checked into the Setai in Miami and says he’s never going anywhere colder than 75 degrees Fahrenheit again. I never thought Greenland would suit him.)

I shake out the white beaded dress, which is absolutely gorgeous, and head over to Sage.

‘This is amazing.’ I drape the dress over my arm so she can see. ‘It’s very fitted, though, so you’ll need to try it.’

‘Cool!’ Sage strokes it. ‘I’ll try it on in a minute.’

‘So, what was your brilliant idea?’

‘Oh, that.’ She gives me a secretive smile. ‘I’m not going to tell you.’

‘Really?’ I stare at her, disconcerted. ‘Not at all?’

‘You’ll see it tonight.’

Tonight? Is it a hair do? Or a new tattoo?

‘OK!’ I say. ‘Can’t wait! So, I have some other options as well as the white—’

‘Wait.’ Sage is distracted by a TV on the wall. ‘Look! The interview’s on again. Let’s watch it. Hey, guys!’ she calls to her assistants. ‘The show’s on again! Get popcorn!’

‘Whoo!’ shout a couple of assistants. ‘Go Sage! Awesome!’

‘Let me call Lois. Hey, babe,’ she says as soon as she’s put through. ‘We’re on again. Becky’s here. We’re going to watch it.’ She high-fives me as she speaks, and I notice a tongue stud which wasn’t there before. Is that her new thing?

‘Come!’ Sage beckons me to her enormous white squashy sofa. ‘Relax!’

‘OK!’ I surreptitiously glance at my watch. It’ll be fine. We’ll watch the show and then we’ll get to work.

Except we don’t just watch it once, we watch it four times.

Each time, Sage keeps up a running commentary, saying things like, ‘See how I really nail the emotion here?’ and, ‘Lois looks so good from that angle,’ and once, ‘Where did Camberly have her boobs done? They’re pretty great.’ Whereupon a young assistant leaps up and says, ‘I’m on it,’ and immediately starts tapping at his BlackBerry.

By the fourth go I’m numb with boredom. The weird thing is that if I could see myself, I’d be mad with jealousy. I mean, look at me! Lounging on a squashy white sofa with a movie star … sipping smoothies … listening to her little in-jokes … You’d think it would be paradise. But all I really want to do is go home and see Suze.

I can’t, though, because we still haven’t got to the clothes. Every time I mention them, Sage says ‘Sure’, and absently waves a hand at me. I’ve told her about fifty times that I’ll need to go and pick up Minnie from pre-school soon and I don’t have all day, but she doesn’t seem to have registered that.

‘OK, let’s go have our nails done!’ Sage suddenly gets up from the sofa. ‘We have to get to the spa. We all have reservations, right?’

‘Right!’ says an assistant. ‘We have the cars waiting outside.’

‘Cool!’ Sage starts searching around the coffee table. ‘Where are my shoes? Did they slide under the sofa? Christopher, find my shoes,’ she says prettily to the most handsome of her assistants and he instantly starts grovelling on the floor.

I’m not following any of this. How can she be going off to a spa?

‘Sage?’ I try to get her attention. ‘Aren’t we going to decide on your look for tonight? You were going to try on the dresses?’

‘Oh, sure,’ says Sage vaguely. ‘We’ll do that too. We’ll talk about it at the spa.’

‘I can’t come to the spa,’ I say as patiently as I can. ‘I have to pick up my daughter from her class trip to the Museum of Contemporary Art.’

‘Her kid is so sweet,’ Sage announces to her assistants, and they all croon back, ‘Oh cuuuute! Adorable!’

‘So what about the dresses?’

‘Oh, I’ll try them on myself.’ She suddenly seems to focus. ‘I don’t need you to be there. You did a great job, Becky, thanks! And thank you, Christopher, angel!’ She slides her pumps on.

She doesn’t need me? I feel like she’s slapped me in the face.

‘But I haven’t explained each look yet,’ I say, bewildered. ‘I was going to try them on with you, talk you through the accessories, see if we need to alter anything …’

‘I’ll figure it out.’ She spritzes herself with scent, then catches my eye. ‘Go! Have fun with your daughter!’

‘But …’

If I don’t help her create her look, then I’m not a stylist at all. I’m a delivery girl.

‘Your car will take you, right? See you tonight!’ Before I can say anything else, she’s skipped out of the door. I can hear a roar from the paparazzi outside and the sound of engines and the general mayhem that surrounds Sage.

I’m alone, apart from a housekeeper, who walks silently around, picking up bowls and brushing popcorn off the sofa. And just for an instant, I feel totally deflated. This isn’t how I pictured it at all. I had so many ideas I wanted to share with Sage, yet she doesn’t even seem interested in the clothes.

But as I pull out my phone and dial Jeff’s number, I force myself to look on the positive side. Come on. It’s all still good. I’ve still been to her house, I’ve still given her the bones of her outfit. When people ask who styled her, she’ll say, ‘Becky Brandon.’ It’s still my big chance. I have to hold on to this. Whatever else is going on, this is still my big Hollywood chance.

As we approach the house, Lon is still hanging around outside the gates, and he gesticulates wildly at the car. He’s wearing a lime bandana today, and thigh boots.

‘Pirate!’ cries Minnie, who is clutching the ‘Rothko-inspired’ painting she did at the museum. (It’s really good. I’m going to put it in a frame.) ‘See pirate!’

‘Becky!’ I can hear him shouting as we drive past. ‘Becky, wait! Listen! Guess what?’

The thing about me is I’m a total sucker for anyone who says ‘Guess what?’

‘Hey, Jeff,’ I say, as the gates start opening for us. ‘Stop a minute.’

‘Stop a minute?’

‘I want to talk to Lon. That guy.’ I point.

Jeff halts the car and turns round in his seat. He’s got his ‘disappointed’ face on.

‘Rebecca, we’ve talked about street interactions,’ he says. ‘I do not recommend that you get out of the vehicle at this time.’

‘Jeff, honestly.’ I roll my eyes. ‘It’s Lon. He’s a fashion student! I mean, it’s not like he’s hiding a gun.’

OK, saying ‘gun’ was a mistake. At once Jeff stiffens. He’s been on hyper-alert ever since Dad and Tarkie disappeared.

‘If you wish to approach this person …’ he says heavily, ‘I will secure the area first.’

I want to giggle at his disapproving expression. He’s behaving like he’s some stiff and starchy 1930s butler and I’ve said I want to talk to a tramp.

‘Fine. Secure the area.’

Jeff gives me another reproachful look, then gets out of the car. The next minute I can see him frisking Lon. Frisking him!

But Lon doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, his face is all shiny and excited, and I can see him taking pictures of Jeff with his phone. At last Jeff returns to the car and says, ‘The area is secure.’

‘Thank you, Jeff!’ I beam, and bound out of the car. ‘Hi Lon!’ I salute him. ‘How are you? Nice boots! Sorry about all the security and stuff.’

‘No, that’s fine!’ says Lon breathlessly. ‘Your bodyguard is so cool.’

I nod. ‘He’s really sweet.’

‘I guess you have to be super-careful of nut jobs,’ says Lon reverently. ‘I’ve seen your guard dog, too, patrolling the grounds and everything?’

Lon is so starry-eyed, I can’t help blossoming under his gaze.

‘Well, you know.’ I toss my hair back. ‘When you’re in my position, you have to be careful. You don’t know who’s out there.’

‘Have you had many attempts on your life?’ Lon is agog.

‘Er, not that many. You know. Just the normal amount.’ I quickly change the subject. ‘Anyway, so what did you want to say?’

‘Oh, right!’ Lon nods animatedly. ‘We saw your special delivery from Danny Kovitz. The van came earlier, and I got talking to the guy. He works at the showroom. He knew all about it. It’s a dress for you to wear tonight.’

‘Danny sent over a dress for me?’ I’m so touched, I can’t help grinning.

‘It’s from the new collection, Trees and Wires? Like, the one that hasn’t even been shown yet?’ Lon seems beyond ecstatic. ‘The one that Danny said came straight from his soul?’

All Danny’s recent collections have been called Something and Something. One was Metal and Philosophy. Another was Envy and Scarlet. The fashion journalists and bloggers write screeds on what the titles mean, but if you ask me, he just picks two random words out of the dictionary and chooses two different fonts and calls it meaningful. Not that I’ll say this to Lon, who looks like he’s going to expire with excitement.

‘No one has seen anything of this collection,’ Lon is babbling. ‘There are rumours online, but nobody knows anything. So, like, I was wondering, will you wear it tonight? And can we take some pictures? My friends and me?’

His face is scrunched up in hope and he’s folding his bandana into ever-decreasing squares.

‘Of course!’ I say. ‘I’m leaving at six but I’ll come out five minutes early and you can all see the dress.’

‘Yay!’ Lon’s face relaxes into a beam. ‘We’ll be there!’ Already he’s tapping at his phone. ‘Thanks, Becky! You’re the greatest!’

As we head inside, my spirits are higher than they have been for ages. Danny sent me a dress! I’m going to be a fashion story! Nenita Dietz is bound to be impressed when she sees me. But my momentary euphoria freezes into icy fog as soon as I see Suze. She’s sitting in the kitchen, surrounded by papers, on which I can see her scribbled writing. Her hair is shoved into a dishevelled knot. I can hear The Little Mermaid playing in the next room, and smell toast, which is clearly what she’s given her children for their tea.

On the table is a fancy-looking Golden Peace tote bag, which is new. Alicia must have given it to her, as well as that sweatshirt sticking out of it. I know what she’s doing. She’s trying to buy Suze’s love.

‘Nice bag,’ I say.

‘Thanks,’ says Suze, barely looking up. ‘So you’re back.’ She sounds accusing, which is hardly fair.

‘I was back earlier,’ I reply pointedly. ‘But you were out.’ With Alicia, I refrain from adding. ‘Any news?’

I know there isn’t any news, because I’ve been checking my phone every five minutes, but it’s worth asking anyway.

‘Nothing. I’ve been on the phone to all of Tarkie’s friends, but none of them has any leads. What have you done? Have you spoken to your dad’s friend?’

‘I went to the trailer park. I did some investigating there.’

‘Oh yes, I got your voicemail.’ She stops scribbling, and draws her feet up to her chair, hugging her knees. Her face is drawn with worry, and I feel a sudden urge to hug her tight and pat her back, like I would have done any other time. But somehow … I can’t … Everything feels too stilted between us. ‘You met another Rebecca? That’s so strange.’

I tell her all about the trailer park, and she listens in silence.

‘Something’s going on with my dad,’ I finish. ‘But I have no idea what.’

‘But what does it mean?’ Suze rubs her brow. ‘And why has he got Tarquin involved?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say helplessly. ‘Mum will be in the air by now, so I can’t ask her, and anyway, she doesn’t know anything …’ I grind to a halt. My attention has been grabbed by something on the kitchen counter. It’s a big box with Danny Kovitz printed on the side.

Obviously my dress isn’t the priority right this second. On the other hand, I can’t wait to see it. I don’t even know if it’s full-length, or mid-length, or a mini-dress …

‘I tried the police again,’ Suze is saying. ‘Absolutely useless! They said I could file a report. What good is a report? I need them out there, searching! They kept saying, “But where would we search, ma’am?” I said, “That’s for you to find out! Put some detectives on it!” Then they said, “Could these two gentlemen have just gone on a little trip?” I said, “Yes! They have gone on a trip. That’s the whole point. But we don’t know where!”’

As Suze is talking, I edge over to the counter. I lift the lid a little way and hear a rustle of tissue paper. There’s a lovely waft of scent, too. Danny always has his clothes sprayed with his signature fragrance before they’re sent out. I push aside the silvery-grey tissue paper and glimpse a shoulder strap made out of linked copper hoops. Wow.

‘What are you doing?’ says Suze tonelessly.

‘Oh.’ I jump, and drop the lid. ‘Just having a look.’

‘More “essential shopping” for Sage, I suppose.’

‘It’s not for Sage, it’s for me. I’m wearing it tonight. Danny sent it over specially. It’s from his Trees and Wires collection …’ I trail off, registering the sharp silence in the kitchen. Suze is staring at me with a look I can’t quite work out.

‘You’re still going to the premiere,’ she says at last.

‘Yes.’

‘I see.’

There’s another long silence. The atmosphere is getting edgier and edgier, until I want to scream.

‘What?’ I say at last. ‘What? Don’t you think I should go?’

‘Jesus, Bex! Do you really have to ask?’ Suze’s sudden vehemence takes me by surprise. ‘Your dad is missing and Tarkie too, and you’re going to a bloody premiere? How can you be so selfish? I mean, what kind of priorities do you have?’

Resentment is rising inside me. I’m tired of Suze making me feel bad. I’m tired of everyone making me feel bad.

‘Your dad’s disappeared without a trace and taken Tarkie with him!’ Suze repeats, still on her tirade. ‘There’s obviously some mystery; they could be in big trouble—’

‘Well, what am I supposed to do about it?’ I explode. ‘It’s not my fault if they just took off! I’ve got one chance in Hollywood, Suze, one chance, and this is it! If I don’t grab it, I’ll always regret it.’

‘The red carpets will always be there,’ says Suze scathingly.

‘The TV interviews won’t always be there! Nenita Dietz won’t always be there! I don’t see why I should just sit around, doing nothing, waiting for news. You can do that if you like. Maybe Alicia could keep you company,’ I can’t help adding bitterly. And I grab the Danny Kovitz box and march out of the kitchen before Suze can say anything more.

As I get ready, there are two voices arguing in my head. One is mine and one is Suze’s. Or maybe one is Luke’s. Or maybe they’re both mine. Oh God, I don’t know whose they are, but by quarter to six I’m sick of both of them. I don’t want to have to think about whether I’m doing the right thing. I just want to do it.

I stare at myself boldly in the mirror and adopt a red-carpet pose. I look good. I think. I’ve put on a bit too much make-up, but I don’t want to look washed out next to all the celebrities, do I? And Danny’s dress is genius. It’s short and slinky in a flattering black fabric, and the single shoulder strap is made of a mass of unpolished copper hoops. (They’re digging into my skin a bit, and they’ll probably leave marks, but I don’t care.) I’m wearing the spikiest ever black stilettos and my bag is a little copper-framed clutch (it was in the box with the dress). I definitely look like a top celebrity stylist.

Adrenalin is pumping through my body. I feel like I’m about to go into a boxing ring. This is it. This is it. As I’m carefully painting my lips, my phone rings, and I put it on speaker.

‘Hello?’

‘Becky.’ Aran’s voice fills the room. ‘Psyched for tonight?’

‘Definitely!’ I say. ‘Can’t wait!’

‘Great! I just wanted to let you know the run-down. You are in demand tonight, girl.’ He laughs. ‘You’ll be talking to NBC, CNN, Mixmatch, that’s a fashion channel …’

As he continues, I can barely concentrate. It all seems so surreal. I’m going to be on NBC!

‘So just stay bright and positive,’ Aran is saying. ‘Ooze your British charm and you’ll do great. See you later!’

‘See you there!’ I give myself a final spray of perfume and look at my reflection. British charm. How do I ooze British charm?

‘Cor, strike a light, guv’nor!’ I say aloud.

Hmm. Maybe not.

As I walk downstairs, I can hear Suze approaching. I start prickling with defiance, and clench my bag tight. She appears in the hall, holding Minnie on her hip, and looks me up and down dispassionately.

‘You look amazing,’ she says flatly.

‘Thanks.’ I match her tone.

‘Thin.’ She manages to make this sound like an accusation.

‘Thanks.’ I take out my phone and check for texts. There’s one from Jeff telling me he’s waiting outside, but nothing from Luke. Not that I was really expecting it, but still my heart drops in disappointment. ‘I’ll have my phone on the whole time,’ I add. ‘In case you … you know. Hear anything.’

‘Well, enjoy yourself.’ She hoists Minnie to the other hip and I glare at her resentfully. She’s only carrying Minnie to make me feel bad. She could easily put her down on the floor.

‘Here are the details of where I am.’ I hand her a printed sheet. ‘Thanks for looking after Minnie.’

‘Oh, any time.’ Her voice is so sarcastic I wince. She doesn’t mean it, I tell myself. She’s just stressed out about Dad and Tarkie.

I mean, I’m stressed out, too. But there’s a bigger emotion overriding the stress. It’s excitement. NBC … red carpet … exclusive designer outfit … How could I not be excited? How can Suze not understand?

‘Well, I hope you have the time of your life,’ she says as I open the door.

‘I will,’ I say mutinously. ‘See you later.’

I step outside and hear a roar from outside the gates. I stop dead and blink in astonishment. Oh my God. Lon must have brought his entire class to see the dress. There’s a whole crowd of them, clustered together, pointing cameras and phones at me through the iron bars of the gates.

‘Open the gates,’ I instruct Jeff, and I approach the throng, waving graciously, feeling like a princess.

‘Becky!’ Lon is calling.

‘Beckeeeee!’ shouts a girl in a black shift dress. ‘Over here!’

‘You look amazing!’

‘How does the dress feel?’

‘Can we get a back view?’

‘Did Danny tell you anything special about the dress? What was his inspiration?’

As I pose, looking this way and that, I keep darting glances back at the house. I hope Suze is watching out of the window and can hear all the yelling. Then maybe she’ll understand.