line at letting a stranger in for lunch. Boarding schools might be really weird, like prisons or something. They probably had a head-count every hour or two to make sure people hadn’t sneaked in from the town to get a free meal or join in a quick game of lacrosse or raid the trophy cupboard.
‘It’s fine. I should be able to keep Mum out for hours, long enough to keep her mind off what you might be up to anyway. Are you sure about this? You’ve never been there before. You might get lost. Why can’t Emily just come back up here and see you?’
‘She doesn’t want to go to the clinic by herself. I told you. I said I’d meet her at the school and then we’ll hitch into Oxford and I’ll get the coach home from there. Apparently it’s general studies afternoon, whatever that is and they more or less do what they like.’
Natasha laughed. ‘Well we all know what Emily likes. Stupid little slapper.’
Zoe looked at her, fearful. ‘Tash, you promised you wouldn’t tell anyone. Emily would kill me if she knewI’d told you. You won’t say anything will you? Promise again?’
‘Course I won’t,’ Natasha reassured her. ‘But if you’re not back by six and if anything happens to you … well I don’t think you should hitch, that’s all.’
‘You’re starting to sound like Mum. Nothing will happen. I owe you one.’
Natasha looked at her for a long moment, weighing up whether this was a good moment to strike a deal on the payback. She heard her mother’s feet on the stairs, clumping awkwardly in unusually high shoes. There wasn’t time just now. The return favour she needed would have to keep for later.
Jess had assumed Robin the photographer would be a woman, someone she wouldn’t mind having alongside her in the changing room, someone who would understand that at her age there were bits of her that were completely off limits for photos. Instead, waiting by the Personal Shopping area and festooned with the equipment of his trade, was a pale, twitchy young man whose hair had clearly turned prematurely grey. It stuck up in untidy silver clumps and as she and Natasha approached he prodded at it in a way that suggested a nervous habit. He didn’t look like the sort who would understand if she pointed to her neck and asked him to keep that bit in the shadows.
‘Robin? Hi, I’m Jess Nelson and this is Natasha, my daughter. I brought her along for a bit of moral support.’ Robin’s eyes widened with what looked like terror at the sight of Natasha.
‘Are they doing both of you then?’ he asked, sneaking a quick glance at his watch.
‘No, it’s supposed to be just me. But don’t worry, Idon’t expect it will take too long.’ She might be new to this, but Jess wasn’t going to have him rushing her.
‘But if they offer …’ Natasha cut in.
‘Well yes, of course, if they offer …’ Jess teased.
‘Where are all the celebs?’ Natasha whispered as she and Jess sipped their coffee in the waiting area. ‘I thought there’d be at least Madonna and Posh Spice.’ Jess had privately thought there would be too, but the other customers, settled into deep armchairs and quietly flicking through magazines, looked surprisingly ordinary – very much along the lines of up-for-the-day from Surrey.
‘Perhaps celebrities get appointments out of opening hours,’ Jess suggested, looking at her watch. Robin was taking a long time to set up his equipment. He seemed to be struggling with an endless supply of diffusers, reflectors, deflectors and tripods, all pulled out of a couple of bags that looked far too small to have held everything, like magicians’ props. The woman beside Jess, too well-mannered to ask directly what he thought he was up to, glanced up now and then as he made experimental light-meter readings on Jess’s face. Marilyn, a cheery thirty-something Scot who was to do the clothes selecting and who looked as if this job kept her in better muscle condition than all Jess’s efforts at
‘It’s fine. I should be able to keep Mum out for hours, long enough to keep her mind off what you might be up to anyway. Are you sure about this? You’ve never been there before. You might get lost. Why can’t Emily just come back up here and see you?’
‘She doesn’t want to go to the clinic by herself. I told you. I said I’d meet her at the school and then we’ll hitch into Oxford and I’ll get the coach home from there. Apparently it’s general studies afternoon, whatever that is and they more or less do what they like.’
Natasha laughed. ‘Well we all know what Emily likes. Stupid little slapper.’
Zoe looked at her, fearful. ‘Tash, you promised you wouldn’t tell anyone. Emily would kill me if she knewI’d told you. You won’t say anything will you? Promise again?’
‘Course I won’t,’ Natasha reassured her. ‘But if you’re not back by six and if anything happens to you … well I don’t think you should hitch, that’s all.’
‘You’re starting to sound like Mum. Nothing will happen. I owe you one.’
Natasha looked at her for a long moment, weighing up whether this was a good moment to strike a deal on the payback. She heard her mother’s feet on the stairs, clumping awkwardly in unusually high shoes. There wasn’t time just now. The return favour she needed would have to keep for later.
Jess had assumed Robin the photographer would be a woman, someone she wouldn’t mind having alongside her in the changing room, someone who would understand that at her age there were bits of her that were completely off limits for photos. Instead, waiting by the Personal Shopping area and festooned with the equipment of his trade, was a pale, twitchy young man whose hair had clearly turned prematurely grey. It stuck up in untidy silver clumps and as she and Natasha approached he prodded at it in a way that suggested a nervous habit. He didn’t look like the sort who would understand if she pointed to her neck and asked him to keep that bit in the shadows.
‘Robin? Hi, I’m Jess Nelson and this is Natasha, my daughter. I brought her along for a bit of moral support.’ Robin’s eyes widened with what looked like terror at the sight of Natasha.
‘Are they doing both of you then?’ he asked, sneaking a quick glance at his watch.
‘No, it’s supposed to be just me. But don’t worry, Idon’t expect it will take too long.’ She might be new to this, but Jess wasn’t going to have him rushing her.
‘But if they offer …’ Natasha cut in.
‘Well yes, of course, if they offer …’ Jess teased.
‘Where are all the celebs?’ Natasha whispered as she and Jess sipped their coffee in the waiting area. ‘I thought there’d be at least Madonna and Posh Spice.’ Jess had privately thought there would be too, but the other customers, settled into deep armchairs and quietly flicking through magazines, looked surprisingly ordinary – very much along the lines of up-for-the-day from Surrey.
‘Perhaps celebrities get appointments out of opening hours,’ Jess suggested, looking at her watch. Robin was taking a long time to set up his equipment. He seemed to be struggling with an endless supply of diffusers, reflectors, deflectors and tripods, all pulled out of a couple of bags that looked far too small to have held everything, like magicians’ props. The woman beside Jess, too well-mannered to ask directly what he thought he was up to, glanced up now and then as he made experimental light-meter readings on Jess’s face. Marilyn, a cheery thirty-something Scot who was to do the clothes selecting and who looked as if this job kept her in better muscle condition than all Jess’s efforts at
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