The Other Ida by Amy Mason Page A

she wore a black tuxedo jacket, which Ida was surprised to recognise as an old one of her da’s.
    Ida looked down at her own legs. She was wearing thin black tights under her dress, the kind that always ripped, and had a spare pair in the red clutch bag Terri had given her to bring. Over her dress she wore her mother’s pale mink coat, and although it made her feel bad for all the little minks, she did feel lovely and warm. Her hair was loosely up now, pinned with bits round her face, and in the end Bridie had helped her powder her chin so it didn’t look too bad. She had only been back to London a few times since they’d moved to Bournemouth, and had always felt scared and out of place, standing on the wrong side of the escalators and being tutted at in the street. But now she felt she was in a different city entirely, a city that she owned, where she was driven in fancy cars and wore fur coats and heels. She took more deep breaths. It was all going to be okay – she knew it would be okay. She could feel it in her bones.
    Ida had thought they’d pull up at the theatre but instead they stopped nearby. They were too late to drive up outside apparently, the stars were arriving now.
    â€œFine, fine,” said Bridie, like it wasn’t fine at all, “thank you for all your help today, you’ve been marvellous. Come on sweetheart, let’s leave this man in peace.”
    They climbed out of the car and onto the busy pavement.
    â€œCome on, this way, I know London like the back of my hand,” Bridie said, grabbing Ida’s arm painfully and pulling her along while she tottered on her new high heels, apologising as she bumped into people. As they turned the corner into Leicester Square Ida felt an embarrassing grin creep across her face. To the left of them was a cinema and a sign with tall black letters read ‘Ida, starring Anna DeCosta, premiere tonight’.
    From the door lay an actual red carpet, and on each side were barriers with gold posts and black ropes. Behind them were fans, two or three deep, waving autograph books and squealing as car doors opened and people got out. Ida watched as they emerged from their cars – shiny shoes followed by thin legs, then sparkling dresses, white smiles and smooth, immobile hair. She touched her own frizzy scalp.
    â€œDarling, you’re shaking, pull yourself together. No one’s here for us, are they? Just keep quiet and try not to fall.”
    They walked towards the corner of the barrier where a woman stood with a clipboard.
    â€œBridie Adair, I wrote the damn thing.”
    The woman grinned broadly, and slightly meanly, Ida thought, as she skimmed the clipboard with her eyes.
    â€œOf course. Fantastic, please go through in a second. You’re a little late. Miss DeCosta is arriving now.” She held her arm out in front of Bridie and Ida as if they were liable to jump over the rope. People began to scream and from behind someone pushed Ida hard in the small of the back. She fell forwards slightly, her ankle twisting to the side.
    Less than three feet away from them stood Anna DeCosta, far thinner and more beautiful than Ida could have imagined. Her dark blonde hair waved softly at the ends, and she smiled at the crowd as if, Ida thought, she’d just heard a wonderful private joke. Her dress was pale pink and she wore brown cowboy boots beneath it. She wasn’t that much older than Ida, nineteen or twenty, but she looked like she knew things Ida couldn’t even dream of. Ida immediately wished that she’d worn flats instead of her painful high heels.
    â€œI don’t know what all of the fuss is about. She looks like a girl who’d work in Safeway,” Bridie said loudly, and the woman with the clipboard frowned.
    â€œShe’ll be a minute with the press and then you can go through Ms Adair, and…?”
    â€œIda,” Ida said, trying to ignore her throbbing ankle.
    The woman looked