Summer Daydreams Page 15

  Chapter 42

  The next few months go by in a blur of trade events – or fashion shows as I would have previously called them. Spring comes and goes and I hardly notice it. The daffodils bloom, carpeting the town with yellow. Petal adores them. I barely lift my head to acknowledge the changes. Then summer is upon us. A hot one, for once. Everyone melts in May but me. The blistering heat of ‘flaming June’ doesn’t trouble me either as I spend most of my time indoors in deep-freeze air conditioning and darkness, listening to pounding music while staring at catwalks, being jostled by the crowds with nothing but a stale, mass-catered sandwich and some machine tea for sustenance.

  Are the trade events useful? I think so. It gives me a chance to see what else is out there and who my competitors are. Besides, Tod tells me that I must attend them. So attend them, I do. I and, more importantly, my handbags grace the aisles of the Clothes Collective in Birmingham, Fashion Fusion in Manchester, Gladrags in Leeds and Sustainable Chic in Scotland. I’m networking my little backside off in the hope that it will all pay off one day.

  The culmination of my chilled-to-the-bone travels is Designer Extravaganza in London, the most crucial show of the year where, with the help of a grant that finally materialised from The Prince’s Trust, I’ve been able to secure myself a stand. This is the first time that I’ll actually display my wares and the cost of doing so is truly staggering. We could buy a decent family car for the same price. The fact that it is the world’s smallest stand is neither here nor there. It’s a stand at a prestigious event and for the first time in my life, I’m going to be a presence in the big bad world of fashion. I’m so excited that I feel permanently sick.

  I’ve had to draft in Jenny and Constance to help Olly look after Petal for the week I’m away. To say that my husband isn’t best pleased is something of an understatement. He’s sick of the amount of time that I’ve already spent away from home so far this year and finds every opportunity he can to tell me so. It’s been the subject of countless rows. But what can I do? This is our livelihood. This is what the business demands.

  Now, I’m running round the workroom like a headless chicken, getting last-minute things together for the stand.

  ‘Dinner’s ready.’ Olly sticks his head round the door. His face falls as he sees the bags and boxes all over the floor. ‘Aren’t you done yet?’

  I try not to bristle. He has no concept of how important this is for me, for all of us. Then I get a rush of guilt. He also has no idea quite how much this is costing us. I can only hope that it’s worth it. All the promotions that I’m doing have certainly brought the orders in, but not necessarily the cold, hard cash. The cost of fulfilling them all seems to be spiralling out of control and that scares me. One day the income has to become more than the outgoings, otherwise we’re in real trouble.

  The preparation for this trade show has been staggering. I’ve had to think of everything from sending out press packs, getting business cards, ordering passes for me, Olly and the van, booking a hotel, writing blurb for the brochure, sending out invitations and designing everything from the lighting down to the electricity points on the stand. And let’s not forget the stressing about the handbags themselves.

  My idea for the space we’ve rented is to make it look like a candy shop and I’ve roughed out designs for decorating the walls. I can access the space two days early to give me time to paint it. There’ll be display shelves round the walls and the handbags will be slotted in between jars of old-fashioned sweets. In the middle of the floor there’ll be a big claw-foot bath (bought from my prop store and general saviour, eBay) overflowing with things like sherbet fountains, black jacks, flying saucers, giant swirly lollipops and candy canes, with my handbags in among them. I’m hoping there’ll be a lot of sweettoothed buyers at the show who will find it irresistible.

  ‘Nearly,’ I tell Olly. ‘I’ll have to come down here for a couple of hours afterwards.’

  ‘Thought we might watch a movie tonight,’ Olly says. ‘Have some time together before you go away for the week.’

  ‘That sounds lovely.’ And it does. How long has it been since Olly and I just vegged out on the sofa together? ‘I’ll try,’ I promise.

  But in my heart of hearts, I know that I’ll be burning the midnight oil so that I’m ready in time for tomorrow. This is my first show and it’s important that I get it right. Once I’m on the stand, that’s it. I can’t pop back home if I happen to forget something. At first light, we need to set off for the city and I’ve hired a van so that Olly can drive all the stuff down with me. I try not to be hurt that Olly hasn’t even asked me how things are going or whether he can help when Petal goes to bed.

  ‘I’d better get back.’ He flicks a thumb towards the kitchen.

  ‘It’ll be burning.’

  ‘Five minutes,’ I beg. ‘Just keep it warm for me.’

  His expression tells me that I might as well have asked him to cut up Petal and put her under the patio.

  ‘Five,’ he says, ‘or your dinner will be in the dog.’ He stomps his way back upstairs.

  I sigh to myself. The other worry is that I haven’t had any real news from Yves Simoneaux. I’ve called him several times but have only managed to speak to him once since his impromptu visit. Now that I’ve appointed him as my agent, he doesn’t seem quite as keen. I don’t know how long these things are supposed to take, but I’d hoped that after the initial rush of enthusiasm, he’d have secured us some contracts by now. But there’s been nothing. I would also have thought that he’d be at Designer Extravaganza as it’s such an important date on the fashion calendar but, despite emailing him, I haven’t yet had a reply to tell me whether he’ll be there or not.

  I held fire on the pop art designs because he didn’t seem that mad about them and now I’m wondering if that was the right thing to do. Perhaps I should have something new and exciting to show on my stand, but I haven’t. The designs are still the same ones I started out with. I’m just hoping that the buyers, who probably won’t know me from Adam, will see them as fresh and new.

  Tod will be at the show for the entire week – not just helping me, but working as a consultant for other people too. I haven’t told Olly that either. It seems that I keep a lot of secrets from my husband these days for the sake of peace and we’ve never had that in our relationship before.

  Once more, I attempt to reconcile myself to this by thinking that it won’t be for long, it won’t be for ever. There has to be a breakthrough in the business and then, well, we’ll be set for life. We’ll live in a mansion and eat gold-plated Weetabix and have Porsches coming out of our ears. See what Olly has to stomp up and down about then.

  Chapter 43

  At six o’clock in the morning, Jen arrives, yawning and bleary-eyed. Olly and I already have the van loaded. I start to download a list of ‘to-do’s’ for Jenny even though her charge is still fast asleep in bed and will no doubt be for some time yet.

  She holds up a hand. ‘Don’t stress, Nell,’ she says. ‘Even I can manage to get Coco Pops in the kid and Chum in the dog. Everything beyond that is a bonus.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I let out a shaky breath. ‘Thanks so much for doing this.’

  She yawns again. Clearly wide awake babysitters are extra. ‘Any time. No worries.’

  ‘Ready?’ I ask Olly. He downs the dregs of his coffee and nods.

  I take a moment to creep into Petal’s room just one more time and watch my daughter’s slumbering form. This reminds me what all my hard work is for. Providing a better future for Petal is all that matters. I softly kiss her goodbye, wiping a tear from my eye when I think that I won’t see my little sweet pea for a whole week.

  Olly and I jump into the van and set off towards the big smoke. Needless to say, last night my dinner was a dried up mess by the time I’d finished stressing about what last-minute bits to take for the show. Olly and I never did get to smooch on the sofa watching that film. Instead, I fell into bed beside my husband at two in the morni
ng and then anxiety kept me tossing and turning for the rest of the night and Olly added to it by tutting under his breath. At five, when I got up, I was just about ready to fall into a deep sleep.

  It’s fair to say that the atmosphere between us is still a little frosty this morning.

  Two hours later and we’re pulling up at the venue in London’s Earl’s Court. The enormous ‘Designer Extravaganza’ banner flutters overhead and I think, I’m part of this. I’m really part of this now. I pinch myself a couple of times to make sure that I really am.

  Olly shows our pass which, thankfully, among one hundred and one other things, I remembered to print off, and we drive into the exhibition hall. We unload as quickly as we can, hauling the claw-foot bath between us. We’re only allowed to park on-site for a miniscule amount of time as there are a million other identical vans all waiting for access.

  ‘Wow,’ Olly says when he sees inside the vast hall for the first time. ‘This is the real deal.’

  Already many of the stands are well on their way to being built and furnished. We have a lot to do. On a fraction of the budget that most of them seem to have. In direct line of sight, all I can see is recognisable and well established high street brands. Then there’s little old me with my little old handbags. I can only hope that my stand design lives up to my expectations. It also worries me that the people on the stands are wafting about, all looking unfeasibly trendy whereas, at the moment, I look like the hired help. I’d better sharpen up for the start of the show.

  ‘Can you see now why I’ve been so worried?’ I ask him. My husband takes me in his arms and holds me tight.

  ‘You’ll knock them dead,’ he assures me.

  For a moment the passion sparks between us again and then Olly says, ‘I’d better go and move that van. You make a start and I’ll be back just as soon as I can.’

  So, I find the box with the various tins of paint in it and my overalls. I locate the brushes and, with the magic of emulsion, begin to transform our small, bland box into a sweetie/handbag wonderland. I’ve been painting for half an hour and Olly has just returned from parking the van and is busy admiring my handiwork, when Tod swings by.

  ‘Didn’t think that you’d be here today,’ I tell him as I kiss him briefly on the cheek in greeting. I’m more self-conscious with him now after our close call in the kitchen.

  ‘Thought you might need a hand,’ he says. ‘But I can see that you’re ably assisted.’ He and Olly exchange a wary glance. ‘I’ll catch you later.’ He waves over his shoulder as he leaves the stand and is swallowed up by the crowds of workers already swarming in the aisles.

  ‘I didn’t know he was going to be here,’ Olly notes as he watches him go.

  ‘It’s his job, Olly,’ I point out. ‘He’s doing some consultancy work or something, too.’

  My husband still scowls after him. I can’t believe he’s like this after all that Tod has done for me.

  ‘Why? Is it a problem?’

  Olly’s face is dark. ‘I always feel as if I’m on the outside of this, Nell,’ he answers. ‘I don’t know what’s going on half the time. You seem to deliberately keep me out of the loop.’

  I don’t like to tell him that if I keep him in the loop, all he does is complain. I’m well aware that he’s hated me being away so much recently. But what can I do? This is business. I have to be here. I have no choice.

  ‘I haven’t even seen the design of the stand until now.’

  ‘You didn’t ask me about it,’ I point out. ‘I didn’t think you were interested.’

  ‘All you seem to want me to do is lift heavy things. You don’t need my input on anything else.’

  ‘That’s not true. You know it’s not true.’ Although it is true that I keep things from him because I know he won’t like them and I feel ashamed about that.

  All the fight goes out of him. ‘Why do we not seem able to talk about simple things any more?’

  ‘I have no idea, Olly.’ I wipe my hands on my overalls and prepare to thrash this out once and for all.

  ‘I have to go,’ my husband says abruptly. ‘I’m on night-shift tonight and I need to catch a few winks. I didn’t sleep much last night.’

  That’s my fault too.

  ‘I hope you have a brilliant week, Nell. See you when you get back. Petal and I will be waiting.’

  I take his hand. ‘Don’t leave like this. I need your support, Olly.’

  ‘And I need my wife back. Petal needs her mum.’

  With that, he leaves me and my paint, with all the shelves to put up and the boxes to unpack and I know that, despite paying a small fortune for a London hotel, I probably won’t be getting to bed tonight either.

  Chapter 44

  Later that afternoon, when I’m just about ready to lie down on the floor of my stand and weep, Tod comes back. I have so much to do and, in the way of these things, so little time. Everyone else looks so much more organised than me. But then everyone else seems to have a team of people scurrying round and there’s not just one person trying to do it all by their lonesome self.

  Clearly sensing my despair, Tod strips off his jacket and rolls his sleeves up. He does not look like a man who is used to manual labour but, to my relieved surprise, he is. I show him what I want doing and he gets on with the job without complaint. Tod puts up shelves, drags the claw-foot bath into its rightful place centre stage, fills it with the sweets and generally helps to pull the stand together while I am busy doing the artistic bit and painting my designs on the walls. We’re still there together, working in companionable silence, when the clock ticks eight.

  Tod switches off the vacuum cleaner that he’s blagged from someone, which he’s been using to such good effect. ‘Time to call it a day,’ he says.

  ‘I can’t stop yet.’

  He comes and takes my paintbrush from my hand, which has cramped into shape around it. ‘I know how these things work,’ he insists. ‘You’re so tired that you’ll start making mistakes. Stop now. We’ll have a quick dinner, a glass of wine to unwind, sleep eight hours and come back fresh first thing in the morning to finish it.’

  ‘Really?’ This sounds like a very appealing option. ‘What if I’m not ready in time?’

  ‘You will be,’ he assures me.

  I gaze longingly at my one still-unpainted wall. ‘Could I not just do this?’

  ‘I am your mentor,’ he reminds me. ‘When have I ever misled you?’

  ‘Never,’ I concur.

  ‘Then good Italian food and passable red wine it is,’ Tod says. ‘I know a little place nearby and I’ve taken the liberty of booking a table for nine o’clock. Think you can turn it round by then?’

  I don’t like to tell Tod that I can be ready in five minutes flat. That’s what comes from usually having a four-year-old daughter in tow.

  Together, we pack away the detritus on the stand and cover it with protective night sheets until the morning. I get a momentary pang and wish that it was Olly who was here with me to see my progress. But it isn’t and I have to put that thought firmly to the back of my mind.

  Tod and I are booked into the same hotel – and I haven’t told Olly about that either. We hail a cab and I lay my head back on the seat while we work our way through the traffic to the conveniently located Scott Hotel.

  The place is at the top end of my budget – probably beyond it, but I’d rather put more on my credit card and stay here with Tod than stay alone in some grotty fleapit or whatever in a dodgy backstreet. It’s a five-minute drive from the exhibition centre and I now realise how valuable that it is too. We could probably even have walked it if I hadn’t been so tired.

  At the hotel, we’re given our key cards with brisk efficiency. Tod checks my room number and finds that we’re next door to each other. ‘I’ll knock for you in about half an hour?’

  ‘That’s fine.’ All I really want to do is crawl into my bed and sleep, but that would be rude after all the help Tod has given me this afternoon. I have no idea wh
at I would have done without him.

  My room is unutterably stylish and I’m not used to such creature comforts. I have thirty minutes and I’m going to make the very most of it. Twenty seconds to apply lipstick. Two minutes forty to get dressed. Only one outfit brought for evening so no wasting time choosing that, which leaves exactly twenty-seven minutes to soak in a bubble bath. I hit the minibar and pour myself a glass of red wine while the water is running.

  Closing my eyes, I lay back in the green tea scented foam – the rest of these complimentary toiletries are going in my bag! – and relish the fact that this is probably my only bath in four years that hasn’t involved the background noise of Petal saying, ‘Are you finished yet, Mummy? Are you finished yet, Mummy?’ over and over.

  The temptation to stay here for the rest of the night is very strong, but then I remember that I have a dinner date and I get a rush of something, a long-forgotten feeling, that I really don’t want to have. This is a business dinner, I remind myself sternly, not a date. The word date shouldn’t even have popped into my mind in this context. But as I reluctantly lever myself out of the bath and get ready to go out to dinner, I find my stomach fluttering with excitement.

  Quickly, while I’m pulling on my dress, I telephone home and say good night to Petal. Olly is still crisp with me. A whole day is a long time for Olly to hold a grudge. He must be really mad with me this time. I feel resentful that he’s putting me under extra pressure when, quite frankly, I already have enough to deal with.

  On time, Tod knocks on my door. He’s changed into a grey wool jacket and black jeans. His hair is damp from the shower. I don’t really need to say that he looks great, do I? He offers me his arm. ‘Shall we, madam?’

  I take it. ‘Indeed.’

  The restaurant is just a short walk away and it’s nice to be out in the warm night air instead of the air-conditioned chill of the exhibition hall. The place is intimate, buzzing and peopled with couples holding hands. I throw caution to the wind and order lots of things involving garlic, so I won’t be tempted to kiss anyone. While we eat and drink too much, Tod laughs at all of my jokes and doles out kind words of encouragement. All the tension of the day seeps out of me and I find myself relaxing – a feeling that I’ve started to forget. We talk about fashion and handbags and music and I don’t mention my child or my husband once.