The World According to Vince - Jane Harvey-Berrick Page 0,31

I could talk to.” I shrugged. “A fifteen year old kid can’t talk to his parents about feelings, so I talked to Gnasher.”

“He sounds like a great dog,” she said quietly.

“The best,” and I gave her a weak smile. “He was there for me at the worst time of my life but I had to give him away.”

“No! Why?”

“The Council were redeveloping the street I lived in and we had to go into temporary accommodation while our new flat was being finished. Trouble was, this B&B didn’t allow dogs, so Gnasher had to go. Mum came with me to the dog shelter when I handed him over. He just stood there with his tail between his legs like he knew what was happening but he didn’t understand why I was abandoning him, why I was leaving him with strangers. He started barking as I walked away, then howling, and I knew he was crying, begging for me to come back for him. Fook me, worst day of me life.” I took a deep breath as tears came to my eyes at the painful memory. “Six months later, we were in our new place and I went back to the shelter to find him, but he’d been rehomed and they wouldn’t tell me where. All they’d say is that the people were nice—had a couple of young kids. I didn’t care, I wanted Gnasher back. But it was too late.”

Gracie reached out and held my hand. “And you’ve been rescuing dogs ever since.”

I looked down at the table. “Every dog should know it’s loved.”

We were quiet then for several minutes but Gracie didn’t let go of my hand.

“I’m so sorry about Gnasher,” she said at last.

I nodded because I couldn’t speak. Twenty years later and I still felt like I’d failed him, still felt the grief of loss. I’d watched my dad get ill and watched how frail he became, how much pain he was in. By the time he died, we were all willing him to let go. But Gnasher … I hadn’t been ready to let him go. And anyone who told me he was just a dog was going to get knee-capped.

“Vincent,” she said quietly, “you’re going to do so much good with this fashion show.”

“Yeah,” I said, nodding slowly. “We are.”

Grace

The chaos and noise was unbelievable and I was tempted to put my hands over my ears to be able to think.

The studio was packed to the rafters and despite the security I’d organized, there had been a ton of gate-crashers. I was worried that the Fire Officer would shut us down; so far our luck was holding. And it was a star-studded crowd: Anna Wintour was wearing her trademark dark glasses, seated in the front row between Stella McCartney on one side and whispering to Victoria Beckham on the other; Blake Lively was laughing with Katie Holmes; Alicia Silverstone was looking for a seat with Ellen DeGeneres; journalists were snapping away at them but the celebrities ignored the flashes like the pros they were. Even so, heads turned when the enormous figure of Jason Momoa strode into the room and squished his giant frame into one of the plastic seats.

The heat was starting to build so I grabbed a member of staff and instructed them to turn down the air-conditioning before greenhouse temperatures were reached and tempers were lost.

I desperately wanted this to go well for Vince. Yes, he was a jerk and an asshat and a total knob-head who thought stripper poles were appropriate office furniture, but he was a good man with a good heart. I wasn’t sure his brain was always engaged, but I’d come to realize that even when he annoyed the hell out of me, he didn’t mean to—even though it was pretty much every time he opened his mouth.

But if the entrance was bordering on looney tunes, backstage was way worse—because that part was organized by Vince. I could hear dogs barking, one howling, people yelling, and when I saw a red-faced Cady desperately trying to attract my attention, I abandoned my job at the front, telling security that we were full and no one else was getting in, not even Jason Momoa’s better-looking twin brother.

Models of all shapes, sizes and ages were crammed into the backstage area with their harried dressers, racks full of couture clothing that combined cost more than my mortgage, plus seven dog owners and assorted canines, Vince with one leg in a pair of electric