being sprayed with perfumes, tasting stollen cake, oh-ing and ah-ing over striking stationery, stunning clothes and testing cosmetics that we can’t afford. The times I’ve hungrily eyed the beautiful treasures on the MAC, Benefit, Stila, Chanel and Dior makeup concessions are countless. I’ve ached to dip my finger in a pot of something made by Prescriptives, Bobbi Brown or Kiehls and now here they are – jar after jar of exquisiteness on my dressing-table, bought especially for me. I stare at the orgy of gorgeousness and try to breathe deeply.
It’s a bit intimidating actually.
It’s taken me seventeen years to discover which makeup I truly suit (after many, many disasters where I ended up looking like a drag queen). I’m pretty confident with my Rimmel Kohl Kajal eye pencil, suitably smudgeable, allowing me to create sexy, smoky eyes, and Rimmel’s lasting finish intense-wear lipstick; I like the pretty sugar plum colour. Having to start again with all these new posh brands and new colours is a bit of a nightmare. Suddenly, I feel the need to ring Jess. It’s crazy, but other than the one call to my parents and one brief call with Ben, I haven’t actually spoken to any of my friends or family since Scott proposed. I’ve called and left messages; we’ve swapped a couple of texts, of course, but no actual chat. I can sense the disapproval across the ocean. It’s awkward; everyone liked Adam a great deal and Scott and I have become an item so quickly that no one has got used to the idea yet. I suppose it is quite something to digest.
If only Jess knew Scott the way I do then she’d be happy for me; I know she would. The problem is love at first sight is something you can only truly believe in if you’ve experienced it for yourself.
I could ring her right now and say, ‘You won’t believe the selection of makeup that’s on my dressing table!’ It’s our habit to start conversations as though we’ve been chatting only minutes ago. Until this previous week we’ve enjoyed a fourteen-year-long uninterrupted dialogue. I could choose to ignore the last week. Least said soonest mended. I check my watch. Hell, it’s five to eight.
Obviously, if I had more time, there’s nothing I’d like more than to call Jess but I’ve got a pop star fiancé to shag. I grab the Dior mascara wand and quickly apply. It’s good stuff, I think I can get away with that and nothing more.
40. Fern
It’s just four minutes past eight when I drift into the big room that I’d call a living-room or a sitting-room although that doesn’t do it justice – not glam enough; an estate agent would describe the room as the reception. I found it after fruitlessly opening door after door in order to track down Scott. Each room is utterly tasteful, peaceful and immaculate, and after a while they blur into one. I thought he might be in his ‘boys-own’ room but there was no sign. I was starting to panic, imagining he’d done a runner. My throat tingles with a peculiar and hideously scary mix of pleasure and panic. Trying to accurately assess that mix, I’d say that ninety-eight per cent of me is utterly, utterly out of this world, stunningly, stunningly beyond happy. The remaining two per cent is pure white terror. I wish I could shake the feeling that this is all too good to be true but I can’t quite. The issue is things like this don’t happen to me. I’m the sort of girl who is a close runner-up – at best. The sort of girl who often hears shop assistants say, ‘Sorry, we don’t have that left in your size, I just sold the last one.’ The sort of girl who has never ever had a single number show up on her lottery card, despite buying them religiously for nearly a decade. What are the odds of that? But my panic subsides as soon as I enter the reception room; I know I’m in the right place.
There are about a hundred tealights scattered around the room, giving off a fuzzy, golden glow. Even though it’s a warm night there is a real log fire roaring and so the glass doors, leading out to the garden, are flung wide open. There are more lanterns and candles outside too, lined up on the decking and hanging from trees. The effect is enchanting. I spot Scott standing outside, hunched