How Not To Shop Page 5

  'Follow me,' he said. 'Time to go in and meet the family.'

  As they were signed in at the reception area, Annie realized that she was growing clammy with nerves. Along several narrow corridors they went, until Bob opened the door on a small room already busy with people.

  Annie was relieved to see that Svetlana was there. Perched elegantly on a chair, she was sipping tea from a china teacup, wearing a drop-dead glamorous cream dress. Svetlana liked to emphasize her blondeness, her immaculate complexion and her perfect curves in all the shades of pale.

  Before Annie had even managed to utter a hello, a thin girl in a tight grey jacket and skinny leather trousers stepped in front of her, looked her up and down critically and barked out, 'Trousers? I thought we'd all agreed that on this show, I wear the trousers.'

  Chapter Five

  Finn tries to stay hip:

  Leather jacket (AllSaints)

  Skinny jeans (Nudie)

  T-shirt (Cult)

  Converse boots (Office)

  Total est. cost: £470

  'Woohoo!'

  'Woohoo, here comes Annie! Hello!' Finn bounded up to Annie as she stood dumbstruck, and kissed her flamboyantly on both cheeks. He was a forty-something doing his best to look younger and cooler. Both probably essential qualities in the TV world. He wore his skinny jeans with red Converse boots and a scuffed leather jacket and his greying at the temples hair was cut into a youthful Caesar crop. In Finn-speak, everything was 'groovy', 'crucial', 'woohoo' or 'sooo happening'.

  'Welcome, come in, hello Bob . . . time to meet everyone.' Finn took Annie by the arm and, although the room was compact, led her round to introduce her to the surprisingly small team of people who would be putting the show together. Finn was producer and director, he explained quickly. Then there was Nikki, his assistant and 'right hand girl'. Thankfully, Nikki was good at make-up too. Bob was in charge of 'lights, camera and action'.

  'So there's no sound guy, then?' Bob asked a little bluntly.

  'Erm . . . I'm hoping you'll be able to manage,' Finn admitted sheepishly; 'the budget just keeps getting tighter . . . Annie, you know Svetlana of course.'

  Svetlana stood up and treated Annie to the multiple-cheeked Ukrainian kissing ritual, then Finn steered her in the direction of the terrifying girl in the trousers: 'Meet Miss Marlise.'

  Annie guessed the 'Miss' was because of the strict, teacher-ish persona she had styled for her television self. She didn't look much older than 25 but with her short ebony black bob, pale face, red lipstick and severe clothes, she certainly looked as if she'd like to crack a whip at someone.

  Marlise extended a hand and gave a small smile: 'A pleasure to meet you,' she said in very clipped tones.

  'Hi,' Annie smiled at her as they shook hands, 'I've heard lots of good things about you,' which wasn't exactly true. In fact, in the car, Bob had rolled his eyes at the mention of Miss Marlise and declared, 'As far as I've heard, she's trouble.' But here on day one of her TV career, Annie wanted only to be a ray of sunshine.

  'Sorry about the trousers,' she added, 'nobody told me . . .'

  Marlise's tense smile remained and she gave a little nod.

  'Right!' Finn opened a large black file, 'we've got lots to get through. I'll tell you about the format for each thirty-minute programme, then we'll work out our shooting schedule. Talent on my left please, girls,' he gestured, 'crew on my right.'

  There was a shuffling of chairs and people, then at speed he began to tell them about the format of the show.

  'Miss Marlise will be our introducer: our compere, if you will,' Finn began. 'She may be young and gorgeous, but she's already a veteran. She's presented two solo shows already and of course, made her first TV appearance on The Apprentice.'

  Miss Marlise gave the room a practised smile.

  'She's going to guide us through the home of each of the victims, tell us a little bit about their life, give us a tantalizing peek into their bedroom, and their wardrobe, then finally we will meet our subject. And the fun will begin.'

  'Victim?' Annie was used to thinking of her dressing-room subjects as clients. She really wasn't sure about the word victim. Did Finn mean it as a joke?

  'Think of Marlise as a life coach. She's here to tell these women how to get up and get going again. They're down, they're in a rut and we're here to make them feel better,' Finn went on.

  'Does our fabulous Svetlana need an introduction? I don't think so!' Finn gushed. 'She's made headlines, she's made OK! magazine, she's the gas-guzzling divorcee who walked away with the biggest settlement of them all.'

  'No, no, Heather McCartney get more,' Svetlana joked.

  'Svetlana has had three amazingly wealthy husbands and will soon be married to her fourth. Go, girl! She is obviously our dating coach. She will teach us all her secrets for snagging and bagging a real winner.'

  Svetlana let one of her dazzling smiles break through and beamed it out across the room.

  'Annie Valentine comes to us from The Store . . .'

  Now that Finn was focusing on her, Annie could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. She wasn't exactly used to people giving talks about her.

  'So what Annie doesn't know about shopping, looking gorgeous and stylish isn't worth knowing. I'm sorry you didn't know about the trousers, love,' he added, 'but we want Marlise in the leather jeans barking instructions and we were thinking of a softer, more dressy look for you.'

  'No problem,' Annie agreed quickly, wishing Finn had chosen a slightly more private moment for this. Both Nikki and Marlise seemed to be glaring at her. She wondered if they thought she was pretty or stylish enough for this job. Nikki, with her titian red ringlets and urban chic outfit, was too cool to be true. Was she looking at Annie and thinking, 'Ha! I could do your job so much better!'?

  Annie brushed the thought away and tightened her grip on her comforting piece of Miu Miu hand luggage.

  'Now, Miss Marlise and I have had a bit of a practice at one of her intros, so just to give you all a bit of a flavour . . . take it away, girl.'

  Miss Marlise walked slowly and carefully into the middle of the room. She took up a pose, legs planted on the floor, hands on hips and leaning forwards slightly as if she was about to confide.

  'Here I am in a quiet street in Hackney, north London,' Marlise began. 'Look at this horrible little house behind me. There are net curtains and toy dolls at the windows. Even a gnome or two on the lawn.' She paused theatrically. 'Now we're in the bedroom. There hasn't been any romance in here for months, can't you tell? Flowery wallpaper, flowery bedclothes, two cuddly toys and fussy little doilies all over the place.

  'I don't like the look of these clothes either.' Here Marlise pretended to open a wardrobe door and gingerly pick something out with her fingertips. 'Look at this! Just horrible! I think we can all agree that whoever lives here needs help.'

  Now Marlise grew animated: she waved one hand about and gyrated on her hip. 'Help is on its way. Christine Thayer, this is your very, very lucky day because you're about to meet – The Wonder Women!'

  'Woohoo!' Finn shouted, as everyone applauded heartily.

  Annie clapped too, although she was feeling a bit taken aback. Was Miss Marlise really going to be so nasty?

  'Brilliant, Marlise, really excellent! Wicked, girl,' Finn added. 'Now just you wait, girls, until you see some of the porkers and sad cases we've got lined up for you. Boy, you are going to have a wicked challenge on your hands!'

  Porkers and sad cases? Annie stole a look at Svetlana and tried to gauge what she was thinking. The inscrutable Ukrainian face remained blank and Svetlana didn't meet her eye.

  Annie was feeling slightly shocked. Years of dressing women had taught her that people got into ruts, that they didn't make the most of their appearance for complex reasons and had to be coaxed back into life with the most tender of care. She sometimes felt she was a sartorial psychiatrist, unveiling layer after layer of body issues and personal problems before she could finally see the root o
f the problem and help women slowly rebuild both their wardrobes and their confidence.

  But then this was TV, she reminded herself. Each woman would be dealt with in a thirty-minute episode, so what had she honestly expected? Long, loving chat sessions, bringing the women slowly forward over week after week?

  Now Finn was telling them how he wanted each programme to go: insecure, bedraggled, single women from who-knows-where were to be – bish bosh bing! – transformed in the blink of an eye.

  'We cheer them up, we dress them up, then the idea is we take them out to a party to meet some men,' he informed them.

  Good grief! He didn't want a makeover, he wanted a fairy godmother to wave a magic wand. Annie took a long gulp of the black coffee which had been placed in her hand. C'mon! she rallied herself. She was up for this, wasn't she? If she backed out now, there would be any number of other shopping experts who would rush to fill her shoes, who would probably do the job for free. Who would probably even pay Finn to use them. This was TV! Hundreds of thousands of people were going to see her at work . . . Surely it would lead to something incredible. She had to seize the chance and make the most of it. And she really did believe that there wasn't a single, badly turned out woman in the world who wouldn't be at least a little bit better off after a session with her.

  But still . . . taking them out to meet dates? What if the women didn't want dates? What if there weren't any good men at the parties? What if the men didn't like them? As Annie recalled from her days as a single mother-of-two, dating was a minefield.

  'As you all know, the budget is small,' Finn was telling them. With a glance in Annie's direction, he added, 'for outfits and hair . . . we're looking at two hundred pounds, maybe two-fifty.' When Annie's eyebrows shot up, he said quickly, 'I'm hoping you'll be able to persuade them to buy a few things for themselves, to help us out a little.'

  Two hundred and fifty pounds! In a job where she had been surrounded daily by designer labels, Annie had got used to thinking that £250 was almost enough for a nice pair of shoes!

  Svetlana looked in her direction, and now she too had a shocked expression on her face.

  Nevertheless, Finn carried on. 'The women you will be making over . . . I'm sure you can't wait to find out who these lovely girls are and where we've found them? Well, we ran a radio competition, asking people to nominate themselves or a friend. And we have got some corkers, I assure you.'

  He pulled a brown envelope from his file and took out a set of large glossy photographs.

  'These lovely ladies are from up and down the country. So some travel will be involved, to capture them in their natural surroundings. Maybe we'll rig up a Wonder Women bus, create a little excitement.'

  Again Annie winced. 'Capture them in their natural surroundings'? Finn was comparing the women to wildlife!

  He held up the photos so everyone could take a look. The pictures were full length and not exactly flattering. Annie took in the bad haircuts, black trousers, lumpy vest tops and meaty arms. Eughhh, huge dangly earrings, badly dyed hair, sandals with thick tights. All of the worst fashion crimes seemed to have been committed by this group. Still, Annie couldn't help making mental notes: something a little longer on that body, a brighter colour for her, a fitted dress there, because those arms are actually good . . .

  Suddenly, she was beginning to feel better than she had done all day, because she knew she was going to be fine. Even though it was telly and not real life, and she would have to do her job in about one tenth of the time that it usually took, and with a fraction of the budget, she would still be doing the job she loved. And something big was going to follow. She just knew it!

  Just then Miss Marlise turned to her and asked in a low, clear voice, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear: 'You're not a presenter though are you, Annie? You're the wardrobe lady. Shouldn't you be over there with the crew?'

  Chapter Six

  Owen chills after school:

  Hoody sweatshirt (H&M)

  White shirt (school uniform)

  Jeans, outgrown to ankle-length (Gap)

  Grey socks (school uniform)

  Slippers (Santa)

  Total est. cost: £60

  'We've identified you as the

  number one household polluter.'

  'That's a very nice place you've got there,' Bob the cameraman commented when he pulled up outside Annie's home at the end of the day. 'Your old man works in the City, does he?'

  Yes, she was lucky to live in such a lovely old house in Highgate, one of the nicest parts of north London. But it certainly wasn't because she'd married some wealthy old banker.

  'Ha!' Annie laughed, 'you're totally wrong there, mate. For a start my old man is younger than me.'

  'Nice one.'

  'This was his mum's house,' Annie explained as she gathered up her handbag and the sheaf of shooting schedule papers she'd acquired during the day. 'We mortgaged ourselves to the hilt to buy out his sister's share.'

  'Very nice.'

  'Yeah, lovely, until I realized what was wrong with it and how much more money we were going to need to put it right,' Annie confided.

  'Looks all right now though.' Bob took a closer look at the pretty white house with its blue pots of flowers lining the path to the welcoming blue front door.

  'It's not bad,' Annie said, out of the car now and ready to close the door. For a moment she almost considered asking him in, but she was too tired. It had been a long, long day and she knew there would be domestic chaos indoors.

  'So what does the old man do then?' Bob asked, with what Annie considered an unreasonable amount of curiosity.

  'He's a music teacher,' she answered, then in case he found that disappointing after assuming she was married to a banker, she added, 'and he makes the best dinners I've ever eaten . . . and he's very sexy.'

  'Lucky girl!'

  'I know!' Annie pushed the car door shut, and Bob wound down the window.

  'Don't pay any attention to that Miss Marlise madam. From what I heard, she'll climb over anyone on her rise to the top. You just stand and fight your corner.' With that he put his car into gear, gave her a wave and drove off.

  Now that she'd been reminded of the horrible 'wardrobe lady' moment Annie could feel her shoulders sag. But as Bob said, she just had to stand up to that cow. At least Finn had rushed in and quickly explained that no, Annie was definitely to be counted as a presenter.

  Pushing open the front door of the house, she announced to the warm fug of sizzling onions, blaring Radio Four, animated boy-chat and all the other familiar smells and sounds, 'Hello, I'm home!'

  'The TV star returns!' Ed shouted from the kitchen and there followed the mini thunder of boys' footsteps coming down the stairs.

  'Muuum!' Owen was the first to make it down to the hall, closely followed by his friend Milo.

  'Hello!' Annie greeted them.

  'How was it?' Owen was desperate to know.

  Annie wrapped him in as much of a hug as he would allow, then ushered them into the kitchen where she could tell them and Ed all about it.

  'So what is this exactly?' Ed asked as Owen and Milo came into the room carrying a long sheet of paper.

  The meal was over, homework and music practice had been done, Lana had retreated to her bedroom for more swotting, and Annie and Ed were still at the table, debating whether or not to pour another glass of wine.

  'I'm on TV now,' Annie had warned Ed, 'I can't be chubby. According to Connor, I'll have to get a personal trainer and a nutritionist . . .'

  'Not on your salary, honey,' Ed had reminded her.