chapter fifty, Friday:22ndnovember2013, party
It’s a beautiful starlit night, the moon is full and large and it’s almost light enough to see by. It smells crisp and cold, and my bashed-up old wartime khaki parka is the perfect accompaniment to my floor length black Westwood masterpiece. It's an odd concoction, but I make it work, I'm a designer.
I am uncomfortable in my dress, its skirt is huge and bodice very tight, my underwear is boned and laced up but it does make me sit up straight. My small breasts are thrust skyward and I look like Marie Antoinette at a funeral. Surrounded by millions of layers of the finest black silk tulle smelling of Tom Ford Black Orchid. My hair loosely piled on top of my head, my eyes dark and smoky with make-up Pete applied skilfully after encouraging me to wear some, it's not me, but 'me' could do with a break right now, so happy to have a mask on, I sit at my table quietly people watching.
I hardly touched dinner, the vegetarian option as is usual at these events, is some brown overcooked lump with beans in it, and a lumpy dark brown gravy, Yuk. I'll get proper food on the way home, there's a brilliant chip shop down the road on Berwick Street.
I keep checking my phone, hoping some sort of happy incident will extract me from my discomfort, but nothing.
Pete and James have left our table to dance and Liza and Kurt have gone upstairs, to look for something apparently. Lucky buggers. Though, good luck getting out of that Haider Ackerman dress and back into it afterward, without Pete's maid and the detailed illustrated instructions it came with! Did I just see Pete's maid in the lobby by the way? Bloody hell that woman plans for everything, expect that's why she's so successful eh?
“Knock his socks off has been my instruction, if you have to go, go, but look unbelievably incredible so it hurts him to look at you.” She had said.
“I promised his Mum & Dad I would go, I can’t let them down.” I had offered in pathetic response, not terribly convincing tone, but it was the best I could manage through floods of sobbing tears.
I sit alone on a huge round table, after dinner everyone is milling and networking around, playing the room. Graham has said hello to me and we had a brief chat about life since we returned home. I had chatted to Nigel at dinner too, but he's gone home now, something about a lecture he had to write a speech for, not too convincingly either. Barbara comes over, discouraging calls from every direction to speak to me, she leans down and hugs me condescendingly, “Daniel couldn’t come?” She asks me looking around expectantly, air kissing me on both cheeks, hoping Daniel would be at my side. His family don’t know where he's been the last couple of days either.
“No Barbara, he couldn’t make it.” I tell her not sure how to parry her blow of questioning. “I think he has someone he needs to see.” I'm wary of her, and she knows it, and is not at all sorry either.
She nods her head at me sadly but there’s something else there too, pity? No, she doesn’t like me and is quietly happy about it, bingo! She fakes an elegant understanding, already looking around for someone else to talk to, boredom in her face. “It's Jess isn't it?” She takes my hand, “we saw them together at the charity event, the photographer taking pictures of them, they do make a very handsome couple.” She’s already found a friend in the crowd of well dressed women and is mouthing my name to her. At which a look of understanding crosses the face of the recipient and she shakes her head in pity. I’d really like to slap the smug look off her face, despite her well-chosen Gucci gown and matching shoes, bag, earrings, stole, husband and bank account.
She smiles creepily. “And the Designer of the Year event, they looked very good in those photos too didn’t they?” She reapplies her lipstick, Chanel of course. It’s an old one, it’s well curved shape fits precisely to her thin smirking lips.
I want to cry again, my chest feels constricted like something heavy lays on it, it’s not just the corsetry, and nausea permeates me once more. But there'll be no slouching in this dress, expect regular wearers of Westwood, rarely have back problems.
“They do look good don’t they?” I ask with what little voice I have left, wondering what he saw in me, plain little me. He's high-profile and strong cheekbones and needs a partner that reflects who he is to the world, and that makes me? A slightly strange woman with hay in her hair? His bit of filth, which thought once would have satisfied me, but not now, and I do often have hay in my hair, we were never going to be together were we?
“They have a lot in common Tharie,” she sips her champagne from the wide shapely bowl of her glass, her huge diamond rings clinking on the outside of the curve. She's looking down at my heavy glass tumbler with easily a triple shot of Jack Daniels in it as if that explains everything, a twitch of disgust she just can’t hide. “They've known each other for years.”
She pats me condescendingly on the shoulder as she leaves me with my mouth open holding my breath, and heads off to a waiting group of friends all whispering to each other and looking over. I heave another deep breath, they are right, I’m no match for these people. Either she just told me I’m out of his league or I am not thinking straight, and I haven’t known him for very long at all, but I feel like he's the other half of me. I ask myself not for the first time why I’m here, and no answer is forthcoming, my brain must be busy, so I leave a message. I should be spending this time with the boys, and just as I resolve myself to leave, packing my phone away for the hundredth time into my clutch bag, I see someone heading my way.
A diversion is instantly needed, I send a text. Get phone out again quick.
TC: “Hey” it’s short, but I mean every word.
HC: “Sis? Aren’t you supposed to be partying?” What am I doing here?
TC: “Can’t dance, my dress is too big” true wafty-skirted story, but it is gorgeous.
HC: “Call you later, I have company” he’s such a dog.
My phone goes away again in my beautiful clutch. I feel sad at the distance between me and it.
James pops over briefly with another very attractive man following, tall, elegant, well dressed, pretty face and dark slicked back hair, I vaguely recognise him, but from where, I can't recall, I look at my glass, that'd be why then. “This is Steven, our brother Tharie, where's Danny?” He looks around, “never mind,” before I can attempt a suitable answer, “Steven, Tharie” he points for each one of us in turn with his glass of red. Pete is on the dance floor swirling around with Graham. She's an excellent net worker.
Steven is looking at me.
Stunningly attractive boy, raisin brown eyes and very dark hair, not like his brothers at all. Smartly dressed and I recognise him from his photos. “I just have to pop over and see Mum,” James says to Steven, but Steven isn't listening, he's staring at me. Steven is Graham’s child from another relationship, he has a twin sister that hardly ever gets mentioned, Vanessa, apparently she’s trouble, perhaps we’d get on? I look up at Steven, I do recognise him from the Kerrang channel. I wonder if he knows Henry?
“OK” he manages looking after the retreating form of his Brother, and at least has the decency to appear a little embarrassed.
“Tharie and I will dance then.” And he extends his hand to me in invitation, and without any preamble, I accept, I could do with a distraction, eyes follow us to the dance floor.
It's the dress of course.
After sweeping me in a grand gesture to the centre of the throng, through couples moving to the music, he holds me close to his body and we begin to dance, I enjoy being this close to another person, I feel alive. “Danny didn’t lie when he told us how beautiful you are Tharie,” a charmer. He spins me slowly on the dance floor, he looks at me seductively, “too bad he couldn’t make it tonight, but I’m not complaining.” He smiles at me, but I detect a hint of predatory in his eyes and alarms begin to ring in my head. I’m enjoying dancing, being close to someone, being enjoyed by someone, such is my level of misery and loss. But I feel stronger and I’m getting myself back aren’t I?
We move together to the soft music, swaying and swishing the hem of my magnificent gown. He whispers in my ear that he finds these family affairs quite dull. I hum an acknowledgement, I’d have to agree, and some rather unsatisfactorily dressed ladies here too. Don't these women read Vogue?
I can’t explain why, but just then I look up over Steven’s shoulder into the crowd, across the room, sensing the atmosphere has altered somehow.
And what I see stops me in my tracks.
Then the song ends, and people begin vacating the space.
Daniel is here.
The lights dim and the mirrored ball in the ceiling rotates, sprinkling the floor like tiny glittering raindrops, the tune is slow. He stands there looking incredible in his slim tuxedo, I can’t breathe, his eyes find me in a second, he looks directly at me, my chest is tight and it hurts. My feet refuse any direction from my brain and stop working.
“...can I get a cup of tea?” I almost manage to gargle to my partner.