‘And breakfast.’
‘Yeah, yeah, and breakfast.’ He’s smiling around his words, making my own grin widen. ‘Listen. You know I said Ben wanted to meet you?’
‘I do recall.’
‘Well, there’s an opening of a nightclub tonight. Ben’s been planning it for weeks and he’s invited me. He wants you to join us.’
‘Me?’ I blurt. ‘In a nightclub?’
‘Yes, come on. It’ll be fun. It’s a dead plush place called Ice. Please say yes.’ His beseeching voice won’t shift me. I can’t think of anything worse than subjecting myself to a London nightclub. And anyway, three’s a crowd.
‘I don’t think so, Gregory.’ I shake my head to myself.
‘Oh, baby girl,’ he groans. If I could see him, I know he’d be pouting. ‘It’ll take your mind off things.’
‘What makes you think my mind needs taking off things?’ I ask. ‘I’m fine.’
He almost growls. ‘Cut the crap, Livy. I’m not taking no for an answer. You’re coming and that’s it. And there will be no Converse, either.’
‘Then I’m definitely not coming,’ I grumble. ‘You’re not putting me in those heels again.’
‘Yes, you are. And yes, I am!’ he snaps. ‘You’ve got so much to offer the world, Livy. I’m not letting you waste any more time. This isn’t a practice session, you know. One life, baby girl. Just one. You’re coming out tonight, and you’re going to make an effort of it, too. Put those heels on and walk around the house in them all day if that’s what it takes. I’ll be there at eight to pick you up. I expect you to be ready.’ He hangs up, leaving me with my phone at my ear and my mouth open, ready to object. He’s never spoken to me like that before. I’m shocked, but wondering if I’ve just received the kick up the arse I deserve, and which has been a long time coming.
Too many years have been wasted; too much time spent pretending to be content with my closed-off life. Not any more. Miller Hart may have sent me into unfamiliar emotional turmoil, but he’s also made me realise that I have so much more to offer the world. No more closing myself off and hiding away, too afraid to be vulnerable – too afraid of becoming my mother.
I jump off the bed and slip my feet into the black stilettos and start pacing around my room, concentrating on walking with poise and with my head held high, not looking down at the ridiculous angle that my usually flat feet are at. While I’m doing this, I search Google on my phone for local gyms – not Virgin – and I call to arrange an induction for Tuesday evening. Then I try the stairs, taking them carefully and at a slight angle to maintain my ladylike posture and gracefulness. I’m doing well.
Walking down the hall, I smile when I hit the wooden floor of the kitchen, having got here without a stumble, stagger, or slip.
Nan swings around at the sound of heels clicking on the floor, her mouth falling open.
‘What do you think?’ I ask, taking a little turn to demonstrate my stability, to both my nan and myself. ‘Obviously with a dress,’ I add, registering my pyjama shorts.
‘Oh, Livy.’ She clutches the tea towel to her chest on a sigh. ‘I remember the days when I pranced around in high heels like they were flats. I have bunions to prove it.’
‘I doubt I’ll be prancing, Nan.’
‘Do you have another date with the nice young man?’ She looks hopeful as she takes a seat at the kitchen table.
I’m not sure whether she means Miller, who she’s met, or Luke, who she hasn’t. ‘I have a date with two men tonight.’
‘Two?’ Her old, navy eyes widen. ‘Livy, sweetheart, I know I said live a little, but I didn’t—’
‘Relax.’ I roll my eyes, thinking she should know better, but then again, her boring, introvert granddaughter has been out more times this week than in her whole life. ‘It’s Gregory and his new boyfriend.’
‘How lovely!’ she sings, but then her wrinkled brow puckers some more. ‘You’re not going to one of those g*y bars, are you?’
I laugh. ‘No, it’s a new place uptown. Tonight’s the opening, and Gregory’s new fellow has been organising it. He’s invited me.’
I can tell by her face that she’s delighted, but she’s going to make a fuss, anyway. ‘Nails!’ she screeches, knocking me back a step in my heels.
‘What?’
‘You must paint your nails.’
I look down at my short, tidy, bare nails. ‘What colour?’
‘Well, what are you wearing?’ she asks, and I wonder if many twenty-four-year-olds seek this kind of advice from their grandmother.
‘Gregory made me buy a black dress, but it’s a little short and I’m sure I could’ve done with the next size up. It’s tight.’
‘Nonsense!’ She zooms up, all excited and enthusiastic about my night out. ‘I have pillar-box red!’