During that time I’d finished the nifty little baby-changing bag designs and sat with production for hours to decide on a colour scheme and appropriate fabrics. I had them rush through the prototypes and was able, along with Anya’s business manager, Heather, to arrange the photoshoot with Anya as the glamorous mummy model for the bags.
I did a mini-launch and enlisted the support of a handful of journalist and a string of fashion bloggers to talk about Anya and the bags and the fact that they were exclusive to the shop and not available online. This bought me time to have the actual baby-changing bags made up because they didn’t have to be on sale until October. The media also gave us coverage of the shop opening and the fact that the name of the shop would be unveiled nearer the day.
I’d always enjoyed going along to fashion shoots with Anya. I had been her sidekick, wing man and fan club of one ever since her career took off when we were both nineteen. She had taken to the lifestyle with ease, acting like royalty, asking for over-the-top riders like pink champagne, dark-chocolate-coated cherries and a tin bath filled with milk for bathing in her changing room. I’d never known her to take a milk bath nor eat the chocolate cherries but she consumed a great deal of champagne and so did I.
The shoot for the baby-changing bags was somewhat different. Pink champagne was replaced with bottled water, the chocolates became fruit, and instead of a bath of milk Anya much preferred a cosy chair and a footstool.
The photos were taken between a studio in Covent Garden and a fabulous garden setting courtesy of her manager’s boyfriend at his house in Epsom. We did the whole shoot in a day. Anya said she would have to sleep all day the following day but I knew the photos were going to be amazing thanks to her.
I’d prattled on for ages about my work while Anthony packed, lying on the bed with my arms behind my head as he looked for his passport.
‘What about you? How was your day?’ I remembered to say.
‘Oh, you know, same old, same old.’
We spent a quiet evening together, making a stir-fry late at night and finishing off an open bottle of red wine that must have sat on the kitchen counter for over a week. As I said, Anthony and I were both on autopilot when it came to our work and there wasn’t much time for sitting, talking, eating or drinking together, let alone anything else.
The next morning, I’d put off a meeting so I could take Anthony to the airport.
‘You didn’t have to do this, you know,’ he said after checking in. ‘Didn’t you have something on?’
The ‘something’ I’d put off was a meeting with my sales team, but I’d had Riley reschedule after seeing the time of Anthony’s flight. I also had to pop into the shop to check on the builders.
‘As if I’d let you leave without saying a proper goodbye,’ I said hugging Anthony as tightly as I could around the waist. A couple with a wonky trolley dodged around us and we had to swerve out of their way. We exchanged clumsy apologies and Anthony pulled me aside so we weren’t in the way of the bustle of passengers darting here, there and everywhere at Heathrow.
‘Got everything?’ I asked Anthony after a few moments of silence.
He didn’t answer, just nodded his affirmation.
‘And will you…?’
‘Have you got the…?’
We spoke at the same time, laughing and saying the obligatory ‘You first, no you… It wasn’t important’. Again at the same time.
‘What was it?’ Anthony asked, looking up at the departure board and checking his flight details – again.
‘Oh, nothing,’ I said. ‘Just don’t go running off with some Italian girl behind my back.’ If it was meant to be a joke it was far from funny. All Anthony did was give an awkward laugh and say something about trying his best not to.
‘By the way,’ Anthony said, ‘I may have a lead on a new studio.’
‘Really?’ I said, turning away and checking the departure board myself. ‘That’s good news. You never mentioned it last night. Did I tell you about the plans I had for the Grand Opening?’
‘Only a million times, Magenta.’
‘Sorry. Of course I have.’
‘Looks like we’re boarding,’ Anthony said. It sounded as if Anthony couldn’t wait to get on the plane. I walked him to the gate and helped him fish out his boarding pass as if he were my son off to start school and leaving for the first time.
‘It’s fine, I’ve got it,’ he said.
We crashed noses together as we both went in for a farewell kiss.
‘Call me when you land.’
‘Yes. You said. And I will. Hope it all goes to plan. You know, the shop and everything.’
‘But Anthony, you’ll be back for the opening, right?’
‘Of course I will.’
Anthony was holding up the queue because I was talking to him so he pulled away, waved and winked at me before turning to leave.
My heart sank to my shoes. What was wrong with me, talking about my shop opening and him not going off with Italian girls? Those weren’t the things I wanted to say to Anthony at all. Deep down, I’d wanted him to have changed his mind and stayed in London while I had so much big stuff going on in my life. Isn’t that what boyfriends did?
As I made my way out of the airport, people barging into me and not bothering to apologise, I wondered what the strange feeling was I was having about Anthony leaving. Surely he had to have a life as well as me? It was just that Anthony had always been there for me whenever the big things happened. In a selfish corner of my heart I think I’d hoped he would put off his commission, delay it for a while just until the shop was open. He had no idea how just having him near me made me feel strong. It’s not that I couldn’t do it all without him. I could take on the world single-handedly if I put my mind to it. I only wished I’d told him how I was feeling before I let him go instead of all that nonstop chat about me, me, me when all I wanted was to ask him to hold me one last time and tell me I could do this.
But that was it. His flight took off and I would have to bite the bullet and just get on with things. The first week without Anthony was perhaps the longest of my life. I never thought I’d get over the pain of missing someone so much. But as Anya rightly pointed out, we weren’t joined at the hip and if I didn’t give him the space he needed I’d regret it.
That was the last thing I wanted. With things so strained between us I didn’t want the distance in miles to add to the distance I knew was forming in our relationship. I set my sights on working hard, launching the shop and starting to rebuild whatever was missing between me and Anthony.
The day of the staff interviews for the shop arrived. Since asking Anya to help me with the selection process she’d been super-keen. She arrived at the shop draped in a Dolce and Gabbana cape dress. She was revelling in the fact that she had cleavage now she was pregnant. To me Anya only looked to be able a fill the bra of a newly budding teen. But I didn’t want to burst her bubble; it was an improvement on an otherwise flat chest.
The dress was mustard-gold and had a low-cut front. The fit was A-line from the bust. The fabric caressed her body in gentle ripples and showed off an eight-month bulge, her make-up done to perfection.
‘I know it’s not hard for you, Anya,’ I said as we arranged ourselves at the table in the back office. ‘But did you have to outdress and outmake-up me? It is my shop after all.’
‘Oh, darling,’ she said looking me up and down. ‘I thought you intended to be understated.’ Anya was holding a compact up to her face and smoothing down firmly gelled and slicked-back hair.