Was there really only five and six years between them and her? Sometimes it felt like decades, a completely different generation. Had she ever been that glossy? That fingerprint-free?
Annie in the mirror would be very grim next to them. Even if anyone noticed her at all.
‘I’m going to pull Austen. I’m the oldest so it should be me,’ Louisa said loudly from the car, swinging her hair over her shoulder and winking at her sister.
‘Nah, you’re over the hill, you old bag. He’ll want someone with less miles on them,’ Henrietta said.
‘Hey, you’re the one with a boyfriend,’ Louisa said.
‘It’ll be fine; he’s one of my free passes. Robbie and I made a list last Christmas. His is Diana Tomlinson.’ She laughed as she pulled Louisa’s cheek to hers and, phone out, took a selfie.
How did they do that? Annie thought as she watched them in the car and looked over at Marie who was fussing around getting in.
She shuddered.
The only way she and Marie would press cheeks was if they were trying to get through the same small space. And let’s be honest, Annie would let her go first.
And Imogen?
Annie shook her head.
She always looked at the Musgrove girls as if they were an alien species. In fact the whole of the Musgrove family seemed foreign.
It was so different from hers. Sometimes she felt like David Attenborough hiding in the undergrowth, and trying to work out what made them tick.
And then with an almost silent purr the car pulled away, laughter trickling back, until they turned a corner.
They were gone.
Annie stood on the doorstep and stared at the place the red tail-lights had been.
By the end of the night, one of them really could have pulled Austen …
She took a breath, ignoring the way it shuddered.
‘Okay, Hector,’ she said turning back into the house and closing the door. She looked at her heavy-eyed nephew, his cheeks red and raw from crying. ‘A Pixar moment?’ She picked him up gently and carried him through to the living room.
Living in Pixar’s world seemed better and more fulfilling than her reality.
***
‘He is gorgeous,’ Louisa said as she yawned through brunch the next day. ‘And his eyes …’
Henrietta sighed in agreement as she dug into her scrambled eggs.
‘And his really cute friendship with his co-star, what’s his face …’ Henrietta flapped her hand.
‘Harry Harville. You know he plays the sidekick in Ten Peaks. How can you forget, Henry? He was all cuddly with his husband.’ Louisa waved a fork at Annie.
‘I know that. He’s married to Lewis Deakin, the record producer,’ Henrietta butted in and mumbled through a mouthful of egg. ‘I think it is great that Austen isn’t afraid to be so close with an openly gay couple,’ she finished.
Annie tried not to roll her eyes at Henrietta’s gaucheness. Sometimes the Musgrove girls showed their white upper middle class background, as if they looked at anyone who wasn’t like themselves as exhibits in a zoo.
Annie carried on helping herself to some bacon and moved to sit at the table.
Silence reigned for a few moments, until the sound of heavy feet came down the stairs. For someone who was consistently on a diet and didn’t carry a lot of weight, Marie could make an elephant seem light-footed.
‘Austen said he remembered you,’ Marie said as she walked into the kitchen without saying good morning. She picked up a piece of bacon from the pile that their housekeeper had made and left warming on the top of the range.
‘No, I’m on a diet. If I could just have my shake?’ Marie sat down while still chewing on the bacon but waving away the offer of a full English that Angelique was about to make.
‘Yes, Annie. He said he remembered you from Stratford,’ Marie carried on.
The piece of sausage Annie had been in the process of eating got stuck in her throat. She swallowed. The sausage went down but the lump remained.
Her heart raced and the fork she held slipped in her now sweaty hands and fell on her plate.
‘Well, I’m surprised. It was so long ago,’ she whispered.
Please, change the subject, she thought. She could feel the weight of all their gazes on her. Asking questions she couldn’t answer. Well she could but …
‘Oh and Cassie said she’d be calling you today.’
Bugger. Annie had been avoiding looking at her phone. She knew there would be missed calls, texts, and messages sent on whatever social media platform Cassie could think to harangue her via.
Not her most professional moment.
Annie knew she shouldn’t have done it. She should have been the professional she knew she was. Hell, she had been offered the most amazing once-in-a-lifetime job and she’d ran out on her first obligation.
Would Eric Cowell still want her now? Hell, would Cassie be talking to her? A family emergency wasn’t that great of an excuse for missing the party, especially as the rest of the family had managed to be there.
Annie couldn’t blow this. She shouldn’t let some old flame be the reason her job went up in smoke.
‘Austen said he might drop round today. He’s staying around the corner,’ Louisa said dreamily as she pushed a mushroom round her plate with one hand and played around on her phone with the other.
And of course he’d be in Pimlico, Annie thought, because her life was a soap opera full of stupid coincidences. Why the hell couldn’t he hang out in Primrose Hill like any normal self-respecting celebrity?
‘Maybe we should text him to come over for brunch?’ Henrietta bounced in her seat.
They were like a basket full of puppies in their enthusiasm. Annie felt tired watching them. Even after the minimal amount of sleep they’d got the night before they looked box-fresh.
When she’d woken up, Annie’s eyeballs had felt like they were coated in grit even though she’d had seven hours’ sleep. Absently she pushed her glasses further up her nose and put a hand up to sort out her hair, which she knew was squished flat on one side and up into a mohican on the other.
‘Already done, sister dearest. He’ll be here in ten.’ Louisa’s voice rang triumphantly through the kitchen as she brandished her phone like a weapon.
Annie scratched her head as Louisa’s words bounced through the tiredness that clogged her ears.
Austen.
Coming here.
Now.
If she broke it down into small words then maybe it would go in.
Austen. Here.
Holy crap!
Suddenly as if she’d been smacked in the head, it went in. As did the fact her hair was a rat’s nest and she had on a faded, torn Feckless Rogues band T-shirt that was two sizes too small along with jeans a size too big. Also her glasses had been fashionable when she’d last seen Austen.
They’d actually chosen them together, she remembered. Laughing in the optician’s as she’d tried on different pairs, some good and most bad. Austen reaching out and pushing these ones up her