Between them, Lulu and Jack picked out ten pictures in which all three of the girls looked amazing.
‘Carla won’t like this – she was hoping for not-so-good shots to sell the “before” piece,’ Jack said.
‘But these look amazing and professional, which is what selling papers is all about,’ Lulu countered. ‘If she wants individual shots, you could crop them.’
‘Wish I could hire you here,’ said Jack, ‘you’re good at this.’
‘Did it for a living for a long time with a lot of famous photographers,’ said Lulu, ‘but I don’t have the time now.’
‘What do you do?’
‘Are we on a date?’ said Lulu.
‘Sorry, hands off, I know,’ said Jack, putting up his hands in mock surrender.
Jodie, Fiona and Ginger laughed. Even the studio assistant, who had been laboriously putting away all the equipment and whose arms were worn out by holding up giant circular metallic gold highlighters, managed a laugh.
‘I think our work here is done,’ said Lulu. ‘Get your stuff, ladies, we’re out of here.’
Ginger watched Jack hand Lulu a bit of paper which had to be his phone number, which Lulu smoothly took up, folded and slipped into her jeans pocket.
‘I’ll call you after I see the magazine,’ said Lulu. ‘We might like a couple of those shots,’ she added idly. ‘Ginger would like a few nice ones of her.’
‘No problem.’
Ginger managed to hold it together until they were out on the street and were separate from the other girls. Then she grabbed Lulu’s arm and squealed.
‘I never ever thought that could work! Lulu, you’re a magician! What you did was incredible. I have never liked a picture of me in my life.’
‘You just never had anyone to tell you how to do this sort of stuff,’ said Lulu simply. ‘You didn’t have a mum and mums help with this sort of stuff. Or else friends do, and you had a crappy friend. I helped Zoe and she helped me, and our mum – who is fabulous and bonkers and loves fashion – helped both of us, but you didn’t have that. Instead, by all accounts, you had a bitchy friend who made you feel like crap forever. You should be proud of how you look, Ginger. We’re all shaped differently and the world makes it hard for anyone who isn’t built for high fashion. For example, I have absolutely no tits whatsoever. I’m as flat as a pancake.’
‘You don’t look it,’ said Ginger, surprised.
‘Without the aid of major padding when required, I would be like a boy, but you’ve got to work with that. I wear things that show off the bone structure in my chest, and if I really want to make an impact in the boob way, I go for fakery. I’ve seen models who are so slim you can’t see them when they turn sideways andtheyhave bodies issues, so Ginger, you have got to learn to be comfortable with your body and look after it. It’s the only one you’ve got.’
Ginger nodded fervently. Lulu was right.
They passed a shop with a plate-glass window and she caught sight of herself back in her street clothes. With the beautiful hair and make-up still on, she even felt as if she was walking differently, walking as if she finally believed she was a sexy woman.
She drew herself up and walked taller, not hunching, not trying to hide.
‘Yes,’ she said, more to herself than to Lulu. ‘It’s the only one I’ve got.’
Callie
Callie woke with Ketchup fast asleep beside her. It felt so strange being back in her childhood home, but feeling her mother accept her again had made her both so very grateful and so tired that she hadn’t been able to do anything except relax into the feeling. After such stress, her body simply needed to let go of all anxiety.
They’d had a wonderful evening that first night, with her mother and Poppy talking non-stop to each other. Poppy even looked like her grandmother, Callie realised now.
Poppy had been so little when she’d last seen them together that she hadn’t realised how alike they were in so many ways. They laughed and giggled, talked about the soaps they liked and discussed different people. It turned out that her mother watchedKeeping up with the Kardashiansand had her own ideas on which of the family was the more interesting.
It was early in the morning, just after seven, and Callie knew she ought to get up. From downstairs, she could hear her mother rattling around in the kitchen – comforting, familiar sounds. The dog had slept most of the night with Poppy but Callie had heard him come downstairs early on, probably because the attic was very hot at night. He’d panted loudly beside her in the heat until he’d finally fallen asleep.
‘You’re lovely but you are wriggly and noisy,’ Callie had said to the little dog, as she picked him up, snuggled him and then carried him out onto the landing. There wasn’t a sound from the attic so Poppy hadn’t stirred. Sleeping the sleep of the exhausted and happy? At least, Callie hoped she was happy. Poppy had been through so much. From listening to her daughter and her mother, it turned out that lots of Poppy’s friends had been in touch with her and most of them had been nice. A couple had apparently said bitchy things about her father, but her grandmother had airily said that it would all be sorted out soon, which was what she and Callie had agreed to say.
‘I can’t tell her everything yet,’ Callie had said.
‘No,’ agreed Pat. ‘She adores him, doesn’t she? Poor child. Let’s break it all to her gently. Softly-softly, I always say.’
