‘I spy with my little eye,’ she begins, ‘something beginning with E.’
‘Hmm. Let me think,’ I say before Zach and I suggest envelope, then ears, theneveryone.
‘Noo!’ she giggles. ‘It’s . . . an elephant!’
Zach looks around. ‘Where’s the elephant? You’re meant to be able to see it!’
The smile is wiped off her face. ‘Oh.’
‘Well,Isaw an elephant earlier when I went to buy a cup of tea,’ I say, defiantly.
Zach smirks. ‘Oh you did, huh?’
‘Yes,’ I say, crossing my arms, ‘so Mila wins.’
Her face lights up, before she looks out of the window and starts waving frantically. ‘Daddy! It’s Ollie and Violet!’
Mila’s drop-off – safely into the hands of her aunt and two little cousins – is a rapid-fire affair. Zach helps her off the train, gives her a huge kiss and a squeeze, then jumps back on and takes his seat opposite me, his eyes following her on the platform. He’s clearly desperate for her to wave, but she’s already holding the other children’s hands and hasn’t given him a backward glance. The train pulls away.
‘Huh. And here was I worrying that this was going to be painful because she’d miss me so much.’
I turn to look behind me out of the window, in time to see her running towards the exit, laughing along with the others.
‘She looks like she’s coping.’
‘Yeah,’ he smiles, looking back at me as his eyes soften.
‘She’s gorgeous, Zach,’ I say.
Pride seems to filter into his every pore. ‘I think so too,’ he confesses.
Chapter 30
By the time I hit the red carpet, I’ve warmed to the dress. Admittedly, the small glass of champagne I had with Andrea before we left our hotel may have something to do with that. But I’m also partly reassured by the support of a ‘plunging backless multiway bra’ which I ordered using next-day delivery, having firmly decided against the stick-on nipple covers. It’s a bit like a belt with boobs and can be used in a variety of permutations – halter neck, cross back, low back. All options involve contorting into some very complicated positions simply to put it on. Imagine playing Twister with your underwear and you’ve got the idea.
Tonight’s venue is one of those grand Park Lane hotels, all chandeliers and martini glasses, the sort of place that’s been here for centuries, welcoming film stars and presidents. We arrive amidst a frenzy of flashbulbs, security guards and autograph hunters, the air filled with a collective waft of expensive perfume. Everywhere you look there is a gleaming, immaculately groomed woman, often with someone equally glamorous on her arm.
As Andrea and I head through security, I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn to see Jamila Abbew, a dynamic young producer from east London who I’ve been working with for the last two years. She looks stunning in an aqua tulle gown that compliments her dark skin – and so excited she can barely contain herself.
‘This is absolutelybonkers, Lisa,’ she grins.
‘Make sure you enjoy every minute of it. I bet you never imagined all this on that first day you stepped into our office with your big idea, did you?’
‘Are you joking? I’ve been imaginingthisever since I was about five years old.’
Jamila and her colleagues are nominated for Best Entertainment Production Team, an astonishing feat given how hard I had to fight to even commission their programme. But I always loved the concept ofThe Greatest Show: 12 ordinary people, each paired with a professional circus performer, to learn and be judged on a new skill per week. They tackle everything from juggling to trapeze artistry and the result is one of the most awe-inspiring, visually stunning yet simultaneously nostalgic forms of family entertainment there is.
Before the show aired, sceptics – and there were more than a few inside MotionMax+ – were worried that it would fall flat, that the skills (and therefore insurance premiums) would be too much for an Average Joe. I knew all this was a possibility but instantly recognised Jamila as a woman with an eye for detail. She was capable, passionate, energetic – and she’d thought ofeverything.
It was initially a slow burn when it finally streamed, but by the fourth week of broadcast, it had become a water-cooler hit. Audiences liked that contestants were chosen from all walks of life and had all manner of backgrounds – the woman who won had given up gymnastics when she was thirteen and had been working in a chemist’s shop for the last twenty years.
We head inside amidst a melee of air-kissing and shrieks of delighted recognition, before we are invited to take our seats. I am walking into the dining room, part of a crowd of black ties and ballgowns, when I feel the warm pressure of a hand on my lower back.
I can smell him before I see him.
When I look up and make eye contact with Zach, my entire body seems to react, with a melting warmth that reaches the dip behind my ears.
He leans in to whisper to me. ‘You look the part.’
