Page 111 of Who’s That Girl?

‘Oh, nothing special, some kind of junk store.’ He shrugs dismissively.

I feel myself stiffen in protest. Nothing special! Junk store!

Because I know what he’s talking about. I know before I even look.

‘So what do you think?’ he says, as he stops outside Oliver’s granddad’s antique shop and flings his arms out wide in a sort of ta-dah motion.

I think I’m going to be sick.

Right here and now on the pavement.

Desperately I muster composure from somewhere. ‘Um, it’s great,’ I manage to stammer.

‘Just great?’ His face drops with disappointment. Obviously that’s not enough enthusiasm for someone like Larry Thompson.

‘No, I mean brilliant,’ I gush, mirroring his own celluloid smile. ‘Awesome,’ I add, with extra emphasis.

He finally looks satisfied. ‘I knew you’d approve.’ He says, running his fingers carefully through his ice-grey hair. ‘Just imagine’ – he does this sort of rainbow gesture in the air – ‘Star Smile.’

Dismay stabs. He’s going to replace that lovely old sign with his tacky logo.

‘Shall we go in?’

‘Excuse me?’ I’m still reeling with horror at the thought that I’m responsible for Oliver’s granddad losing his beloved shop, which he’s been in for sixty years. I’m still trying to register that, and trust me, that’s bad enough, but now I’ve got to go inside?

I get a flashback of Oliver’s granddad giving me a whiskery kiss on both cheeks.

Oh my God, I can’t. I just can’t do it.

‘Charlene?’

I look at Larry Thompson and at that moment I know this is it. My career’s on the line. Either I go into that shop and get behind this or I can kiss goodbye to my account with Larry Thompson. And with it my chance of international expansion.

I can see the headlines now, hear the gossip amongst rival PR companies who won’t have any scruples about jumping in on this. It will be seen as a huge career mistake. Career suicide, probably. And for what? A rival firm will take over and the deal will still go ahead. Oliver’s granddad will still lose his shop. With or without me.

And I can choose to leave here. With or without a career.

I pause. This is what I’ve been working towards for years, and I only met Oliver’s granddad on Saturday. It’s business, remember? Personal feelings don’t come into it.

‘Sorry.’ I smile professionally and throw back my shoulders. ‘I was just letting the anticipation build before I went in.’

Now he’s pushing open the door and I’m following him inside. And as I step over the threshold, it’s like crossing a line. I’ve made the choice. But the most frightening thing of all is the sudden realisation that Larry Thompson was right: I am a lot like him after all.

Already waiting for us in the shop is one of Star Smile’s design team and I spend the next few minutes trying to hide from Oliver’s granddad by skulking behind Larry Thompson, who’s stalking around the shop as if he owns it. Which I suppose he does.

‘So we’re going to rip out those windows and replace them with a big sheet of top-spec glass …’ the design-team guy is saying now.

I glance with indignation at the windows. They’re the most delightful old bow windows. They’ve been here for years and add character to the place. They can’t rip them out – it would be a travesty.

‘… And we’ll have plasma screens, and concrete floors …’

As he continues talking, I feel a rush of protectiveness. It’s all very trendy and cool, and I know it will look amazing, but not here. Not in this shop.

‘… We’ll pull down that old bookcase and totally renovate so that we create a loft-like space, all open-plan …’

Out of the corner of my eye I can see Oliver’s granddad listening from the back of the shop. With my hair tied up and still wearing my sunglasses, I look different enough from the girl he met on Saturday that he hasn’t recognised me, though I’ve already been here fifteen minutes. Thank goodness, I reflect, glancing at his face, which looks pinched, and feeling a stab of shame to be part of all this.

‘Totally,’ nods Larry Thompson. ‘Though at the moment it’s hard to imagine. I mean, this place just feels cramped, dark, cluttered …’