Amber Green Takes Manhattan

Joseph, the creative director for visual merchandising at Selfridges, never looked sloppy, just like his name was never abbreviated to Joe. Tall, handsome and confident, he was fancied by literally the entire female workforce – despite the fact he was gay. He wasn’t particularly camp, which made a certain portion of his admirers cling on to the fantasy that he could be ‘turned’. And of course all the gay guys – which was most of the male staff – had a deep yearning for him, too. Joseph blatantly knew he was God’s gift, and strutted around the store like Mr Selfridge himself. His hair was wavy and shoulder length and he wore it tightly tucked behind his ears, like ram’s horns. If you didn’t know better, to look at him you’d think he was French – arty, Gauloises-smoking, air of superiority – but when he spoke his dialect was pure Joey Essex. Everyone was a ‘babe’ and life was ‘sweet’.

After working with him for half a year, I was getting to know the real Joseph and, although he genuinely lived the life of a moisturising modern man who adhered to the five:two diet and had been known to get hooked up to a reviving vitamin-packed IV drip during his lunch break, at the end of the day he was a first-class creative director and I loved having him as my boss. As well as my solid experience styling the windows at Smiths boutique, I think he was wowed by my time spent assisting Mona – in our world, it would be hard not to be – as he gave me the job without a second interview. When I started, he took me under his wing as a protégée of sorts and it was a great position to be in. It gave me some protection from the less friendly, uber fashiony senior managers who swanned around our floor in their top-to-toe designer threads, trying to catch a glimpse of Joseph.

Then there was Shauna: white fingernails with gold tips, big gold hoops and curly afro hair, channelling a modern day Diana Ross. Her iPhone clicked in my face and then traced my body. A deeply unflattering video of my stunned mug and greasy-looking hair was now playing live on Snapchat. Shauna loved to share. She worshipped at the altars of Instagram and Snapchat and was dedicated to the daily documentation of selfies, shoefies, Instafood, Instacocktails, Instacats – and fairly often me, with #nofilter.

‘You’re so ’grammable today, babe,’ she said, crouching down to snap my Starbucks cup as I placed it on my desk. Until that moment, I had failed to noticed that the barista had scrawled the word ‘Antler’ on it, instead of my real name. Shauna found it hilarious and shared the image with her 1.4 thousand followers. ‘Big night, deer? Get it – Antler, deer?’

I frowned. ‘So I look like something the cat dragged in, can we all just get over it, please?’

Shauna sucked in her cheeks and waggled her finger at me, intimating that I was not one to talk about anything this morning.

Joseph broke us up. ‘Now, now ladies, there’s no time for bickering today, Jeff wants the final designs for the summer windows by EOP, so I need you to finish the edit. And that’s before we get cracking on phase two of the “Chelsea” display.’

The great thing about my job, especially on days like today, was that time passed quickly. I loved putting the mood boards together and then sourcing clothes from the collections about to hit the shop floor to bring it all to life. We were always working on two themes at any one time, currently we were completing the spring windows, inspired by the famous Chelsea Flower Show, and also planning our big summer production, a homage to the ‘Traditional British Seaside’, which would come into play soon after. I was transported from grey January to sunny July and a world of ninety-nines, beach huts, rubber rings, candy-coloured Kate Spade bags, Linda Farrow sunglasses, Matthew Williamson bikinis, palm-print dresses and everything in between. Heaven.

Although Shauna and I didn’t always see eye to eye outside work, we were a great team in the studio, her eye for props perfectly complementing my choice of fashion from the designer look books. The time flew as I busied myself finalising clothes for the Chelsea windows and lining them up on rails ahead of Joseph’s inspection – a cacophony of vibrant pink, lemon, lilac, peach and turquoise, the sartorial equivalent of a fragrant bouquet. Bright clothes were amazing for lifting my mood. But they couldn’t stop me from checking my phone every five seconds. Nothing from Rob.

CHAPTER TWO

Two days had passed since Rob told me the news that he was thinking of moving to New York. In that time I had cried in the loos at work once, eaten MacDonald’s for dinner twice, bought a Marc Jacobs top I couldn’t afford, despite my staff discount, and looked at the Angel Wear website five thousand times as a conservative estimate. Krystal, Jessica, Roxy, Leonie, and Astrid were the names of the main Angel Wear ‘Icons’. I could tell you their vital stats by heart. And I hated their perfect thirty-four–twenty-four–thirty-four guts. It was now Thursday and today Rob had been unnervingly attentive, texting me more than usual just to see how my day was going and wanting to arrange to meet up. He’s taking the job and he’s feeling guilty, I know it. In my head, we were already on opposite sides of the Atlantic. But I hadn’t worked out how to handle things the next time I saw him, so I hadn’t yet replied. The reality was that we’d only been dating for five months. I couldn’t stop thinking about his feather tattoo. This could be Rob’s perfect opportunity to just catch the wind and fly.

Work continued to be a good distraction, but Joseph and Shauna didn’t do compassion. I’d come clean about Rob to Shauna in the loos the first morning, when she caught me redoing my mascara and, of course, she had blurted it out to Joseph.

‘Hate to say it, babe, but it sounds like a case of “He’s just not that into you”,’ Joseph said, causing my eyes to prickle all over again. I carried on tweaking a mocked-up candyfloss stand.

This morning, we were waiting for Jeff to come and cast his critical eye over our final plans for summer, when my phone rang: Rob.

‘Let me speak to him.’ Shauna tried to grab my iPhone from my hands, but failed, sending a fake nail onto the floor.

I spoke to Rob from the hallway outside the studio. It’s impossible to get any privacy around here.

‘I thought you were going to avoid me forever. I’ve been getting paranoid.’ He sounded nervous.

‘I’ve not been avoiding you,’ I lied, ‘just been busy. Anyway, what’s happening with you?’

‘I wanted to see if you’re free tonight. I could meet you from work and we could grab some dinner, chat, you know – what boyfriends and girlfriends do?’

He’s still using the b-word, that’s surely a good sign. I paused. ‘Are you there, Amber?’ he continued. ‘Are you pissed off with me?’

I swallowed hard. ‘New York, what’s happening with that? Are you going to move?’

‘That’s what I want to talk to you about,’ he said.

‘Are you sure you want me to be your girlfriend, Rob?’

Silence on his end. This is it. It’s over. Joseph is right, he’s just not into me.

‘Amber—’

‘Don’t tell me, this opportunity, you can’t turn it down, blah, blah, blah. It’s fine, I can handle it, tell me I make a great friend but it’s you, you’re not in the right place for a relationship.’ A hot sensation was working its way up into my cheeks.

‘Listen, I didn’t want to have this conversation on the phone, I wanted to meet up with you and talk about it properly, but—’

‘I get it, you’re just not that into me…’

‘Amber! Shut up for a second.’ His tone took me aback, Rob rarely raised his voice. ‘Yes, I’ve done some thinking and I do want to go to New York, I think it will be an incredible experience – but not just for me, for both of us. I wanted to ask if you would consider coming with me?’ He paused. ‘Wouldn’t it be fun to flat hunt together in Williamsburg or Queens?’

I was so shocked I could barely find the words to respond.

‘Really?’ I uttered at last, leaning back against the wall, finally allowing every muscle in my body to relax.

‘Really.’ He was smiling into the phone; I could picture it.

And that was it, suddenly everything was rose tinted again. New York or bust? It was a no-brainer.

Rob met me from Selfridges that night, even skipping Pinky’s slop time, so I knew he meant business, and we spent the evening plotting the weeks ahead. I would speak to Joseph about a three-month sabbatical; we would give up my Kensal Rise flat and move everything into Rob’s room while we were away. I felt sure Vicky would understand – she’d probably be overjoyed that I was going to be a mere five-hour internal flight away. Besides, she was probably making it up with Trey this very moment.

The following morning I broke the news to my parents.

‘Isn’t this a bit crazy, Amber?’ Mum said after doing me the courtesy of listening quietly as I excitedly babbled away for five minutes. Bearing in mind Mum’s idea of adventure is a day out in April without bringing her umbrella and Dad thinks anyone who eats hummus is on the road to ruin – how could I expect them to understand?

‘It’s what people my age do all the time, Mum,’ I told her, bristling. ‘Anyway, it’s only for three months, initially – it’s hardly a long time in the scheme of things. You and Dad could even come and visit if you want.’ I crossed my fingers behind my back.

‘Initially, darling? You’re thinking of staying longer? This is a whole different scenario. How are you going to do that legally, you know you need a visa to work in America? You’re going to do it all by the book, I hope? They’ll lock you up if you don’t.’ I could picture her shaking her head disparagingly. ‘You won’t have the same rights in America.’

My mum hadn’t got her position as a top barrister without thinking through the legal implications for every situation.

‘I know, Mum. And of course we’re going to do it properly. I can stay for three months as a tourist anyway, and we’ll take it from there. Rob’s company are sorting out the visa for him. He’s getting an O visa.’

Suddenly my dad’s voice came on the phone. I hated it when my parents put me on a three-way conversation, especially without telling me. Surely it was a violation of my privacy.

‘O visa? How old did you say he is?’

‘It’s an O-1 visa, not OAP, Dad. It means he’s got an extraOrdinary ability.’

‘Don’t tell me he’s a psychic?’

‘No, he’s a TV producer, as you know – not just anyone can make a top TV show, he’s got tons of experience.’

‘What’s this TV show about, then?’

I squirmed; the last thing I wanted was for them to pick up on any insecurities about going to New York on my part, and ‘a show about an underwear company’ didn’t exactly sound like something that would impress one’s parents. I casually wandered out of the kitchen and into the sitting room so Rob couldn’t overhear the half-truth I was about to tell.

‘It’s about a top company out there, it’s kind of an American institution. Rob will be telling the inside story on how it works.’

‘Anyway, Amber,’ Dad interrupted me, ‘we wondered if you’d like to bring Rob to dinner at home next Sunday? Especially now that you’re practically eloping, we’d like to meet him properly.’ I almost choked on my tea.

‘If you’re disappearing off to the other side of the world with this fellow, we’d better get to know him,’ Mum added. ‘My parents have invited you over next Sunday, if you can bear it.’ I broke the news as I re-entered the kitchen, to find Rob serving up scrambled egg.

‘You’re not exactly selling the opportunity,’ he said, smiling. ‘But your folks seemed lovely when I met them the other week.’

‘You met them for precisely fifteen seconds,’ I reminded him. They’d dropped me off at Rob’s one evening on a detour after we’d been to visit my sister. He’d politely come out to shake my dad’s hand. Dad didn’t bother getting out of the car and shook it through the window. Bit rude, I thought at the time.

‘I don’t remember him having a hook for an arm,’ he said, teasing me. ‘But,’ a hesitation, ‘my mum has invited me over next Sunday too, along with Dan and Florence, and, well, I was going to see if you fancied joining us?’

I took a large swig of tea from the mug in my hand, wishing it contained something stronger. ‘If I’m not mistaken, Robert Walker, are you asking me to meet your family? Not only your mother but your brother and his scary-sounding fiancée, too?’

‘I am, Miss Green, now will you please accept because I want to eat my breakfast before it goes cold?’

I leaned over and ran my fingers through his unkempt bed hair. I smiled into his lips before kissing them.

‘I’d be honoured.’ And I texted Mum the bad news before flying out of the door to work.

‘A sabbatical?’ Joseph repeated the words back to me, then he sat back and pushed his curls behind his ears with both hands. ‘No one’s asked for a sabbatical before.’

‘Just three months – it will fly by,’ I pleaded, desperation no doubt showing in my face. ‘I absolutely promise I’ll come back.’

‘But what if everyone wants a sabbatical?’ he asked, looking around us to check no one was eavesdropping. We were sitting at a table in the Selfridges food hall. ‘It won’t be easy to find cover for that amount of time. What if Shauna wants one too – what then? I’ll have to speak to Jeff, find out what the company policy is.’

‘But it’s not a no?’

‘Not yet,’ he smiled. ‘Listen, babe, I’ll see what I can do, because I’d like to keep you, but you’d better come back, and don’t tell anyone, for now.’

‘I will, I promise. Let me buy you a Krispy Kreme Deluxe Donut as a thank you – in advance.’

And I got up before he could change his mind.

I was looking forward to spending time with Rob’s mum, but for some reason I was even more excited about meeting Dan’s fiancée, the infamous Florence. On Boxing Day evening, Rob had moaned about how his mother, Marian, was like a lap dog around Florence – she thought she was the best thing not just to happen to Dan, but to their entire family.

‘She hasn’t met you yet, though,’ he qualified, though he had polished off a number of glasses of mulled wine.

From what I could glean, without turning into an A grade stalker, Florence was a high-flying PR executive for a boutique agency in London with a roster of clients across the luxury world – from London’s hottest restaurants and spas, to art galleries and high-end fashion and beauty launches; Rob gave the impression she knew everyone worth knowing in the whole of London. Unfortunately, her Instagram account was locked, so I couldn’t carry out the full extent of my desired snooping, but hopefully, after we’d met, we’d be tagging each other in photos from fashion parties and I’d be on her VIP guest list. In my role as a window designer for Selfridges, I hoped she would see me as someone worth knowing in London too.

Rob had decided we should break the news about New York to his mum together, the thought of which was making me feel sick with nerves as the day drew closer.

‘Are you sure this won’t make me come across as the girlfriend who’s stealing her precious son?’ I quizzed Rob on the phone on Sunday morning. ‘I’ll be like, “Hi, I’m Rob’s new girlfriend – by the way, we’re off to America, so you won’t be seeing him for a while. Thanks for dinner!”’

‘Course not. I think our delivery will be a bit more tactful than that. Anyway, it’s no biggie – besides, Mum loves to travel, we’ll invite her to visit – she’ll be thrilled.’

‘Have you told Dan yet?’

‘No, we’ll tell them together and it will be fine. Dan will support us, and I bet Florence will think it’s the coolest thing. Mum will go along with whatever Florence thinks anyway. Relax.’

Relax, I tried. I ironed a silky blue Zara dress bought especially for the occasion, had a long soak in the bath and then, in a move I hoped would make me feel empowered for this family meeting of meetings, I decided to try out a new method of curling my hair. It involved heated rollers borrowed from Vicky’s room and an upside down blow-drying technique I’d seen on a YouTube video. What could go wrong?

Plenty. The resulting hairstyle – Scary Spice, electrocuted, times ten – was so terrifying my eyes nearly burst when I caught sight of myself in the mirror. There was no way of relaxing it so I had to take another shower. Consequently, I was running late for dinner and there were sweat patches on the silky dress.

I jumped off the bus and headed down Westbourne Grove, half walking, half running, feeling far too hot. Plus, a strap broke on my bag and I was clutching it in an ungainly fashion under my arm, trying not to let the contents fall out. I was carrying all my overnight stuff for staying at Rob’s and didn’t particularly want my best knickers to end up in a puddle. As I dashed past the shops – Heidi Klein, Tom’s Deli, Joseph – I thought how much I loved this part of London, just walking the streets felt like being in a Richard Curtis film. Perhaps Rob and I might get a place around here one day.

I turned left off the main road and reached Rob’s mum’s house. Glancing at my phone I realised I was a whole forty-five minutes late. Rob had texted: You ok? x. I needed to turn on a full charm offensive this evening.

It was a tall, impressive, white-fronted family house, complete with black metal railings and well-tended geraniums on the steps. The epitome of Notting Hill chic. Walking back a couple of paces to be out of sight, I swapped my flats for some new black, shiny Kurt Geiger heels, panic bought in the store on Friday to wear with my dress. My staff discount was burning a hole in my pocket recently and the shoes were blatantly for Florence’s benefit more than anyone else’s. My toes were crushed after walking up the steps. Rob opened the door and gave me a big hug.

‘You look gorgeous,’ he said, making me light up inside and out. There was classical music playing, candles flickering on a side table, and a delicious smell of home-cooking.

‘Sorry I’m late.’ I lifted my head for a kiss.

He took my face in his hands and kissed me softly.

When we parted, I paused to take in my surroundings: everything was cream, white, and glossy – it was a well looked after, tasteful home. ‘Nice pad. I can’t wait to see all the embarrassing photos of you growing up.’ I scoured the hall table.

‘Quick update,’ he whispered, looking over his shoulder. ‘Dan’s here, but Florence isn’t. Not quite sure why, but I don’t think things are going well right now. He doesn’t want to talk about it – not around Mum, anyway. If she starts to dig, we’ll change the subject. She used to be a therapist, remember. Mum loves relationship problems – if there is a problem, I’m not even sure. Anyway, families, hey? Go with the flow, like you always do… Do you mind taking off your shoes? Mum’s got a thing about shoes indoors.’

It was great to see Dan again, he was such a friendly, easy-going guy who instantly made me feel at ease, and the brothers were sweet and attentive to their mum. They loved her to bits, it was clear to see, and Marian was the kind of woman who relished the attention from her ‘two beautiful boys’. It was heart-warming to witness such stability compared with the uneven keel I felt between my sister and me, in my parents’ eyes. She being the perfect one and I being the one who worked in fashion and was, therefore, certifiably ‘bonkers’. Marian was well groomed, with blow-dried brown hair, good make-up, and what looked like a very real Chanel twinset. I felt glad I’d made an effort with my appearance, though she wasn’t the kind to compliment me on it.

Maybe it was because Marian had never had a daughter, or perhaps it was just the way she was, but it quickly became clear that she found it hard to relax around her son’s girl-friends – this one in particular. She eyed me with the kind of cynicism of a Gogglebox family watching TV.

‘So, tell me about your work, Amber – it might not be worthy, but it sounds terribly thrilling, from what I’ve heard. You style celebrities, right?’

I was taken aback by the ‘not worthy’ dig. Would she prefer me to work for Christian Aid?

Rob gave me a look that said, ‘let it go’.

‘Well, I did work with famous people,’ I replied. ‘But these days I style dummies for the shop windows at Selfridges and, to be honest, the fact they can’t answer back suits me better.’ Her crestfallen face indicated that I should have gone along with the celebrity line.

‘Right. But you must have met some huge names when you were out in LA – you know, when you and Rob were working on the show together?’ She glanced at her son. He’d obviously filled her in on our backstory.

‘Oh, you mean with Mona Armstrong?’ I looked to Rob for help. ‘That was certainly an interesting time in my career – we worked a lot with Jennifer Astley.’ Her eyes widened. Everyone loves a celebrity encounter, evidently even those who might claim to be ‘worthy’. From then on I caved in and gave her what she wanted – an embellished list of the famous names I’d been in fairly close proximity to at the BAFTAs and the Oscars, giving her plenty to regale her friends with, and – hopefully – pass on to Florence.

My career done, she then moved on to family. ‘So, what do your parents do, love?’ she asked, oblivious to the fact I was dying to get the subject off myself.

I dunked a hefty piece of ciabatta in olive oil and chewed it for a few seconds, giving myself a moment to think.

‘Mum was a hot-shot lawyer, she worked for years at a firm in the city handling litigation cases mainly, and now she’s semi-retired she still works freelance for them but can take or leave cases as she likes. And Dad was a stay-at-home dad, he did all the school runs while Mum was working and did some work as a handy man. There’s nothing dad can’t fix.’

She gave me a stare that felt like she was trying to read my soul.

‘Keep the hubby at home, clever woman,’ she remarked finally, a wry smile across her face. ‘How delightful.’

When my five minutes of grilling from Marian was finally over, she proceeded to spend ten minutes telling us about Florence’s latest work projects – including a campaign for a new London art gallery filled with paintings created by children with behavioural problems, and a charity project sending make-up products to women in remote African villages.

‘All fantastically worthy,’ Marian gushed. She had a wicked glint in her eye.

Noticing my puffed-out chest and reddening cheeks, Rob placed a firm hand on my knee.

‘Let’s take out the plates.’ he said. Dan looked as though he wanted to slide under the table. Marian looked at her watch. I was clearly dull as ditch water compared to Florence.

‘Mum adores you, it’s obvious,’ Rob said in the kitchen as I placed two empty plates on the side. He had wound his arms around my waist and was peppering my neck with little kisses.

‘Have we just been in the same room?’ I asked. ‘I feel like I’ve been in front of a firing squad. She’s infinitely more excited about how Florence is saving the world than anything I have to say.’ I rolled my eyes.

‘Please, Amber, don’t take it personally. Mum’s just testing you, she likes a woman who can stick up for herself, it was the same when Florence first came round. I know when Mum likes someone and she likes you. You passed.’

‘I passed?’ It’s a weird kind of test. ‘Anyway, when are we going to—’ I stopped abruptly as Marian joined us and leaned against the work top.

‘To what?’ she asked, and we both averted her eyes. ‘I’m worried about Dan,’ she continued, looking earnest. ‘He’s not himself at all this evening and he’s stepped out to make yet another call – to Florence, I’m sure – but he won’t let on if anything’s wrong. He barely said a thing over dinner, and he didn’t even finish his lamb. That’s a first. Has he said anything to you, Robert darling? I just want to be sure he’s all right.’

Sensing a mother-and-son private moment, I excused myself for the loo.