Faking It Read online

I take off my sheer jumper to reveal my silk cream camisole before unzipping my boots. I brush the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. I had no idea things were going to get quite so steamy.

  They’re steamy because, it turns out, when you get stuck in a lift, inside the lift gets absolutely roasting – well, this one has at least. Perhaps it’s being in a small metal box in the heart of the hotel, with a double dose of claustrophobia thrown in for good measure, but we’re both boiling. The emergency lights are on, so we’re no longer in total darkness, but they’re more like candlelight than light-light. It would be kind of romantic if we were a couple and if we were, y’know, not trapped in a lift.

  Christian undoes the top two buttons of his shirt.

  ‘I don’t really rate the sauna at this hotel, do you?’ he jokes.

  ‘It’s bit small for my liking,’ I reply, forcing a smile. ‘Did the person on the phone not say how long they thought it would take?’

  ‘No, sorry,’ he says. ‘All they said was the lift was out of order, there should have been a sign, someone will be here to get it moving again asap.’

  ‘Oh, boy,’ I say in a voice that sounds a little as if someone is standing on my throat.

  ‘You OK?’ Christian asks.

  ‘I was today years old when I realised I’m claustrophobic,’ I joke. ‘I’m not liking this at all.’

  ‘Hey, come on, don’t worry, it’s going to be fine,’ he tells me, scooting over to my side of the lift, to sit on the floor next to me.

  Christian wraps a reassuring arm around me.

  ‘Let’s talk about the fundraiser,’ he says. ‘Let’s talk decorations. I have endless schoolchildren and an army of crafty mums desperate to get started.’

  ‘OK, OK,’ I say, getting my head in the game. ‘We should have replica props from different musicals,’ I suggest. ‘Like the toilet-paper sculpture from the school dance in Grease.’

  ‘Giant cans of hairspray from Hairspray,’ he adds.

  ‘The radio tower from Rocky Horror – that would look cool,’ I say, relaxing a little. ‘You know, if this wasn’t a school event, I’d definitely be dressing up as someone from Rocky Horror. Magenta or Columbia.’

  ‘Emma, seriously?’ Christian replies with a laugh. ‘Where have you been hiding this side of yourself? I like it!’

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to say: ‘I kicked her out when my mum died’ but it wouldn’t make much sense to him anyway.

  ‘I’m really enjoying getting to know you too,’ I tell him.

  The lift makes some sort of mechanical noise, only for a few seconds, but the drama queen in me thinks I’m about to plunge to my death, so I grab a tight hold of Christian’s arm.

  ‘Shh, shh, it’s OK,’ he tells me, stroking my cheek with the hand I’m not currently cutting off his blood supply to.

  ‘I think my life just flashed before my eyes,’ I tell him breathlessly.

  ‘And were you happy with it?’ he asks.

  ‘No,’ I admit.

  Me breaking character is enough to make Christian pause exactly where he is, his hand still on my face as he looks into my eyes. Is he… is he leaning in? If he is, it’s ever so slightly, just enough to give me an opening, for me to take the lead.

  Right on cue, before I have time to worry about what I should do, the lift lights come back on and we’re moving.

  We let go of each other and quickly scramble for our discarded clothes and shoes as we descend, but the lift doors open in Reception before we’ve had chance to put them back on. Of course, the fact that we’re putting them on only makes us look shady, even though nothing happened.

  Oh, for fuck’s sake, the actual fire brigade is here, and I swear these ones are even younger than the ones from my flat fire.

  ‘Everything OK?’ one of them asks with a cheeky smile.

  ‘It was very hot in there,’ I reply, pushing past him to head outside and get some air.

  ‘Changed your mind about that drink, then?’ Christian jokes.

  ‘Yeah, I reckon it’s probably time for us to go home, don’t you?’ I say, suddenly feeling a little awkward.

  ‘OK, I’ll book our taxi.’

  Christian wanders off to a quieter spot to call us a taxi.

  I feel even more rattled now than I did when we were trapped in the lift because, is it me, or were we having a moment then? Because I am absolutely not allowed to have moments and now, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.

  29

  Tonight is my first night off from being Emma and it could not have come at a better time.

  While Rich’s suggestion that I ‘go for a drink with my girlfriends’ might have sounded great in theory, I have to admit, I really, really don’t like Emma’s friends, and I don’t feel as if she has all that much to do with them anyway. I never hear from them, and there’s never anything in the diary. It certainly wouldn’t have felt like a night off.

  The only friend I have here (unless you count Christian, which I’m not, because I’m avoiding him) is Marco, and he jumped at the chance to do something fun.

  I suggested we go to one of the cute little wine bars in the heart of the village, because I’ve been eyeing them up every time I’ve driven past them, but Marco had two thoughts about this. One was that it might look suspicious, just the two of us going for a drink together on a Saturday night, and the other was that going to a wine bar isn’t how you let your hair down. Sure, it’s how the Yummy Mummy Mafia do it – a few cheeky gins while him indoors minds the kids – but he says that’s not very ‘us’ at all, and what I need right now is to be myself.

  He’s right, I do need to be myself, even if it’s just for one night, because I’m in serious danger of getting lost in Emma’s life.

  Take Christian, for example. He’s this great guy, we’ve hit it off, he’s exactly the kind of guy I should be with. And, best of all, he seems as if he likes me – really likes me – but he doesn’t really, does he? He thinks I’m Emma, so he likes Emma, but the version of Emma I’ve created, so what the hell does that all mean?

  When I was younger – and not quite old enough to go out drinking – there was only one place to go: Gloria’s.

  Gloria’s was a nightclub on the outskirts of the nearest town – and our only nightclub for miles, without trekking into Manchester, but as the quality of the club goes up, so does their adherence to the law.

  So, Gloria’s was the only option for a good night out, but it was kind of a shit hole. It was also a seventies-themed place, so it was fresh out of a scene from Saturday Night Fever. It sort of worked though, if you liked disco music, and if you could get into the spirit of dressing up it would be all the more fun. I might not have had many friends at school but in that last year before I moved away, Gloria’s was my escape. I made friends with a couple of girls, who I would share taxis back and forth with, but when I was there I didn’t even mind spending time on my own. I would drink and dance and try and forget about everything going on at home. Especially when things got bad with Mum.

  Well, would you believe it? It turns out Gloria’s is still there, still the same, still clearly serving the same purpose. Being such a niche place, it’s still mostly used by young people looking for somewhere to drink, illicit meetings (you can spot the shifty-looking couples wearing weddings rings that were probably given to them by someone else, from a mile away), and somewhere to just completely let loose.

  Because the playlist hasn’t changed since the place opened (I sometimes wonder if it opened in the seventies and just decided to stay the way it was) it’s the same songs playing, many of which have dance routines, so by the time I was a regular I knew my Hustle from my Night Fever and both were perfect. Being here now, after all these years, seeing people doing the same old dance routines, is like being wrapped up in a warm blanket where nothing bad can happen.

  The main room is large, with an old-school illuminated dance floor at its heart, and a huge disco ball hanging above it. The walls that surrou
nd the dancefloor, and all around the bar, are covered in sparkly stuff, and the ceiling is a mess of those multicoloured disco lights that twirl around, so light bounces off pretty much every available surface. The biggest nostalgia hit of all is the smell of the smoke machine – it smells exactly how I remember it smelling, even though I haven’t thought about this place in years.

  I was so excited when I was getting ready. I rummaged through Emma’s wardrobe to find the perfect outfit – a short red Bardot dress, that I can’t believe my sister owns, and a pair of black heels. I even took the time to learn how to curl my hair with that Dyson curling thing she has, that basically sucks your hair around it. That was a learning curve. Finally, I caked on some make-up and covered myself up in a big coat, ready to sneak out, just like I used to when I was a kid. Well, I wasn’t sure Rich would sign off on me going to a club with Marco, and it’s always easier to get forgiveness than permission, right?

  Marco looks amazing. He’s wearing a pair of tight-fitting jeans – well, I assume they’re tight-fitting, they might just be stretching themselves a little thin over his muscular legs – and a shirt that, upon his arrival, he decided should probably be unfastened another button or two. He looks incredible, and I’m not the only one who thinks so; pretty much every girl, woman and a few of the men in here are drooling over him.

  ‘This might actually be my favourite place on the planet,’ I tell him as I sip my cocktail. Some passionfruit and vodka combo served in a disco ball glass – it’s amazing. It’s also my first drink in a little while. Well, technically it’s my fourth tonight, but tonight is my first… oh, never mind.

  ‘Well, that’s just sad,’ Marco teases.

  He swigs his beer with such an easy confidence, as though he doesn’t have a care in the world. Marco is another reason I feel so peaceful; it’s hard not to be when you’re around him, he’s so chilled out and so in control. I would say his life is as chaotic as mine – if not more so – but he just keeps on keeping on.

  ‘It’s not sad, we’ve got a history,’ I insist. ‘I used to come here all the time when I was a teen – it was the only place I could get in.’

  ‘Same,’ he says with a laugh.

  ‘What, really?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he replies. There’s a little chuckle in his voice that makes it seem almost like an admission. ‘I grew up here – not at Gloria’s. In town. I’m “town trash” – isn’t that what they call us back in the village?’

  I scrunch up my face.

  ‘They do,’ I reply.

  I take a big swig of my drink to wash the nasty taste of those words away.

  ‘But so is my brother,’ Marco says. ‘Ant married into that village, and look at him now, just as snobby as the rest.’

  ‘It’s shit growing up there,’ I tell him. ‘Unless you want to play the game – which I didn’t. If you’re happy to compete, earn the most money, have the best stuff and so on, then the place is your playground. It just feels like no one ever grew up. They’re all trying to be the kid who got the best bike for Christmas – which, incidentally, is a competition none of their kids can win, because everyone gets whatever they want basically thrown at them.’

  ‘Kids who get everything that they want are the worst,’ Marco says. ‘Some of Josh’s friends are so entitled already – at nine or ten.’

  ‘When I was in secondary school there was this kid called Simon Wright – his dad owns the swanky car showroom on Elm Street. He was an entitled little shit. He used to try and scare me, when I was walking to school, by pretending to ride his bike into me.’

  ‘What a wanker,’ Marco says. ‘I’ve no time for bullies at all.’

  He looks as if he means it.

  ‘One day he didn’t pull away quick enough and he hit me, in the school car park, where a teacher saw, so they confiscated his bike… His dad had bought him a new one by the next day, and do you know what? He just kept doing what he did before.’ I sigh. ‘I’m sure he doesn’t have a care in the world. People like that never get what they deserve.’

  ‘Well, screw him, because look at us, sitting here in the seventies, living our best lives in other people’s houses – in other people’s lives, in your case,’ he jokes. ‘Cheers to that.’

  ‘Cheers,’ I say, clinking my drink with his.

  ‘And at least you’re doing a great job with your own fake kids,’ he says with a smile. ‘Henry is a sweet kid, and it sounds like you got through to Millie.’

  ‘Yeah, and if that’s all I’ve done while I’m here, then it was all worth it,’ I say with a smile. ‘I feel really good about our chat. Hopefully she realises the most important thing to do is just crack on with her school work.’

  ‘Are you excited for Henry’s birthday tomorrow?’ Marco asks. ‘I know I am.’

  ‘Weirdly… yes. I think you’re going to be disappointed when they don’t let you in the ball pool, but I think Henry is going to love it, and his friends will too.’

  My mind wanders for a second as I think about Emma. Obviously, she knew she was going to be away for Henry’s birthday – which she must be absolutely devastated about – so she planned everything out in great detail and put all the plans into action before she left. She even bought and wrapped his present and hid it in her dressing room. Emma didn’t leave anything to chance but I’m going to do everything I can to make sure it’s even better. I’ve even been out and bought him a present from me – not that he’ll know it’s from real me, his auntie – with my own money. I have a lot of birthdays to catch up on.

  ‘I didn’t know whether to invite Christian’s son,’ I wonder out loud.

  ‘Even after the crazy spider saga?’ Marco replies in disbelief.

  Marco has become my BFF – the person I tell everything to. I feel as if I can trust him, and he does give pretty good advice for a hot mess… a bit like me, I suppose.

  ‘Is this just so you can try and kiss his dad again?’ he adds with a grin.

  As supportive as Marco is, he does love to tease me… but if I’m being honest, I quite like his teasing.

  ‘I did not try to kiss him,’ I insist with an awkward giggle. ‘I don’t even know what that was, but it was not that. I’m just thinking, it’s like every other kid in his class is going… he’ll be the only one not invited.’

  ‘Would Henry want him there?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ I admit. ‘He’d probably lose his spider in the ball pool and close the place down.’

  ‘So, unless you do just want an excuse to spend time with his dad…’

  Every now and then his teasing gets under my skin.

  ‘OK, fine, fine, I won’t invite him,’ I insist.

  I think Marco thinks he’s upset me because he jumps to his feet and pulls me towards the busy dance floor.

  ‘OK, no more of this,’ he insists. ‘We’re supposed to be having the night off from your double life, remember? And if you came here as often as I did back in the day, you will absolutely remember the dance to this one.’

  I notice ‘Night Fever’ by the Bee Gees has just started playing, and I absolutely do remember the dance.

  ‘You remember the dance to this?’ I laugh.

  ‘It’s not exactly hard, is it? It’s just walking, pointing, twirling – easy.’

  ‘Well, I can’t turn down the chance to see this, so OK,’ I reply excitedly.

  We slink into position on the dance floor with everyone else who has been coming here long enough to know the moves too.

  It’s a bit like the dances you learn at school discos, like the Macarena or Agadoo – such simple, repetitive moves that stay with you forever.

  Marco is doing his best John Travolta impression – taking the dance so seriously, with a straight back and an even straighter face – doing everything he can to make me laugh.

  I’m a bit drunk, and it’s been a while since I did this, so I’m sure I’m messing up, and I must look hilarious, but so does everyone else. We’re not dancers, we’re just a mishmashed
crowd looking for a good time in the least reputable joint in all of Cheshire.

  ‘Do you think we were ever here at the same time, when we were younger?’ I ask him over the music.

  ‘Who knows?’ Marco replies. ‘No one looked twice at me back then. I was a fat teenager – and I was shy. I got the crap bullied out of me at school, really knocked my confidence.’

  My smile drops. Why are kids so horrible? I’d think twice before having them, only because I couldn’t stand the thought of sending them to school to be miserable.

  ‘That’s horrible,’ I reply. ‘But what a revenge body!’

  He shrugs modestly.

  The DJ blends the end of the track seamlessly into ‘September’ by Earth, Wind & Fire and for some reason this feels like my track, my time to let loose – a chance for the real Ella (emboldened by all the cheap cocktails) to rear her head.

  I get lost in the song. I’m singing along, I’m dancing with Marco – and I mean with him. On him, practically. I twirl around and back myself up into him, wiggling my hips, which he must have put his hands on at some point. I fling my arms in the air and I drop it like it’s hot, but as I’m on my way back up, time slows down, the music goes quiet in my ears, everyone seems to be suspended in time. Is that…?

  As reality hits me I panic.

  ‘Shit! Shit, shit, shit,’ I say as I grab Marco by the hand. ‘We need to get out of here.’

  ‘What? Why?’ he says. ‘You were just starting to enjoy yourself.’

  ‘Millie is here!’ I say, nodding over towards her.

  She’s just across the dancefloor, dirty dancing with that older boyfriend of hers. She’s wearing a tiny outfit and holding a massive drink – I doubt it’s a soft one.

  I pull Marco outside into the cold car park before he stops me.

  ‘You’re not going to leave her here, are you?’ he says.

  ‘What choice do I have?’ I reply. ‘She’s not supposed to be here, but neither am I. She thinks I’m her mum. What’s her mum doing here, all dressed up, grinding on men that aren’t her dad?’

  ‘Point taken,’ he says. ‘So much for thinking you’d got through to her.’