Just the Way You Are Read online

  Just The Way You Are

  Holly Kinsella

  © Holly Kinsella 2014

  Holly Kinsella has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  First published 2014 by Endeavour Press Ltd.

  Table of Contents

  1.

  2.

  3.

  4.

  5.

  6.

  7.

  8.

  9.

  10.

  11.

  12.

  13.

  14.

  15.

  16.

  17.

  18.

  19.

  20.

  21.

  22.

  23.

  24.

  Epilogue

  Extract from Uptown Girl by Holly Kinsella

  “The more I know of the world, the more I am convinced that I shall never see a man whom I can really love.”

  Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility

  “A lady’s imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony in a moment.”

  Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

  1.

  “Wouldn’t it be nice if, for once, feminists, the producers of those awful Dove commercials and Gok Wan empowered women enough to dress with a sense of taste and restraint? That poor girl over there, with the fake tan and equally fake Prada handbag, is as delusional as a socialist if she thinks that she’s carrying off that outfit. I’ve seen potatoes squeeze themselves into a sack more elegantly than she’s squeezing herself into that shabby dress,” Victoria Miller remarked, arching one of her sculptured eyebrows and turning back towards her younger sister, Gemma (who cringed at the insensitive comments). The former fashion model sighed, to further convey her disappointment and disparagement. It was neither Victoria Miller’s first nor last bitchy comment of the day.

  The afternoon sun swept its light and June heat through Leadenhall Market in the City. It was 6 pm and most women were heading home for the day from work, while most men seemed to be starting a shift outside the Lamb Tavern and other pubs in the vicinity. Drink still lubricated the wheels of finance Gemma idly thought to herself, remembering her short time working as a secretary in the area.

  The two sisters sat outside Chamberlain’s, a smart and friendly fish restaurant in the market. Victoria sipped an espresso as Gemma worked her way through another glass of Pinot Grigio. Gemma noticed her sister subtly glance around the market and inside the restaurant, to assess whether there was anyone worthwhile checking her out – or if there was anyone in eyeshot to rival her. Gemma had observed her sister go through the ritual a thousand times before. She was just curious as to how conscious her sister was of her behaviour. There was the hint of a self-satisfied smile as Victoria took in a handsome young Italian waiter and square-jawed broker, wearing a suit that doubtless cost more than a second-hand car, eying her up.

  Victoria, at twenty-nine, was four years older than her sister – but she looked the same age as her, if not younger. High, prominent cheekbones tapered down to form a slender, classically beautiful face (as a teenager though, Gemma had nicknamed her sister “coffin-head”). A natural tan, from a recent romantic weekend away on the Amalfi Coast, bronzed her usually fair complexion. Her eyes were as green as envy (which Victoria happily enjoyed inspiring in others, rather than suffered from herself, Gemma considered). Her long, glossy hair was light-brown coloured, or “Spanish September” as her stylist, who dyed it, called it. “Gentleman prefer brunettes,” Victoria had said to her younger sister when she first had it coloured, explaining that Oliver (her new boyfriend, who was someone else’s husband) liked the change. She was wearing a Peter Pilotto multi-coloured silk-blend dress, which showed off the tan upon her arms, legs and nape. The dress cost nearly as much as a month’s wages for Gemma, but was nothing special to the former model. A breeze ran through the market and ruffled Gemma’s fringe, yet the same breeze altered not a hair upon her sister’s head, as if the goddess even had command over the winds.

  Victoria was taller, slimmer and richer. Using the money she had made from her modelling career Victoria had invested in property (having been advised by an ex-boyfriend who owned a chain of estate agents). She earned a substantial income from renting out a trio of small apartments dotted around Brook Green and Chiswick. She could now live, in her own words, “a life of leisure”. And her life of leisure was partly funded at present by Oliver. The forty something corporate lawyer had paid for everything in regards to the trip to the Amalfi Coast – and had also recently bought Victoria a Tiffany necklace. “I’m like his courtesan,” Victoria had beamed to her sister a month ago, her pride eclipsing the irony in her statement. The necklace nearly sparkled as much as the glint in her eye.

  She’s still stunning… His square-jaw has nearly dropped down to the pavement – and if that Italian waiter asks us one more time if we need anything I’m going to answer “yes, for you to leave us alone.” She can still leave men dumbstruck, although most are dumb before ever encountering her I suspect…

  For years, during her teens, Gemma had felt like she lived in the shadow of her older sister – because she did. She felt both diminished – and overweight – whenever they were in the same room. She felt invisible at parties, or patronised when praised. Her mother bathed in the reflected glory of everyone constantly telling her how beautiful her daughter was (as opposed to daughters). Her hard to please father also adored Victoria – nearly as much as the BMW she had bought him after her first big modelling contract. Gemma would sigh with disappointment, and resignation, when she witnessed the look of lust or love in her boyfriends’ eyes, on being introduced to Victoria. Men were drawn to her like moths to a flame – and she would hold court and tease her would-be suitors like Scarlett O’Hara. If she wasn’t her sister then Gemma would have despised “coffin head” and everything she represented. But being her sister she only sometimes disliked or disapproved of her.

  Gemma thankfully freed herself from her sister’s orbit however when she went off to university, studying English and History at Warwick. Rather than listening to her sister’s advice or stories about how wonderful her glittering life was Gemma was influenced by Jane Austen and Tina Fey – and she also discovered her own voice. Rather than consider herself overweight when standing next to her sister, she now realised how underweight Victoria was.

  Indeed, instead of admiring or being jealous of Victoria nowadays Gemma felt sorry for her. She had sacrificed getting an education for getting ahead in her career. Victoria was captivating until she opened her mouth – Gemma, a little ungenerously perhaps, thought. Years ago Gemma would have hung on to every word her glamorous sister said but she now doubted if Victoria herself ever listened to what she was actually saying. Her conversations, or monologues, consisted of clothes, which actresses/models were in or out of rehab, which B-list celebrity Oliver and she had dinner with, or how Gemma could get – and keep – a man.

  “As Trudi said to Sting… Hilarious… Look at that poor thing there, in the leggings and ill-fitting blouse. She thinks she’s mixing and matching, but someone should tell her that she’s only mixing… Maybe I can arrange for you to meet Desmond, a junior partner in Oliver’s law firm. He only lives in New Cross at the moment, but he’s nice and you might both be suited. He was talking about some book the other day that I’ve heard you mention too… If you do go out with Desmond though subtly hint that grey isn’t the new black, when it comes to buying a new suit… I’m going to take Mummy to the opera next week, as a belated birthday present. Do let me know if you want to come too and I’ll get you a ticket. It’ll probably g
o on for longer than Peaches Geldof’s autopsy but the main thing is she’ll enjoy it.”

  Gemma barely heard the last part of what her sister was saying due to her lighting a cigarette at the same time. “It’s my one vice, aside from selfishness,” Victoria had remarked – again with a sense of earnestness rather than humour. Indeed Gemma had barely heard anything her sister had said. She finished her glass of wine and sat there, nervously tapping her foot to the beat of her racing heart. For, far more than her overbearing and intimidating sister, Gemma Miller had something else on her mind to be anxious about.

  Speed dating.

  2.

  Gemma hadn’t confided in her sister as to the real reason she had agreed to meet her in this area. Her older sister would either laugh at her for being so desperate or, worse, try to give her a litany of advice as to how she should behave at the event.

  Gemma allowed herself another twenty minutes sitting on her own before leaving the restaurant. Victoria had received a call from Oliver, to say his meeting had finished early and she should now get to the bar for 6.45 for pre-dinner drinks. Victoria insisted on paying the bill, kissed her sister on the cheek (three times) and scurried off – giving a lesson to any woman watching as to how one can – and should – walk in Gianvito Rossi heels across cobble stones. Gemma also remained at Chamberlain’s for another twenty minutes due to ordering a piece of cake. If she had ordered the cake with Victoria there she would have either lectured her sister on watching her figure or asked for an extra fork and eaten half of it.

  The event, organised by a company called City Affairs, was just around the corner, next to Lloyd’s of London. Gemma walked with slightly less poise over the cobble stones compared to her sister. Her head was bowed down as if she were deep in thought – or going to a funeral. Gemma had spent an even greater time that morning than Victoria in deciding what to wear for the day. She neither wanted to dress too informally or too formally, to give off the wrong impression. In the end she picked a “Ditsy” floral print red dress which she had bought on sale at House of Fraser. She still hadn’t found out why the pattern was “Ditsy” – she just thought it looked pretty. I just hope the hemline isn’t too high or low. Gemma smiled at herself however and took a deep breath – as if she were an actress about to go on stage – as she rounded the corner.

  Originally Gemma had planned to attend the event with her flatmate, Abbie. But Abbie, who worked as a book publicist, had been asked by her boss to help out at an author’s launch party for the night. Gemma had little envisioned how difficult it would be to find a decent, or even half-decent, guy since her break-up with Daniel six months ago. She had first allowed herself to be chatted up by men in bars, as she went out with Abbie and a few other friends on a Friday night. Drink gave her the courage to chat to strangers, though Gemma quickly realised that she needed even more drink to suffer their company. They usually wore more hair product than her sister used to on a shoot, and like her sister they were far too much into themselves to be into anyone else. Many wanted to be “friends with benefits” but there was little benefit in that. The scene seemed cynical and superficial, even by London’s standards.

  We do not look in our great cities for our best morality. – Jane Austen.

  After being prompted, or nigh on bullied, by a colleague at work Gemma next signed-up to a couple of internet dating sites in her quest to find a new boyfriend. She initially enjoyed chatting online to prospective suitors. She liked writing and the word-play and ironically felt she could be more of herself on the printed page, rather than in the flesh. Whether it was a curse or a blessing Gemma could make a joke about anything. Humour wasn’t just a form a self-defence against the world. Satire was a way of attacking it. And she soon found out just how much of the virtual world of internet dating was worth attacking. Most of the messages she received made her cringe or laugh (at, rather than with, the messenger). The joke soon wore thin however and the darker, seedier side of match.com and eHarmony began to choke her enthusiasm for finding love online. She received plenty of “offers” but half the contact details she was sent she was tempted to pass on to Operation Yewtree. More than once she would get the kiss-off of “You’re nice, but…” when she would tell guys that she wanted a relationship instead of just sex. There was also an unpleasant, mercenary aspect to the way people (or “profiles”) picked up and discarded each other. Infidelity was a given. Lies cemented the whole virtual world together – about age, professions, looks, incomes and lifestyles. Self-delusion was as rife as people lying to “friends”. Gemma fell victim to the mendacious culture too, clicking that she was a size 8 rather than 10 and that she attended the theatre regularly. No, unfortunately she was more likely to find Gary Glitter than her knight in shining armour via the internet. There were more Wickhams than Darcys in the virtual world, as well as the real one, she concluded. Gemma still kept one of her accounts open in hope rather than expectation however that someone genuinely honest, fun and intelligent might get in touch.

  “In this age of fibreglass I’m searching for a gem.” – Bob Dylan.

  Gemma was undecided as to which was the greater act of desperation, speed or internet dating? Perhaps the next two hours would inform her decision, she thought. A phalanx of table and chairs was laid out before her. There was an unspoken sigh of relief from Gemma – and others – as City Affairs had been seemingly true to their word and organised an event for twenty-something professionals. At present participants merely skirted around the area – or playing field as some might deem it – and sized up their fellow speed daters. Glances were subtly – and sometimes not so subtly – traded: looks of shyness, suspicion, disinterest, genuine and feigned attraction, amiability and self-satisfaction. To take the edge off her nerves Gemma thought of the impending event as a social experiment.

  Before she could begin to analyse the set-up or subjects though Gemma was approached by two of the organisers.

  “Hi, I’m Kelly.”

  “And I’m Chad. Are you here for the speed dating event?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Great.”

  “Fab.”

  Kelly and Chad proceeded to take Gemma’s details and brief her on the format for the evening. The women would stay seated, while the men moved around “like musical chairs” (Kelly tittered at her own joke) every five minutes. If Gemma liked someone she could tick a box on a sheet of paper saying she would be willing to give out her email to them at the end – and conversely there was also a box to tick and request someone else’s info. There would be a break halfway through. People could grab a drink (the City Affairs event was sponsored by Love Heart Vodka) and mingle. Gemma thought how Kelly and Chad wore smiles borrowed from British Airways cabin crew staff. She squinted, or winced, on taking in the whiteness of their teeth. The pair were so painfully bubbly as to be nauseating. Kelly and Chad acted like that they were happy and had found love themselves – but their overacting somewhat undermined their performances, Gemma considered. They probably couldn’t even get a part as an extra in Casualty anymore.

  Kelly asked the girls to be seated, laughing again at a joke she made as she did so. Gemma duly sat down at her table and for a moment had flashbacks of her first day at college. She felt excruciatingly self-conscious. Strangers looked at her with vacant, or judgemental, expressions on their faces. She forced herself to smile, to look relaxed, attractive and normal. Ever the swot she got out her own pen and placed it on the table, in case the one Kelly gave her (with a Love Heart Vodka logo on it) didn’t work. Chad ran through the format of the evening again but Gemma tuned him out as she suddenly found herself wishing Abbie could be here with her. She then thought of her sister and dreaded the scenario of having her walk past and see her. She also recalled what Victoria had said to her a month ago, warning her what would happen if she didn’t take any risks to find a man. “You’ve currently got more chance of finding Madeleine McCann that you have of finding a decent boyfriend.”

  3.
/>
  As Gemma shook her sister’s voice out of her head she took in the two women who were sitting either side of her. The one to her left, Nancy (everyone had a name plaque on their table), would have over half the men at the event drooling, Gemma thought, in terms of the way she dressed and due to her pouty expression. If less is more then she’s wearing far too much. Nancy offered Gemma a Kelly-like smile however and Gemma smiled back. No such smile was forthcoming from the participant on her right, Celia. Her short haircut and expression were as severe as each other. Celia was dressed in a charcoal grey jacket and slate-coloured pencil skirt. Her demeanour was equally business-like. Instead of eying Gemma with a sense of sorority Gemma felt as if Celia was glaring at her with a sense of competition. She needed to be appraised, intimidated and ultimately defeated. All is fair in love and speed dating. And the latter seldom led to the former.

  Chad commenced to give the competitors, or rather participants, one last pep talk before battle commenced.

  “Now whether or not you find what – or who – you’re looking for this evening the main thing is just to relax and enjoy the experience. Just be yourselves… Remember there will be a break halfway through the event. Do have a drink or two on us, courtesy of our sponsors Love Heart Vodka… Your city affair starts here…”

  Chad duly referred to his script when recounting his philosophy on love, having not remembered his lines properly. As he did so Gemma thought how everyone might look beautiful and fall in love if they drunk the right amount of vodka during the break. Rather than speed dating, City Affairs should arrange speed drinking in order to bring people together.

  A buzzer sounded. The game was afoot.

  “Hi, I’m Martin.”

  “Hi, I’m Gemma. I’ll be your first speed date for the evening it seems.”