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mentioned?’
    ‘No. I mean, yes, it got mentioned, but you weren’t in the shop.’
    ‘So you went for it while I was out of sight?’
    ‘It wasn’t like that, Kiki.’
    ‘Didn’t you think you should tell her the shoes were an accident?’
    Pass.
    ‘God, this is such a joke!’ She spat the words out.
    ‘Listen, Kiki, I don’t think it mattered to Mona if it was you or me. She just wanted someone—anyone—to help.’
    ‘Didn’t Jas tell her about me? How much more experience I’ve got? Didn’t she put up a fight?’
    ‘Would
you
fight Mona Armstrong?’
    ‘If it was worth fighting for, I would.’
    Ouch.
I stopped walking. ‘Kiki, I hate this. Shall we grab a coffee and talk about it properly?’
    Kiki marched on, turning only briefly to shout over her shoulder: ‘Coffee? Is that supposed to be funny?’
    ‘Sorry, I forgot. Honestly, Kiki, Jas didn’t have a say in it. We both know I’ll probably get the sack after a day …’
    But Kiki was more than a bit narked. She was angry.
    ‘It’s fucking ridiculous, that’s what it is. What does she think I am, a bloody skivvy?
You
should have gone for the coffee.’
    ‘Why—because
I
am a skivvy? A pointless skivvy who should have listened to your orders and kept her mouth shut the whole time Mona was in the store?’ Now my blood wasstarting to boil, too. ‘Perhaps, Kiki, just perhaps, Mona sent you for her coffee because she, like me, thinks you’re not a very nice person. A person who’s been so busy putting me down and bossing me around, she’s never actually spared a thought for how I might feel—about anything—until I suddenly got something you want. Until now. Well, you know what? Fuck you, Kiki. You’re a pathetic, skinny Stick Insect and I’m very happy I won’t have to see your thin face, or have to look at your pond water, or clear your stinking lettuce out of the fridge, or steam another piece of fabric because you can’t be bothered, because I’ll be in LA with Mona Armstrong, styling the stars.’
Hah!
‘Oh, and don’t forget, you signed an NDA so none of this can be repeated to anyone. Otherwise you’ll be sued.
Hasta la vista,
Stick, I’m off home to pack my killer heels.’
    Of course I didn’t actually say that. But it was very real in my head. I’ve never been good at confrontation, so, in real life, I tried to bury the feelings of guilt currently making my stomach churn, and tried a change of tack.
    ‘That guy Rob seemed nice?’
    ‘I preferred the shaggy one.’
    Au contraire.
    We walked the final few steps in another awkward silence, both ranting inwardly. I decided against asking her opinion of what I should pack or if she had a kit I could borrow. The atmosphere between us was eating me alive, so I fibbed.
    ‘I think I’ll get the bus today. I need air.’
    ‘Fair enough.’
    She didn’t even look me in the eye.
    ‘I guess I’ll see you in a couple of weeks, then.’
    ‘Yeah, if Jas will have you back.’
    And she was gone, skinny jeans and dip-dyed hair lost in a crowd of commuters, probably heading to a Shoreditch pub to break her NDA and slag me off with some East London hipsters.
I hope the NDA police are sitting at the next table.
    When I had safely turned off Oxford Street onto Manchester Square—when I could be sure that neither Kiki nor Mona nor any TV cameras were spying on me to see if I was displaying any embarrassing, high-spirited emotions—I did what every twenty-six-year-old in possession of her best job offer ever does: I phoned my mum.
    ‘Are you walking again?’ she asked, before I even said hello.
    For some reason my mother has an aversion to me walking and talking. Probably because I always seem to phone her when I’m in transit.
    ‘I’ve just finished work.’ I stopped in the street and cupped the phone, to block out some of the traffic noise.
    ‘It’d be nice if you phoned, just for a chat, when you weren’t on a noisy street, on your way somewhere, that’s all