‘I know.’ I agree, but I don’t think she was easily led at all. I’ve concluded that that’s what Nan has told herself over the years to deal with her loss. I’m happy to let her have that.

‘Livy.’ She shifts her hand carefully to avoid smudging my polish, so she’s the one gripping mine, and it’s a firm grip – a reassuring grip. ‘Everything about you is your mother, but not this.’ She taps her temple with her index finger. ‘You mustn’t be afraid of becoming her. It’ll just be another life wasted.’

‘I know,’ I admit. My own underlying reasons to avoid a repeat of my mother’s life are good enough, but remembering my grandparents’ devastation has only ever sealed it.

‘You’ve completely shut yourself down, Livy. I know I was, well, a little bit of a handful after your granddad died, but I’m fine now – have been for some time, sweetheart.’ She raises grey eyebrows at me, desperate for me to acknowledge it. ‘I’ll never get over losing them both, but I can still live. You haven’t experienced half of what life has to offer, Olivia. You were such a spirited child and teenager until you found—’ she halts, and I know it’s because she can’t say the words. She’s talking about the journal, the frighteningly vivid accounts of my mother’s life.

‘It was safer that way,’ I murmur.

‘It was unhealthy that way, sweetheart.’ She lifts my hand and kisses it lovingly.

‘I’m beginning to see that.’ I take a deep breath of confidence. ‘That man, the one who came for dinner . . .’ I don’t know why I don’t use his name. ‘He unearthed something in me, Nan. It’ll never go anywhere, but I’m glad I met him because he’s made me realise what life could be if I let it.’

I don’t divulge any more than that, and I also don’t confess that given the chance, I would have whatever that is with him, if only he would let me. It’s not the sex; it’s the connection, the feeling of complete refuge that beats anything I’ve attempted to achieve on my own. It defies sensibility, really. Miller Hart is irrational, arduous and temperamental, but the times between those irritating moments are inconceivably blissful and serene. I want to, but I have no faith in finding those feelings with another man.

Nan looks at me thoughtfully, keeping her firm grip of my hand. ‘Why will it not go anywhere?’ she asks.

I’m honest and she must see it for what it is, anyway. She’s not stupid. ‘Because I don’t think he’s really available,’ I say quietly.

‘Oh, Livy,’ Nan sighs. ‘We can’t help who we fall for. Come here.’ She stands up and pulls me into her arms, giving me a big squeeze. The tension and uncertainty seems to drain right out of me under her hold. ‘In every experience we have in life, we have to find a positive. I can see many positives coming from your encounter with Miller, sweetheart.’

I hum my agreement into her shoulder, but wonder if I’ll be in any fit state to embrace these supposed opportunities. He’s already successfully intercepted one date. If I’m going to continue to resist Miller Hart, I need to maintain my willpower and grow some resilience. The sass the Taylor girls are renowned for has eluded me, but I’m on a mission to relocate it. It’s there. It’s popped up now and then recently, but I need to grab on to it and never let go.

I squint as a camera is shoved in my face and Nan blinds me with the flash. ‘Get a grip, Nan,’ I moan, pulling down the hem of my ridiculous dress. I’ve been standing in front of the mirror for twenty minutes deliberating on the dramatic transformation. All day, all bloody day, I’ve spent waxing, plucking, painting, smoothing and straightening. I’m exhausted.

‘See, George!’ Nan snaps a few more shots. ‘Sassy!’

I roll my eyes at a smiling George and pull my hem down again. ‘Stop it now.’ I push the camera from my face, feeling like a teenager going to a prom. It was inevitable, but the fuss is just making me feel even more conspicuous.

‘You look spectacular, Livy!’ George laughs, taking the camera from Nan and ignoring her appalled glare. ‘Leave the poor woman alone, Josephine.’

‘Thank you, George,’ I say, again pulling down my dress.

‘Stop tugging at your dress.’ Nan smacks my hands away. ‘Walk tall, chin high. Keep fidgeting and you’ll look out of place and uncomfortable.’

‘Oh God, I’m going.’ I grab my stupidly small bag and make for the door, desperate to escape the over-the-top reactions to my . . . enhanced look. I slam the door harder than I mean to and click on my heels down the path, hearing Nan shout at George as I do. I smile, pull my shoulders back, and set on my way, shoving my bag under my arm and resisting the urge to pull the hem of my dress down again.

I’m only a few paces into my strut when I see Gregory in the distance, walking towards me. He falters slightly mid-stride, and I know that if I was close enough, I would see him squinting. Strangely, this reaction doesn’t make me feel conspicuous; it makes me feel bold, so I raise my chin and make my best attempt of impersonating a model on the catwalk. I don’t know if I pull it off, but it makes Gregory grin from ear to ear and wolf whistle from fifty yards away.

‘Hot stuff!’ He halts and spreads his legs, holding his hands out to me. ‘Fuck me, I’ll be fighting them off!’

I don’t even blush. I perform a perfectly executed twirl before throwing my arms around his neck. ‘I’ve been practising all day.’

‘I can tell.’ He removes me from his body and runs his eyes up and down me, then smooths my hair and smiles. ‘Straight and sleek. You look even more gorgeous than normal. Holy shit, look at those legs!’

I glance down at my legs, seeing curves I never have before. ‘I feel good,’ I admit.

His arm falls around me and he pulls me into his side. ‘Well, you should, because you look amazing. Were you leaving without me?’ he asks, starting us towards the main road to get a cab.

‘No, I couldn’t stand it in there any more.’

‘I can imagine.’

‘You’re looking very dapper.’ I give the sleeve of his pink shirt a little tug. ‘Trying to impress?’ I glance up at him, finding a restrained grin. It makes me smile.

‘I don’t need to try, Livy.’ He’s cocky. ‘Promise me something?’

‘What?’

‘You’ll call me Greg tonight.’

My smile widens and my arm snakes around his waist. ‘I’ll call you Greg if you call me sassy lady.’

He laughs. ‘Sassy lady?’

‘Yes, baby girl, sweet girl, lovely girl . . .’ I realize my error immediately.

‘Who calls you sweet girl?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ I put the stoppers on his enquiry immediately, and I also put the stoppers on my trail of thought. ‘The point is I’m not a girl.’

‘All righty, then. Sassy lady it is.’ He leans in and kisses my forehead. ‘You’ll never know how happy I am right now.’

‘Because you’re about to meet Benjamin?’

‘It’s Ben.’ He nudges me with his hip. ‘And no, not because of Ben. Because of you.’

I look up at my treasured friend and smile. ‘I’m happy, too,’ I reply thoughtfully.

Chapter 16

I have my first predicament in the short dress. Gregory slides from the cab with ease while I’m deliberating the best way to exit without flashing my fancy black knickers. I hold the hem of my dress with both hands, but my clutch drops from under my arm.

‘Shit,’ I curse, scooping it up.

‘You didn’t practise this part, did you?’ Gregory teases, putting one hand out for my bag and his other for my hand. ‘To the side. Step out to the side.’

I hand over my bag and take his hand, following his instruction and lowering my right foot from the cab, finding it rather easy to exit without bending or giving any passers-by an eyeful. ‘Thank you.’

‘As graceful as a swan.’ He winks and tucks my bag under my arm. ‘Ready?’

I refuel on confidence by taking a long inhalation of air. ‘Ready,’ I confirm, looking up at the building, seeing blue lights climbing up the glass front and a red carpet stretched down the side, with piles and piles of people waiting to be granted access.

I’m a little awestruck. Robin Thicke’s ‘Blurred Lines’ is pouring from the open glass doors, blue lights are flashing inside, and doormen are keeping guard, marking clipboards before letting people in.

My hand is grasped and I’m pulled towards the front of the queue. I don’t miss the filthy looks being thrown in our direction by the waiting clientele. ‘Gregory, there’s a line,’ I whisper loudly, just as we land in front of a doorman holding a clipboard.

‘Greg Macy and Olivia Taylor, guests of Ben White,’ Gregory states confidently, while I’m wincing under the fierce, stabbing eyes of the queue haters.

The doorman flicks the pages and glides down the list of names, eventually grunting and unhooking the thick rope linking two metal posts together. ‘Champagne bar’s on the first floor at the back to your left. Mr White is in the VIP area there.’

‘Thank you.’ Gregory nods, pulling me forward and pushing me gently through the door. ‘VIP area,’ he whispers in my ear. ‘And you just called me Gregory, sassy lady.’

‘I can’t help it.’ I glance around, seeing various levels, all accessed by frosted-glass stairs with illuminated blue lights guiding the way. Well-dressed people are everywhere, draped over the glass balustrades, not a pint of beer or a bottle in sight . . . except champagne. Behind all of the bars – three I’ve seen so far – are stacks and stacks of champagne bottles. I’ve never tasted the stuff, but it looks like I might do soon.

‘This way.’ Gregory escorts me up the glass steps, and the practical side of me can’t help considering the damage that could be done if someone was to fall down them. My heels chink sweetly, though, and I look down and admire them, smiling and finding my butt swaying a little more. ‘Are you strutting?’ Gregory giggles and smacks my backside. ‘Work it, baby girl.’

I turn and scowl around my grin. ‘Sassy,’ I say, sticking my nose in the air, making my friend break out into a proper laugh.

‘You most certainly are.’

We reach the top of the stairs and head left as directed, reaching the champagne bar, which is ironic because all I saw at the other bars was champagne, too, making all of the bars champagne bars. ‘What would you like?’

‘Coke,’ I say casually, looking around to avoid meeting my friend’s outraged eyes.

He scoffs, but doesn’t retaliate, instead leaning over the bar and ordering two glasses of champagne. The club is crammed full already, and there were at least a few hundred people in the line outside. Gregory wasn’t kidding when he said it was dead plush, and the name reflects the ambience. If it wasn’t so full with people generating heat, I think I’d feel cold.

‘Thank you.’ I take the glass being handed to me and waft it under my nose, taking a hit of a bitter smell. The strawberry floating on top takes my attention away from the aroma that’s invading my nose and switches my mind to a place where I really don’t want it to go.

Strawberries – British, for the sweetness.

Chocolate – at least eighty per cent cocoa, for the bitterness.

Champagne to round it off.

I jump, a little startled when Gregory nudges me. ‘You okay?’

‘Sure.’ I bat the thoughts of sweet and bitter away, along with the thought of Miller’s hot tongue, slow-moving mouth, and hard, warm body. ‘Swanky place.’ I raise my glass a little and take the plunge, sipping my first ever taste of champagne. ‘Hmmm,’ I hum as the cool, sparkling liquid slides down my throat like silk.