Page 1 of The Only Way Is Up

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

Daisy Crawford perched on the stool in her bedroom, trying to relax as Edith artfully dabbed and blended foundation into her forehead. A glass of champagne fizzed away on the dressing table, hidden among the mountain of pots and jars and tubes that had been decanted from Edith’s multitiered cosmetics case, but Daisy hadn’t touched it. There would be rivers of booze at the various after-parties later, and twenty years of the National Television Awards had taught her not to go too hard, or too early.

She thought about the evening ahead, mentally preparing herself for the red carpet she’d walked countless times before. Spotlight would pick up a talent show award or two – as it always did – and Daisy would miss out on the TV Presenter of the Year Award – as she always did. For the past eleven years, Joe McDonald had won and now it was considered an TV inevitability, like the Strictly Curse or a Christmas family meltdown on EastEnders. Daisy would smile and clap for the cameras, pretending she didn’t mind, yet all she really wanted was to win; to feel like twenty-five years of hard work had been recognised. Finally.

The format for the evening felt familiar and comforting, but the big difference this year was that Daisy would be walking the red carpet with Christian, the first time she’d taken a date in the best part of a decade. It was also their first public outing since their engagement, but of course nobody knew about that yet. They hadn’t even bought a ring, and she needed to tell Ruby first. That was a conversation she really wasn’t looking forward to – Ruby was nearly sixteen and guaranteed to be less than enthused about having Christian as a stepfather.

Daisy watched him out of the corner of her eye, lounging on her enormous bed and tapping frantically on his phone, his brow furrowed and his body taut with tension. Not that Christian’s body was ever NOT taut – a long career as a professional tennis player had given him a lean, athletic physique. He hadn’t even had a shower yet, but then these events were easy for men. A quick wash half an hour before the limo arrived, throw on a dinner jacket, splash of aftershave, done. Daisy had been getting ready since yesterday, when she’d had a spray tan, a manicure and pedicure. Today it had taken three hours to do her hair and makeup so far, notwithstanding the half day she’d spent last week trying on dresses and shoes. The stylist was due any minute – a young Spaniard called Victor who had been recommended by her manager as ‘up and coming’. She had a regular stylist, Paul, for her Spotlight outfits, but he always spent the autumn in LA, pretending he wasn’t originally from Huddersfield. So the NTAs were a good opportunity to try someone new, mix things up a bit.

There was a soft knock on the door, and Karim’s head appeared. He was primarily Daisy’s driver, but also the only person she trusted to deal with deliveries or arrivals while she was glued to a chair. And most importantly, Karim would guarantee she left on time.

‘Victor’s here,’ he said quietly, before being swept aside by a tall man in a cream suit that showcased his narrow hips. He was carrying a huge dress bag over one arm and wheeling a holdall of shoes and accessories.

‘Daisy,’ breathed Victor. ‘You look like heaven.’

‘Hi,’ said Daisy, catching Christian’s extravagant eyeroll before he slipped his phone into his pocket and left the room.

‘Do NOT come any closer,’ said Edith, glaring at him. ‘I’m still working.’

‘Fine,’ hissed Victor, vaguely kissing the air two metres from Daisy’s head before retreating to the other side of the room to wait in reverent silence.

‘How’s the dress?’ asked Daisy, trying not to move her face.

‘Fabulous,’ said Victor. ‘I have made all the adjustments and now it will fit you like a glove. But no panties.’

Daisy laughed nervously. ‘Not even a thong?’

‘You cannot wear a thong with this dress,’ said Victor firmly. ‘Commando only.’

Daisy said nothing, listening to the wind buffeting the sash window and wondering whether she’d make it to the end of the red carpet without getting goosebumps on her muff. She closed her eyes so Edith could do her smoky eyeshadow, listening to Christian singing John Legend’s Ordinary People in the shower next door. Considering the circus currently playing out in her bedroom, the irony was not lost on Daisy. She did some mindful breathing exercises and reassured herself that it was all going to be fine.

‘You’re done,’ said Edith fifteen minutes later. ‘I’ve left a few bits for your handbag in case you need to touch up.’

‘Thanks,’ said Daisy, knowing that she’d only need a slick of lipstick. Her makeup was trowelled on like a death mask and set with a mist of superglue – she’d probably need an orbital sander to shift it later. She walked around the room while Edith packed away all her pots and brushes, happy to be out of the chair and able to stretch.

‘Victor says I can’t wear knickers with this dress,’ said Daisy as Christian came back into the bedroom, now looking unfeasibly handsome in a white dress shirt and black trousers. He handed her a pair of gold cufflinks and held out his right sleeve.

‘No panties,’ said Victor, his face implacable as he gently extracted several acres of fabric from the bag. ‘Everything is a perfect fit.’

‘I’m always OK with you not wearing any knickers,’ whispered Christian, leaning forward so his lips brushed her ear. ‘I promise to keep you warm.’

Daisy blushed under her makeup, looking at his beautiful hands and imagining them disappearing up her skirt in the back of the limo. He’d definitely have to wait until the drive home. Ignoring the anxiety and desire fluttering in her chest, she finished Christian’s cufflinks and took off her bathrobe in front of the full-length mirror, trying not to be embarrassed at her naked reflection. Victor politely looked away, but Christian unashamedly looked on with a lascivious smile. He had persuaded her to have a full Hollywood wax the previous week, and she was still getting used to being as smooth as a snooker ball down below.

Daisy leaned on Victor’s shoulder for support as she carefully stepped into the dress and slid it over her naked body. She turned to inspect the rear view; the dress was insanely tight. Sheer and sparkling, it was made from a black stretchy fabric that fitted her body like a pair of opaque spangly tights to the top of her thighs, before gently flaring into a long, heavy skirt. The top half had some built-in boob scaffolding and was surprisingly comfortable, hugging every one of her gym-honed curves and smoothing her out in all the right places. She was relieved to see that at nearly forty, her bum was still holding up. She silently gave thanks to her personal trainer for the thousands of squats she’d done over the years.

Her one stipulation had been that the dress didn’t flash any cleavage, and Victor hadn’t let her down. Instead his chosen outfit gave the impression of two completely different dresses depending on which side of Daisy you were looking at. From the left it had a shoulder strap and a skirt that pooled on the floor with a touch of old-school Hollywood glamour. But from the right her shoulder was bare, and the skirt had a dangerously daring thigh split on the side seam. Daisy liked the subtle hint of provocation but felt much more comfortable on the covered-up side. Uncertainty flickered for a second, and she wondered if she should have a drink after all.

‘See?’ said Victor triumphantly, helping her into vertiginous silver heels and handing her a matching clutch bag. ‘Better with no panties.’

Daisy examined every inch of her reflection and grudgingly agreed that the outfit looked and felt better without underwear. The stretch fabric still gave her plenty of room to walk, and she’d just have to remember to keep her legs firmly closed as she got out of the limo.

As she watched, Victor deftly tied Christian’s bow tie and helped him into his jacket, before stepping back so that Daisy and Christian could stand side by side in front of the mirror. Daisy’s hair was pinned around the back of her neck and hung in loose curls over her bare shoulder, the glow of her tanned skin reflected in the huge diamond drop earrings Victor had borrowed for the evening. Christian looked tall and lean and effortlessly sexy in his classic dinner jacket, his dark eyes drinking in every inch of Daisy’s body. Together they looked like the new 007 and his Bond Girl; the press were going to go mad for them.

As soon as she exited the limo – without mishap – Daisy was warmed by the familiar rush of adrenaline from the cameras, questions thrown at her and the cheering from the waiting crowd at the O2. Christian handled the press with his usual boyish charm, his hand resting gently on the small of Daisy’s back as he smiled and twinkled and answered questions from the waiting press. Yes, Daisy could play tennis, but no they hadn’t played together yet; yes, he was enjoying the switch to black tie after a career in sportswear, but no he didn’t have a couple of spare balls in his pocket. Everyone laughed and simpered as they moved on to the next entertainment reporter and repeated the whole circus again.

Inside the O2, Daisy and Christian hovered around the celebrity seating, which was laid out in cinema-style sections in front of the stage. The arena crowd rose in tiers around them, all flashing cameras and thunderous noise. Daisy doled out air kisses and posed for selfies with celebrity friends and colleagues, including a few of the new wave of reality TV stars that she didn’t know at all, but who approached her like they were best friends. She tried to be generous with her time, promising to catch up with everyone for drinks later and making arrangements for brunches and dinners that would almost certainly never happen.