LITMIR.BIZ

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body slumping in the chair like a deflated balloon. ‘Just a little leftover psyche scarring,’ she lied so she could forego the disbelieving look.

      ‘Well get over it. You are going to the party,’ Cassie said. ‘This is the chance for you to be Anne Elliot, producer. Isn’t this what you wanted? A place in the business for you. Where you get introduced as yourself and not William Elliot’s daughter or Imogen or Marie’s sister? And wear something nice – not the usual “blend into the background” stuff you wear around the family. I’ve seen you dressed up for nights out. You scrub up well, when you want.

      ‘You need to do this for yourself as much as for the agency. You know that don’t you?’

      Cassie looked at her with concern, her curls rioting over her head like a halo.

      Of course she knew that. In theory Annie knew exactly what she had to do. And if Cassie could guarantee neither her family nor Austen would be there then she could be the biggest social schmoozer in the history of schmoozing.

      ‘And you replace that embarrassing memory of Austen with a completely professional one.’ Cassie winked as she waved Julie and Anna over from where they were hovering by the door waiting.

      Professional? Ha, Annie thought.

      ‘Hey,’ Annie said and handed out hugs and kisses.

      ‘You’ll never guess what we’re working on,’ Cassie said to their newly arrived friends. ‘Pride and Prejudice.’

      ‘Austen Wentworth? You lucky bitches,’ Julie screamed.

      Lucky? Ha, Annie thought again.

      How had she let her personal life start to bleed into her professional one this badly?

      ***

      ‘No. No. Definitely not. What was I thinking?’ Annie whispered to herself as she went through her wardrobe, clicking the hangers back one by one. Everything formal and work-related was black or a dark grey because it was practical. And it helped her hide in plain sight.

      Annie wasn’t sure what Cassie meant when she said she scrubbed up well. She couldn’t remember the last time she had dressed up. Most of her outings were to the pub or gigs. Jeans and band T-shirts worked fine there.

      She pulled out a black dress that had been squished near one side of the wardrobe, only one shoulder still on the hanger. She looked at it, frowning. It was scooped low at the back and looked as if it would cling to her curves. She didn’t remember this dress. When had she worn it? Annie never wore anything that showed off her shoulder blades now. The ink was hers alone, even if it was for someone else.

      A memory of wearing a pair of high heels and clutching a solid, muscled arm clad in scratchy wool flowed over her.

      Oh. Then. When things had been different. Before the tattoo.

      She’d bought it because for once she’d wanted to be seen, because her date had called her ‘Annie-matronix’ when he’d seen her come down in it. He’d spun her under his arm and had hugged her from behind as they stood in front of the mirror, his chin resting on her shoulder.

      The mark on her shoulder burned, yearning to be complete.

      Annie hugged the dress to her chest.

      It was also for a person who was at least two sizes smaller than she was now and didn’t have a piece of body art she’d regretted as soon as she’d got it.

      Why did she still have the dress in the wardrobe? She was never going to wear it again. But she couldn’t quite stop hugging it. She brought it to her face and sniffed. She didn’t know what she was trying to smell. She didn’t remember what Austen smelled like. Maybe she was trying to capture the past.

      No. There was no going back. Annie hesitated to put it back in the wardrobe.

      She looked at the overstuffed cupboard. She couldn’t take it all with her when they rented out the house.

      She turned and threw the dress onto a chair in the corner.

      There. She’d started her charity shop pile.

      Now if only she could throw her memories out as easily.

      Annie carried on flicking the hangers. She had to have something she could wear that didn’t evoke memories or expose them.

      There, that was what she’d wear. It was another black dress but it wasn’t really in the same genus as the previous one. The boat neck skimmed her collarbones, or where they should be. It fell straight to her knees. It was sleeveless, but a cardigan could deal with that, she thought.

      Cassie would have to deal with her blending in but she looked business-like. Nothing that would remind Austen of the girl she had been.

      Anne-onymous.

      ***

      ‘Hi, I’m Anne Elliot, producer,’ she said firmly in the mirror when she’d changed. The dress showed little skin. The pale skin on her arms glowed against it. She’d need a cardigan. She grabbed a black one and looked again.

      Annie saw a grim-faced businesswoman looking back at her. A take no prisoners type. She snorted. If only they knew that – for certain people – she would collapse at the slightest confrontation.

      ‘You are a producer,’ she told her reflection. ‘Not Dad’s daughter or Immy’s sister. You are supposed to be there.’

      Annie in the mirror didn’t look convinced.

      She could do this.

      She had to do this.

      The sound of ‘Supercalifragilistic’ came from her phone.

      Marie’s ringtone.

      What crisis had happened now?

      For once, Annie leapt on it as fast as possible, a potential escape route merely a swipe on a screen away. She fumbled with the phone as she stumbled over a pair of shoes she had kicked out of the way when they didn’t go with her dress.

      ‘Yes.’ Her voice was high and hopeful as she collapsed on the bed.

      ‘Annie, it is a disaster! Hector has fallen off his scooter and Angelique dialled one one one. They say he needs to be kept awake in case of concussion,’ Marie’s voice blasted at her.

      ‘Annie doesn’t mind coming over, Charlie – don’t be silly. You don’t mind do you? It’s just I’m supposed to be going to the party. I’m only asking, Charlie. Sheesh, she is my sister. I should know whether it is an imposition or not.’

      ‘I’ll come over.’ Annie looked at herself in the mirror. Nothing grim about her now.

      Cass would understand, wouldn’t she? Family came first.

      ‘Get off, Charlie, you’re mussing my outfit.’ Annie listened to the scuffle that was happening as Charlie was obviously trying to get Marie’s phone off her.

      The phone went dead.

      A few seconds later it rang again but this time it was Kanye West’s ‘Gold Digger’.

      ‘Hello, Charlie.’ She smiled.

      ‘Look, Annie, she shouldn’t have asked.’ He sounded flustered and this accentuated the slight pomposity that seemed to come into his voice.

      ‘I don’t mind,’ Annie said feeling as light as candyfloss. ‘I’ll see you there in half an hour.’

      There was no point in changing. She shoved another set of clothes and her wash stuff into a canvas tote bag and put on a pair of battered Vans.

      Forty minutes later, after an argument with her Addison Lee driver due to her change of destination, she was seeing the back of Marie and Charlie out of the door whilst Charlie was still apologizing to her.

      She tried not to grin too much at Hector’s misfortune.

      But it was for the

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