Away for the Weekend

high-security prison. She doesn’t even let them out to feed.”

Otto nods towards the other side of the street. “Who’s that then?”

Stoke up the fires of Hell! Why is she so trusting? Remedios knows you can’t rely on humans. The minute you turn your back, they’re picking apples and sneaking out of museums. She doesn’t bother to look round. “How many guesses do I get?”

“If I had the tiniest smidgen of faith in you, I’d almost be willing to believe that you arranged this so we’d be able to switch them back sooner rather than later.” Otto pushes his cup away. “But it’s far more likely that it’s just a coincidence.” He smiles. “On the other hand, it is a lucky one.” The powers that be, he thinks, are clearly on his side.

She makes another grab for the last cookie on his plate. “I take it you already have a plan.” She takes a bite.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Otto pushes back his chair. “I’ll fetch the car. You stay with Gabriela. The limo’s meant to be picking Beth and the others up near The Hyatt soon. I’ll make certain it never arrives and get her out to the boulevard. All you have to do is make sure your girl is on that same pavement and—”

“Boom, Shiva!” says Remedios through a mouthful of macaroon.

“Amen,” says Otto. He gestures to the empty plate and cup and the crumbs scattered over her jumpsuit. “I’ll leave you to take care of the bill.”

But he hasn’t noticed Beth behind him. Remedios sees Beth’s eyes fall on Otto just before he vanishes, and the look that comes over her face. Well, bless my stars, she thinks. Beth not only sees Otto and remembers that she sees him, she’s also afraid of him. How ironic! Afraid of Otto Wasserbach. It’s like being afraid of a feather. But from Remedios’ point of view, of course, it’s a very useful thing to know.

And with that, she, too, disappears.

Sunset Plaza, shopping centre to the stars. It has everything a girl who believes in the Three Cs – Cosmetics, Clothes and Celebrity – could possibly want: the up-market stores, the chic cafes, the luxury cars cruising past, the tourists taking pictures from the windows of buses and rental cars. And today, it not only has all of that, it has the finalists of Taffeta Mackenzie’s fashion competition as well. Though some are here more than others.

Beth is present in body only, and it isn’t even her body, of course. She trails behind her companions like a wheeled toy on a string. Paulette, Nicki, Hattie, Isla and Lucinda all bubble with excitement, but Beth’s face is flat with worry and pain. What does she have to be excited about? She can’t see any way out of the nightmare she’s in. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever. Paulette, Nicki, Hattie, Isla and Lucinda laugh and chat as they try on shoes and dresses, tops and trousers, studying themselves critically in mirror after mirror, one eye always on the lookout for someone famous so they can tell their friends back home. Beth props up walls and thinks about Gabriela, having the time of Beth’s life while Beth limps through this torturous day, one eye always out for the man in the Panama hat. As if things aren’t bad enough. Oh, how she wants to go home. More than that, oh, how she wants to be back in her own body; back in her own body and home.

Every few minutes, Lucinda glances over her shoulder to make sure she’s still with them, but the others don’t care. If they’re not complaining because she’s so slow or so unhelpful, they’re ignoring her completely. After the humiliations of the morning, they no longer feel they have to be nice to her or pretend that they like her. She is no longer the person they want to be; she’s the person they’re glad they aren’t. If it were up to them, they would have lost her an hour ago.

Nicki, Hattie, Paulette and Isla all sail through yet another glass door; and Lucinda looks back and beckons. Beth watches Lucinda disappear, and then looks left, right and behind her before she follows them inside. She positions herself near the door, where she can easily see the entire floor and anyone who leaves or enters, and then she sinks back into her reveries of doom, gloom and whether or not an exorcist could help her.

“OK, I give up.”

Beth blinks, aware because something the colour of plums is swinging dangerously close to her face, that someone is talking to her. “I’m sorry?”

“I’ve had enough.” Paulette still holds the shoe she was examining, but her eyes, narrowed to slits as if she’s judging the finest hand-stitching, are on Beth. “What exactly is wrong with you, Gab? It’s like we’re shopping with a malfunctioning robot.”

Where to start? Leaving aside Problem A: there’s the pain in her feet; the ache in her back; the ice cubes her toes have become and the feeling that she’s being refrigerated; her general fatigue at having spent so many hours in the sweatshop of glamour; and her low morale after a morning of being yelled at. And, finally, there’s the fact that he’s following them. Following her. That’s what’s wrong.

Beth was facing the wall of glass overlooking the back yard of the studio when the alarm went off. She automatically shifted her eyes from Taffeta Mackenzie to the windows behind her, and there he was – the man from the hotel. He was standing near the west side of the yard, looking up at the house. Then everyone started talking and running to the doors, and the security guard and his dog were charging across the lawn, and even though Beth couldn’t have done more than blink, he was gone.

It can’t be him, she told herself. You have him on your mind, that’s all. It wasn’t anybody. A natural illusion. It’s the kind of thing that happens all the time. People think they see a ghost (or a man in a Panama hat), but really it’s only a reflection, the light beams bent into something else. The guard searched all over, but he didn’t find any trace of an intruder. It was probably just a glitch in the system, or a very large cat. The guard said it was impossible to get over that wall without a ladder. (“Unless he’s a circus performer,” said the guard. “Or Spiderman.”). And even if someone did manage to get into the yard, there was no way he could get back out without being seen. And if he didn’t go over the wall, how did he leave? Fly?

But then, as they were getting into the limo to come shopping – Beth hobbling behind the others with Taffeta shouting after her, “For God’s sake, Gabby, buy yourself a pair of shoes that fit!” – a glint of red caught her eye and she glanced over to see a red sports car parked further up the road, out of sight of the studio. You’d think he’d have the sense to ditch that stupid hat.

“Well?” demands Paulette. “I asked you a question, Gabriela. What is up with you?”

“Me?” Beth’s smile is as delicate – and as temporary – as the flowers glued to the shoe in Paulette’s hand.

“No, your cousin in Michigan.” Paulette points the shoe at her. “Yes, you. What’s going on? I asked you three times if you thought this would be better in another colour, and when you finally bothered to answer you said, ‘Yeah, it’s nice’.”

“Well, that’s what I meant.” Beth may not be able to walk in Gabriela’s shoes, but she has no trouble lying in them. “That they’d be nice in another colour.”

Paulette eyes her as if her mascara has run. “No, you didn’t. You’ve been on automatic since we got here.”

“I may be a little distracted…”

She didn’t see him following the limo. Which she thought must mean that he really was a figment of her imagination or that he’d given up. No to both. She’s seen him since. Strolling past a window. Going into the store next to the one they’re in. Standing in a doorway on the other side of the street. Disappearing up a flight of stairs. Vanishing around a display of scarves. It’s always just a glimpse, an image at the corner of her eye; and when she looks again he isn’t there. But she knows he is.

“A little?” Isla comes up beside Paulette. With her long red hair and liking for lace, Isla may look like the heroine of a romantic novel, but she snorts like a truffle hog. “I bet you don’t even know what stores we’ve been in.”

Beth wouldn’t know these stores on a normal day – a day when the face looking back at her from the mirror behind Paulette is hers and no one would think of asking her opinion about a pair of shoes. She doesn’t have a clue.

“Of course I know.”

“No looking at our bags,” warns Nicki, shifting hers out of sight. “Go on, name them.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” says Beth. “We don’t have time for games. We still have a lot of shopping to do.”

“And that’s another thing.” Hattie, who only a minute ago was at the other end of the room trying on her sixth pair of boots, has somehow materialized beside Isla. “You haven’t bought anything. Not one single