Page 76 of Cover Story

The number of people who believed Bel could achieve something she couldn’t, was now totalling five. Or six, if you counted Bel herself, which after that encounter, she didn’t.

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The Victorian neo-Gothic façade of Manchester Town Hall was lit with a garish blue and purple NORTHERN MEDIA AWARDS banner strung across its entrance and a red carpet leading to the arched doorway.

A lone paparazzo was half-heartedly loitering, even though the only famous people here were the Mayor, and the actor and the ex-Strictlycontestant duo handing out the gongs– Marcus Rashford wasn’t going to suddenly appear among the pallid hacks.

Bel’s heart was in her mouth as she emerged from her minicab in an emerald sequin cocktail dress she’d acquired as a Bella Niven choice (admittedly her Vinted habit wasn’t wholly justified by her needing to kit out her doppelganger). It was one-shouldered and she’d added dangly fake diamond earrings. A YouTube tutorial on how to do your own chignon had qualified success. The look was Best Supporting Actress nominee at the Aldi Oscars-meets-Rutshire wife-swapping party.

As she painstakingly traversed St Peter’s Square at half speed in heels, she could see Aaron. He was early, sucking hungrily on a vape pen, his quiffed dark hair smoothed into place with pomade.

‘Macca, you look properly stunning,’ Aaron said, looking her up and down. ‘The stuff of instant marriage proposals.’

‘Thank you. You look pretty damn good yourself, Parry.’

Aaron pretend-tightened the tie in a Morecambe and Wise gesture.

‘That’s good, because I feel like a total nob.’

Bel cast a glance at others milling around. No sign of Anthony. He’d surely not bother with somewhere this busy? Keep calm, carry on.

‘Let’s get our heads into the social-climbing zone,’ Bel said. ‘Given Connor won’t be here in a few weeks’ time, it’s up to us to work the room. In the nicest possible way, and I say this with envy, Connor is irrelevant here.’

‘Speak of the swaggering irrelevant devil …’

Bel followed Aaron’s eyeline.Jesus Christ.She’d never seen someone suit a tuxedo in the real world before. Bel thought of them as either ill-fitting hire attire at weddings at golf clubs or straining against the circumference of a Tory grandee, and certainly naffer than a good two-piece suit.

And yet. Here was Adams carrying off black tie as if he’d been born in it, one hand in his pocket as he strolled up to them. It was as if he was going to walk the red carpet at the Venice Film Festival or play high stakes poker in Montenegro with an arms dealer. Connor had additionally acquired a five o’ clock shadow that was thinking about becoming a beard and set off his jawline beautifully.

All in all, he was outshining his company to a brazen and impolite degree. Bel knew it couldn’t be her ‘straight woman weakness’ goggles as Aaron was visibly sick as a parrot.

‘You look like one of those hen do strippers who’s goingto cook dinner in an apron with his bum out later,’ he said in greeting to Connor.

‘You look like a Buddy Holly tribute who’s going to sing “Peggy Sue” on the Cunard Line,’ Connor said.

‘Not to sound like your mums, but I think you both look great,’ Bel said, diplomatically.

‘Not all of us already owned a custom-made tux like Jordan Belfort here, eh,’ Aaron said, ‘This cost me £150 from Ted Baker.’

‘It’s always extra to get the legs taken up,’ Connor said, and Bel had to stop herself barking with laughter.

‘Enough flirting, you two!’ Bel said. ‘We have to present a united front tonight, please.’

‘Let’s do ourPeaky Blinderssquad strut then,’ Aaron said. ‘Can someone cue up “Red Right Hand” on their phone.’

They joined the flow into the building, Aaron immediately and vocally running into his former MEN pals–‘Gareth, you twat, you can’t be nominated unless there’s a category for Biggest Email Not Opener’– breaking up their threesome.

Bel held her dress clear of her feet on the grand staircase up to the Great Hall and picked her way with extreme care.

‘I’m not going arse over tit in front of dozens of my peers whom I respect. And Connor Adams,’ she said.

‘Charmed. Do you know these steps are low-rise for women in Victorian dress? Bustles and the like?’ Connor said, gallantly slowing his progress to stay abreast of Bel and offering his arm. ‘Shaun made me do the history tour.’

They cast eyes up at the towering stained-glass windows.

‘Hmm. You’d think a hundred years later we’d be in trousers,’ Bel said, accepting the arm.

‘Did anyone stop you wearing trousers this evening?’ Connor said, and Bel gave him anoh fuck youeyeroll.

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