Page 1 of Bad Influence
Prologue
Dear Destiny,
Can you ever know that someone is truly yours?
So asks one follower by the initials AG this week, and the simple answer is: no. I hope this hasn’t cracked your heart in two. Let me explain:
Dear AG – If you are in a relationship and concerned whether the other person is as committed to you as you are to them, or you are questioning your own commitment to a long-term relationship, firstly, may I strongly suggest that you do some work on yourself. This kind of question reveals a deep insecurity and a lack of trust that is likely to make any suitor catch the first bus out of your area. Secondly, you need to get out there and enjoy having a full relationship without fear. Thirdly, remember that no one can actually climb inside anyone’s brain, so it’s impossible to know if they are truly yours, all you can do is trust them – until they show you otherwise, which might be never or might be tomorrow. Work with factual information, AG, because guessing about a person is the road to ruin. And be thankfulthey can’t climb into your mind either – that really would be the death of nearly all relationships, wouldn’t it? AG, you must believe in your ability to love and be loved in return.
Best of luck,
Dear Destiny
Chapter One
It was 2.15 p.m. on Saturday and I’d just popped to the loo after lunch with Mum in Peter Jones, Sloane Square. I was sitting on the toilet, having a quick scroll from Instagram to WhatsApp to Gmail, when I saw it there. I read the email three times, because I couldn’t believe it was real. Then I jogged all the way back to our table from the ladies’.
‘You’ll never believe it.’ I grinned at Mum. My forehead was sweating lightly. I knew this because my mother was looking up there, rather than at my lips.
As it turned out, no, she could not believe it, in fact it made no sense to her at all, because she had no idea who Mandy Sykes was.
This was hugely frustrating for me. I mean, gah!What planet does she live on?
I’m sure I don’t need to tellyouthat Mandy Sykes is the biggest thing to have hit the internet since Kylie Jenner’s lips or Prince Harry’s todger. Following her bunion operation last year, Mandy’s right foot gained the highestevernumber of likes on Instagram and spawned its own TikTok account, which swiftly paved the way to an eponymous range ofbunion correctors to ‘Cheat feet into wearing the heels you deserve!’ Heels by Mandy Sykes, of course.
Where have you been, mother dearest?
We were in Peter Jones because Mum was trying to cheer me up.
She wanted me to play her personal stylist and source a mother-of-the-bride outfit for her to wear to my sister Lucy’s wedding. Less because she actually wanted this service from me, more because she thought it would be a good distraction from the fact I was being made redundant from my job in the visual merchandising department at Selfridges.
So here we were, in ladieswear, on this busier-than-usual afternoon. The novelty had worn off on both of us.
‘Yellow is definitelynotme,’ Mum stated, turning her nose up at practically all of the spring/summer collections on the floor.
I tutted loudly. ‘It’s more mustard than yellow. Won’t you justtrythe dress, so we know for certain that it’s not you? Mustard is a good colour for you. Mustard is bang on trend – and that’s the brief you gave me, if you remember?’ I pulled out my phone at this point and began scrolling to find the WhatsApp message in which she had commissioned me to find her, and I quote, ‘an on-trend wedding outfit’.
She brushed the phone away.
‘It’s just now that Iseethe options, I don’t know if I could actually wear them.’
I sucked in my cheeks. I’ve had way more disingenuous clients in the past, but there’s something about being related to one that is next-level difficult.
‘And one hundred quid minimum for a dress?’ Mum was complaining. ‘This is scandalous!’
‘How about a print?’ I offered, guiding her from one concession to the next. ‘Prints are huge this season.’
Mum fingered a price tag. ‘Three hundred and fifty pounds!’ she exclaimed loudly, turning her head for dramatic effect in the hope of catching the eye of a kindred spirit to back her up.
‘I thought you wanted to get something special, Mum – you’re the mother of the bride. Believe me, you’d pay a lot more for bespoke. And you told me you wanted to lookfashionableat this wedding.’
‘Prints are ageing and yellow is for WAGs,’ she replied as if the matter was closed. ‘I want to look age appropriate.’
‘WAGs,’ I scoffed. ‘Very Noughties.’It’s like shopping with a teenager!
‘The only thing that feels appropriate right now is for me to disappear,’ I muttered, looking hurt.
‘Oh, don’t be silly, Amber. It’s just that after all these years, I like to think I havesomeidea about what suits me.’ We walked on.
