Even backstage, I could hear the burble of voices in the foyer of the Royal Albert Hall. I might have been unpopular, but we still had a full house for the gig. In the dressing room, Sam was already wearing the black-tie dress code Saskia had decided was compulsory for New Year’s Eve. Tish scraped a clothes brush over his dinner jacket and I said, ‘Yeah, you scrub up OK.’
He smiled. ‘“Scrub up OK”? We’ll make a Brit out of you yet, Donadi.’
Saskia swept into the room, back from the tailor’s shop in the nick of time, carrying a black clothes bag and calling my name in the way that always made me wary. ‘You’re going to love the dress! It’s absolutely perfect!’ She unzipped the bag. The simple, classy dress I’d tried on a few weeks ago was a distant memory: now it was bedazzled in gold sequins. When I pulled it on, it barely covered my bum and the freshly altered neckline gaped open to reveal my lack of cleavage. Saskia hastily fixed it in place with Hollywood tape.
Tish snapped a couple of photos of Sam in his suit, then handed him the phone. While they pored over the photos, Saskia turned to me. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked in a low voice.
I blinked back tears. ‘The whole world already thinks I’m a slag,’ I got out. ‘And now you’ve put me in a dress that’s going to confirm that.’
‘We prefer the word “vixen”.’ Saskia batted my hands away and tore off another strip of tape. ‘We have decided to appeal to a slightly older cohort, especially given your transition in the press from innocent newcomer to temptress. This dress is a more adult step for you.’
Carter was looking at me like he was about to cut into a steak. ‘That’s not a dress, Saskia, it’s a hand grenade.’
I remembered Tish’s mishap outside Yellow Brick Road and pressed the tape harder against my neckline.
Carter moved towards me to help, but stumbled, catching himself on the dressing table. Sam met my eyes in the mirror and I could tell we were both thinking the same thing.
‘You haven’t had anything to drink …?’ I asked.
He looked offended that I would even ask. ‘Of course not. Just lost my footing.’ He waved a metallic drink bottle in the air. ‘It’s only water,’ he said, and took a swig.
Sam busied himself with Tish’s phone again, then inhaled sharply. His eyes flicked from me to Tish’s phone and back again.
‘Oh, what is it now?’ I said, snatching the phone from him. I expected to see that the back of the dress was shorter than I expected, maybe even exposed my underwear, but the picture on the screen was one I’d seen plenty of times in the past few weeks: the photo from the newspaper of me and Carter, my legs draped over his lap, taken from the stage of this very theatre.
No. Wait.
I hadn’t seen this photo before. I had seen one very like it, reproduced over and over with each new interview Addie had done. Slowly, I flicked backwards and forwards through Tish’s photos. There were hundreds from that day, some taken from sidestage and some from the audience, all showing me with Carter as we rehearsed for tonight’s show.
If I’d still had any doubt, it was written all over Tish’s face. ‘Lily …’
‘That’s not my name.’
‘Go easy on her, Liliana,’ said Carter, but I didn’t even blink. He couldn’t have held me back with a tractor.
‘I thought we could trust you.’
‘You can,’ she said, ‘Lily – ana. I’m sorry. I thought I was doing you a favour. You were so clearly out of your depth with the Addie thing. I knew you and Carter wanted to be out in public. I thought it would help ...’
‘It wasn’t Liliana who wanted it out in public,’ said Sam. Tish stopped pleading with me and turned to him. He was gripping a chair, his knuckles pushing through the skin. My anger burned bright and hot, but he just seemed really, really tired. ‘You didn’t do it for Liliana, you did it for yourself,’ he said in the same strangled voice. ‘How much did the press pay you for that photo?’
‘Sam, please …’ said Tish.
‘You betrayed her.’ His eyes skimmed over Carter. ‘Were you in on it? Did you two cook it up together?’
Carter jumped, then glanced at me. ‘No, of course not.’
Sam turned back to Tish. ‘Have you been using me this whole time? Does it make you feel important? Do you even like me?’
‘What? I love you.’ Tish’s mascara was running in black tracks down her face.
‘I don’t know if I believe you.’ He looked at her as though something was dawning on him. ‘You knew you were going to spill out of that dress at Yellow Brick Road, didn’t you? You wanted to be front page news the next day.’
She was silent, but he nodded as if she’d answered his question. ‘I don’t think I can do this anymore,’ he said. ‘I think we both know it’s over.’
Amir chose this excellent moment to poke his head around the door. ‘It’s showtime!’ he exclaimed. When he saw our faces, he stopped. ‘Is there something I should be aware of?’
I touched Sam’s arm, but he set his shoulders and, leaving Tish sobbing in the dressing room, we followed Amir up to the stage.