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only had a few moments this evening with the one person in her life who knew all about TV. 'It's airing on a tiny digital channel and they've brought in a third presenter. She's a name, so they have to pay her properly and I'm supposed to do this series, the whole series, for £3,600.'
     
Connor's face didn't change. She'd expected him to gasp with astonishment, or at the very least shoot up an eyebrow or two.
     
'Is there a lot less money in television than I thought?' Annie asked: 'is this something you've not told me? Is working on TV something that only people with a private income can do?'
     
'No! Don't be silly,' Connor replied, 'but starting salaries are low. Everyone puts up with them because they want their shot at the big time. And that's what you've got to do.' He took hold of her ponytail and ran it smoothly through his hand.
     
'OK,' he went on, 'have you and Ed got enough to live on for the next few months if you take this job?'
     
'Ha! I've been trying to work out how we can scrape through . . . maybe just. But only just .'
     
'OK. Scrape,' Connor told her. 'Scrape and work your butt off for the TV company. Something else will come of this. I promise. If the show is great, someone big will buy it. If you're fantastic, someone else will hire you. What's the worst that can happen?'
     
Annie noticed the transatlantic twang, not to mention vocabulary he was developing.
     
'The worst that can happen? Let's see,' Annie began in exasperation, 'my children can't go to St Vincent's any more, because I can't afford the fees, I lose our house because I can't afford my share of the mortgage and The Store doesn't take me back, so I'm unemployed.'
     
'Well . . . yes, that's all quite bad,' Connor admitted, 'but what are you honestly going to do? Give up now,' he challenged, 'before you've even started?'
     
'No,' Annie said, with a hint of a smile.
     
'No way!' Connor confirmed. 'So, I have two things to say to you: get out there with a big, successful smile on your face, because the show must go on. And never, ever make another deal without my agent.'
     
Helena's speech was very kind. Although Annie's boss had only been in the job for five months or so, she let everyone know what a valuable member of staff she was losing. She finished by assuring Annie that if it didn't work out in front of the camera, she'd be welcomed straight back behind the velvet curtains, and this stiffened Annie's resolve to leave. She was going to go forward now. She couldn't come back. Even if she wasn't going to work in TV beyond her three-month contract, she couldn't come straight back to this same job. It was definitely time to move on.
     
Annie's eyes met Paula's and suddenly her vision blurred. Then she was blubbing hopelessly into a cocktail napkin and hoping that Trish, the make-up artist, had thought to use waterproof mascara.
     
The goodbyes took too long and felt too sad and final. What had begun all fizz and nerves, like a wedding, was ending with weeping and hugs like a funeral. Until finally, Annie was outside on the pavement with her family around her for comfort.
     
Both Ed and Owen had their arms around her waist as they walked away from The Store, while Lana kept up a cheerful commentary on her impressions of the evening.
     
'How are you doing?' Ed wanted to know.
     
'I'm OK,' Annie tried not to sniffle, 'I'll be fine . . .'
     
'You were great,' he reminded her. 'What did Helena call you again? Annie V, queen bee of shoppers. Here – ' he held out a crumpled, but clean, man-sized tissue fished from his trouser pocket, 'I came prepared.'
     
'Thank you.' Annie pressed it to her eyes.
     
'So, TV star, are we going home by taxi or by limousine?' Ed joked.
     
'Oh look!' Annie began to break into a jog, 'there's the bus!'
     

Chapter Four
Ed's school uniform:
     
Tweed jacket (can't remember)
Thin silk tie (Cancer Research)
Checked shirt (Hackett's via Annie)
Chinos (Gap)
Battered briefcase (his mum)
Total est.