Page 21 of Under Your Spell

It occurs to me then that this is precisely why Lil insisted I come round to hers to get ready first, so that she could work her magic and give me a pep talk. I feel a lump in my throat and pull Lil back into my arms again. ‘Thanks,’ I say a little gruffly into her shoulder. ‘The dress is so beautiful, and I know I’ve been wallowing lately. It’s nice to get dressed up. You were right.’

‘It’s going to be such a good night, you’ll see.’

I try to share in Lil’s optimism as I slip on my shoes and we gather our stuff, ready to head out to the Uber that’s waiting downstairs.

Chapter Eight

Our driver, Marcus, doesn’t even blink as Lil and I wrestle two giant number-3-shaped helium balloons into the backseat of his very small car. The two of us end up in hysterics, me inside with the balloons and Lil trying to pretzel her way into the gaps.

‘I should have ordered a six-person car,’ Lil pants. ‘No offence, Marcus!’

Marcus smiles the infinitely patient smile of a man who has dealt with an extreme amount of nonsense. ‘Maybe you should just sit in the front?’ he suggests.

‘Oh my God, Marcus! You’re a genius. I can’t believe we didn’t think of that. I mean I can believe I didn’t, but Clemmie is supposed to be the clever one.’

‘Hey!’ I protest as Lil shuts the door on me and my inflatable friends. ‘I was distracted.’

Lil scoots round to the front, and Marcus delivers us without further ado to the swanky bar that is hosting Serena’s birthday party.

The venue is located down a small side street in Mayfair, and I know Serena well enough to be certain that the discreet black-on-slightly-darker-black sign and unassuming building are not an indication of what we’ll find inside. Having been checked off the guest list by a woman in a sleek black dress, and having bypassed the beefy security guards, we find ourselves ushered through to a dimly lit bar that is part nightclub, part botanical garden – full of beautiful people, vibrant green palms and pastel-coloured orchids. The air is warm and scented with something spicy.

A huge, square-shaped bar is in the middle of the room; a dance floor has been cleared at one end, and at the other there are candlelit booths with deep green velvet banquette seats. We’re quite early, but there are already plenty of people here, and something with a pulsing beat pumps through the speakers, drawing people out to dance.

As a girl drifts past me wearing what looks like a halo and a bin bag full of snakes, I’m filled with gratitude towards Lil for her intervention, because the vibe is definitely less ‘jeans and a nice top’ and more ‘what if a Bond girl joined the circus’.

Serena spots us straightaway (though the giant balloons are surely a help) and emerges from the crowd in a flowing red silk dress, an elaborate gold crown resting on her head. No hats or badges for Serena, who somehow manages to be both more subtle and way more ostentatious than that at the same time.

‘Happy birthday!’ Lil and I screech.

‘Thirty-three!’ Serena shakes her head as we hug and hand over the balloons. ‘Almost a third of the way to my first centenary. I’ve been waiting for you two to get here.’

‘It looks like you’ve got plenty of people to keep you company.’ I gesture to the crowd.

‘Oh, them.’ Serena wraps her fingers around my arm and starts tugging me towards one of the booths, Lil following in our wake. ‘Yeah, the label invited a bunch of people – not that I mind because they’re picking up the drinks tab, but that’s not why I wanted you to arrive.’

‘No?’ I ask, sliding carefully into one of the seats, Lil alongside me.

‘No!’ Serena stows the balloons in the corner and turns to me with a wide grin. ‘I’ve solved all your problems.’

‘What do you mean?’ I ask.

‘Have you seen Henry?’ Lil asks, twisting in her seat. ‘He texted me to say he arrived a while ago.’

Serena snaps her fingers. ‘Lil! Focus! You’re about to bear witness to my genius.’

‘Oh God,’ I groan, ‘whenever you start talking about your genius it never ends well.’

‘Yeah, like with the guinea pigs,’ Lil puts in. ‘The ones you said we could keep as secret pets, hidden from the mums.’

‘I was eleven. And the guy told me both those guinea pigs were male. How was I supposed to know they’d start reproducing at such a rate?’ Serena blazes indignantly. ‘But you’re both about to eat your words. Clemmie, I’ve got you a job.’

‘A job?’ I repeat. ‘Doing what?’

Serena wiggles in her seat. ‘That’s the best bit. It’s the jammiest gig you’ll ever have. We’ve got this artist at the label who’s really, really overdue delivering his new album, right?’

‘O-kaaaaay,’ I say, drawing the word out.

‘And so I’ve come up with this brilliant plan to get him off the grid so that he can have a writing retreat, really knuckle down and get it done.’ Serena leans forward. ‘And I don’t mean “celebrity off-the-grid” where he’s in some mansion surrounded by his entourage and the press camped outside. I mean really off the grid. Petty has said we can borrow Granny Mac’s house.’