"Just stop your crying, it's a sign of the times. Welcome to the final show. Hope you're wearing your best clothes"
Standing back to look at myself in the mirror, I don't know the girl standing before me. She's wearing a pretty dress, her make up and hair are styled beautifully, though I've never felt more unlike myself. I stare endlessly into the mirror, hoping to find something blatantly obvious for what has caused this sense of detachment within, but I realise what's wrong with me is not what's there, but what's not. Harry.
How can any of what happened be real? How could he so suddenly decide that I'm so wrong for him? That he doesn't love me. I'll never quite forget the look of despondency he displayed, and how his words contradicted the deep sadness he was showing, betraying himself. How I hoped and prayed it would be some kind of sick, morose kind of joke. Though the only joke here is yourself.
I hear my name being called by Celia, and reply back to her quite dully.
"In here."
I hear footsteps, and then suddenly, Celia is by my side once more. She hasn't strayed further than a few feet from me since the end, and although it's comforting to know she's there for me, I feel like it's important for me to have some time alone to myself.
"Darling, I was worried," she gushes, circling me to observe my outfit. "You are just... once again I'm very blown away."
"Thank you," I return quite blankly, though I honestly feel like I have nothing more of myself to offer her anymore. It's been taken from me.
It's important I look my best this evening, and that he sees me wearing the dress he especially chose for me. He's going to turn up wearing his almost matching suit, and everything will be right in the world. He just has to.
"You do know that you don't have to go, right?" she reminds me for probably the eighth time this evening. "There will be many more New Year's parties that you'll have the pleasure of attending, and it's quite understandable if you don't turn up."
I know what she wants to say. She doesn't want me to go because of Harry. Understandably, she wants me to keep my distance from him, but she didn't see the look on his face when he ended things. She doesn't know our love like I do. She doesn't get that there's a reason. A reason that hasn't revealed itself, but a reason I intend to find out and rectify.
"Celia," I warn, rolling my eyes. "Please."
"Okay, okay, that was the last time, I promise. The car will be here any minute."
Almost like clockwork, a car horn sounds from outside, and we grab our things for the evening.
"So how do you know James Corden?" I ask her, wondering if she and him have met.
"Oh gosh, it would have been a long time ago," she gasps. "Though the last time I saw him was probably when I played in this improv rap battle segment called 'Drop the Mic' on his show a while back against Dave Franco."
"Did you win?"
"Of course I fücking won," she replies matter of factly.
"Dave Franco is kind of cute," I comment, remembering the films I've seen him in.
"Yeah, if you're into guys that come up to your waist," she mumbles under her breath. "I'm meant to be appearing on The Late Late Show quite soon for the Rimmel promo stuff. My assistant tells me it's this segment... Something about filling your guts, and I'm already not liking the sounds of it. We'll have to see about that one."
I remain silent for the remainder of the journey, filled with trepidancy as we near closer and closer to the location.
"Here," Celia offers, passing me a flute of champagne. "It's a terrible bottle, but it'll do you good if you're a bit nervy."
I take it and sip on it, mulling over what I'm going to say or do if I see Harry there. I wonder if he too is on his way there, perhaps alone as he too sips cheap champagne from the back of a hire car. He knows the importance of tonight. It was one of the last things I asked of him before he walked out of my life, like I was nothing. This is the last chance to make things right, or else I'll have no chance but to move on without him. I can't spend the rest of my life pining after someone who doesn't love me in return, though in all honesty, I don't know how I'm going to be able to let him go.
Taking my phone from my Prussian blue clutch, I type out a message, doing everything I can to ensure he's there tonight. I type and retype the words I want to say to him despite the internal war waging on. I know what I'm supposed to do, though it's so much easier to give advice to someone in my situation than to receiving it. How can ignoring him be the right thing to do in this situation when no one knows what we've gone through? No one knows us like we do.
I hit send.
"Is this it?" Celia asks, craning her neck as the car slows. "Yep, we're here," she announces. "Don't forget your phone and purse," she adds on, continuing to mother me.
As soon as we exit, flashes go off from the cameras held by the awaiting paparazzi, and we're spotted. It's almost like a feeding frenzy, and I'm the bait while people shout a slew of questions directed to us.
Celia grabs hold of my hand, and I'm thankful as she directs us over to the red carpet area.
"I don't know if I can do this," I admit, wanting to just be swallowed by the ground. "There's so many people, and I'm not myself. You know I'm not myself tonight."
"Ivy," she warms, squeezing my hand with reassurance. "As much as I think you should be at home right now wrapped in a blanket eating pizza, you'd kill me if I let you walk away. Whatever the outcome, this is something you feel you need to do, and who am I to stop that from happening?"
Oh Christ, she's right.
Taking a deep breath, I nod, as my eyes scan the area searching for just one person.
Walking closer to the doors, we're stopped along the red carpet entrance by someone with a microphone. Celia seems to take over and I'm forever grateful to her for her doing this for me. Her and Celia babble away excitedly, clearly having met one another before, and then the woman turns to me.
"And Ivory. The new 'it' girl it seems. Who are you wearing tonight?"
"Thank you," I smile. "The dress is from Brock Collection, and my cherry-red faux fur stole is by Sonia Rykiel."
"I believe this was a hugely important piece to this collection. I adore the gold overlay, and the girly-glam look you're exuding tonight with the pretty bow in your hair."
"Not to mention her 90s-inspired gold chain necklace," Celia pipes in, pretending to be on the interviewer's side. "Isn't she a vision," she decides.
"A vision indeed," the interviewer agrees. "Celia, ever thought of being an interviewer? I could put in a great word for you."
"Perhaps in my next life," she answers contemplatively. "We have to go, but it was lovely as always," Celia politely excuses us, as we enter the party.
Celia walks right though, only nodding to the strict levels of security, but doesn't stop to provide our names. It's quite a foreign concept to me as I half expect to be stopped at the door or denied access, but I'm not going to pretend that I don't enjoy it.
Upon entering, it's like a smorgasbord to the senses. The function space is decorated to perfection, and as lavish as you'd expect from a celebrity party. Waiters dressed in their finest penguin suits balancing trays of decadent hors d'oeuvres and only the finest champagne. The room is absolutely teeming with celebrities of all sorts, predominantly British - but the occasional Aussie or American emigrant floats around, including myself.
I try my best to keep my cool, but in my head I'm listing the names of people who I've only had the opportunity of seeing on my T.V screen or in magazines. Ewan McGregor, Holly Willoughby and Phillip Schofield from This Morning program, The 1975, and Ricky Gervais are just a few names I see milling about, and I've barely entered the party. This is going to be an interesting night.
"Oh look, there's Meghan Markle," Celia points out. "She's practically engaged to Prince Harry I've heard."
"Oh right, I know her from Suits. She plays Rachel," I whisper back quite excitedly, as I take a flute of champagne from a passing waiter with a tray. "I used to watch that with-" though I stop myself before I finish his name. This is going to be a tough night.
I think it's quite obvious that I don't exactly want to be there right now, and thankfully, besides the hellos and goodbyes, people aren't going that extra mile to make conversation. Celia drags me over to a famous couple I seem to have forgotten the name of while I hang back and observe.
"And might I say, your tweets have me entertained for days," Celia directs to the American woman. "I actually have your notifications switched on," she offers, revealing her phone to show her as they laugh.
"I heard a rumour they're serving pizza somewhere. Can you believe it? Actual food at one of these parties?"
"When you find it, please let me know!" Celia responds as we slowly part ways.
Laughing, she holds up her own phone. "I'll just tweet it right? You'll get the notification."
"My phone is fully charged so I'm prepared!"
When they're out of earshot, I speak in Celia's ear.
"Who were they again? She was kind of funny."
"Chrissy and John. Really lovely people. They're the kind of people that you see and think, oh wow, they're so lucky to have one another because they're just so great."
Celia begins talking to another group of people, before I feel my shoulder being tapped.
"Ivy!" I hear from behind me, and turning around I embrace a model I've previously worked with on another project.
"Miss Georgia Jagger," I squeal, kissing her on each cheek. "I didn't know you'd be here."
"Wouldn't miss it," she replies back. "You alright?"
"I'm good, I'm good. Just laying low tonight."
"You do seem a bit down," she notes. "I'm so sorry, I have to find my agent, but shall we chat outside a bit later on?"
"Please," I nod, offering her a grateful smile.
"By the way, there's a very cute lad that's looking for you in that direction," she winks, pointing.
"Who?" I call out, but it's too late, she can't hear me.
Harry?
Could he actually be here right this very second? Nerves come rushing to the surface of my skin, and all I can think of right now is finding him.
Glancing over to Celia, she's now deep in conversation with the host, James Corden, along with other faces I don't recognise, and I catch her eye, mouthing to her that I'm going to the ladies room.
Brushing past groups of people, I amble around the vast space in search for Harry, hoping and praying that we run into one another. With each passing second my need to see him is more dire, and I can't seem to differentiate between the pumping music and my own heartbeat. I'm almost certain that Harry knows Georgia - of course he would know her. She hangs around in the circles he associates with, as well as being the daughter of the renowned Mick Jagger.
Out of nowhere, a hand grabs hold of my wrist, pulling me over to them, and my expression of distaste is ripe when I see it's none other than Vic. He's dressed impeccably in a deep blue velvet suit, undeniably the same colour as my clutch.
"I thought I'd find you here," he greets, his eye contact intense, and suddenly, he has me cornered.
"If you don't mind, I'm trying to find someone," I reply, trying my hardest to remain polite, but I have enough to deal with without having to worry about refusing his advances.
"What a coincidence, I was actually looking for you too," he comments, causing my heart to sink just a little bit. "I couldn't think of a better person to bring in the new year with."
"Oh, I could think of a few," I reply in a joking manner, though we both know I mean it.
"It turns out we have a mutual friend here."
No. It can't be him. No. Stop.
"Georgia?" I groan, my heart filling with dread.
"You sound disappointed," he smiles, not put off by the fact that I make no attempt at hiding my displeasure.
"I just thought you might be someone else," I admit, utterly defeated.
"I can be someone else," he offers, eyebrows raising in an invitation as he takes a sip from his glass of scotch.
"I better go," I announce. "It was nice seeing you," I add as I walk towards the outdoor area. There's a thick cloud of smoke covering the room, and I'm almost certain it's not just cigarettes and cigars that's been smoked, but I'm not at all surprised. Drugs are passed around like lollies at celebrity parties, and people just don't seem to bat an eyelid.
Giving up, I make my way back to the area where I last left Celia, and when I finally push my way back, she seems to have moved. Scanning the room I search for her, but am unable to see her in a room absolutely teeming with people. Over in the corner I spot a familiar face who looks as though he's preparing to leave, and just for a second my heart is filled with hope that I have a chance.
"Niall!" I shout over the crowds of people. "Niall, over here," I cry out, waving my arms around.
Looking around, he spots me out the corner of his eye, and just from his forlorn expression I can tell he knows. He knows Harry has ended it, and I can tell by the look of pity he offers me, consequently crushing my soul as he does so. We both make an effort to get to one another, but the crowds are thick and there are just too many people.
"Is he here?" I implore, my eyes wide and glassy. It's just too loud in here, so I repeat my words, mouthing them slowly so that he can better understand me.
Looking down, he shakes his head sadly, and it's then in that moment that I feel my heart break into a thousand pieces. In that moment I realised that I would have done anything for Harry. I would have chosen him in a hundred different lifetimes, no matter the circumstance, but he wouldn't choose me. He chose a life without me, and that is something I'll never forget.
Turning away, I push desperately past the groups of people, all excitedly waiting to bring in the new year with one another, while I wish I could relive the old year and do it all over again. How am I expected to move forward when I'm facing backwards?
Tears begin rushing down my cheeks, and I make a concerted effort to hide them as I make my way to to ladies room. Only when I'm there do I allow myself to cry huge wrecking sobs that I feel throughout my entire body. What could have been more important than us being together?
I'm not a disillusioned individual. I've heard of countless stories of girls falling for the wrong guy and being completely surprised when he walks away. This is different. There were no warning signs with Harry. There were no red flags I could have seen and avoided. We're not the same as those other relationships. If there were signs, I would have seen them. Wouldn't I?
"Ivy?" a male voice calls from the bathroom, pounding on another stall, and I know it's Vic.
"Are you right?" an Australian woman asks aloud, sounding completely offended by his presence.
"Not now," he mumbles back. "Ivy, you in here?"
"Get out!" I cry, just wanting to get out of this place.
"Can I get you something... a water perhaps?"
"Celia," I blurt. "Get Celia."
"I'll go see her, but don't move. I'll be back in a minute."
Wiping my eyes with the backs of my hand, I try to take a few deep breaths before more light knocking interrupts my train of thought.
Coughing, almost in an attempt to hide the fact that I've been crying, I call back.
"Sorry, this one's taken," I answer politely, my voice giving my current state away.
"I know, but you're upset. Please come out, no one deserves to be feeling this low on such a momentous night."
Hesitating, I almost decline, though I do as she says, opening it up quite hesitantly.
"Your boyfriend is a bit of a díck," she same girl tells me, and when I turn to look at her properly I'm almost bowled over as I'm facing none other than the gorgeous Margot Robbie.
She fixes her skirt, and then turns to me, kindly expecting my response.
"God no, he's not my boyfriend," I muster, having to pick my jaw back off the floor.
"Well it appears he's very interested in you if he's willing to make that kind of gesture," she comments, running her fingertips along the outline of her mouth where she's slightly overdrawn her lipstick. "Is he the guy who's got you in this state?"
"No," I answer, shaking my head. "I've just heard that the guy who I want to be here isn't showing up anymore. It's kind of a long story, but it was basically our last chance to make it work."
"Sounds like it," she expresses, raising her eyebrows.
"I really loved you on Neighbours," I blurt, slightly star struck. "The show died when you left."
Laughing, she shakes her head. "It's not often I hear that anymore, but thank you. Now I have to leave, but did you want to come with me? You can hang with me any my girlfriends until you find your friends. Or you can even stay with us the night. I'd love another Aussie gal in the group to stick up for me when they say I pronounce things weirdly."
Smiling, I shake my head.
"Thank you, but my friend should be here in a bit, and I'd hate to lose her."
Smiling as she exits, I take a seat in the plush velvet armchair in the corner, awaiting Celia. For the first time this evening I begin to giggle as it's just occurred to me that Vic spoke so rudely to Margot Robbie. Margot Robbie! All for what?
As much as I hate to admit it, tonight wasn't the right night to be out. In itself, New Year's Eve can be an incredibly depressing evening, especially for those who are recently alone, and the prospect of bringing in another year doesn't seem that attractive to me. I want to believe that 2016 is going to be the year for me, but then again, my judgement can't exactly be trusted with all things considered.
Taking out my phone, I type my one-worded message to Harry, not even questioning it as I hit send.
The door to the girl's bathroom opens again, revealing a very relieved looking Vic.
"Look, I'm sorry. I've tried looking for her and can't see her."
"I'll try calling her," I attempt, before he cuts me off.
"I already tried. Look, there's no chance of you finding her in the mess out there. And you don't exactly seem yourself right now. Why don't you come back to my house to get away from it all?"
"No. Thank you, but no," I reply firmly, vehemently shaking my head.
"What other choice do you have? Are you going to sit in here the whole night crying about a guy that's just not worth it?"
"You don't know anything about that!" I reply with a sense of fire eliciting from within.
"Then why am I the one in here consoling you? Where is he Ivory? Where is he? Tell me!" he repeats firmly as he kneels down so we're at face level, his eyes ordering me to look at him.
"Gone! He's gone," I cry, placing my face into my hands. "He's gone and I'm so empty it hurts."
I don't even realise that he's arms are wrapped around me, bringing me into him, and he doesn't seem to mind that my tears are ruining his otherwise expensive suit.
"It's going to be alright," he soothes, rubbing my back. "Let's get you out of here," he announces, getting up, and picking me up with him.
Once I'm steadied, he takes one of the beautiful cotton hand towels that are only found in the likes of swanky hotels and fancy do's like this, and passes it to me to fix my make up situation.
"I'll try Celia before I go," I inform him, taking out my phone.
"No," he answers quickly. "No point, her phone's dead."
Before I get a chance to reply, Jade Thirlwall from Little Mix enters, and I'm not one for making a scene if I can help it, and choose to oblige, following him back out.
Taking my hand tightly in his, he leads me through the masses of people, and doesn't let go of me when we're once again out by the entranceway that is swarming with awaiting paparazzi.
Flashes go off in an almost deafening rhythm until we reach Vic's awaiting car. He beats his driver to the back door, opening it for me as I scoot in, and shuts the door swiftly, protecting me from the seemingly never-ending shutter sounds until he opens the door and gets in beside me.
I don't make conversation with him, and instead choose to look out the window, contemplating the recent happenings. Surely these pictures will be published, and he will see them. Harry will make his own assumptions about what I've done, and perhaps that will be a good thing.
My phone beeps with a new message, and the four words staring back at me makes me want to scream until I can scream no more as he vaguely answers the question I seemingly didn't want the answer to.
"Where to Sir?" the driver asks.
"My place," Vic answers. "Unless that's a problem?" he offers, turning to me. His eyes seem more understanding of the sorrow, and I shake my head.
"Your place is fine."
Author's Note: Harry never showed, and poor Ivy is heartbroken. What do you see happening next, and do you think she'll continue to be immune to Vic's never ending attempts at charming her, or will she eventually give in? Do you think the photos of Ivy and Vic leaving together will be published, and what effect might that have on Harry?
This dedication goes to Shygirl_Styles because even though she's new to the fam, she seems to have inhaled my book in such a short space of time, and has left some pretty rad comments for me across all chapters.
Twitter: WordsWithGem
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19/04/17 | 1.12M Views |
The lyrical quote at the beginning of the chapter originated from the song 'Sign of the Times' by Harry Styles