Abbey Clancy - Remember My Name

He reached out and took a solid hold of my arm, ignoring the mud and holding me steady. He gave me a huge grin—one of those infectious ones that makes you see the funny side in everything.

‘I don’t mind,’ he said, with a cheeky sideways smile, ‘I like being dirty.’

There were so many responses to that one, I didn’t know where to start. So for once in my life—and anyone who knows me will agree this was a once-in-a-blue-moon occurrence—I kept my mouth shut. This guy was handsome and dashing and probably rich. He was giving me the once over in a way that let me know the princess dress was now extremely wet and extremely clingy, and he was still holding on to me.

It was one of those situations that should come with a DANGER! HIGH VOLTAGE! sign, and maybe a little cartoon of a woman with a broken heart. I’d just come through a nasty break-up with my ex, a window cleaner called Evan, who I’d discovered was whipping out more than his chamois leather on his rounds. I’d decided to become a born-again virgin—and this man looked like he ate born-again virgins for breakfast. In a good way.

I kept one hand on his arm to steady myself, leaned down, and pulled my white heels off. It meant I’d have to squelch barefoot in the mud, but at least I wasn’t trapped any more. Ruby had finally recovered enough from her laughing-gas attack to turn off the snow machine, and I could hear the sound of her leading the kids in a rousing rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’. I usually did that—in character as Elsa—but all things considered, it was probably best to move on without me.

‘Thank you, so much,’ I said, staggering off to one side, being led by him to the shelter of the gazebo. ‘I honestly thought I was going to pop my clogs then.’

‘If you’d been wearing clogs,’ he said, grabbing up a navy blue gilet from the back of a chair, ‘you might not have had that problem in the first place.’

I tried to shrug him away—the gilet looked as expensive as him—but he draped it around my shoulders and gave my wet, chilly arms a good rub.

‘Yeah,’ I replied, grateful for the warmth. ‘But until they come up with a Dutch Disney Princess, I’m screwed. I’m so sorry, I’ve messed up all your clothes …’

His once-white shirt was now splattered with mud, and his black jeans were smudged all across the waist, crotch, and thighs. He glanced down at himself and his face broke out into that grin again. He must have been quite a bit older than me—early thirties or something, I’d have guessed—but that grin made him look like a naughty schoolboy.

‘Yes. It looks a bit like I’ve been having sex with a pig, doesn’t it? From behind.’

‘I suppose it would have to be,’ I answered, finding myself giving the idea some serious thought, ‘you’d get squashed otherwise.’

‘What a way to go, though, eh?’ he asked, those gorgeous brown eyes crinkling up in amusement. As he spoke, he picked up a full glass of red wine and passed it to me. I looked at it as though it was the Holy Grail—I don’t think I’d ever wanted a drink more in my life.

‘Uh, no,’ I said. ‘Ta very much, though. But princesses are like the police—we never drink on duty.’

‘Nobody will ever know,’ he said, gesturing to the back of the gazebo, where Evil Jocelyn was sitting on what looked like a throne, surveying her minions as they finished up their birthday song and started on three cheers. I couldn’t help it—I stuck my tongue out at her. And that was without the wine.

‘Did you just blow a raspberry at the birthday girl?’ he asked, sounding shocked. I thought he was faking it, but I wasn’t sure, and I felt myself blush under the mud on my face. My Elsa plait was now completely covered in dirt, and draped over my chest like a big brown turd.

I grabbed the wine and downed it in one. He was right, nobody would notice.

‘Yes, I did,’ I said. ‘She’s … a bit strong spirited?’ I ventured, trying for diplomatic—which was never my strong suit. He definitely wasn’t Jocelyn’s dad—I’d already met him—but he must be connected to the family somehow to even be here. Though the fact that he was necking wine with me in the naughty corner rather than passing a gift to the Golden Child suggested they weren’t that close.

‘Strong spirited. I like that one. I suspect what you wanted to say, though, was “evil little bitch from hell”, wasn’t it?’

‘Maybe,’ I said, wiping my lips so I didn’t end up with tell-tale red wine stains. ‘But that wouldn’t be professional.’

He glanced back at the present parade behind us. Everyone was handing over a beautifully wrapped parcel or an elegant gift bag, and Jocelyn was throwing them all to one side like Henry VIII with chomped-up chicken legs. Ugggh! She was enough to put you off having kids for life.

‘Jocelyn is my niece,’ he said, calmly. ‘My only niece.’

I froze for a moment, wondering if he was secretly pissed off at me for almost (but not quite) slagging off his flesh and blood. His face stayed serious for a second, but then the grin was back, and I was able to let go of the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

I punched him on the arm—which is a sign of affection where I come from—and smiled back.

‘You had me going then,’ I said. ‘I was a bit worried you might report me to the Princess Police for being a bit of a cow about the birthday girl.’

‘Never. I’ve known Jocelyn her whole life and, believe me, she brings out the cow in every sane person. Anyway … now we’ve been mud-wrestling together, how about you tell me your name? Assuming it’s not Elsa.’

‘Ha ha. No. I’m Jess. Or Jessy to my family. And Jessica when I’ve been naughty.’

He held out his hand to shake, and kept his fingers wrapped around mine for far longer than was decent.

‘And are you naughty often, Jessica?’

His eyes met mine, and I suddenly felt very, very warm, despite the rain and the soaking wet costume and the soggy plait.

‘Er … I’m trying very hard not to be,’ I replied quietly, pulling my fingers away from his.

Everything about this bloke screamed money and success and class. He was one of those men who was clearly used to getting his own way—and unless the mud had infiltrated my brain, at the moment he looked like ‘his own way’ might involve me. In the same position as the pig.

Much as that appealed to the lusty part of me—and the part that had just downed that red wine—the timing just wasn’t right. I’m not ashamed of my roots, of my accent, of my home town. And I’m proud as anything of my family—they’re the best. But me and this guy? We came from different worlds. If he was interested in me it would be as a bit of rough (not that I’m rough, but you know what I mean), and it wouldn’t last. And after Evan, I wasn’t ready for another man whose brain was located next to his dangly bits.

I busied myself over by the snow machine, unplugging the bastard thing, winding up the wires, and stowing the plug in the back. He followed me over, which I somehow knew he would.

‘I’m Jack,’ he said, leaning over the machine and making me look up at him. ‘Jack Duncan. And I was planning on coming to talk to you after the party anyway, Jess. Even if you hadn’t needed pulling out of your early grave.’

‘Oh!’ I said, standing up tall and tilting my head to one side. ‘Why’s that?’ I asked. This, I thought, should be good. He’ll come up with a load of old codswallop about how he thought we’d met before; or how I looked like a Cancer and he was a Taurus; or did I have any cards so he could pass them round to his friends with children …

‘Because of your voice. That performance—before the Unpleasant Incident—completely bowled me over. If you can do that with an overworked Disney song, I’d be interested to know what you can do with original material.’