Alexandra Brown - Ice Creams at Carrington’s

‘ Ciao, mio bel figlio . Tom, daaahling, you made it!’ It’s Isabella, looking resplendent in a floor-grazing lemon lace Givenchy gown. And blimey, she’s even wearing a jewelled tiara on top of her immaculately coiffed jet-black hair. She loops her arm through Tom’s and immediately steers him away from me. I smile as he glances over his shoulder to mouth ‘sorry’ when Isabella refuses to let him go. She’s definitely not taking no for an answer; even when he tactfully tries to release his arm from her grasp, she grabs his hand instead and practically catapults him towards her guests. Poor Tom. He hates being cantered out like some kind of show pony.

‘What’s she come as? Queen of fucking everything!’

An arm circles my waist. I spin around – I’d recognise that outrageously acerbic voice anywhere.

Eddie!

Oh my God. We chat on the phone and Twitter all the time, but I haven’t actually seen Eddie, physically, in ages, and now he’s here, standing right in front of me and looking more like a superstar than ever. His dapper blond hair is now all messy quiff, and he’s wearing an exquisitely tailored charcoal grey Tom Ford suit. And on closer inspection he’s had a little lifting work around his sparkly blue-green eyes and his brows have definitely been manscaped. He looks fantastic. Flawless. And smells divine, too, of tropical summer holidays – coconut and citrus.

‘What are you doing here?’ I fling my arms around his neck and squeeze him tight. ‘God I’ve missed you. I thought you were in LA.’ Eddie is my other best friend and used to work at Carrington’s as Tom’s BA, or boy assistant – that was before he was ‘discovered’ on Kelly’s TV show and practically became a superstar overnight. He has his own chat show with a Saturday night primetime slot, and a reality series called Eddie: I Do It My Way , and lives between his villa in the Hollywood hills and a penthouse apartment overlooking Mulberry Marina. And he’s actually stayed at Simon Cowell’s house in America, as Simon’s personal guest! Doesn’t get much starrier than that.

‘Tom invited me – as a nice surprise for you,’ Eddie says, as we pull apart.

‘Aw, how lovely. He’s so thoughtful,’ I beam.

‘Ooh, he is – the quintessential gentleman. Delish too. Not as beautiful as my Ciaran, mind you, but still, a very close second.’ He nudges me.

‘How is Ciaran? Is he here?’ I scan the deck.

‘No, he’s looking after Pussy – you know what a diva that dog is, hates travelling and refuses to go in a crate, so Ciaran’s flown straight back to LA with her on his lap after she created the most almighty fuss when Claire dared to go near her.’ I laugh and shake my head. Pussy is Eddie’s fluffy white bichon frise, and thoroughly spoilt, so it’s hardly surprising. Claire is Eddie’s manager, Peter André’s too.

‘Straight back? What do you mean?’

‘Only a fleeting visit, petal. Filming starts on my second series tomorrow. We were in Ireland yesterday, at some windswept tiny town that time forgot …’ He rolls his eyes. ‘For Ciaran’s cousin’s wedding – Sinéad, Shona, Sorcha; something like that, anyway … I forget which one, he has that many … and I wasn’t even drinking.’ He waves a dismissive hand in the air and I smile, thinking, same old Eddie, as grandiose as ever, fame really hasn’t changed him one bit; he must be the only person I know who can go to a wedding and then claim not even to know the bride’s name the very next day. ‘Yes, it was a last-minute decision – we weren’t going to bother after the way his family shunned him when he finally leapt out of the closet. Anyone would think he’d tried to poke the Pope, the way they all carried on.’ Eddie pauses to pull a face while I wonder if perhaps it was just that they were a bit shocked. I mean, Ciaran did actually come out at his own wedding, to a woman , after all. It was all annulled quite swiftly, but still, his mother is practically on first-name terms with the Pope, so I can’t imagine it was easy for her. ‘But you know how Ciaran is for all that family stuff, and then when his Catholic guilt kicked in, I just couldn’t bear watching him perched on the proverbial spike doing all that hand-wringing, so we dashed to the airport and managed to get last-minute flights. Plus I needed to check on the apartment and then remembered Tom’s invite, so I thought, why not pop in and see my most fabulous bestie in the whole wide world. So, surprise surprise !’ Eddie bats a hand in the air. ‘But I haven’t got long, I have to check in for the return flight in like …’ he pulls back a sleeve to glance at his watch, ‘an hour!’

‘Oooh, get you. Jet-setter.’ I nudge him with my elbow.

‘I know. Fabulous, isn’t it? And see the group behind me …’ I glance over his shoulder, and a guy shaped like an American fridge-freezer stuffed into a black suit, with a curly plastic wire hanging from his ear, is lurking ominously nearby. And there’s a woman in leather skinnies and a floaty top who keeps checking her mobile phone and muttering something to a younger guy with an eager look on his face.

‘I see them.’

‘Meet my people!’ Eddie laughs.

‘You have people? Oh my God!’ I ponder for a second before adding, ‘Ed, do you actually need people?’ My forehead creases with curiosity.

‘Vital, darling! You can’t make it in Hollywood without an entourage.’

‘But what do they do?’

‘Well, Ross is security, natch … and a total leather queen! You’d never guess, would you?’ He makes big eyes, and I shake my head. ‘And Carly is my PA – the boy is her assistant.’

‘Wow! Your PA has a BA …’ Blimey, how things have changed. It feels like only yesterday that Eddie was Tom’s BA, bored and desperate to escape Mulberry-On-Sea for a mythical, seemingly unattainable world of stardom – or so it seemed back then. I shake my head, bemused but thrilled that Eddie is living his dream. I give him another hug.

‘So, how are you, sugar?’ he asks, letting me go – Eddie has never been big on prolonged displays of physical affection.

‘I’m very well, thanks. Life is wonderful for me too.’ I take two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter, who looks as if he’s just stepped off the front page of GQ magazine, and hand one to Eddie.

‘Ooh, peachy! And I’m so happy for you, Georgie. Just one pesky fly in the ointment though …’ He raises an eyebrow.

‘What do you mean?’ I frown again.

‘Her highness over there.’ He flicks his eyes to the far end of the deck, where Isabella still has a vice-like grip on Tom’s arm. ‘Did she even acknowledge you from behind that surgically enhanced mask of hers?’

‘I think her gaze may have hovered on me momentarily,’ I smile magnanimously.

‘Darling, it’s called a bitchy resting face!’ Eddie plucks a canapé from another waiter’s tray and takes a big bite. I try not to smirk, just in case Isabella is watching, or Tom – he has no idea how Isabella makes me feel, and that’s the way I’d like to keep it. At least until I feel more relaxed around her … And then there won’t be an issue in any case – we’ll be best friends and everyone will be happy, especially Tom. I hope! Yeayy. Well, that’s the plan.

Sam arrives, looking exquisite in a crimson silk jumpsuit that flatters her tiny size six figure and perfectly frames her natural blonde corkscrew curls. She gives Eddie a hug before turning to me.

‘You look beautiful – no baby gunge in sight,’ I whisper in her ear as she engulfs me in a big Cavalli-fragranced cuddle. ‘How’s Holly doing after Yogurt-gate?’ I grin, hoping calm has now been restored.

Sam steps back to get a proper look at me.