Author’s Note – This is dedicated to all five of my wonderful gal-pals; Emma, Carley and the three Hannah’s because I know that every single one of them has had the same fantasy. The mysterious celebrity remains anonymous throughout this tale so that you can feel free to daydream about whomever you like… Enjoy the madness!

It’s not very often that you hear the words ‘Indian Summer’ when referring to British weather but here it was. The hottest week of the summer so far, the highest temperatures ever recorded. Ever. Being more of a winter girl, I wasn’t particularly enamoured with this unlikely heat wave but I wasn’t about to let my pale complexion hold me back any longer. I refused to be upstaged by teens in their day-glo bikini tops and Kylie cast-offs; I could flaunt it just as much as any of the ‘Sun-Bed Sallies’ living on my street. Besides, the pale and interesting look is so in this season. It took me a while to dig out the summer collection from the back of my wardrobe. I was still surviving the seasons in the perennial student style of jeans and a t-shirt; I’m pretty sure I own a t-shirt for every occasion. Why change the habit of a lifetime? But, I was almost looking forward to parading around as though I were on a beach in Southern Italy.

Another thought egging me on was that I was due to meet Jen for lunch in an hour and there was no way she was out-dressing me today. It was a celebration of the great British weather and my promotion at work, although the week off I was enjoying was enough to make me think it wasn’t worth going back. I finally shimmied myself into a very light denim mini-skirt and slipped on my trusted pink trainers. Now all I needed was a top revealing enough to make male members of the public trip over their own tongues at the sight of me. I’m not usually this much of an exhibitionist but this heat wave has given me the chance to let it all hang out – not that any part of my body hangs in any way, shape or form. Anyway, it’s just too much of an opportunity to show Jen that she isn’t the only one who can turn heads when we go to dinner. At the back of my wardrobe it was hanging up, a perfect white halter-neck vest top with a pink diamante empire line that easily matched my trainers. Perfection.

Covent Garden was bustling with tourists as usual although the weather had turned out a few more than normal. Jen was sitting outside of our favourite café sipping at her iced coffee thing; she looked so cosmopolitan, dahling. The tube had been stifling but being outside wasn’t that much different, I sighed heavily at the heat and walked over to her. She smiled up at me as I sat down and ordered a freshly squeezed orange juice; I couldn’t face any more caffeine today. I’d managed to down at least three mugs of strong coffee early this morning; just before the heat made it impossible to touch anything above freezing. I wasn’t really feeling up to lunch with Jen today, it wasn’t that I didn’t want to see her but I didn’t really think my promotion was worth celebrating and I certainly didn’t want to hear about her recent modelling exploits. It was as if she needed people around her to hear her stories in order to validate her looks; I know she’s gorgeous, I know she’s a model, I don’t need to hear her actually say the words.

“Bex, sweetheart,” she grinned. “You look gorgeous, where did that top come from?”

“Just found it in the cupboard,” I smiled, taking a glorious sip of orange juice and relishing the liquid refreshment. I would have preferred a pint but I knew that Jen would just look down her nose at me. She hadn’t drunk anything since joining the elite; it was only hard drugs for her from now on. “It’s nothing special, just thought it’d make a change,” Jen nodded and continued to sip at her coffee, looking around nervously every so often as if we were in the middle of a bad French movie, waiting for the bad guys to arrive in the square.

“Well, congratulations on the promotion. I knew Alex would see how amazing you were in the end,”

“Thanks Jen. I didn’t think I deserved it but it’s nice to know I’ve got a better job waiting for me when I go back,” I said, idly scanning the menu in my hand. I glanced up at her with a questioning look but she remained silent, I hoped she was actually eating today. “I think I’m going to have the cream cheese bagel, I don’t feel like eating in this heat,”

“Yeah, I already decided on the French salad. Something light, y’know,” she said a little too loudly. “I’ve got this new contract coming up in Barbados next week so I need to keep my weight steady. It’s such a nightmare, I just want to pig out on Ben and Jerry’s,” I laughed in agreement although I don’t think I had ever seen Jen eat ice-cream in her life. She had always been in training to be a model, ever since high school. Pushy mother and all that jazz. In fact, she had pretty much always been a border-line anorexic. God, what the fuck was I doing here? I only had to look up at Jen’s skeletal bone structure to start hating her with a passion, she looked so ill but that whole ‘heroin chic’ thing was in fashion at the moment. It was pretty damn lucky she was a junkie this season or her career could’ve been finished.

My oh-so-British sense of politeness kicked in and I found it impossible to just walk away from the café. So, we sat together nibbling on our lunches and talking about random pieces of gossip we had heard on the grapevine. I told her about bumping into some old friends from our English class while she droned on about some new, up-and-coming, model-type guy she had started seeing. His name was something ridiculous like Dakota or some other American state; wanker. I never realised how boring Jen was; I think it was the heat; I always get really testy when I’m too hot and my patience just dwindles away to nothing. I managed to keep my mouth shut as she went on about meeting Naomi and Kate and some other ‘names’ while I mumbled something about doing PR for Darius a couple of weeks ago. She didn’t seem too impressed and muttered something about him being shite in bed; whatever. I was getting pretty damn close to breaking point and so decided that enough was enough, I rose from my seat and apologised profusely to my friend before handing her a ten pound note and disappearing from her sight. I wished I could have turned around to see the expression on her face at being abandoned but I needed to keep my professional distance. I’m pretty sure she would have looked like she was sucking on a lemon; it’s her pouty, pissed off face.