shades . . . but
still she was recognised. When the attention got too
much, and she felt as if she couldn't escape it, Gemma
suggested they get in a taxi and head up to Selfridge's.
Angel was grateful for the suggestion – she wanted to
have fans but at the moment was feeling way too fragile
to deal with them.
Gemma was great to shop with as she had her finger well
and truly on the fashion pulse and no trend ever passed
her by. She was a good influence on Angel who, left to
herself, would probably stick to jeans and short skirts.
Gemma forced her to experiment, getting her out of her
comfort zone.
'You look great in that!' she exclaimed as Angel
emerged from a dressing room. She was wearing a short
black dress with star motifs all over it.
'Really?' she asked, not at all sure.
'Absolutely. Stars are very now. But . . .' Gemma hesitated
and Angel knew what was coming next '. . . you
really need to put on some weight.'
Angel rolled her eyes. 'Not this again! I am eating,' she
lied. 'I'm just not that hungry at the moment because I
feel so stressed about Cal.'
She could see that Gemma wanted to say more so
ended the conversation by going back into the dressing
room and putting on another dress. Gemma was
enthusiastic about everything she tried on and Angel
tried to share her friend's excitement but her heart
wasn't in it. In the past shopping for clothes with Gemma
had always been a great pick-me-up. Now it felt like just
another chore. The only thing that slightly buoyed her
up was wanting to look good for Cal, as a way of making
up for what she had put him through . . .
She ended up buying the black star dress and a short
purple tiered skirt then treated Gemma to lunch at a little
Italian restaurant in Soho that Cal had introduced her to
and where no one ever bothered her. She even managed
to eat something, but any pleasure she had taken in the
day evaporated when she received a text from Cal.
'I don't believe it!' she exclaimed angrily.
'What's the matter?' Gemma asked.
Sighing, Angel handed over the phone and her friend
read the text. Angel, please contact my manager re arrangements
for where you and Honey are to stay during the World
Cup. It needs to be sorted asap.
'What's the problem? Won't you just be staying with
the other WAGs in some luxury hotel? What's the matter
with that?'
Angel sighed, 'It's just the way Cal is speaking to me at
the moment, giving me orders . . . I hate it. Of course I'm
over the moon for him that he's playing in the
tournament but I'm dreading staying with those women.'
'Those WAGs, you mean!' Gemma teased her,
knowing how much the word wound her friend up.
Angel gave her the finger then said, 'I just don't fit in
with them – all they care about are their designer outfits
and their Burke bags.'
'It's Birkin actually,' Gemma corrected her, smiling.
'See!' Angel replied, and this time she was smiling as
well. 'I don't even speak their language. You should be
the one who goes, not me! You'd make a much better
WAG. And I really don't want to see that bitch Simone.'
'It's not for long, Angel. Knowing England, they'll
probably be knocked out in the first round. Maybe your
mum and dad could come out with you as well?'
Angel shook her head. 'I do love them, Gemma, but
you know my dad does my head in sometimes, especially
where Cal is concerned.'
'Well, we'll just have to get you WAGged up then –
starting from now . Show me your nails,' Gemma ordered.
Angel held out her hands. There was no messing with
Gemma when she went off on one. When Angel modelled
she always had perfect fake gel nails – short, usually with
a French manicure, or painted bubble gum pink or
sometimes dark red if she felt like being sophisticated.
But as she wasn't working at the moment she'd ditched
the fakes and her nails were in terrible shape from where
she'd been biting them. Gemma pulled a face. As well as
being a make-up artist she was also a trained beautician
and her own nails were always
still she was recognised. When the attention got too
much, and she felt as if she couldn't escape it, Gemma
suggested they get in a taxi and head up to Selfridge's.
Angel was grateful for the suggestion – she wanted to
have fans but at the moment was feeling way too fragile
to deal with them.
Gemma was great to shop with as she had her finger well
and truly on the fashion pulse and no trend ever passed
her by. She was a good influence on Angel who, left to
herself, would probably stick to jeans and short skirts.
Gemma forced her to experiment, getting her out of her
comfort zone.
'You look great in that!' she exclaimed as Angel
emerged from a dressing room. She was wearing a short
black dress with star motifs all over it.
'Really?' she asked, not at all sure.
'Absolutely. Stars are very now. But . . .' Gemma hesitated
and Angel knew what was coming next '. . . you
really need to put on some weight.'
Angel rolled her eyes. 'Not this again! I am eating,' she
lied. 'I'm just not that hungry at the moment because I
feel so stressed about Cal.'
She could see that Gemma wanted to say more so
ended the conversation by going back into the dressing
room and putting on another dress. Gemma was
enthusiastic about everything she tried on and Angel
tried to share her friend's excitement but her heart
wasn't in it. In the past shopping for clothes with Gemma
had always been a great pick-me-up. Now it felt like just
another chore. The only thing that slightly buoyed her
up was wanting to look good for Cal, as a way of making
up for what she had put him through . . .
She ended up buying the black star dress and a short
purple tiered skirt then treated Gemma to lunch at a little
Italian restaurant in Soho that Cal had introduced her to
and where no one ever bothered her. She even managed
to eat something, but any pleasure she had taken in the
day evaporated when she received a text from Cal.
'I don't believe it!' she exclaimed angrily.
'What's the matter?' Gemma asked.
Sighing, Angel handed over the phone and her friend
read the text. Angel, please contact my manager re arrangements
for where you and Honey are to stay during the World
Cup. It needs to be sorted asap.
'What's the problem? Won't you just be staying with
the other WAGs in some luxury hotel? What's the matter
with that?'
Angel sighed, 'It's just the way Cal is speaking to me at
the moment, giving me orders . . . I hate it. Of course I'm
over the moon for him that he's playing in the
tournament but I'm dreading staying with those women.'
'Those WAGs, you mean!' Gemma teased her,
knowing how much the word wound her friend up.
Angel gave her the finger then said, 'I just don't fit in
with them – all they care about are their designer outfits
and their Burke bags.'
'It's Birkin actually,' Gemma corrected her, smiling.
'See!' Angel replied, and this time she was smiling as
well. 'I don't even speak their language. You should be
the one who goes, not me! You'd make a much better
WAG. And I really don't want to see that bitch Simone.'
'It's not for long, Angel. Knowing England, they'll
probably be knocked out in the first round. Maybe your
mum and dad could come out with you as well?'
Angel shook her head. 'I do love them, Gemma, but
you know my dad does my head in sometimes, especially
where Cal is concerned.'
'Well, we'll just have to get you WAGged up then –
starting from now . Show me your nails,' Gemma ordered.
Angel held out her hands. There was no messing with
Gemma when she went off on one. When Angel modelled
she always had perfect fake gel nails – short, usually with
a French manicure, or painted bubble gum pink or
sometimes dark red if she felt like being sophisticated.
But as she wasn't working at the moment she'd ditched
the fakes and her nails were in terrible shape from where
she'd been biting them. Gemma pulled a face. As well as
being a make-up artist she was also a trained beautician
and her own nails were always
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