Coleman adjusted his tie and ran his finger under his crisp white spread collar so that it sat neatly just inside the lapel of his grey worsted suit. The shirt was homage to his new position as a fashion impresario. The infinitesimal nod to changing fashions was unlikely to impress Lara, but there was only so much he could do.

Coleman did not like change.

He was often courted by rival gangs; some said he was a fool to stay working for Chevron. Coleman was the one with the smarts and the natural authority. Bobby was a nutter. He should go out on his own. But he was loyal. Coleman carried Molly Chevron’s coffin shoulder to shoulder with her son when she died three years ago.

Bobby had turned nasty after his mother passed. Beat Maureen so badly he put her in hospital, twice. He was sorry afterwards. Chevron was always very sorry. Coleman could not turn away from him. The Chevrons had given Coleman stability and he had come to value that above all else. Coleman kept things the same. He slept in his office in the same spirit with which he had slept in Molly’s kitchen; it kept him alert, watchful.

No. Coleman did not like change.

Finding true love with Irish Lara would be the biggest change of his life. He could not let himself fall.

Coleman had been fighting back the impulse to take Irish Lara into his arms and hold her there forever for the last six months. But even if he had the courage, he didn’t have the will. Lara was educated, beautiful – she was no gangster’s moll. She deserved better than him. Once, he had heard, she had been engaged to a priest. Even if he could find the courage within himself to make a move, she would never consider loving a man like him. It would be wrong to even try.

And so, Coleman kept his feelings under wraps. In her company, Coleman showed no signs of having any feelings for her whatsoever.

He took a last drag of his cigarette and, grinding it under his Grenson brogue, was opening the door to go in when he heard a call from behind him.

‘Coleman!’

Ethel and one of the younger girls were running up the road, their high shoes clicking on the pavement, making a beeline for him.

Both women sighed inwardly as they saw their handsome boss wait – chin set, eyes narrowed against the smoke of his cigarette, an impervious rock of be-suited masculinity outside the frivolous, pink-fronted shop front. The words ‘That Girl’, in large, italic type sat directly above his head like an invitation.

Ethel was glad Shirley wasn’t here to see this. As soon as news hit that Coleman was opening the boutique with Lara, Shirley booked a holiday. She didn’t bother telling Ethel where she was going. She hardly told her anything any more. Ethel had been on Shirley’s side for ages after Coleman dumped her. She felt so sorry for Shirley married to that brute of a husband, coming into work with bruises, always covering them up and smiling for the punters. Even though all the girls fancied Coleman, she had been glad when Shirley hooked up with him. However, the affair had only lasted a few weeks. That was a shame but, afterwards, Shirley just would not let it go. She kept blaming ‘that Irish bitch,’ saying she was trying to get Coleman off her, when she never really had him in the first place. Not that Ethel would ever say that to her face. Shirley could be as dangerous as any man if she had a few drinks and a broken glass in her hand. Ethel got sick of Shirley’s complaining about the same time Shirley started to pull back from everyone. She went pure hard at work. Came in, did her job and that was it. The only person she spoke to at work was Brian. That suited Ethel. She would never be stupid enough to go near Coleman herself and if he fancied Lara? So what. Lara was all right. And her clothes were great.

‘Ladies,’ Coleman said to them, treating them to a rare smile. Both women shivered with desire, then they took an arm each and marched him into the shop.

Once inside, Coleman let go of the girls’ arms, delivering them chivalrously to the racks and rails of clothes. He looked around the room. Coleman could speed read a room in one sweep. He was anxious to check that Bobby Chevron had not heard about the party from his holiday villa in Spain and turned up, unexpectedly. This was Lara’s night and Chevrons larger-than-life owner had a way taking over. Although, Coleman had other more serious reasons for not wanting Bobby here tonight. Coleman had negotiated a cut of the shop from Lara and given her the impression they were partners; Chevron had provided the setup money and the building. Technically, Bobby Chevron owned That Girl. There was no other way Lara would ever be able to afford a shop on the Kings Road. So, Coleman had approached Bobby. He did not think of it as a lie. He had simply seen a way of making Lara’s dream happen for her and gone for it. There was nothing wrong with subterfuge when your motives were clean. Coleman had made Lara happy and that made him pleased. She need never know any different.

Once he established the coast was clear, Coleman’s eyes searched for Lara. She was standing by the back wall, surrounded by people. He barely had the chance to appraise her when Lara looked towards the door and their eyes locked. He read her expression and saw that there was something wrong. Coleman’s stomach tightened as he immediately set off across the room towards her. Had someone said something to her? Despite his worry, Coleman felt a tinge of satisfaction that, despite the crowds hanging off her tonight, Lara had been looking out for him.

When Lara saw her old friend Noreen standing in the door of her new shop, she froze. Worlds collided; the grey, black and white world of her past, her ordinary childhood in Cork, her first kiss, with Matthew, at the Town Hall dance, college in Dublin all led to that awful evening, with Matthew standing on the steps of her student hostel. In that moment of seeing Noreen in her drab, brown coat, the technicoloured joy of Lara’s sparkling new life seemed to drain out of her.

But then a most unexpected thing happened. As larger-than-life Noreen launched herself across the room and hugged Lara, lifting her slightly off the ground, the painful memory evaporated as quickly as it had come.

‘Yay – Missis – it’s good to see you!’

‘Noreen.’ Lara tried not to sound shocked or look too upset then remembered, with a smile, that it didn’t matter. Noreen had skin as thick as a bull’s hide. ‘What are you doing here?’

Noreen looked fit to explode.

‘I’ve moved to London! Can you BELIEVE IT?’

‘How did you find me?’

‘With your address, stupid! Actually, I called into Chevrons,’ Noreen said it like she had lived here all her life. ‘A man with a face like a spanner told me about the party.’

Ironing Board Arthur. It felt strange hearing Noreen reference her world. Funny, outspoken, resolutely Irish and deeply unfashionable Noreen was really here. In London. Smack, bang in the middle of her new life. This was the thing she had most dreaded and yet, it didn’t feel as bad as she had feared it would. Still, Lara and Noreen had not seen each other since before she and Matthew broke up. They exchanged letters but their deep friendship seemed to dissolve in the back draft of Lara’s heartbreak. What was she doing here?

Noreen noticed Penelope Podmore who was standing with her arms crossed, smoking intently, eyes narrowed as she looked Noreen and Lara up and down, drinking it all in. Lara grimaced inwardly. She had forgotten where she was. This was why she had wanted to keep the past at bay. Before she had the chance to rectify the situation Noreen stepped in.

‘I’m Noreen,’ she said, holding out her hand, ‘this wan’s oldest friend. Who are you?’

Penelope raised her eyebrows in answer.

‘This is Ms Podmore,’ Lara said. Penelope’s haughty expression glittered with furious shock as Noreen vigorously shook her manicured hand. ‘Penelope is the fashion editor of the Daily Mail,’ Lara added hopefully, trying to keep the note of desperation out of her voice.

That meant nothing to Noreen. This was a disaster, after all.

‘Well, if it’s fashion you’re after, Lara here is yer only woman. What’s a girl got to do to get a drink around here? I don’t suppose there’s any grub to be had. I’m famished. All I got was a pork pie on the boat and it was red-rotten.’

Penelope bared her teeth in an attempt at a smile and was clearly about to move on. She didn’t ‘do’ gauche and she certainly didn’t ‘do’ gauche Irish.

Lara looked around desperately for a distraction and saw the answer walk in the door. Coleman had just arrived. Lara felt a snap of irritation tinged with an irrational feeling of disappointment as his eyes scanned past her across the room, before resting back on her face again. He acknowledged her signal and by the time Lara had said, ‘Ah, Penelope. I’d love you to meet my business partner,’ he was already walking across the room towards them.

‘Hot to trot!’ Noreen said, barely under her breath, but Penelope didn’t notice. She was already adjusting herself. Her hands raised to smooth the hair at her ears, her lips parted, her back straightened and the fashion editor’s eyes widened with flirtatious delight as Coleman joined their company.

‘Coleman, this is Penelope Podmore from the Daily Mail.’

‘Please to meet you, Penelope,’ he said. Unsmiling but not unfriendly.

‘So, Coleman, tell me,’ Penelope leaned into him, blowing a stream of smoke just past his ear, ‘are you the rich Paddy daddy behind That Girl? You’re certainly not Irish in a suit like that.’

Noreen was waiting for her introduction but Lara dragged her off to the bar.

‘This is Annie,’ Lara said, introducing her, instead, to her flatmate. ‘Your boss for the evening. Take off that horrible coat and put this on.’ She thrust a bouclé jacket in an unfashionably large size at her.

‘Does this mean I have a job?’ Noreen said.

‘No,’ Lara answered firmly. ‘This is you singing for your supper and earning the right to crash at our pad tonight.’

Noreen grinned, forced her arms through the narrow sleeves of the jacket and grabbed a tray of canapés before the second arm was through. Lara could not help smiling. Why Noreen was here didn’t matter. Their friendship had never ended, after all. Only paused and in less than ten minutes they were back where they started.

Lara was pleased to see Noreen but she had to get back to business. She had a clothes line to get into the paper!

The photographer, Alex, was hovering near the door looking like he was running out of things to snap. Lara frantically searched the room for one of the models but could not see one. Checking her watch she realised they had been booked for an hour and the party had been underway for over two now. Lara’s eyes moved across the room, and finally fell on poor Annie, invisible to all, just heading off with a tray. She was wearing one of the pink suits – she would have to do.

Annie did not want to have her picture taken, but Lara made her stand beside her for a few shots. When they were done Alex insisted on taking Annie over to the wall with the logo on it and arranging her in front of it, encouraging her to pose this way and that. Considering how much she loathed being photographed, Lara thought she did quite a good job. The whole process took less than ten minutes.

Alex left, saying, ‘Good luck with Po-faced Podmore!’

Annie went back to her catering duties.

When Lara returned to Coleman, he was still struggling to make conversation with the aloof Penelope although there was a lascivious edge to her eye that told Lara she was enjoying Coleman’s rugged charm and proximity to his suave appearance, if nothing else.

‘Well, dear Lara – it seems you have fallen on your feet with this delightful man. He was telling me all about how clever and talented you are. He quite thinks the world of you.’ The implication being that she was still somewhat less than impressed herself.

However, as she said it, Coleman took a sip from his glass, looked Lara straight in the eye and smiled. There was not a hint of irony. Only intent. Despite herself, Lara shivered. She shook it off. Not Coleman. No way.

‘I’m afraid I’m not in with a chance,’ Penelope purred, looking pleadingly at Coleman, willing him to contradict her. He gave the editor a noncommittal smirk that could be taken one way or the other.

Penelope, hot under the collar now, put down her glass to light a cigarette. Lara felt slightly giddy. With Penelope distracted, Lara gave Coleman a look that said, ‘You’re good.’

He gave her one back that said, ‘I know.’

Then he smiled at her and she smiled back, and there was a moment when it felt as if they were alone in the room.

Both were grateful when Penelope returned to the conversation with her lit cigarette.