A minute later, Sandra texted back: That’s it. See you there x
The Carrick Hotel was on Park Lane, with amazing views over Hyde Park. Red London buses, black cabs and thousands of cars made their way past in an endless stream. Over in the park itself, people were jogging, strolling, walking their dogs and . . . yes, picking up dog poo.
Hallie marvelled at the busyness of the scene. You could stand here at this window on the fifth floor and spend the entire day just gazing down at everything going on. It was a far cry from Carranford, that was for sure. Yet here she was, in the capital, amongst the craziness of it all.
And by herself, too. Up until a year ago, the very idea of going anywhere on her own would have been completely unthinkable. But life, thankfully, was very different now.
It was the last week of May, coming up to a year since the miraculous transplant. When the invitation had arrived from the newspaper to come to London in order to be interviewed and photographed for a feature in their Sunday supplement, she’d been excited, because it was exciting to be put up in a fancy hotel and have a bit of a makeover into the bargain.
Luke hadn’t been able to accompany her because he was working, as were her mum and Bea. But that hadn’t mattered; she’d simply made the trip on her own. Like a normal person! Later this evening she would make her way back to Carranford, to the cottage she now shared with Luke. Also like a normal person.
And she’d brought three different outfits with her to be photographed in. That was completely normal too!
An hour later, following a phone call from reception to let her know that everyone was here, Hallie opened the door to greet the photographer, the make-up artist and the journalist who would be interviewing her for the piece. The journalist, a woman in her fifties called Jean, wandered out on to the balcony to speak on her phone.
‘This is amazing.’ Hallie beamed as the make-up artist, whose name was Tasha, opened her case and began setting out a mind-boggling assortment of brushes, bottles, sponges and cosmetics. ‘I’ve never had this done to me before.’
Tasha carried on unpacking the case. ‘Well I hope you like the end result!’ she said cheerily.
‘I don’t usually wear much make-up.’
‘Don’t you worry.’ Tasha’s smile was reassuring. ‘I won’t do a drag-queen job on you. I’m going to make you look just like yourself, but even more fabulous.’
For the next ten minutes she expertly applied base, then primer, followed by different shades of foundation, explaining it all as she went. It was far more complicated than you’d think. Hallie watched in the lit-up mirror as Tasha moved around in front of her, bending and straightening, then standing back to assess each stage of her work. She was in her late twenties, at a guess, her honey-brown hair skilfully highlighted and fastened up in a topknot. Her eyes were very blue, her complexion flawless, and she was wearing a light lemony perfume.
‘I know about your website, by the way,’ she told Hallie. ‘One of my clients used to read it.’
‘Ah, thanks.’ Hallie saw Jean end her phone call on the balcony and come back into the room. ‘It’s taken off a bit in the last year. Well, that’s how the newspaper got interested, of course.’
Jean was surveying them with her head on one side.‘So you two haven’t worked out yet what it is you have in common?’
‘Sorry?’ Eyebrows raised, Tasha lifted her head and looked at her. ‘No, what is it?’
‘Hallie had a heart and lung transplant last year.’
‘What? You did?’ Tasha turned back to Hallie. ‘Really?’
‘Well, yes.’ It was clearly significant, but Hallie was at a loss as to why.
‘My fiancé had a heart transplant too!’ exclaimed Tasha.
‘Wow.’ OK, that explained it. Hallie shook her head. ‘What a coincidence!’
‘Not that much of a coincidence,’ said Jean with a wry smile. ‘The picture editor was going to book someone else to do the make-up for today’s shoot, but I suggested she choose you instead, seeing as you’d kind of been through it with your chap.’
‘Well it’s still pretty amazing.’ Hallie was touched that they’d thought of it. ‘There aren’t that many of us around. How’s he doing?’
‘Fantastic. Well, you know, bit of a rough start, but everything’s great now. He’s back at work, obviously still having regular checks . . . it’s coming up to a year now . . .’
‘Me too,’ said Hallie. ‘Not quite a year. Eleven months.’
Tasha was gazing at Hallie’s reflection in the mirror. ‘Rory had his transplant on the twenty-fifth of June.’