Page 34 of Shout Out To My Ex

The back-of-house rush was a blur – hair, makeup, models dressing, final checks (making sure every piece is sitting exactly right, clipping the odd stray thread, and trying not to lose my mind) – and now it’s only seconds before the show is announced.

Cassie approaches, grabbing my hand and squeezing it tightly.

To our left, the models are lined up, ready to step onto the catwalk, and they each look so confident, so elegant, sogorgeous. All but Juju have sleek ponytails and every model is glammed up with full dark brows, a silver shimmer eye, and fuchsia lip. I can barely believe they’re wearing my designs and this is my show and we’re in the Louvre! At Paris Fashion Week!

It’s beyond surreal. My shoulders do a little shimmy almost of their own accord – if ever there was a moment for a happy dance…

‘Mesdames et messieurs, Bliss Designsprésente sa collection, Un tailleur à soi– A Suit of One’s Own,’ says the announcer and the music starts, an arrangement of noir-style instrumentals.

Oh my god, Elle, breathe. Not a good look to collapse back of house at your own show.

‘I’m so proud of you,’ says Cassie, stooping to talk into my ear. I flash her a smile, a mix of excitement and nerves. Then it begins and my eyes are glued to the monitor.

There are no missteps or mishaps. Each of the six day-to-night transformations goes exactly as planned, including a jacket swap between two models at the end of the runway, which elicited an ‘ooh’ and even louder applause from the audience. And as Juju steps onto the runway in the final look, magazine-cover ready, the applause ratchets up.

‘They love it. They bloody love it!’ Cass shouts in my ear. I didn’t know it was possible to grin this widely. My cheeks hurt.

‘Ready?’ she asks me.

I shake my head.

‘Yes, you are,’ she says. ‘You’ve earned it.’

As the models ready themselves for the finale, I wait for Juju to come off the runway, then join them in the lineup. We’ve practised this – twice – but I may have lost the ability to walk. Juju takes my hand and I look up at them. They wink and then it’s our turn and we walk onto the runway, holding hands, Juju adjusting their long stride to match mine. The camera flashes are nearly blinding and the applause almost deafening, but this is the most amazing moment of my entire life.

I’m practically soaring, propelled by the cheers and applause.

We reach the end of the runway, where we pause, turn slightly to the left, then to the centre, then the right, so the photographers can get the shot. We’re just about to make our way back down the runway when a giant bouquet of flowersappears from the darkness beyond the stage lights. I reach to take the flowers, straining to make out who’s handing them to me.

The person steps closer and, in the midst of the most important moment of my career, it’s like I’ve been punched in the gut.

Leo.

Thank god for Juju, who takes the flowers from me as though we’ve rehearsed this, then raises our clasped hands. The applause grows louder, then we turn and make our way to safety, back of house. Behind us, the house lights come up and the sound of people chattering hums in the background.

Juju leans down and kisses both my cheeks.

‘Merci, Elle, and congratulations. It was a very good first show. And I love this look,’ they say, their arms wide. ‘Oh, these are yours.’ They hand me the bouquet which weighs a tonne. ‘Ciao.’

Like the other models, Juju has another three or four shows today, so they join the others and step out of my clothes, which are handed off to Zara and the show coordinator to be re-racked.

‘I am so bloody proud of you.’ I spin around to find Cassie full-on weeping. She envelops me in a hug. ‘This definitely calls for some fizz.’

‘Thanks, Cass.’ She steps back and beams down at me. ‘Phoof. I can’t believe it’s over.’

‘I know! All that work and we’re finally finished.’

‘Until the next collection, right?’ says Poppy, approaching our little huddle. ‘Huge congrats, Elle. That was ah-mazing!’ She’s a fashion journalist so it’s hard to tell if her effusive congratulations are genuine or just out of politeness.

‘Thank you. Hasn’t quite sunk in yet,’ I tell her.

‘I can imagine. And those are beautiful,’ she says, indicating the bouquet of peonies – my favourite flower.

‘Yes! I’d love to claim credit,’ says Cassie, leaning down to inhale their fragrance. ‘Actually, I should have thought of flowers – but with everything else going on, it didn’t occur to me. Soz, little sis.’

I wave her off. ‘I wouldn’t evenbehere if it weren’t for you.’

She smiles at me modestly, one shoulder lifted.

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