Amber Green Takes Manhattan. Rosie Nixon

trademark wink. ‘Let me handle Shauna and the rest of the team. When are you planning to go?’

      ‘We want to fly in a couple of weeks.’ I took a deep breath. Saying it out loud was exhilarating, but also terrifying. ‘We’re looking into flights. I’ll let you know the second we book.’

      ‘You lucky cow.’ He beamed. ‘I love New York. Now, what are your ideas for the windows, now I’ve told Jeff how irreplaceable you are?’

      ‘Well…’ I pulled him aside.

      In between packing up the flat, sorting out travel arrangements and discussing what Rob was going to do with Pinky, I spent the rest of the week putting in extra hours at work and doing all the things I wouldn’t be able to do in New York, like buying Greggs’ ‘three for five pounds’ milk-chocolate cookies and eating them all in one go and getting on a Routemaster bus using the back door and watching Oxford Street whizz past the window on my way home from work. London suddenly had a romantic quality that I was going to miss so much.

      Things were moving apace for Rob and on Wednesday evening, over a Thai takeaway at his, he gave me the good news that his work were going to cover the rent for a studio apartment in New York.

      ‘Now I’ve just got to work on Ben looking after Pinky,’ he said.

      ‘Good luck with that,’ I said, giggling. ‘Gay Pinky and bachelor Ben? Can’t see it happening, somehow. What about your mum?’ He gave me a look. ‘Of course, stupid idea.’

      ‘Your parents?’ he suggested, lifting a brow.

      ‘No way. They hate pets.’

      ‘It’s either Ben or a pig sanctuary then,’ he sighed.

      And then I had a brainwave. ‘Nora! Why didn’t I think of her before? She loves farm animals – her first word was “oink!” Her eyes almost popped out of her head the first time she saw a photo of Pinky – it was love at first sight. I’ll work on Nora to persuade my sister to look after Pinky. They’ve got a shed in their garden and plenty of space. Pinky will be the toast of suburbia – and we’ll be able to FaceTime him whenever we want. It’s perfect!’

      ‘That is quite possibly the best brainwave ever,’ Rob enthused. ‘When can we see Nora?’

      ‘I’ll see if she can come for a sleepover this Friday.’ ‘Project Pinky’ had begun.

      ‘But you’ve never offered to have Nora for a whole night before,’ my sister remarked, suspiciously, on the phone. ‘You and Rob don’t have any news you want to share, do you? You seem very keen to get some kiddie practice all of a sudden.’

      ‘No, Luce, nothing like that, I just thought it would be nice for you and Rory to have a date night, that’s all. And it would be lovely to spend some time with my beautiful, clever niece before I go.’

      ‘Well, we haven’t had a night out together in ages – there are cobwebs in my make-up bag, not to mention other places – so it would be lovely, if you really don’t mind?’ I could hear the excitement in her voice, she was already mentally planning her outfit. ‘We could drop her off at yours and then get the tube into town. Christ, I haven’t been into town for about three years! Do you still need an Oyster card, or is it all done by electronic implants these days?’

      ‘Perfect! I’ll get out of work a bit early. Come any time after five. Oh, and what’s Nora’s favourite dinner? I want to make everything perfect for her.’

      ‘Fish fingers and chips and she’ll love you forever,’ she replied. ‘Not too many chips though, no sweets and limit screen time.’

      ‘Sounds like great fun. But don’t worry, I’ve got something planned.’ I smiled into the phone. ‘See you Friday.’

      Back at work, Joseph had taken our new concept for the windows to Jeff and it had gone down a storm with the boardroom bosses, so we were working long days to get the revised plans off the ground. They were to feature a ‘world first’ interactive treat for the senses with scratch-and-sniff panels smelling of ice lollies, sun cream and coconut – all the scents of high summer against a backdrop of beach huts and candy-coloured fashion. In another major window, digital touch screens featuring summer rope-soled platforms and seventies sunglasses which could be viewed from any angle and followed you down the street; and another featuring slick city styles for polished power dressers, with voices calling out to passers-by, transporting you to the trading floor on a blistering hot afternoon. The whole thing was a meeting of high-tech and high street and we were bursting with excitement about it all – I was even a little peeved I wouldn’t be around to see it all come to fruition.

      As Friday rolled around, I worked through my lunch to ensure an early exit so I could get Nora’s dinner under the grill before she arrived, thus winning me brownie points from Lucy before Project Pinky came into play. Also, there was no way I’d get Nora to sit still and eat dinner once Rob had come round with the evening’s miniature entertainment. I’d instructed him to ensure Pinky was groomed to perfection: ‘Think Crufts for pigs,’ I said, ‘make sure Pinky’s had a bath and smells nice. Lucy’s got a nose like a blood hound. There’s no way she’ll take him if he’s smelly.’

      I was just making my way to the front of the store to go home, when I noticed something going on. There were crowds of shoppers being held back by security guards. Oh God, not a fire drill or worse, a terror alert. I’ve not got time for this.

      ‘Stay back everyone, won’t be long now,’ the head of security was telling the excited faces all around him. Locking the doors to one of London’s premiere stores on a Friday afternoon was a very rare occurrence. I scanned the area for a member of staff I recognised, finally spotting one of the girls on the Mac counter who I’d befriended once when I was hungover and in desperate need of an in-store makeover. I elbowed my way through the crowd, flashing my staff pass to reach her.

      ‘Hey Sam, what’s going on?’

      She was craning her neck and barely took her eyes away from the direction of the boxed-off Hermès area as she spoke: ‘Celebrity in the store.’

      Although this was a relatively common occurrence in Selfridges, it was still exciting. My eyes widened. ‘Ooh – who?’

      ‘We’re not meant to say, but seeing as she’s currently trending on Twitter.’ She leaned towards me and whispered: ‘It’s Amanda Sykes. Word got out and suddenly tons of fans have turned up, trying to get a selfie with her. It was so crazy they had to close the doors. She’s currently buying up the entire Hermès concession. Literally all of it, according to Lisa in fragrance.’

      Amanda Sykes. ‘Wow,’ I gasped. Amanda Sykes was the biggest thing to hit the internet since Kim Kardashian’s bottom. Even Amanda Sykes’s right foot had its own Instagram and Snapchat accounts, with millions of followers. And those accounts had thousands more spoof accounts.

      I looked in the direction of Hermès too.

      ‘Have you seen her?’

      Samantha ushered me close. ‘Seen her? You can’t miss her. Let’s just say, her waistline is now a coastline, if you get my drift.’

      I giggled. ‘I need to see this.’

      I was just about to ask her if it would be okay if I stood on one of the make-up-counter stools to try to get a better view, when a frenzy of flashes went off outside the store. They lit up a whole window. Word spread that Amanda was holding up a necklace to the light.

      Six security guards struggled to hold back more fans, who were trying to storm through the doors from the street.

      I spotted Mike, one of the security guards I had got to know when working through the night on the windows, and pushed my way through a gaggle of Japanese tourists to reach him – they all had their iPhones and cameras lifted in the hope of snapping the top of Amanda’s head.

      ‘The doors – are they really locked, Mike? I need to get out.’

      ‘Afraid