Remember My Name: A glamorous story about chasing your dreams. Abbey Clancy

a result, I landed on my blue-polyester-clad backside, squelching around in an ever-expanding puddle of dirt, grass, and rainwater. I’d dropped the mike, and was now screaming as the snow machine continued to spew at me.

      It was supposed to create a beautiful fairy-tale effect as I finished the song—one that the children usually loved. We filled the special tank with what was mysteriously called Snow Fluid, and when Ruby pressed the button, it gently showered me with foamy snowflakes. It got oohs and aahs every time we used it.

      This time, though, something had gone badly wrong. I don’t know whether it had malfunctioned, or Ruby had pressed some magical and previously unused setting, but the stuff had blasted me full in the face like one of those water cannons police use in riots.

      As I lay there, drenched to the skin, unable to get up again because the mud was now of a level that hippos would enjoy wallowing in, I finally heard it. The sound that usually made me happy.

      Bloody applause.

       Chapter 2

      I craned my neck up at such a weird angle I knew I’d have a crick in it later. Yep, I was getting a standing ovation—not for my majestic performance of ‘Let It Go’, but for falling on my arse in a load of mud. What a knob!

      I could hear the kids screeching and cackling and whooping, and the deeper tones of the parents joining in. So much for being the grown-ups. I peeked up again, and saw that even Ruby had tears of laughter rolling down her cheeks. Her slightly too chubby cheeks, I thought, with a spike in my usually low bitchiness levels. Being stuck in a trough of dirt in a fake Disney Princess costume will do that to a girl.

      Everyone was so busy laughing it up at my expense that nobody bothered to come and help me. Ruby hadn’t even turned the snow machine off, so the foamy water was still shooting out of it, making my predicament even harder to escape from.

      I was pondering whether to just give up—maybe turn face down in the mud and drown myself—when someone reached down and grabbed hold of my flailing hands. I gripped on, not caring who it was, and I was pulled up so hard I slammed right into the body of my rescuer.

      A body that was tall and strong and very, very male. I gazed up, and looked into a pair of deep, dark, chocolate-drop eyes. Okay, they were a bit crinkled up from laughing, but at least he’d bothered to help.

      The eyes were gorgeous—and the rest of the package wasn’t to be sniffed at either. Even if he did smell so nice I was quite tempted. He was about six foot, broad-shouldered but lean, and had dark hair that was done in one of those really super-expensive cuts that looks super-casual, a bit of fringe flopping over his forehead in the wind and the rain.

      He was getting drenched by the snow machine and, I realised, covered in mud from me—the Disney Princess who’d spent the last thirty seconds resting in his arms and looking at him like he was a hot chocolate fudge cake. With squirty cream.

      ‘Oh God!’ I said, jumping away from him and almost falling over again. ‘I’ve got you all dirty!’

      He reached out and took a solid hold of my arm, ignoring the mud and holding me steady. He gave me a huge grin—one of those infectious ones that makes you see the funny side in everything.

      ‘I don’t mind,’ he said, with a cheeky sideways smile, ‘I like being dirty.’

      There were so many responses to that one, I didn’t know where to start. So for once in my life—and anyone who knows me will agree this was a once-in-a-blue-moon occurrence—I kept my mouth shut. This guy was handsome and dashing and probably rich. He was giving me the once over in a way that let me know the princess dress was now extremely wet and extremely clingy, and he was still holding on to me.

      It was one of those situations that should come with a DANGER! HIGH VOLTAGE! sign, and maybe a little cartoon of a woman with a broken heart. I’d just come through a nasty break-up with my ex, a window cleaner called Evan, who I’d discovered was whipping out more than his chamois leather on his rounds. I’d decided to become a born-again virgin—and this man looked like he ate born-again virgins for breakfast. In a good way.

      I kept one hand on his arm to steady myself, leaned down, and pulled my white heels off. It meant I’d have to squelch barefoot in the mud, but at least I wasn’t trapped any more. Ruby had finally recovered enough from her laughing-gas attack to turn off the snow machine, and I could hear the sound of her leading the kids in a rousing rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’. I usually did that—in character as Elsa—but all things considered, it was probably best to move on without me.

      ‘Thank you, so much,’ I said, staggering off to one side, being led by him to the shelter of the gazebo. ‘I honestly thought I was going to pop my clogs then.’

      ‘If you’d been wearing clogs,’ he said, grabbing up a navy blue gilet from the back of a chair, ‘you might not have had that problem in the first place.’

      I tried to shrug him away—the gilet looked as expensive as him—but he draped it around my shoulders and gave my wet, chilly arms a good rub.

      ‘Yeah,’ I replied, grateful for the warmth. ‘But until they come up with a Dutch Disney Princess, I’m screwed. I’m so sorry, I’ve messed up all your clothes …’

      His once-white shirt was now splattered with mud, and his black jeans were smudged all across the waist, crotch, and thighs. He glanced down at himself and his face broke out into that grin again. He must have been quite a bit older than me—early thirties or something, I’d have guessed—but that grin made him look like a naughty schoolboy.

      ‘Yes. It looks a bit like I’ve been having sex with a pig, doesn’t it? From behind.’

      ‘I suppose it would have to be,’ I answered, finding myself giving the idea some serious thought, ‘you’d get squashed otherwise.’

      ‘What a way to go, though, eh?’ he asked, those gorgeous brown eyes crinkling up in amusement. As he spoke, he picked up a full glass of red wine and passed it to me. I looked at it as though it was the Holy Grail—I don’t think I’d ever wanted a drink more in my life.

      ‘Uh, no,’ I said. ‘Ta very much, though. But princesses are like the police—we never drink on duty.’

      ‘Nobody will ever know,’ he said, gesturing to the back of the gazebo, where Evil Jocelyn was sitting on what looked like a throne, surveying her minions as they finished up their birthday song and started on three cheers. I couldn’t help it—I stuck my tongue out at her. And that was without the wine.

      ‘Did you just blow a raspberry at the birthday girl?’ he asked, sounding shocked. I thought he was faking it, but I wasn’t sure, and I felt myself blush under the mud on my face. My Elsa plait was now completely covered in dirt, and draped over my chest like a big brown turd.

      I grabbed the wine and downed it in one. He was right, nobody would notice.

      ‘Yes, I did,’ I said. ‘She’s … a bit strong spirited?’ I ventured, trying for diplomatic—which was never my strong suit. He definitely wasn’t Jocelyn’s dad—I’d already met him—but he must be connected to the family somehow to even be here. Though the fact that he was necking wine with me in the naughty corner rather than passing a gift to the Golden Child suggested they weren’t that close.

      ‘Strong spirited. I like that one. I suspect what you wanted to say, though, was “evil little bitch from hell”, wasn’t it?’

      ‘Maybe,’ I said, wiping my lips so I didn’t end up with tell-tale red wine stains. ‘But that wouldn’t be professional.’

      He glanced back at the present parade behind us. Everyone was handing over a beautifully wrapped parcel or an elegant gift bag, and Jocelyn was throwing them all to one side like Henry VIII with chomped-up chicken legs. Ugggh! She was enough to put you off having kids for life.