So Lucky

by Dawn O'Porter

  ‘Isn’t parenting just hard to manage at times?’

  ‘Yes, that is true. I’d say the hardest thing about parenting is sharing yourself. When you’re hurting, having to love another person is tough. Having to hold yourself together for them, and not letting your pain become their problem. That’s the hard stuff. It takes a lifetime to learn, and when you finally do, it’s too late. They are either grown up, or …’ He seems lost for words, staring into the distance as though I’m no longer sitting by his side.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘You don’t need to finish that sentence.’

  ‘No. OK, well, I have to go, nice to see you again.’ He stands up and extends a hand. ‘Ross.’

  ‘Ruby.’

  ‘Have a good day,’ he says as he walks away.

  ‘You too,’ I tell him, wondering if a ‘good day’ is possible when you’ve been through what he’s been through.

  ‘Bonnie, we better go too,’ I say as I approach her, bracing myself for a meltdown that doesn’t come. She climbs into her buggy.

  ‘Mummy?’ she says, as we walk. ‘Can we go to the park together more often?’

  ‘That should be fine,’ I tell her. ‘Yes, I mean. Yes, that will be fine.’

  I am trying to do better.

  5

  Ruby

  I have a bottle of Elnett on my desk, which I plan to spray directly onto the mouse should it come into my office. I realise this might have a traumatic outcome, but I don’t know what else I can do. Before I look at another email from Rebecca, I need to sort this childcare situation out. I search for local nurseries and send the same email to all of them.

  Hello, I recently moved to the area and would love to find a nursery for my lovely little girl, Bonnie (3.5). I have heard wonderful things about your place and wondered if you have any spaces available?

  Looking forward to hearing from you, Ruby Blake!

  Next, salons. There are so many, it’s impossible to know where to choose. Yelp is very useful for this kind of thing, but I will never understand why people leave reviews. Why would you bother if it wasn’t a complaint? I can’t imagine that, at any point in my life, I will be tempted to leave compliments on Yelp about a service I paid for. These people must be so bored.

  I was very happy with the service here. Kaitlin was lovely and it was the first time I’ve had a bikini wax and it didn’t hurt. I’ll definitely go back, especially after seeing the look on my boyfriend’s face when he saw my wax ;)

  Why would you write that? What does she want? A high five for getting her vagina shaped like a porn star’s?

  Amazing place. Love the products they use. My legs are gorgeous and silky and smell amazing.

  Why would she want smelly legs?

  This was my first wax. I know, I know, I’m 39 and have always shaved but I’m getting married next week (yey) so treated myself. Loved it. Hooked.

  That’s how I felt the week before my wedding. Freshly waxed, excited. Most out of character. Maybe her new husband will humiliate her too.

  Just completed my third lasering session on my bikini line. Hurts, but so worth it. No more razors!!!

  Well isn’t she brave. I tried lasering. You can’t get it done unless the hair is grown out, so with the twenty-plus sessions I would have needed I’d have been forced to remain hairy for months on end. I just couldn’t face it. Not only that, it was more painful than childbirth. I thought the pain was going to kill me. It was like she was holding a Bunsen burner to my skin. When I imagined that on my nipples I knew I couldn’t take it. Vera got as far as my left ankle before I told her to stop.

  When I met Liam, I’d found a boyfriend who understood he couldn’t see my body for three weeks at a time and he was happy for our sex life to exist only in the window after a wax. I made sure I was hair-free when I was ovulating, and somehow we managed to conceive a baby. I can’t imagine feeling that way anymore, it was like a moment of madness that I fully submitted myself to. They say love is a drug – well, it certainly made me crazy.

  My phone vibrates … for a heartstopping moment I think it’s the mouse and spray some Elnett on it.

  ‘Ruby, it’s Bec.’

  ‘Hello Rebecca. Everything OK with the pictures?’ I ask, as I pluck my chin using the tweezers and small vanity mirror I keep on my desk. I keep them in various positions around the house; there is always hair to remove.

  ‘Yes, all good. So, look, have you checked your email yet?’

  I make an excuse about just getting home from the doctors and say I’m about to get to it.

  ‘OK, well I’ve just done a huge cover shoot with Lauren Pearce, you know who she is?’

  ‘No,’ I say, even though I do. I take very little notice of celebrities and I’m quite proud of that. I’m not interested in their narcissistic, attention-seeking lives. However, it’s impossible to not know about Lauren Pearce, she is on everything and in everything. But to establish that I don’t care I say no anyway. Rebecca doesn’t sound impressed, she sounds annoyed.

  ‘She’s a model, um, influencer kind of person. Marrying Gavin Riley, the Dragons’ Den millionaire, in two weeks and she’s just sacked her photographer because she thinks he was leaking stuff to the press about the wedding. I did a shoot with her this week, she was happy and asked me to do the wedding too. She’s turned down OK! magazine and done some deal with a champagne brand who will pay for the wedding if she includes them in the social posts that go out over the course of the day. That means we need you on site to work on the images with me and get them out. You in?’

  ‘She wants me at her wedding?’

  ‘Yeah, I mean not as a guest. You should probably bring a sandwich, but yeah, you’d be at the wedding. I’d suggest you set up in a back room and I’ll run the cards into you when I’m done. She wants to approve them then post on the day.’

  ‘She wants to approve pictures on her wedding day?’

  ‘Yes,’ Rebecca says, as if she doesn’t have time for such questions, and I should be just saying yes. But I don’t want to go to a wedding, especially one of someone I don’t know. I don’t feel comfortable at large events like that and I can only imagine the stress of it all on the day. I don’t want to be bossed around and surrounded by people. I like working alone. In my house. Weddings give me nightmares. Well they would, after how mine turned out.

  ‘She’s paying really well, offered four grand above your normal fee to be present on the day.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Come on, Ruby, that’s a new handbag if nothing else. I know how you love a handbag.’

  She knows this because I used to carry very impressive bags with me when I worked in advertising. Leather ones. To tone down all the velvet.

  ‘I mean, I’d ask someone else, it’s a good gig,’ she says, impatiently.

  ‘No, it’s OK, I’ll do it. Presuming it’s on a weekend?’ I ask, logging onto Net-a-Porter and having a look at the new season Chloé totes.

  ‘The weekend after next. How could you not know that? It’s all anyone is talking about.’

  ‘Not the people I talk to,’ I tell her, proudly. Realising that I don’t really talk to anyone.

  ‘OK. Email me the details,’ I add.

  ‘I will. Also, I’ve emailed over the pics from the shoot I just did with her, they need a lot of work. She’s given me a list, I sent that too. Can you get them to me by tomorrow? Thursday latest?’

  ‘I’ll do my best. My child is home sick so I …’

  ‘Ruby, do I need to ask someone else?’

  ‘No. No, I’ll get it done.’

  ‘OK,’ she replies, as if I should count myself lucky. I think Rebecca thinks I should thank her for all the work she gives me. That would make me feel incredibly inferior, when I know that in her line of work my job is more important than hers. Anyone can take a good picture on an iPhone now, it’s me that makes the magic happen. She should really be thanking me. I’m always available, I work weekends, and my work is impeccable. I hang up the c
all.

  The photos of Lauren are of her in the nude. She is posing around her kitchen, living room and in her garden. Occasionally there is a picture of the loving couple together. Him, fully clothed, standing firm and looking handsome, her draped across him like a naked cat, or in something embarrassingly slinky. Apparently, these are to go in a magazine the week after the wedding. She has chosen to do a naked photo shoot to go alongside an interview about being in love. To me it reeks of claiming ownership; a warning to other women to stay away from her man.

  Maybe going to their wedding will be an interesting experience. Even though Rebecca is planning on hiding me in a ‘back room’.

  I’ll get to see how the other half live. Get a glimmer of the reality of these people. But one thing I know for sure is that the confidence Lauren Pearce pretends to exude about herself is an absolute lie. The list of changes she has requested to her body is ridiculous.

  OK Ruby, here is the list from Lauren.

  Bec

  * sort roots out.

  * Bronze all over

  * Weird vein on foot, get rid of

  * Eye bags

  * plump lips

  * Whiten eyes

  * Bring out clavicle a bit

  ** Get rid of the peach fuzz.

  *Remove Tattoo

  I look at the pictures again. The tattoo is a simple ‘V’ on her hip. Probably some ex-boyfriend, she’s trashy enough to do something like that. This ‘peach fuzz’ she is talking of, a thin layer of blonde fluff that lies on her forearms, upper thighs, a hint of it on her top lip. If that was all the body hair I had my life would be entirely different. I’d take that thin layer in black, over what I have to deal with. What a stupid, affected, vain, fake trollop this woman is. I find her despicable. It’s women like this that set us all so far back, by promoting their bodies as their currency. I saw her on Loose Women defending herself against a Daily Mail article about how women who pose naked are not feminists. She said she is proud of her body and wants to show it off, that it makes her feel good and makes her feel powerful. She says she wants to encourage other women to feel the same way. To take ownership of their bodies and feel empowered by their sexuality.

  ‘Empowered’ is the most subjective word in the English dictionary. When women say nudity is empowering, they are diminishing millions of other women’s fears to something stupid. My nudity is my worst nightmare. If I took my clothes off in public people would be repulsed. I look like an anorexic ape. If anyone ever told me to embrace my body and love myself, I’d tell them to spend a week dressed as a giant monkey and see how Zen they feel at the end of it.

  If everyone just kept their clothes on, the world would be a happier place.

  I go at the pictures of Lauren like she is a burger. I have to make her look as delicious as I can.

  I can’t exempt myself from the problem.

  ‘Mummy!’ Bonnie calls up the stairs. I ignore the first call, she doesn’t sound desperate. ‘MUMMY,’ she shouts again, and this time it’s impossible to not come running.

  ‘What is it?’ I say, going downstairs two at a time.

  ‘The mouse is in the bucket!’

  Beth

  After I feed Tommy his morning boobs, Michael lies on the bed burping him on his shoulder. Usually he disappears downstairs while I get ready, so I see this as an opportunity to be subtly suggestive. I go into our bathroom but leave the door slightly ajar, so he can see me in the reflection in the mirror on the back of the door. I slowly take off my nightie. Pulling it over my head, sucking my tummy in, pushing my bottom out slightly to accentuate my waist. I let my hair fall down my back, and shake my head slowly from side to side, so that my hair tickles my skin, just like hot women in shampoo ads do. I carefully check that he is watching me get into the shower. He isn’t.

  I shower, and when I come out I realise he is still on the bed. I see this as progress and continue with my performance. I dry myself off. Pointing my toes, swishing my hair from side to side. I moisturise, rubbing body butter up and down my legs in slow, sensual, circular motions. I turn away to rub it on my tummy because that looks like I’m kneading bread, but I make sure he has a good view of my bottom, which is the best-looking part of me right now. I give it all I have, my hands swooping and swirling across my body, one foot on tiptoe to give me the best silhouette. I put on an unnecessary amount of cream, hoping he is enjoying watching my hands slide around onto my bum, on my shoulders, around my waist. I feel sexy as I do it. I’ve still got it, even after having a baby.

  In the mirror I try to subtly see if he is watching, but he’s disappeared from the bed. Maybe he is getting undressed, and is planning to come in? I lean back against the edge of the sink. I put one foot on the toilet. No, that’s too much for Michael, I’ll scare him off. I put it back on the floor. I pull some hair over my shoulder so it tickles my nipples. I bend one leg and push my foot into the pedestal. I suck in my tummy. I hear him walking towards the door. I’m going to get laid, I can feel it in the air. This is the moment my husband will ravish me. My heart is racing. I lick my lips. I’m so ready for this. Then SLAM. The bathroom door shuts so forcefully that the glass in the window rattles. I stay very still, partly waiting, partly too stunned to move. Surely, he didn’t just slam the door on me?

  ‘Michael?’ I say, gently through the door. ‘Are you OK?’

  He slams the bedroom door too. The mirror falls off the wall.

  Lauren Pearce – Instagram post

  @OfficialLP

  The image is of Lauren in expensive fitness gear doing a downward dog. It’s a selfie; she is somehow managing the shot by taking a picture of her reflection in a mirror.

  The caption reads:

  Why is #lovingyourself so hard? Some days I struggle with what I see in the mirror, with what everyone else sees. You know those days? I get married in a few days. It will be the happiest day of my life, yet today I feel uneasy. Scared, even. Not of love, not of my choices, but of myself. Hmmmm, sorry, just thoughts going around in my head that I probably shouldn’t share. How is your day? #questions #selflove #happiness #daysliketoday #baddays #anxiety

  @regretmenog: You are so real. I #relate to this. Just focus on that gorgeous man and realise how lucky you are

  @everymanforherself: Yeah, it must be really hard being a millionaire. Poor you. Can I send you a slap in the face to cheer you up?

  @kellyannconwaynemiisis: The reason the world is run by men is because of women like you. JUST SAYING.

  @gillyvanilli: babe, I feel you. I just can’t #selflove today. I am a Dr and I prescribe a nap and some sex with that man of yours …

  Beth

  Lauren asked that I meet her at her house to discuss final details of the day. This nearly gave Jenny a breakdown, but there wasn’t much she could do. It’s a huge house in Highgate, just off a little square. This part of London is like another world.

  Lauren and I are in her kitchen. She looks flawless with perfectly tonged hair and subtle make-up – always Instagram ready. The kitchen is huge, white, open-plan, modernly designed and magazine-shoot-worthy. There is a double oven and six-hob range, which she apologised for as soon as I arrived, saying the only things she knows how to work are the kettle and the toaster. She doesn’t pretend to be a domestic goddess – a chef brings their low-carb, low-fat meals to the house every few days. Her only real care for the wedding breakfast was that there was a decent vegan option. She let Mayra choose the rest, via me.

  ‘Can we do a selfie?’ she asks me. ‘We haven’t done one yet.’

  ‘Oh, OK,’ I say. Not seeing any harm in that.

  She stands next to me and puts her face close to mine. Her head lands perfectly to the left, her cheekbones pop out as she pouts, her eyes squint as if she is looking a lover in the eye. I don’t know how she manages to make this photograph sexual, but she does. I wonder if she and Gavin are at it all the time. Two beautiful people, young, no kids. I bet if I went over this house with an infrared light there would be s
perm everywhere.

  ‘Are you on Instagram?’ she asks me.

  ‘Not really. I mean, we have a work account and I post lovely images from our events. And I do have a personal one but that’s just for friends and family, I’m rarely on it.’

  She isn’t really listening, typing away into her phone. ‘What’s the handle?’

  It takes me a second to remember it; Risky does most of our social posts. ‘Um, @BFFWeddingConsultancy.’

  ‘OK, found you. BFF, does that stand for Best Friends Forever?’

  ‘Yes. When I started out people kept saying I was like their best friend, easy to talk to and to work with. I thought it was a nice title, to let people know it’s a friendly service,’ I tell her. I actually kind of regret the name of my business, it’s a bit silly. Also, I used to like being everyone’s best friend, but I didn’t intend for my husband to see me that way too.

  ‘It’s cute,’ Lauren says.

  ‘Thanks.’

  She concentrates extremely hard for a second or two. ‘OK, tagged you. Let me know how many followers you get after that, I’m always interested to know. I posted about my friend Danny’s dog and she got so many replies she set up a page for the dog and he already has 402k followers. You should follow him, he’s at @DiggettyyDogetty. Funny.’

  ‘Cool,’ I say, ‘OK if I sit here?’

  ‘Sure.’

  I take a seat at the twelve-seater table. There is a little dog asleep in a basket underneath it. Lauren takes another selfie, holding her left hand up and looking lovingly at her engagement ring.

  ‘My fans like to know when I’m doing wedding stuff,’ she says, typing something then bringing her phone over to the table where I’m sitting, and leaving it face up right in front of her. I notice that notifications from Instagram flood her home page. I only have seventy-three followers, but I had to turn the notifications off because they were driving me mad. Why wouldn’t someone with 2.1 million do the same?