‘Come on Mummy, pleeeease,’ says Bonnie looking up at me. Her beautiful eyes begging.
I am dressed well for this weather, I suppose, with good coverage. I could just put some tights on under my green velvet dress. Liam knows not to touch me. I am desperate for this appointment, but my daughter’s happiness is somehow succeeding my need for personal comfort. It’s a new and complex emotion, but one I am surprisingly happy to pursue.
‘I could join you, I suppose,’ I say. This will, of course, mean I am hairy for the wedding. But I have made a great dress that offers full coverage.
‘Just give me a minute.’ I go upstairs. Tights, blusher, a red lip. I remove a few hairs from my chin and dab a little witch hazel on to reduce any redness. I put on extra deodorant as it’s a warm day. Back downstairs, both Bonnie and Liam look very excited.
‘You’re coming, Mummy?’ Bonnie asks.
‘I am,’ I tell her.
‘Let’s not bother with the buggy, she can walk, can’t you Bon Bon?’ Liam says.
‘Yes, I’m a big girl.’
Liam and I take one hand each.
One of my earliest memories is of a family picnic. I was around five, we sat on a red tartan rug and the fluff kept sticking to my food. My mother had made sandwiches and had various salads and dips in Tupperware boxes. I’m sure she did this a lot, but I only remember it the once. My recollections of my early years are hazy, but I do have some happy memories to refer back to.
My father was very proud of his wicker picnic hamper and kept mentioning the joys of drinking wine out of an actual wine glass in the middle of a beach. I remember Mum telling him to stop going on about it, but laughing at him at the same time. He leaned over and kissed her. She told him to get off. This was a common dynamic for them. Believe it or not, it was a sign of affection. They were flirtatious back then. I remember hints of it.
My dad had brought a skipping rope with us that day, and while they both took an end each, I jumped over it.
‘Faster, faster,’ I would shout, and they would oblige, speeding up until my little legs couldn’t take it. I’d crash to the sand laughing and exhausted, and they would laugh too.
Funny to think of me being a happy little girl. I had no idea what cards life had decided to deal me at that point. I was innocent. My relationship with my parents was all that mattered, really.
‘Can I have chocolate?’ Bonnie asks in Pret a Manger, as Liam gathers far too much food for us to eat in the park. He winks at Bonnie and puts a Rocky Road bar into his basket.
‘Rubes, anything particular you would like?’ he asks me. I shake my head, then pick up an apple and pop it in the basket.
‘That is far too much food, you two will never eat it all. Waste of money,’ I tell him, as he loads it onto the counter so the cashier can ring it up.
‘Oh, I bet we will, right Bon Bon?’
Bonnie nods enthusiastically.
‘There wasn’t much point in us calling her Bonnie if you insist on only calling her Bon Bon, was there?’ I say, taking my apple and putting it into my bag. Liam mimics what I said in a silly voice and makes Bonnie laugh. I huff off and wait outside.
‘If she eats all that she will feel sick,’ I say, when he comes out. He stands in front of me and looks me directly in the eye.
‘Ruby, will you please get off your high horse and drop your standards for an hour or so while Bonnie and I try to enjoy your company at the park?’ He picks Bonnie up, and whispers, ‘Stare at her until she gives up’ into her ear, loud enough for me to hear it. They both, trying not to laugh, squint their eyes, as if waiting for me to say something. I hold as long as I can, insisting that they are being ridiculous.
‘OK, OK, but you will not eat that entire bar of chocolate all by yourself, OK?’ I say, warning my daughter with my scowl and starting to walk away.
‘There she is, I knew she was still in there somewhere,’ Liam says, referring to my softer side. ‘And of course she won’t, half of it is mine. Right Bon Bon?’ he says, making her scream, ‘NO WAY.’ They both laugh so hard you would think someone just cracked an incredible joke.
‘Are you coming or not?’ I ask firmly, a small smile trying to break out from underneath my stern expression. Liam passes me the two paper bags bulging with food and helps Bonnie up to his shoulders.
‘Do you have to …’ I start to say, before Liam stops me with a defiant look and a cheeky wink. He storms past me, Bonnie screaming with delight way above his head.
‘Well wait for me,’ I say, catching them up. ‘Bonnie, hold on please.’
‘Chase us, Mummy,’ she says, as if she has never been happier.
‘So tell me more about this mouse,’ Liam asks, as he lays copious amount of food out on top of the paper bag that he has fashioned into a base for our picnic.
‘Mummy caught it,’ Bonnie says, proudly.
‘Oh, she did? With her hands?’ Liam asks her, winking at me.
‘No! In a bucket,’ Bonnie says, correcting him. ‘She caught it in a bucket and we took it to the park and let it go back to its family.’
‘Wow, it sounds like you two are a super hero duo.’
‘We are,’ Bonnie says, raising her hand as if to punch me. I close my eyes expecting impact, but Liam explains.
‘It’s a fist bump,’ he tells me.
‘A what?’
‘She is giving you a fist bump, look.’
He punches Bonnie’s hand, and they both look very pleased. Bonnie holds her clenched fist up to me again. I punch it and feel a million years old and totally out of the loop.
‘Daddy, did you know that Mummy is hairy like a mouse?’ Bonnie says. The piece of apple I just ate jamming in my throat, causing me to cough like I just smoked a Marlboro Red in one drag.
‘I did, yes,’ Liam says. I still can’t talk, so I wave my hand frantically as if telling him to shut up. ‘I kind of like it, don’t you?’ he continues, realising I can’t tell him to shut up, and taking full advantage of it.
‘It’s funny,’ Bonnie says, and I finally get the apple up.
‘OK, Bonnie. Let’s play hide and seek. You go hide, now, go on.’ She drops all of her snacks and immediately runs behind the nearest tree.
‘ONE, TWO,’ I yell, hoping Liam has moved on.
‘You still can’t talk about it, huh?’ he asks me.
‘THREE, FOUR. No, Liam. I don’t like to talk about it. Not in the park, not at home, not at my wedding.’
‘Oh here we go, really? I know. I fucked up. But Jesus, Rubes, how many times do I have to say that I’m sorry?’
‘No amount of sorry will change the look of joy on my mother’s face when you humiliated me. So no amount of sorry will make it better, OK?’
Liam exhales loudly. I’ve made him feel so guilty about this for so long, and I know he regrets it. Of course he does. But I just can’t bring myself to let it go.
‘Mummy, what number are you on?’ Bonnie yells loudly, from her secret hiding place that’s right I front of us.
‘TEN.’ I shout, running towards the tree.
‘I still love you.’ Liam shouts after me. I keep running.
11
Ruby
It’s the day of the big wedding. As I get dressed, I picture myself in the hours before mine. I allowed a system to take control. A system of tradition that I wasn’t comfortable with but accepted as part of the process. I wore white underwear, I made a cream dress out of a thick, silky fabric. It had a high neck, ruffles across the front, I added splits in the sleeves. I, of course, had my customary wax. I wore more than the usual make-up, I had my hair blow-dried by a professional. I sat in a chair, looking at myself in the mirror for much longer than I normally would. I stared at my face, reminding myself that my husband-to-be made this decision all by himself. I never applied any pressure to get married. He wanted to. Love and joy was inside of me somewhere, and for that morning I allowed it to flourish. I was a bride. A wife-to-be. I think maybe I thought life was about to change forever. A
cceptance of myself on the outside and the inside, all because someone else was willing to do the same.
But Liam blew it. He squeezed out my recklessness and smashed it on the floor. I immediately crawled back into my shell, with even less inclination to come out. Now, every day when I get dressed, my aim is to cover as much of my body as I can without looking like I am dressed like a nun. I am sure Lauren Pearce’s wedding will be full of young women exposing flesh like they are produce in a butcher’s fridge. Not me, I will be in my usual velvet armour. Albeit in a fabulous colour.
I consider shaving my entire body, but it’s never worth it. Within hours the hair would start to grow back and that is very uncomfortable. I pluck my chin and I pack my tweezers. Twelve hours is a long time, and who knows what will sprout from where by the end of the day. I put on the crimson version of the dress but it’s too hot for tights. It’s a warm day and I’ve packed a portable fan to keep me cool. I presume this ‘back room’ will at least have a window?
Rebecca has told me to bring a sandwich. She said she was sure there would be something available for us, but that I shouldn’t rely on it. I don’t eat sandwiches, so I make a neat packed lunch of some rice cakes and crudités with a generous amount of hummus in a Tupperware box. I also pack deodorant and a pair of tights in case I do get cold. You never know if there will be air conditioners or not. I have my computer, of course, my charger, and an Internet dongle in case there is no Wifi. All of this requires one of my larger totes. A cheeky Anya Hindmarch with a pair of googly eyes on it. It’s quite ambitious on the fun factor, considering who owns it. But I quite enjoy the irony of that.
A car is waiting for me outside my house. It’s a Mercedes – apparently they’re providing a fleet of cars for the event. Every guest has been sent one as the wedding party don’t want random taxis showing up. I was asked by Rebecca to #Mercedes with a selfie of myself on the way. I told her I would do no such thing. I am going to this event to work, I am being paid. I have no obligation to enter into the brand support just so that Lauren Pearce and her famous husband can get loads of things for free.
The driver isn’t chatty, so it’s a fine journey as we travel about forty-five minutes west of London. I spend most of it thinking about Bonnie, and what a mess I have made of her nursery situation. After a wax, it is top of my things to have sorted by the end of next week.
A text comes in from my mother.
Not answering my calls? I hope you are a better mother than you are a daughter.
I don’t reply, despite the barrage of attack I would like to throw in her direction. It’s never worth it.
‘What is happening? Some kind of festival?’ I ask the driver. There’s tape and barricades and wardens in high-visibility vests as we enter a small village.
He looks in his rear-view mirror and raises his eyebrows as if I am joking. I find it irritating.
‘It’s for the wedding?’ he says.
‘Ohhhhh.’
‘Apparently there are five hundred guests,’ he tells me, proud of his knowledge. ‘That’s why all the roads are closed. And to stop the press getting too close.’
I had no idea it would be an event of this magnitude.
I have been told to call Rebecca as soon as I am out of the car, and that she will come to meet me at the entrance. As we pull up, I text her. I really don’t like talking on the phone.
Hello Rebecca, I’m arriving now.
K, dwn in 5
There is no need for that level of abbreviation. Rebecca is one of those women who goes on about being busy all of the time. So many emails end with something about her not having much time. It’s just a subtle way of telling people not to try to get any more out of her than she is offering. If she knew who she was conversing with, she wouldn’t bother.
I get out of the car and wait on the step. There are literally hundreds of people rushing around. Florists wheeling in huge arrangements, caterers with trays of glasses and food. Trucks pulling up, being unloaded with God knows what. I even see two people carefully carrying an enormously tall white box, which must be the cake. I don’t know what it is about me that wants to go and push the box over. But all of this wedding joy is triggering my own wedding trauma. I remember choosing all of those things. The cakes, the flowers. It all felt so out of character for me, but I went along with it all because I was in love. It was important to Liam to be traditional and he was important to me. I became a bride. I chose cake toppers. I selected food I thought my guests would enjoy. I played the part. And then he ruined it with a ‘joke’. My self-awareness is too feisty a beast to take humour on the chin.
And here I am at Lauren Pearce’s dream day. How does a model who uses fake mental health issues to sell products get to have this level of joy in her life and not me?
‘Ruby,’ calls Rebecca, coming up behind me. She is wearing red trousers and a cream blouse. Her brown curly hair is tied up untidily, and she has accessorised with large, fashionable earrings. She has a simple lick of mascara on, rosy cheeks and a solid red lip. She knows how to make casual look good. Well you would, when you spend your life surrounded by magazine people and photographing models. The trousers are a little controversial for a wedding, but I suppose they offer her a little more flexibility as she will be moving around a lot, squeezing into small spaces, and doing what she can to get the perfect photo. She’s not a small woman. Tall, with solid thighs. I haven’t seen her for a number of years and there is definitely a little more weight around her middle. The mole on her face is as prevalent as it ever was and the first thing you notice, even when you know it is there.
Her unpleasant aura is still as powerful. We don’t bother with pleasantries that go beyond a simple ‘hello’. As always she gets out of conversation by implying how busy she is with various comments and gestures. She does, however, look me up and down without complimenting my dress, which obviously means she hates it.
‘OK, follow me and I’ll show you your room,’ she says, leading the way. She looks around, seeming a bit on edge.
‘Are you looking for someone?’ I ask her.
‘Nope. Just checking out locations for possible photos.’
She’s like a sniffer dog, always on the job.
‘Thanks for coming early. Lauren wants a lot of getting-ready photos. Everything from her bath, to putting her underwear on. She wants to approve each shot and that will mean giving her a few options so we will have to work quickly if we’re going to make these posts feel live. You OK with that?’
‘Well I don’t have anything else to do today, so I’m sure it won’t be a problem.’
‘OK, Lauren is in there.’ She points at a door off a long corridor. I am curious to see Lauren in real life. Whatever real life is, to someone like her. I’ve erased her flaws in picture form, I now want to see them in the flesh. I’ve built quite the dislike for this woman, and she’s done that all by herself with her Photoshop requests and ludicrous Instagram feed, yet still I am met with a small thrill at the thought of seeing a major celebrity move and breathe. This day is actually quite exciting. I am pleased I took the time to make a good dress.
‘She has her mother with her. I just took loads of pictures of them but need to get more. She has two bridesmaids but they’re in their own rooms with their own PRs, which is so weird I don’t even know what to say about it. Gavin is in a room on the other side of the house. I’m about to go and get some shots of the cake, then I’ll get some of Gavin and his groomsmen, so then you can get working on those while I go and photograph the bride. She’s being quite intense.’
‘Intense?’
‘Snappy. She wants photos but doesn’t want photos. Fucking brides, I swore I’d never do weddings.’
‘Why did you then?’
‘The money. I’m being paid like a footballer to shoot this wedding. So we better get to it. The contract stated they want one shot of the champagne fountain and some bottles around it, followed by Gavin and then the reveal of Lauren and photos of the day as
it progresses. Oh look, here comes Lauren’s mum.
‘Hey Mayra, this place is a maze, isn’t it,’ Rebecca says, conversationally, waving Mayra over.
‘A maze? I don’t know why you all have to abbreviate everything,’ she says, which seems unfriendly.
‘Pardon?’ Rebecca asks.
‘Did you not have time to say “amazing”?’ Lauren’s mum says. Her tone is quite spiky and I dislike her immediately. Neither of them think to involve me.
‘I said this place is a maze. As in, there are loads of corridors and it’s quite hard to find your way around,’ Rebecca says. Two not very nice ladies having an awkward chat. I don’t try to make it three.
Mayra laughs, but doesn’t apologise. ‘Oh, I’m so used to Lauren doing that. It’s so confusing to me. Anyway, have you photographed Gavin and his groomsmen yet?’
‘Nope, I’ll get there in about fifteen minutes, I reckon.’
Lauren’s mum looks at her watch. ‘OK, I’ll go and let him know.’
She walks quickly away from us.
‘She’s a real piece of work,’ Rebecca informs me. ‘No wonder Lauren is a mess. Anyway, this is your room.’
‘Wow,’ I say, walking in. It really is stunning. The way she was talking, I’d been imagining myself stuffed into a broom cupboard. But this is really magnificent. Beautiful, opulent fabrics surrounding the windows and furniture. A four-poster bed with multiple fluffy cushions and a bathroom of pure marble with an enormous bath.
‘Goodness me, this is wonderful,’ I say, almost wanting to do a twirl when I walk in. I’m delighted to spend the day in such a gorgeous and unexpected place.
‘Lovely, isn’t it. OK, the Wifi code is on that pad over there. Here’s the first card with photos of the venue and Lauren and her mum. If you could find one of the champagne that would be great, just make sure the colours pop. And can we just do a few test shots? My flash has been playing up and I need to just check the exposure.’
‘Um, OK,’ I say. ‘Snap away and I’ll have a look at them on my computer.’
‘OK, thanks. If you stand by the window that would be good. The back light is what’s worrying me.’
So Lucky Page 21
