by Sue Watson
‘Amy and I have lots to catch up on…you can’t take her away from me,’ Bella said, like a little girl whose favourite toy was about to be snatched.
‘Yeah, but before you get your baubles in a twist we need to talk about what exactly you two are catching up on.’
‘Fliss, please, Amy’s only just arrived, she doesn’t want to find herself in the middle of a “domestic”, we have standards.’
‘I may be a PR genius but there are some things even I can’t cover up with Pan Stik and a double-page spread in Woman and Home,’ Fliss snapped back. ‘I need to be the first one to talk to Amy – she needs to know the score…’
‘There is no score!’ Bella said, with a familiar sulky look. ‘I know the script because you’ve told me a million times. As far as the crew are concerned she’s an old friend, to you and I she’s an old friend who’s threatening to blackmail me if I don’t go to some filthy hovel and spend Christmas Day making slop. But to our viewers she’s lovely Amy, who won the prize of a big, Bella Christmas,’ She said, turning on the TV cheer as if already on camera.
I started to protest, but couldn’t get a word in.
‘Yes – and all I need YOU to remember,’ Fliss said, pointing at me, ‘is that what happens in Dovecote stays in Dovecote… or the homeless starve.’
‘Charming,’ I said, thinking how like a pantomime villain she was – but before I could add anything, Fliss was off again.
‘I don’t need any of this. I could be in Aspen this Christmas, but instead I’m stuck here trying to make a silk purse out of the proverbial sow’s ear,’ Fliss was saying. ‘As if I don’t have enough to do, it’s looking like a great big “happy damage limitation Christmas” for me while I untangle your twisted youth – which just popped up like the Ghost of Christmas Past,’ she said, gesturing towards me. I’d been called some things but ‘Ghost of Christmas past’ was a new one.
‘Oh, take no notice of grumpy old Fliss,’ Bella smiled her charming smile. ‘You and me have lots to talk about Amy, so come through,’ she said, coldly, steering me out of the hall and into the elegant sitting room.
I heard Felicity’s voice grumbling and fading as we entered the room, which was cosy and ‘antiquey’ with duck-egg blue velvet sofas, enormous lamps and a huge hearth with a crackling log fire. Bella gently guided me to an armchair near the fire, the blast of heat was welcome after standing in the rather chilly hall, and as she took a seat opposite me she asked if ‘anybody anywhere’ was bringing her the coffee she’d asked for.
‘You have a lovely home,’ I started, feeling awkward, like I was talking to a complete stranger.
‘It should be lovely, it cost me a bloody fortune to buy, and even more to maintain, and it’s all real, no fake antiques at Dovecote,’ she said, gesturing to an old clock on the mantle.
‘Lovely,’ was all I could say. There was something about her demeanour, brittle and cold like her mother, the old Bella who’d appeared briefly upstairs, the one I’d known since childhood, wasn’t in the room.
I was upset, I’d only come to Dovecote for St Swithin’s and my mother – but meeting Bella again I realised that deep down I’d naively hoped it would be like old times. I suppose I’d hoped that when we finally met at Dovecote we’d just collapse into giggles immediately reverting to our younger selves, slipping back into that easy friendship of our youth. Perhaps that’s what I was looking for… my youth? I longed to see the real Bella, my old friend who I used to laugh with, the girl who was honest and open and hilarious. Yes, the old Bella had the potential to be annoying and a bit of a show-off sometimes, but this new TV Bella was an annoying show-off all the time. She pulled her robe around her, ‘I have to say, Amy, I didn’t expect to ever see you again,’ she started.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t want you to feel I can’t be trusted.’
‘But you can’t be trusted,’ she said, looking incredulously at me.
‘Yes I can, Bella. Look, I know I came on a bit heavy about the recipes, but they’re important to me… and you took them.’
She stared at me through glassy eyes, but before she could answer the door of the sitting room swung open and a young girl dressed in rather dark clothing trudged in carrying a tray of coffee. She was what my kids would call ‘a Goth’ – her hair was dyed jet black and backcombed up, her eyes painted with thick, black eyeliner and her lips dark. I was surprised Bella had employed someone who looked like this, but perhaps this girl was good at her job?
‘Put it down there, Crimson darling, we’ll pour our own,’ Bella said, crossing her long legs and leaning forward.
‘Oh, Crimson?’ I said. ‘You’re the researcher I spoke to on the phone..?’
‘Yes… that’s right,’ the girl answered slowly like I was a child.
Bella ignored her and picked up the coffee pot. ‘Mother?’ she was smiling at me with an enquiring look on her face.
‘Yours or mine?’ I said. ‘Where shall we start?’ I was relieved and surprised she wanted to get down to the elephants in the room so quickly.
‘Oh…no, I meant the coffee. Shall I be mother and pour it for you?’ she said, like I was a complete idiot. I flushed and Crimson left the room sniggering.
‘Yes… you pour for me, thank you,’ I said, feeling stupid and trying not to sound tense… which was making me tense and stupid. I pulled my handbag towards me and discreetly checked to make sure I had a brown paper bag while hoping to God I wouldn’t need it. Imagine the scene, me and Bella meeting in her beautiful sitting room after all these years with so much to say, her sitting there all manicured and glossy and me dribbling into a brown paper bag.
This wasn’t how I’d imagined our first meeting. I’d hoped we could thrash out the past and get on with the present, but I suppose my hostel demands, accusations of theft and veiled threats of public exposure had put paid to that. Besides, Bella’s world was all so stage-managed now, the messy stuff of our youth, our mothers, stolen recipes and the homeless was probably deemed unmentionable in a room like this. Sitting here in her expensive world of privilege, I doubted Bella and I could ever pick up where we left off and be friends again. Just looking around at the antiques, the huge sash windows, the high ceilings and the Farrow and Ball wall shades was confirmation – if I needed any – that we now lived in very different worlds.
Bella poured black coffee into china cups from the ornate silver coffee pot, holding it high in her elegant hand, steam rising, a spectacular diamond glinting from her ring finger. As she handed me a cup and saucer, her perfect, scarlet nails touched my own unvarnished bitten ones and we both pulled away quickly.
Like mirror images we took a sip of coffee and our eyes met briefly, then we continued to sip in sync and silence. The warmth of the fire was welcome and calming and I sat back among the cushions, the aroma of the rich brew filling my nostrils. Carols played in the background and a beautiful twinkly branch glittered over the mantelpiece, sending shards of light around the room.
‘It took you hours, didn’t it?’ I said, thinking about how Sylvia and I had watched Bella laboriously glittering each branch on TV the previous night.
‘No… it took Crimson hours,’ she laughed. ‘I couldn’t be bothered glittering every bloody twig, life’s too short.’
‘Yes, life is short,’ I said, ‘so why throw away a friendship? Why do you still, after all these years, refuse to forgive me?’ I heard my words land in the steamy coffee silence.
‘Oh Amy, it’s too complicated… you don’t understand.’
‘I don’t understand why you have cut me off and ignored my Christmas cards for years,’ I said.
She looked down, played with the tiny silver spoon on the saucer.
‘You ruined my life when I was a teenager,’ she started, ‘but I’ll be damned if you’ll do the same now.’
I was shocked, she wasn’t looking at me, just stirring her coffee slowly. The words were strong enough to convey her hatred. It had been easy to talk on the telephone and almost
satisfying to watch her squirm on live TV, but this was different. We were alone in her home – face to face – and I suddenly saw what she saw. I had caused all that trouble in her past and now I was back to cause more trouble. What sort of person had I become? Neil’s departure had scarred me, and Bella’s betrayal of my mother had hurt me and perhaps hardened me too? It occurred to me that I was now taking all that pain and upset and loading it onto Bella.
‘I’m not a bad person, Bella. I never meant to hurt you,’ I said, a catch in the back of my throat. I feared she may not have forgiven me, but to say I’d ‘ruined’ her life really stung. ‘And me being here now is all so mixed up – I’m going through a tough time and I’m angry because you’ve taken something that belonged to me and… you’ve made me suffer all these years.’
‘I made you suffer? That’s funny.’
‘You know I meant no harm, Bella. I thought I was helping you…’
‘Helping? Is that what you called it? Is that what you’re doing now?’
‘No… I’m sorry about what happened… before, and I don’t blame you for believing I “ruined” everything. But I didn’t do it with malice, and if you want to talk about “ruining lives” what you’re doing now, refusing to forgive me for what happened years ago, has ruined mine. I worried about you, I couldn’t sleep…’
‘Neither could I,’ she snapped. ‘I’m glad you know how that feels.’
‘So this is your revenge for what I did – using Mum’s recipes?’
She didn’t answer.
‘Bella, it’s malicious – it’s… it’s theft.’
‘Theft is a very strong word. If you mean that each year you sent me some Christmas recipes in a card and now I’ve adapted them for a book… then that’s different.’
‘It’s not, you’re claiming them as your own.’
‘Did you claim copyright? Do you have lawyers involved? Is there anywhere on those cards or those scrawled pieces of paper that say “please Bella don’t put these in a book”?’
I was shocked at her vindictiveness, the way she was looking at me like I was a bad smell under her nose.
‘I don’t know what kind of world you live in Bella – oh hang on, I think you just gave me a clue. And in answer to your ludicrous question, no, I didn’t think I needed to protect bloody copyright because they were notes to a friend… they were meant just for you and no-one else.’
‘Like when I told you not to tell anyone – that was meant just for you.’
She had me there.
‘Well yes, I understand that you might feel I… betrayed you, I told your secret – but I didn’t put it in a bloody book, did I?’
‘You might as well have done.’
‘I’m sorry, I’m so, so, so sorry. I don’t know what else I can say. I can’t change what I did and what happened as a result of that – but trust me I’ve lived with the guilt ever since. If you publish these recipes you will live with the guilt too. I know you loved my mother, she was there when your own mother wasn’t – and you are taking something precious from me, but mostly from her.’
‘Don’t be so nasty, I’m honouring you and your poor mother by putting her recipes in my cookery book. Now, everyone can share them….’
‘I doubt you’ll share any of the royalties though,’ I spat.
‘Oh, it’s about money, is it?’ She put down her cup and saucer, sat back and glared at me. ‘Why didn’t you say? So how much do you want?’
‘I… no. I don’t want anything. You’ve got this all wrong…’
‘When I really needed you, when I was lost and alone, you – my best friend – were nowhere to be seen. Then twenty two years later, when you’ve got no money and your husband’s left you for a stripper, you call me up. You threaten to reveal my teenage past, accuse me of stealing something you sent to me, and blackmail me into filming in a homeless shelter on Christmas Day. Now you’re complaining that I’m not sharing my royalties with you.’
‘No, it’s not like that. I’m not interested in your money, I don’t want anything for me… it’s about Mum and the shelter. I can see I’ve been clumsy and made myself look bad, but honestly, everything I’ve done has been done in kindness…’
‘Oh stop being so damned pious. I don’t want to hear about you, your mother’s bloody recipes or some awful stint on Christmas Day with smelly homeless people,’ she said, sounding just like she did when she was a kid.
We both sat in silence, I was shaking with rage and anger and hurt and Bella looked shaken too. After a few minutes she started to speak.
‘Look… Ames, about the homeless… thingy,’ she said, her tone suddenly quite different, she was trying to cajole me now.
‘What about it?’
‘Well it’s like this,’ she said slowly and calmly like she was trying to make a violent, insane person see her point of view. ‘No one wants to turn on their TV to watch homeless people drooling over their turkey on Christmas Day. It’s enough to put viewers off their sprouts. My audience want perfect families, biblical epics and beautiful cookery shows, they don’t want this… this homeless… rubbish. It will be a disaster. And the real tragedy in all this… is that your little shelter wouldn’t get any coverage because the viewers would be turning off in their droves.’
‘Don’t patronise me, Bella.’
‘I wasn’t.’
‘You were – and in my humble opinion, as a viewer – I can tell you they wouldn’t turn off.’
I watched her play with her beautiful nails, and realised that she was still a spoilt little kid putting herself first.
‘Well, you’ve given me no choice in the matter, with your threats to run to the papers with some made-up stories. As I said before, once more you’ve come into my life and wrecked it.’
‘No I haven’t… I still care about you, I don’t want to hurt you or wreck anything… but it seems you’re going all out to hurt me. I miss the old Bella,’ I said, trying to reach her.
‘Well, the old Bella’s gone now,’ she said sadly into the silence. ‘We seem to have no other option here. So, if it will stop your whining, I’ll do it. But trust me, no one will watch it – my viewers want me in my perfect kitchen serving a big Bella Christmas to nice employed people in their own homes with their own teeth…’
‘Oh what a lovely world you must live in, Bella,’ I sighed. ‘You have the luxury of being able to ignore everything that isn’t pretty to look at.’
‘Yes, you’re right, I do. Reality can be a bitch and I hate looking at it – talking of which you aren’t wearing that, are you?’
‘Yes…why?’ I said, looking down at my lovely new autumnal blouse while pulling my new rust cardigan around me protectively.
‘No reason,’ she flicked her long dark hair. ‘I mean, if you want to stand in front of several million TV viewers looking Amish that’s fine with me.’
I could feel myself curling up, trying to make myself invisible – this wasn’t the first time this criticism had been levelled at my fashion aesthetic. I’d thought my outfit was perfect, and it was, for my world – but perhaps not for Bella’s more glamorous one. ‘But it’s new… I bought it specially.’
‘It’s horrific.’
‘But I’ve only brought a couple of things with me to wear,’ I stood there, feeling naked, awkward in my new clothes.
‘You need to see Miss Thing in wardrobe, she’ll sort you out.’
‘I thought I was okay… didn’t realise I’d need sorting out,’ I said, feeling quite crushed and looking down at my lovely new cardigan.
‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself. All I did was tell you the truth about your sad little cardi – you’ve done far worse to me,’ she snapped. ‘You’ve ruined my bloody Christmas by making me schlep all the way to the Midlands to cook for a load of people on benefits.’
‘They’re aren’t on benefits…’
‘Oh no, that’s a different series, but they aren’t exactly the glitterati either are they? I’m not happy abo
ut being forced to hang around with a bunch of losers, up to my tits in tinsel and turkey on the twenty-fifth,’ she snapped.
‘I’m sorry if your perfect Christmas might be blighted by helping other people for once,’ I said.
‘Oh Amy, nothing is perfect – and nothing is ever quite as it seems…’ she started, just as Fliss appeared in the doorway like the avenging Angel.
‘Did somebody mention tits and tinsel? If so I’m your woman,’ she giggled lifting her arms and shaking her ample chest.
9
From Laura Ingalls to Jessica Lange
‘Now, my little nest of festive vipers… anything I need to know?’ Fliss was flustered, excitable and obviously keen to stop Bella and I saying too much when she wasn’t in the room.
‘Yes – filming starts in twenty-five minutes.’ Bella stood up, clearly I was now dismissed. Our reunion had resolved nothing at all, my mother’s recipes were still in Bella’s name and she still hadn’t forgiven me – I wondered if she ever would.
‘Fliss, make sure everyone is ready… I don’t like to be kept waiting,’ she said, assertively.
Fliss rolled her eyes. ‘How many times do I have to tell you, I’m your agent – not your assistant, I don’t recall “rolling over and sucking up to Bella” written on the contract. And as much as I hate to break up this cosy little chat about your idyllic childhood spent skipping through suburbia hand in hand,’ Fliss grimaced, ‘YOU need to get dressed,’ she pointed at Bella, then she looked me up and down. ‘And YOU need to… oh God… are you really wearing that?’
Bella sniggered.
‘Why does everyone keep asking me if I’m wearing this?’
‘Because you look like something from “Little House on the Prairie”.’
‘I see it as more “Amish chic”…?’ Bella offered with a giggle.
‘Yes that too,’ Fliss said in all seriousness. ‘Well, whatever you’ve come as, I think we need to get you to make-up and wardrobe – with some urgency.’
Fliss then rushed me through the house like it was a medical emergency, pushing open a door and dragging me into a messy home office.
