Wilde Women

by Louise Pentland

  NINETEEN

  TONIGHT IT’S MY MAGICAL NYC date with Edward. I can’t wait to be with him again. I’ve woken up before 5 a.m., and just try to take everything in. I grab my phone to ping a text over to him.

  Hey gorgeous, I’m up and raring to go! I’ve got such a buzz for New York already, and know today’s gonna be a good one. I can feel it in my loins!

  He’s only working a half-day today, so the plan is to go out exploring with Lyla, maybe have a look in some of the little trinket shops we passed yesterday, and then Kath will take over with Lyla and I’ll have some time to prep for work and see if there’s anything I can do for Natalie (this is a work trip, after all), and then a New York City date night with Edward.

  I can’t wait. The sun is streaming in through my window and already I can hear the city. At home you might hear the odd cat and perhaps the binmen on certain days, but here is different – there’s always sound. I quite like the feeling of knowing I’m always near other people; it’s oddly comforting.

  After sitting in bed with my laptop for an hour, I scrape my hair up into a bun and change into my bra, tee and comfiest jeans. A bit more formal than I would normally go for a Saturday morning, which is really saying something about my fashion standards, but I don’t want to run into Martin, or Natalie, looking like a woman who’s been raised by wolves or just escaped from an underground bunker à la Kimmy Schmidt.

  Just as I’m leaving my bedroom, I hear a little whimper from upstairs. I stop and listen for a moment, wondering if I’ve imagined it, before I hear it again.

  The door to the bathroom is slightly ajar, so I creep over with caution just in case it’s Martin.

  ‘Hello?’ I call.

  ‘Mummy, I’m poorly,’ Lyla cries very quietly.

  ‘Oh, my baby!’ I say, going straight in and finding Lyla sitting on the fluffy mat, leant up against the side of the bath. ‘My sweetheart, why didn’t you tell Kath, or come and find me?’ I ask, stricken that my little girl has been here like this, all alone.

  ‘I didn’t want to wake Kath up because I heard her crying last night, and I didn’t know which room you were in and I needed the toilet and my tummy was hurting and I didn’t know where I was and I, and I, and I didn’t know where you were,’ she starts stammering between sobs, getting worked up.

  By now I’ve sat down next to her and pulled her in close.

  ‘I’m here, I’m right here,’ I whisper, stroking her hair and feeling how hot her head is.

  ‘Are you going to go to work today and leave me?’ she cries.

  ‘No. I’m staying right here next to you. We’re going to have a nice bath, have some Calpol, get better and stick together. Have you been sick?’

  ‘No, but my tummy is bubbly and I had a big, slobbery poo,’ she replies and I hug her in closer to me, almost wanting to cry myself for how little and fragile she feels right now. You can never say that motherhood is glamorous; before I was a mum, if someone had told me about a ‘big, slobbery poo’, I might have vommed a bit in my own mouth, but right here is the only place I want to be at this exact moment.

  ‘OK, my bluebird. You’ve perhaps got a bit of a runny tummy from the travelling and all the cheese in your dinner last night. That’s all right, we can sort that. We’ll ask Kath to nip out and get some supplies, like mashed potato, and maybe some new sticker books, and we can spend the whole day in my room pretending it’s our own private hotel and watch films on my laptop. How about that?’ I say gently.

  ‘Yes! And I can stay snuggled to you like a tiny bluebird, and you can make the duvet like a nest!’ she says with a bit more life in her.

  ‘Sounds like a plan, Stan! Now, let’s run this bath and have a spa morning together. I’m just going to let Kath know you’re poorly,’ I say, standing up.

  ‘She’s sad about Eleanor,’ Lyla says, with big glacier-blue eyes.

  ‘Who?’ I’m totally lost.

  ‘Last night when she was asleep she sounded like she was crying and she said “my Eleanor” and then rolled over,’ Lyla says, completely seriously.

  ‘Maybe she was dreaming about her friends, then. Do you remember that time you screamed in your sleep about “the giant TV remote” and I almost had a heart attack?’ I laugh, making a mental note to ask Kath about the crying.

  ‘Yes! That was so funny, Mummy,’ Lyla laughs back, getting to her feet and having a look on the windowsill at the selection of bubble baths that we could use. ‘Shall we use one of these, or one of Kath’s?’ she asks.

  ‘Probably best to try one of Kath’s soothing ones. I’ll go and get it,’ I say, nipping down the winding attic stairs.

  Just before I make it to Kath’s room, my phone pings in my pocket.

  Feel it in your loins eh? I can think of something else you can feel …

  Oh God. Of all the times to start a sexting sesh, this is not it. Diarrhoea and aunts who talk in their sleep aren’t my idea of an aphrodisiac! Yesterday I was on top of the world, and now I can’t catch three minutes to write a filthy text. How the mighty have fallen!

  I knock gently on Kath’s door.

  ‘Oo-ooo, only me! Just wondering if we could use one of your lovely bath bombs?’ I say gently, putting my head round the door.

  ‘Hello, lovey! I was just waking up.’ Kath shifts herself up in bed.

  ‘Don’t get up on our account. Lyla’s a bit under the weather, so I’m going to give her some love and run her a nice bath. She said you were a bit down last night,’ I broach, not wanting to flat out say ‘you cried in your sleep’, because it feels a bit intrusive.

  ‘Did she? Not me! I’m absolutely gung-ho, lovey! Here I am, in New York City with some of my favourite girls! What’s to be down about?’ she professes, pointing to the bag with the lavender creations in.

  ‘Some of your favourite girls!? All of!’ I laugh, taking a purple bomb and heading up to Lyla.

  We spend the whole day in my room, only really leaving to fetch food from downstairs (toast for Lyla, thanks to Kath popping out this morning before deciding she may as well make the most of the day and visit The High Line) and open the door to the delivery guy (spicy Thai crab cakes and lemon iced tea for me – man, I love this city!). Natalie, totally understanding that it’s more important for me to spend the afternoon with Lyla than run through our plans, goes out with Martin to hit up Sephora and try out some all-day brunch spots, while Edward didn’t mind putting the sexts on hold till the real thing later tonight.

  By 5 p.m., the house is brimming with life again and Lyla is feeling much better, zipping up and down the stairs, playing hide-and-seek with Martin, showing Kath her art creations, watching Natalie and I prepare enchiladas for everyone and, when Edward arrives, opening the door to him with a warm welcome of, ‘Muuu-uuummm, your boyfriend who you like to kiss and say slushy love poems to is here, and he’s brought you flowers,’ and running off giggling.

  ‘Are you sure she’s been ill?’ Edward says, walking across the living room into the kitchen, handing me the most beautiful bouquet of roses and kissing me.

  ‘Ahhh, flowers! You didn’t need to do this!’ I say, quickly kissing him back but feeling a bit self-conscious with everyone around.

  ‘I did it for all the love poems you supposedly like to read to me,’ he says, smirking and walking past to say hello to Natalie, stopping to give a big hug to Kath, who’s now come down into the kitchen from a FaceTime session with Colin. ‘Something smells good! What’s cooking?’

  I love how confident he is. I love how well he gets on with everyone (even now, he’s sitting down next to Kath and you’d think the two of them had known each other all their lives). I love that he brings me flowers. I can’t wait to hear how his trip has been so far. I want this for the rest of my life and then some, I think. But right now, I’m just looking forward to spending quality time with him tonight.

  ‘Right, I’ll leave you here with this lovely lot. I’m going to head up and get ready,’ I say, giving him a squeeze and a
kiss on the cheek, to which he responds with a distracted smile (he’s leaning over the enchiladas) and a cuddle back.

  ‘Get ready for what?’ Lyla asks as soon as I’ve taken three steps away.

  ‘I’m going out with Edward tonight. I told you that yesterday. We’re going to have a little date,’ I say, running my fingers absent-mindedly through her hair.

  ‘No! I don’t want you to go anywhere!’ she says, suddenly distressed, her eyes darting between me, Kath and Edward, panicked at my potential absence.

  Thus begin ten minutes of back-and-forth, soothing and cajoling Lyla, who is so worked up she is hiccuping. She seems a lot better physically, but clearly she isn’t right in herself. I can’t do it; I can’t leave her like this.

  I look over at Edward from my spot sitting squished in the big blue armchair with a distraught Lyla in my arms. Please understand, I think, please, please understand.

  ‘Do you know what? I’m quite glad Lyla doesn’t want us to go out because it means we’ll get some of Natalie’s enchiladas,’ he says to me loudly, ensuring Lyla hears.

  God, he’s a good one.

  I DIDN’T WEAR STILETTOS and perfume, we didn’t kiss under the lights of skyscrapers and billboards, we didn’t eat off an overpriced menu in an Instagrammer’s dream restaurant – but our evening was lovely. It was like being in a big, warm family, all eating round the table, Natalie and Martin telling us about when their three boys, who are now graduating or just starting uni, were little and how they juggled work and home life, and me feeling better that it’s not just us who struggle to fit it all in, and Edward giving my thigh a comforting squeeze under the table here and there.

  By the time we’d all chipped in to clear up, I’d tucked Lyla into bed, Natalie and Martin had headed to their giant room to watch a film, and Kath had gone up to read, it was pretty late and my jet-lagged early morning was really hitting me.

  ‘How are you still going? Aren’t you jet-lagged too?’ I say to Edward through a yawn as we head up.

  ‘I’m a machine. Fuel me with coffee and a beautiful woman and I can go and go,’ he replies, squeezing my bottom and making me race up the stairs that little bit faster, grateful that Natalie has been so relaxed about Edward staying over in the ‘MADE IT house’.

  SUNDAY MORNING IS EQUALLY as gorgeous as Saturday. Sunshine is already streaming through my window when I wake before 7 a.m. I nip up to the loo and there are no small children feeling poorly, which is a better start than yesterday. Even though we’ve started living together, I’m still very much in the ‘make an effort’ stage, so I wash my face to freshen up a bit, brush my teeth (goodbye death breath) and put a little bit of lip balm on before creeping back into bed with Edward for one last cuddle.

  I can hear everyone starting to get up. Clearly we’re not fully on New York time yet, so I slide out of bed again, pull on my comfy jeans and a T-shirt (I already miss the freedom of wearing joggers and being braless: my caged boobs want to sag free and easy, dammit) and head downstairs. Instantly I retract my desire for privacy, because in its place we have full access to Kath’s cooking, and this morning it’s smoked salmon bagels and freshly squeezed orange juice!

  ‘Morning, lovey! I was up with the larks, so popped out for all of this! Did you know the shops open before ten a.m. on a Sunday here? It’s magic! I really got to grips with everywhere yesterday. I feel like a native. I’ll be eating hamburgers and riding in a rodeo before you know it!’ she trills cheerily. I don’t want to bring her down, so I don’t bother to tell her that hamburgers and rodeos are not what I’d associate with a native New Yorker.

  Lyla plods downstairs sleepily in her pyjamas and gives me a big arms-round-the waist cuddle. She’s followed by Natalie and Martin, who are up, showered, dressed and presentable. They’re having a day out at the latest exhibition at the Guggenheim, so want to get a ‘good start on the day’. Edward and I had discussed taking Lyla to some of the city splash pads since it’s another hot day, and Kath said she’d love to come too and have a look. Apparently there are loads all over Manhattan, all with delicious street food trucks nearby, so it should be a really chilled (and yummy) way to enjoy the city.

  Just as they’re leaving, Edward comes downstairs in a pair of joggers and an old T-shirt but still looks handsome – it’s so unfair.

  ‘Morning, all! What a gorgeous day!’ he says, picking up a bagel and taking a healthy-sized bite.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Worm!’ Lyla giggles. It’s almost become a term of endearment now.

  ‘Good morning, Lyla! A lovely greeting from you this morning,’ he says, surprised but I think chuffed.

  ‘Well, that’s because you’re so nice to my mummy,’ she says, swinging on the bottom of the banister.

  ‘Am I, now?’ he says, looking at me as though I’ve told her something. Natalie and Martin are by the front door about to leave, but are waiting to hear what sweet thing she’s referring to, and Kath is smiling by the kitchen island as she whisks up some eggs for the pan.

  ‘Yes, you are. Last night I heard you wrestling with her and she was saying, “Oohhh, Edward”,’ she begins. ‘And then you said—’

  ‘OK, Lyla, thank you very much!’ Oh my God. I need to stop her. I know where this is going, and it is not a place I want to share with my boss, her husband and my aunt!

  Lyla giggles almost hysterically and runs upstairs, leaving me absolutely speechless and Edward a shade of red I didn’t think it was even possible to see on human skin. I want to die.

  ‘Well, at least someone’s having a good time!’ Kath quips, breaking the silence and carrying on with the eggs as I head upstairs to tell Lyla off, or hide forever, and Natalie goes out the door, smirking. Poor Edward. This is going to be a long trip.

  TWENTY

  BY MONDAY, JUST AS work starts, that amazing finding-it-easy-to-wake-up-early jet lag is gone, of course. I snooze my alarm for as long as I can before Edward uses both arms and a leg to shove me out of bed and tells me off for having no pep.

  ‘It’s because you’re so dishy that I can’t get out of bed,’ I whisper in his ear.

  ‘Babe. I appreciate the sentiment, but your breath smells like a rat’s arse,’ he says, wincing.

  ‘How lovely of you. It’s good to see we’re still firmly in the honeymoon period,’ I say, grabbing my towel and nipping upstairs for a quick shower and thorough teeth brush.

  An hour later, in the Uber with our mini kit boxes (and reassurance from Edward that I now smell fresh as a daisy), we’re headed off to the film franchise offices to have a chat with the new team face-to-face, to see if we can convince them that we should be on-set for the commercial shoot, and to offer any of their staff a free makeover or mini-facial to showcase our skills. Natalie is fully trained in a lot of the beauty therapies, and I’m pretty nifty at little hand massages and manicures, so between us we make a good team. I’m a bit apprehensive as to whether anyone wants their make-up doing at 10 a.m. on a Monday morning, but if I’ve learnt anything from my last trip, it is that anything goes in New York.

  As we hurtle along Sixth Avenue, I can’t help but feel that fizz of excitement in my stomach you only get from a place like this. It’s ironic that we’re working somewhere that’s just like in the movies, so that we can work in the movies! I think about sharing that out loud with Natalie, but she looks so focused, I don’t want to intrude on that with my musings, so keep it to myself, with a mental note to share it later with Lacey – she’ll enjoy it.

  As we pull up to an enormous skyscraper with one of those revolving glass doors, I take a big breath in. I remind myself that I’m Robin Wilde, MUA, Mother, Vice President of Women Who Win and that I’m going to smash it today.

  We take the lift up to the thirty-third floor and step out into a stylish lobby, manned by an equally stylish receptionist.

  ‘Good morning, Fierce Films, I’m Paige Toon, how can I help you?’ asks the astonishingly chipper receptionist.

  Without blinking, Natalie says
smoothly, ‘Morning, Paige, we’re here to see Scott Turner and Lindsey Kelk about the make-up artistry for your commercial this week. I’m Natalie Wood and this is Robin Wilde. They’re expecting us.’

  ‘Perfect, I will give them a call and they’ll be right over to collect you. Can I get you a drink or a snack in the meantime?’ she asks, still perkier than the perkiest person I’ve ever met in my life.

  ‘Just water, thank you,’ Natalie replies before I can even enquire what kind of snacks they have on offer.

  We sit and wait a few moments, admiring the office and flicking through our phones. We don’t chat much because I think deep down we’re both quite tense – we need to charm them today, plus make sure we’ve got everything lined up for the commercial. Natalie and I both know that if we mess this week up, there’s every chance we’ll wave goodbye to any future film work with Fierce, but I try to channel my wisdom from WWW and pretend I’m much more confident and able than I think I am. Fake it till you make it, after all.

  ‘So, I’m really sorry but Scott isn’t available right now. But Lindsey said she’ll be with you in about thirty minutes. Did you want to wait here, or grab a smoothie somewhere and come back?’ Paige asks, looking genuinely apologetic.

  ‘That’s a shame, Paige,’ Natalie says, standing up with her kit. ‘Do you know if Scott will be available at all today? We’d hoped to talk to him about the commercial, and I’m conscious the week will race by.’

  ‘He’s in with Lauren,’ Paige says, looking weirdly afraid.

  ‘Ah, I don’t think I know Lauren,’ Natalie questions carefully, cleverly trying to squeeze a little bit of information out of poor Paige, who is looking more nervous by the second.

  ‘Lauren Sharp is our new Project Manager, heading up this campaign. She handles all the budgets, schedules, staffing,’ she says, clearly aware that Lauren holds a lot of cards.