by Sue Watson
“Stella, I know that it’s short notice,” announced Ella the Press Officer, “but I’ve arranged a photo shoot and press call for first thing tomorrow. It’s a quiet news weekend and it would be amazing if we could get stuff in the Sunday papers.”
“That sounds great Ella, but I won’t be around tomorrow. My family are coming,” I started.
“Oh Stella, no, you have to be there. You’re the producer,” she said, alarmed. “We need to strike while the iron’s hot, everyone’s talking about last week’s programme and there’s a kiss-and-tell from one of Denise’s ex-boyfriends rumoured to be doing the rounds. This is all great publicity for the programme and you’re a major part of it – in fact quite a lot of the papers have requested an interview with you, especially after the mud-wrestling scene.”
After some negotiation with Ella, we agreed that I would be available from 8am for two hours. During that time I would be around to answer questions and help ‘supervise’ our contributors. After that Ella was on her own in the mud with our cast and the World’s press and I would be able to spend the day with Tom and Grace who would arrive at 10am.
Of course as often happens with these things, when Saturday arrived the press junket went on far too long and photographing Denise in her various outfits took an eternity. I was talking to a reporter from the TV pages of The Mirror when I saw Tom’s car pull up and out of the corner of my eye saw them greeted by Al who I’d asked to take them on a tour of the set, with promises that I would be there asap. At eleven o’clock, an hour after our agreed time, I rushed anxiously from my last interview and found them outside the catering tent. I almost burst with joy. Grace ran across the grass to embrace me shouting at the top of her voice, “Mummee, Mummee!” I swept her into my arms and hugged her for so long and so hard and it felt wonderful. I buried my face in her shampoo-scented hair and kissed her a hundred times.
I looked up from Grace to see Tom standing next to us and I held out my arms for a hug. He moved awkwardly towards me holding out his arms and we embraced stiffly. It didn’t feel right and I had a dipping in my stomach. “I’ve missed you,” I whispered in his ear, still locked in our uncomfortable hold.
“Me too,” he whispered back. “Let’s get out of here. I saw the vicar’s wife on telly – she’s scary, let’s make for the hills,” he smiled.
“Oh Tom, I know. I just need to do one more interview, two at the most. The show’s really taken off!”
Tom’s response was to roll his eyes and turn away from me. I felt sick, but I had no choice so I carried on, turning to Grace and avoiding eye contact with Tom.
“I’ve arranged for Daddy and Grace to have hot chocolate and muffins in the tent while Mummy just sorts something out quickly.”
“Yummy, yummy,” she squealed, clapping her hands together and jumping up and down.
“It’s vital that I just deal with this now, while we’re on the up,” I said, looking pleadingly back at Tom. “If I can stay on top of this I’ll be offered the next series and I reckon I’ll be able to name my price and my working hours and you and Grace must want a drink and something to eat after your journey. We really didn’t expect it to be such a success. I had no idea the world’s media would descend on us today.” Tom smiled reluctantly and took Grace’s hand.
“Come on sweetie. Let’s go and get some hot chocolate.”
“But what about Mummy? Doesn’t she want hot chocolate too,” I heard her ask. As I walked away in the opposite direction, Grace was clutching my heart in her little hand.
Feeling a little weepy, I trudged back over to the throng of journalists, cast and crew. I could see Denise waving her skirt around and Bernard looking decidedly uncomfortable. I couldn’t believe I was walking towards this rather than away; I was horribly torn. I was deeply grateful for finally receiving recognition for all my hard work, yet if this was only the beginning it obviously came with a price. Be careful what you wish for, I heard my mum saying.
After three more interviews I saw my little family standing patiently waiting on the other side of the garden. Muffins and hot chocolate now a distant memory, Grace in her red T-shirt was sitting in the warm June sunshine, staring up at the trees and Tom, his hands in his pockets was nodding towards a squirrel, to Grace’s delight.
I finally extricated myself from the melée and almost ran across the grass towards the two of them, apologetic and tearful. Even Tom could see how distressed I was and for once, held out a life raft.
“Don’t worry about it,” he smiled. “You’re here now. Come on Gracie, let’s take Mummy out for lunch.”
This was a rare glimpse of the old Tom, the one I’d fallen in love with. He was essentially kind and caring and never used to bear a grudge. After the weeks of telephone silences and sulky conversations this glimpse of the old Tom overwhelmed me and as he started the car and we moved down the drive, I burst into uncontrollable tears.
Grace was confused and kept asking; “What’s the matter Mum? Why is Mummy crying?” and each time she asked, a fresh wave of sobs enveloped me and I became engulfed in so much emotion I just couldn’t control it.
“Mummy’s fine. Sometimes grown-ups cry when they’re happy,” I heard Tom say, looking at me with some concern, patting my knee reassuringly with one hand and holding the steering wheel with the other.
We drove for at least half an hour, trying to find somewhere to eat. Then just when it all looked like it was going pear-shaped a Harvester appeared, like a mirage in the Rochdale desert. I wouldn’t normally be so delighted at the sight of a Harvester, but Grace loved them and it was well after lunch time. We were all hungry and at this restaurant I could fill up on salad from the cart and tell them ‘no chips, please’. Once at our table, Grace placed her paper napkin neatly on her knee, sipped on cola and created a city on her Nintendo.
“I’ve missed you both so much,” I said, kissing her cheek and grabbing Tom’s hand in mine. “Thanks for coming all this way to see me.”
“We’ve missed you too Stel. I know this programme is important for you and it’s great it’s done so well, but I – well, I wonder, is it worth it?”
“I know, I’ve asked myself the same question every day. But it’s hard to just give it up and say goodbye. It’s who I am. Mum always said ‘you have to have a career, Stella’, and to be honest, I don’t know what else to do.”
Tom smiled at Grace and concentrated on folding his napkin into a tight little roll.
“You’re Grace’s mum and my wife. That’s who you are too. We’ve talked about this before, you could go part-time or at least try to work from the office more, rather than working away. Yes we need two salaries but we could manage a pay-cut if it meant you could spend more time at home. You get so involved in everything Stella, you really throw yourself into it, always promising to slow down ‘after the next series’, but then there’s always another and another.”
“I love that you want me home and…” I started.
“I suppose what I’m really saying Stella, is – can’t you just get an ordinary job somewhere that doesn’t involve long hours or being away?”
I felt the familiar stirrings of anger that Tom seemed to evoke in me these days. For a moment there I thought he understood. I was wrong.
“Look, I worked bloody hard to get a job in TV and now I’m working bloody, bloody hard to keep the job in TV. I am not prepared to throw it all away for what you call, ‘an ordinary job’, riding the tills down the sodding slave-driving superstore.”
Grace looked up, alarmed at Mummy’s sudden swearing and raised voice. I smiled at her and hunched my shoulders as though this were all a bit of a game Mummy and Daddy were playing.
“Stella, I just think that you should put your career on hold and consider Grace and I for a…”
That did it. “Consider you? Do you know how much I consider you? Have you any idea how bad I feel about spending all my time working and not being the perfect wife and mother?” I hissed at him as the waitress placed ha
lf a chicken with piri-piri sauce in front of me. And chips.
“I bet you’ve never considered giving up being a cameraman, the career you always wanted to do and trained hard for have you?” I said, ignoring the fragrant chicken. “Why don’t you get a fucking ordinary job!” I hissed.
“Mum just used a swear called f…”
“That’s enough Grace!” Tom shouted. Her little face started to pucker and she burst into floods of tears.
“Don’t speak to her like that,” I yelled, getting up and comforting Grace, who was sobbing into her napkin. “Now look what you’ve done with your temper!” I threw at him, as I mopped her eyes and started crying myself.
“We were being silly. Take no notice of Mummy and Daddy darling. If you eat all that you can have an ice cream,” I said.
Tom was silent. Crushed by my anger and Grace’s tears he picked up his knife and fork, defeated. I sat back in my chair, feeling full but stuffed my mouth with big, golden chips and thought you stupid cow, you’ve ruined it – again.
For the rest of the day, I desperately tried to keep a lid on my feelings which made me act like someone else and didn’t make for a great atmosphere. There was so much to say and not enough time to say it. Our day was supposed to be about being a family, laughing at stuff and bonding over in-jokes. It was about creating a memory for Grace about the time she and Daddy had an adventure and visited Mummy on location. Now all she had was the memory of Mummy swearing at Daddy and crying all the time.
When you don’t see the people you love every day, you can’t share the minutiae of each other’s lives. Whole episodes of our real-life soap operas are missing, so comments are misunderstood and feelings and motives become suspect. A huge chasm had formed in the middle of our relationship and, despite its unlimited salad cart and unbeatable prices, the Rochdale Harvester wasn’t the place to close it.
After lunch we’d walked through a small village and bought some black pudding and Eccles cakes which lifted my mood slightly. So much for Lighter Lift! While in the shop I bought Grace a strawberry milk lolly – her favourite. Tom and Grace were outside the shop when I greeted her with it.
“Thanks Mummy, I’m quite full, not sure I can eat it now,” she said, looking rather awkward.
“But it’s been ages since lunch and you love these, don’t you?” I said, beginning to feel uncertain.
“Actually Stella, she’s gone off them. She made herself sick at Megan’s party by eating about four and she’s not been able to face them since,” Tom offered apologetically, like I was a kind auntie they didn’t want to offend. I felt like an outsider; being away had excluded me from their lives. I suddenly felt like a stranger as I realised that during my absence, things had moved on and I didn’t even know what my daughter’s favourite ice lolly was anymore.
I wondered what else would change while I wasn’t there to see it. In another year, would I still know her best friends, her teachers, her favourite books? Grace’s birthday was in a few weeks and she’d carefully made a list of friends to invite to her party. There were names I didn’t even recognise. I didn’t even know what she wanted, but I was sure that Tom did.
They left at about 7pm. The summer evening light was soft and I would have given anything to just climb in the car and go with them. Tom wound down the car window and kissed me.
“Sorry Stella, I always seem to say the wrong thing to you these days.”
“I know,” I said, “I’m sorry for getting upset and angry.” I could feel tears forming and I didn’t want to cry in front of Grace again. “Don’t forget to feed the fish,” I said to her, smiling through my tears and blowing kisses. I stood and watched them leave, then turned and trudged back to my lonely little B&B.
8 - Lesbian Lust and Lemon Curd
For the next few weeks the show went from strength to strength. Denise and Co were hilarious and the garden bloomed under Gerard’s care. Facebook pages were set up by fans and it became the unexpected hit of the season. No-one watching knew what was going to happen next and quite frankly, neither did I. Every week produced a new and outrageous happening. If Gerard wasn’t singing Rihanna’s back catalogue he was tripping over compost heaps and demolishing a trellis in one hefty fall live on air. And as he tiptoed through the tulips, Denise made it her mission to reveal all the scandal parish life had to offer, not least of which was a colourful tale detailing lesbian lust and lemon curd in the WI.
One week she must have had too much altar wine and made a pass at the choirmaster, egged on by Gerard and the crew. Al had to step in, which of course he loved and was making all kinds of eye-rolling faces on camera and milking it for everything he’d got.
Every Sunday afternoon phone call of congratulations from the Peter Willis and every write up in the press made me feel fantastic. Ok, so I was lonely at times and missing half my life, but this was what I’d always wanted: to be part of a successful show – wasn’t it?
Peter seemed to have dealt with the Gerard situation back at base – and despite a few newspaper headlines from kiss-and-tell girlfriends, ‘revealing’ he’d been to prison, we got away with it. In fact, I had a call from an agent who reckoned he could find him presenting work and was talking memoirs if he could sign him up. He said it was ‘very courageous’ of us to employ an ex-convict and we had sent out a good message to people who believed their lives are over after a prison sentence.
Bernard the vicar was delighted because the publicity meant his flock had expanded and the church was crammed every Sunday. Lots of mad old ladies in hats turned up to sing loudly and get their faces on camera. Al said it was like a geriatric X Factor. Denise was also enjoying her new-found celebrity. She even did an ‘at home’ with Hello! where she got to spread herself across the vicarage kitchen worktops like a Page-Three wannabe.
We had made religion and gardening the new sex, drugs and rock and roll so I was very excited when we finally left Rochdale and I got a call to come back to Media World for a meeting to discuss the show’s future – and mine. Surely now I will have the respect I’ve always wanted, I thought, and be able to negotiate child-friendly hours. Maybe even a promotion so I could take a more office based role and see my family much more. I had been furious with MJ when she moved me to Gardening, but it had worked for me and backfired on her. The great thing was that, as head of Documentaries, she had no jurisdiction in Gardening, so had no control over my career anymore.
However, the downside was that things between Tom and I had become even more strained. The success of the first show meant that I had been so busy I hadn’t been able to get home at all, but as I travelled home from Rochdale, I was sure I could fix everything if we could just get to spend more time together.
By the time I got back it was getting dark but I could just make out some kids doing all kinds of stunts on bikes in the middle of the road. As I climbed out of the car, I couldn’t believe it – one of the kids was Grace. She looked so different, so grown up. My eyes filled up as I remembered her first ever bike – it was bright pink and she was really wobbly, even with pink, Barbie stabilisers. Now she was riding a shiny black one covered in skulls. How things had changed.
I waved and called to her and as soon as she saw me she shrieked with delight (OK, partly because I usually bring her a present). She abandoned her bike in the middle of the road, yelping and rushing to me, shouting; “Dad, its Mum…she’s back, Mum’s home!”
Tom was sitting on the doorstep with a cup of coffee in the fading light, laughing at her mad greeting. Gosh. He looks so handsome, I thought.
Tom helped me from the car with my bags and embraced me like he’d really missed me. Grace put her arms round my hips and all three of us walked and hugged at the same time up the path. As we climbed into the hall and dumped my bags, Grace disappeared into the kitchen, swiftly followed by Tom.
“Thanks everyone,” I teased. “I would have liked a bit more attention. Hello – anybody there?”
I walked slowly into the kitchen, to be gr
eeted by Grace proudly holding a big, pink iced cake. “It’s for you, Mum,” she said walking towards me.
Tom was beaming; “She said it’s just what Mum would like when she gets home. She baked and iced it all herself.”
Grace smiled at him and added grudgingly, “Well, Dad helped a bit.”
“It’s lovely,” I whispered, feeling a lump in my throat at the sight of the almost illegible, wobbly words saying ‘Welcome home Mummy!’
Grace and I sat round our big old wooden kitchen table while Tom put the kettle on. Grace cleared some space for the cake by moving the homework, magazines and camera pieces, and got some plates out. It felt so good to be home, amongst familiar things. I felt a rush of happiness as I looked around at the warm cream walls and lovely oak worktops. I smiled to myself as Grace and I cut three huge slices of sponge and began to devour ours.
“Tell Mum your great news,” Tom said, bringing mugs of hot coffee to the table.
“Mum, Mum, I’ve been picked for the gymnastics team!” Grace squealed, jumping up and down in her chair.
“She did so well,” Tom added, “she was up around the bars and jumped right across the horse.”
Grace folded her arms and furrowed her brow, looking straight at him, “Dad, it’s called a vault, and I didn’t jump across it – I did a long fly. You’re just so uncool!”
Tom laughed and ruffled her hair, “Silly Dad, I don’t know what I’m talking about, do I?”
“Tom, you’re just so uncool,” I said, resting my tired head on his shoulder. It was good to be home. We just needed time together so I could catch up on everything that had been happening and discover exactly what a ‘long fly’ consisted of, in the name of cool!
That night after Grace’s bath I went upstairs to read her a story. As I got to her room I overheard Tom and her talking.
