by Nancy Barone
But then I fell into my own trap and started wondering all sorts of things, like how much of a say I could have in the script? I wasn’t a scriptwriter. And how faithful would the movie be to my book? Who would they cast? Jesus, Nina, came Alice’s voice in my ear. Who the hell cares?
But one thing I did care about. Would the kids recognise the storylines I’d so diligently disguised as some other poor cow’s misfortunes and resent me talking like that about their father? Just how similar was my anti-hero Bill to Phil? Because while all my hatred for Phil was safely tucked away in between the discreet pages of a book and out of my children’s hands, we were okay. But even they would recognise their dad’s character on screen: gorgeous and totally useless. I wondered who could play his role? Jude Law would have been perfect. But he was too talented to want to portray a loser like Phil. I mean Bill.
The next morning before the kids were even up, I got another call from Northwood, and my hands began to sweat at the sound of the secretary’s voice. All I needed was a little more time. Just a little more. I was trembling so badly I almost dropped my phone.
‘Ms Conte?’
‘Uh, yes, hello there…’ I tried to sound cheerful and confident (you know, project some of that good karma while it was still around).
‘Ms Conte, I just wanted to confirm that your payment has been received.’
What? How? ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘The fees, Ms Conte? We’ve received them. Thank you.’
‘Oh. Okay.’
‘Sorry for the misunderstanding.’
‘No – uh – problem.’ I put the phone down, my heart beating to a million different rhythms. What the hell was that all about? How the hell had the money got there?
I called my bank immediately and spoke to someone named Parminder Rabash, whose name I’ll never forget, because he kindly explained to me that I had received an advance of ten thousand pounds from my agent, Alice Hopkins. I thanked him, blessed him, anointed him with all my best wishes and dialled Alice’s number.
‘Have you gone absolutely mad?’ I cried. ‘You know I can’t pay you back.’
Alice laughed. ‘I don’t expect you to.’
‘Alice, thank you from the bottom of my heart. But what if my deal falls through?’
‘It won’t. But, honey, let’s ride the wave for now, yeah?’
I closed my eyes and grinned, breathing deeply. ‘Yes. Thank you so much, Alice.’
‘No problem. Now go and buy yourself and the kids some snazzy duds. You can’t wear your wellies or your Crocs in LA.’
I grinned. ‘Why not? I’ve seen the way the stars dress there.’
‘Well, first of all because there’s no mud in LA. None that you’d see, anyway. Oh, speaking of stars, I need you to send me a new pic.’
I snorted. ‘How are those two thoughts even remotely connected? Besides, what’s wrong with the old photo?’ I didn’t have a new one, nor did I have a stitch to wear, and my hair, despite Alice’s advice, still needed a good cut. Better to keep the money for important things.
‘I like my old one, Alice. I look young and happy in it.’ Six years younger, give or take. Forget that I was miserable, but surely youth could sometimes hide the effects of stress? And as long as it didn’t catch up on me suddenly the minute I hit fifty, we were cruising.
‘Honey, believe you me, from now on, you will be taking only happy pictures. And the resolution on your old one isn’t high enough.’
‘Resolution? For what?’
‘For your promo pages. Wikipedia and stuff.’
I laughed. ‘Wikipedia?’
‘Will you stop echoing everything I say? I opened a Wikipedia page for you, so that when people look you up now, they’ll see your backlist titles.’
‘Huh. I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘That’s why you pay me ten per cent. Also, you need to update your website. I had a look at it and it screams the word “Forgotten”.’
Yikes. My website. She had a point. The last time I’d even looked at it was when I’d added the banner “Sunday Times Bestseller”. And that was many, many Sunday Times ago. Did I even remember my password? I must have scribbled it on a piece of paper somewhere, possibly on the back of an old recipe.
‘Right. I’ll see what I can do.’
‘It doesn’t have to be too staid this time. Actually, make it romcom-y, to reflect the Hollywood vibe. Wear a pink blouse or something.’
‘Alice, I love you, but I don’t do pink.’
‘Oh, honey, you may not understand it now, but your life is about to change. Big time.’
6
Something To Talk About
‘And I’m going to ride in a plane? Over the Atlantic Ocean?’ Ben cried, his arms tight around my neck.
‘Yes, my darling, you are,’ I assured him and hugged him fiercely. I had also booked a session with an American specialist, Dr Ellenberg, to see his leg, but that was a surprise. The cherry on the cake.
‘I’m not coming,’ Chloe pronounced, crossing her arms like whenever she was on the warpath.
Ben and I stopped. ‘What do you mean?’ I asked. ‘It’s the chance of a lifetime.’ Now that I had finally embraced my hopes and dreams without any fear, she went and pooh-poohed it all? Really?
‘I’m not going to have any part of you demeaning Dad.’
And here they were, my fears finally rearing their ugly head. Bloody brilliant. Not that she had ever read my books, of course, so I began to wonder who her source was. ‘Where did you hear such nonsense, Chloe?’
‘Everyone is always talking about you at school,’ she said in a tight voice. The voice that came out when she was truly upset and not just throwing one of her strops.
Crap. Sooner than I’d thought. ‘And… what are they saying?’
‘That you got your own back with your books. That at least Dad found one way to be of use.’
And then the tears streamed down her face. ‘Why do you always have to make me the laughing stock of my school? Why can’t you just be like the other mothers and have a proper job?’
Ooh, I could see this was going to be a mother of a tantrum. Ben saw it too and released himself from me and slinked off upstairs. Smart kid.
‘Chloe, sweetheart, please try to understand that this is the best thing that has ever happened to us.’
‘Nothing good has happened to us since you kicked Dad out,’ she insisted.
Was that the yarn he spun to our children? That I was the big bad wolf? ‘You might not remember, but he left of his own volition, Chloe.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
I stretched out my arms and took a deep breath. ‘Chloe, sweetheart, come here.’
She glared at me in response and I sighed. I knew this conversation was coming, only I didn’t know it would be so soon. Chloe had been content, until now, to live this life, just the three of us, perfectly happy and serene, seeing her father twice a month. But as he sank his fingers into her young mind, Chloe had begun to turn against me.
And after he had finally gone through all of our savings and moved to Truro because he didn’t have the gall to show his face in Penworth Ford after what he’d done, all the unanswered questions and doubts had come to the fore. He was still in debt, lived in a rented flat he paid for God knew how, seeing as he didn’t work anymore. At least not that I knew.
Whether they were really Chloe’s doubts or prompted by her school friends, and their curious mothers, was another issue.
When Chloe refused to move towards me, I sat next to her on the settee facing the garden. The daisies were out, gloriously bright like stars in a dark sky.
‘Chloe,’ I ventured. ‘Please understand one thing. My books are not about your father and me.’
She snorted, her eyes still lost on the garden, and once again I saw myself in her. The delicate but angry brow, the full but grim-set lips and the gathered tears that refused to spill.
Was this what I was to expect in the future? A rebel
of a daughter? Was she going to become one of those furious girls who ran away from home and never returned? Please God, help me make her understand that I love her and that I only want to keep her safe?
I was doing my damnedest to keep her from the ugliness of the world, but she would one day, all too soon, see it for what it was. A mixture of wondrous, tremendously beautiful but bad things and bad people like Phil. Simon from school would look like the angel Gabriel in comparison.
‘Well, then who is it about?’
I shrugged. ‘Someone like me. And most women today. But it’s made up. It’s fiction.’
‘But everybody says it’s all true…’
‘Who?’
‘The mothers at Northwood…’
‘What do they know, Chloe? Most of them haven’t even read my books. Nor do they know what happens in other people’s homes. Not even you and Ben know all the details of how your father left, so how can perfect strangers, let alone the Northwood mothers, know?’
But she just stared ahead, refusing to rejoice for us.
*
The first person I called was Jack. Or rather, the first person I told. He had stopped by with a whole bushel of early summer peaches and I just had to share it with him, and the look of pure wonder – and then delight – on his face was a gift of its own.
‘I’m so proud of you, Nina,’ he said, giving me a bear hug. ‘You truly are Wonder Woman.’
I laughed, finally feeling my ribs expanding for the first time in many many years with something akin to joy.
‘Have you told Emma?’ he asked.
‘The kids went round to bring her over. I want to see her face. And I’ve just made cannelloni for dinner. Are you interested?’
‘Always. And to celebrate,’ he said, whipping out a bottle of his prime cider, ‘a bit of bubbly!’
I clapped my hands. ‘Ooh, yummy! But how did you know?’
‘I didn’t. I just thought the three of us could have a drink tonight.’
‘Yes, let’s get sloshed!’ Not that I would, with my kids around. But if I did, Jack was the kind of bloke who’d carry you upstairs and pull the covers up to your chin and sit by your bed all night to make sure you didn’t choke on your own sick.
‘But when you get back from Los Angeles I want to cook for you and the kids myself. And I’ll bring it over so as not to disrupt their bed routine. How’s that?’
I suppressed a groan. As much as I loved him, Jack could not cook to save himself. His various attempts had resulted in burnt chicken, which was bright pink on the inside, and mashed potatoes, which were still raw. And still to this day, I don’t know how he had managed that one. But he was indeed the perfect friend. He knew my kids inside and out. He’d be a great father one day. ‘You, my friend, are a man to marry.’
He beamed. ‘I am, aren’t I?’
‘Except that you can’t cook to save yourself, so I’ll provide the food; you just bring the booze, okay?’
He laughed. ‘Works every time!’
The front door opened and banged shut. ‘Nina! I’m hungry! What’s this secret you’ve got to tell me? Hey, Marrak,’ she greeted, clapping him on the back and seeing the bottle. ‘What are we celebrating?’
‘Oh, nothing much,’ I said with a shrug. ‘Just a Hollywood deal for Written In The Stars.’
Emma’s face – I would never forget it. It went from confused to eyebrows into her scalp, then all teeth and tears as she threw herself at me, jumping up and down, whoop-whooping, and soon we were all a jumble of arms and legs and even Jack got kissed while, in the background, Chloe shrugged at Chanel in disgust.
‘Oh my God, Nina!’ she finally cried, then clapped Jack on the back again.
‘Ow,’ he said. ‘Easy, Em.’
But she ignored him. ‘Do you know what this bloody means? That we know a real celebrity! I want front-row seats at the Oscars when they call out your name! Oh, my God, we’re so bloody proud of you, aren’t we, Jack?’
‘Absolutely proud – but not surprised,’ he said softly.
‘Thanks, guys. Let’s eat! I’ve got trays for the kids so they can eat in the living room while we—’ I held up the bottle of cider and whispered, ‘get pissed!’
Not that we ever did. Jack wasn’t much of a drinker and I always had my kids in the house and Emma only let herself go once a year on one very specific night.
Jack shook his head and opened the bottle while I dished up the food for the kids and then for ourselves.
All evening we talked and dreamed, all the while eating and laughing. God, it felt good. It didn’t hurt to laugh anymore.
*
At midnight Jack got up. ‘Sorry to kill our buzz, ladies, but I’ve got an early start tomorrow.’
‘Going? Aww, you sure?’ I asked. I didn’t want the euphoria to end.
‘Another time. Go and get yourself some rest. You want to be fresh for Hollywood.’
‘Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’ll call you guys from LA?’ I giggled. ‘Gosh, listen to me, I already sound American!’
‘You are a star…’ Emma swooned, hugging me.
‘Break a leg,’ Jack said, kissing me on the cheek. He smelled like chocolate. ‘Have a great trip.’
‘You too, Jack. You’re not going away on one of your own business meetings? You’ll be here when I get back?’
He held my elbow with his free hand and peered into my face with an amused twinkle in his eyes. ‘I’ll be here when you get back.’
‘Okay, Jack. Night, Em…’
‘Night, Nina.’
I was still chuckling as I closed the door.
House secured and dogs tucked into their baskets, I crept to my room, dizzy more with happiness than cider. Yes! For the first time I was not merely happy, I was elated. Hopeful. Bursting with energy! Sleep? Who was tired? I could actually start a new book tonight! Come to think of it, I could even finish a new book tonight!
But I didn’t, luckily, because it would have been nothing but drunken drivel.
The next morning as I ran my pre-trip errands about town, there was still a feverishness in me that hadn’t disappeared along with the cider fumes.
The news had really gone viral as everyone, including the bank manager, congratulated me.
Alice had done a fabulous job in publicising the news and there was even a headline on some local papers with the new picture I’d sent her. (No makeover, no haircut, just me. Minus the glasses. Sometimes less is more. And the resolution was just fine.)
‘Cornwall writer in talks to secure a Hollywood deal,’ Alf read aloud when I stepped into the Post Of ice. ‘It was about time you got your own back, luv,’ he said, giving me a pat on the cheek.
‘Aww, thanks, Alf.’
Now all I had to do was worry about protecting the kids from the monumental invasion of their privacy that would most certainly ensue, especially if the deal went through.
I only hoped that Phil never read about it and that he stayed away from the internet and any kind of media. I didn’t know what he’d be capable of doing.
For days, everyone I knew continued to call and text, congratulating me and asking questions and wishing us well. And I felt… stronger. More confident, and it wasn’t just the prospect of earnings. I had been given a second chance to make my children’s and my life right.
With Alice’s advance, I paid the school fees for the rest of the year, bought them new uniforms, and sports kits, and set aside some money for the consultation with Ben’s American surgeon.
Then I drove to Falmouth, surprised that Lottie didn’t cough once on the way, and paid a mechanic to give her a good look, once and for all, followed by a trip down to B&Q to buy stuff for the house, like a couple of new dog baskets and cushions for Minnie and Callie, a mirror and a pink clock radio for Chloe and an inflatable car-shaped reading chair and a new pile rug for Ben. And for myself, coloured pens, sticky notes and a pile of notebooks with the words Bright Ideas on the cover, because good things always came in
threes.
7
Hollywood Dreams
Because I had sole custody of the kids, I didn’t need Phil’s permission to take them out of the country. So I called the school to inform them we’d be away for a week.
‘I hope you’ve packed your sunscreen, Ms Conte!’ the secretary answered. ‘And give George Clooney a kiss from me!’
‘Uhm, thank you. Will do.’
I put down the phone. George Clooney? As if. I wondered who they’d choose to play my fictitious hero? Probably some young, rising model turned actor. But who could play Stella, my heroine? Come to think of it, who the hell would want to feature in cargo pants, Crocs, glasses and a ponytail for three-quarters of the movie? What actress would want to look like me? I mean Stella.
On the eve of our departure I packed the kids some basics. There was no way they were going to need their macs in California this time of year. Besides, I didn’t want them to stand out as Brits abroad usually do. We’d go with whatever we felt comfortable with. Chloe would be all over the department stores pretending she was nineteen instead of thirteen. I had to keep a close eye on that one.
I sighed, but this time it was a happy sigh. Could it be? Could things really be taking a turn for the best for us, after all this time? Dared I hope as much? But I resolved that, whatever happened, even if the whole deal died a quick death, I would still stay upbeat.
And Ben – my throat contracted at the thought of him. Would they be overly kind to a kid in a leg brace? I didn’t want him to feel any different, and already I imagined California kids on rollerblades whizzing past him, making him feel teeny tiny. What could I do? I would give the whole of the film proceeds (there I went again, dreaming) to any doctor who could make my son stand on his own two legs and kick a ball without falling over. And so would Chloe – I knew that for sure, because, as shallow as she sometimes seemed, she loved her brother fiercely and would kick anyone’s arse if they dared to mistreat him.
Enough, I scolded myself, swiping at my cheeks. This was a good thing. The opportunity of a lifetime. I had written the book and I deserved the chance to make my kids happy after all we’d been through. Things were finally going to be good.
