by Jo Bartlett
‘Yep definitely you!’ She grinned. It might be totally against any feminist principle, but sometimes a random comment like that could make your day. Okay, so maybe Tom was right now in the arms of a gorgeous blonde, but the plumber fixing the boiler at number 32 had told her she had a nice arse. Unless of course he had meant Stevie. Although, in truth, they both knew his bum was virtually non-existent.
****
‘Sweethearts, how lovely to see you both.’ Carol enveloped them in an embrace, tangling Ashleigh’s hair up with the rows of plaited bracelets she wore on each wrist. She smelt a bit like flowers and not the freshly picked kind, more like the aroma you get when flowers are ready to be moved from the vase to the compost heap.
‘Mum. What’s that smell?’ Ashleigh managed to detangle herself from the bracelets and took a step back.
‘Do you like it? It’s my new perfume, I made it myself. It’s full of pheromones.’ Carol was obviously quite proud of her endeavour and Ashleigh silently prayed that she wouldn’t be offered a bottle of the scent or, worse still, find one wrapped up for her under the tree come Christmas with the expectation that she should dab it on then and there. If it was full of pheromones, God only knew what was in it. Ashleigh just hoped it wasn’t bodily fluids.
‘So Carol, what’s with the Nativity scene? Bit early isn’t it?’ Stevie took a sip of the disgusting rosehip tea, another homemade delicacy that had immediately been thrust into his hand. Ashleigh, who had tasted it before, artfully left her cup on the window sill.
‘Well my love, I had to start early, it’s a work in progress after all.’ She’d ushered them through to the conservatory, which was really more of a lean-to and ran the length of the back of the house. From their position they could see the nativity scene in all its glory. Carol’s artistic capabilities were probably on a par with her perfume blending skills. The head of the baby Jesus was at least twice the size of his mother Mary’s and, in turn, she had been given thick spidery eyelashes that a drag queen might have written off as OTT. Never mind upsetting people of other faiths, Ashleigh couldn’t help thinking that any Christian happening upon the scene would have far more cause to be offended.
‘What else are you planning to do to it?’ She barely dared ask. It was at least twelve feet high and the paint that her mother had chosen looked so lurid that she wondered whether it glowed in the dark.
‘I’m thinking of putting some lights through holes in parts of the scene, but I need Geoffrey to use that puzzle-saw-thingamajig of his to do it.’ Carol wrinkled her nose. ‘Have I got that right or is it a jigsaw? Anyway, he needs to cut the bits out before I can put the lights in.’
‘Where exactly are you putting these lights?’ The look on Stevie’s face suggested he had no idea what was coming; unlike Ashleigh, who was only too aware that the chances of it simply being the star above the stable would be a given for anyone but her mum.
‘I thought perhaps Mary’s breasts.’ Carol spoke without a hint of irony and Stevie looked like he was about to spit out his mouthful of rosehip tea.
‘Mum you can’t!’ As much as Ashleigh was used to her mother’s eccentricities, this was too much even for her.
‘Why ever not? Breast milk is the giver of life darling and a woman’s breasts should be lit up. Not just for a man’s pleasure, although that can be divine too of course! I breast fed both my children until they were three you know?’ Carol addressed Stevie, who was unable to hold back any longer and burst out laughing, almost choking on the revolting tea in the process.
‘Mum, for God’s sake! And you wonder why I never bring any boyfriends to meet you?’ She pitied her little brother and her step dad, Geoffrey, being with Carol all of the time.
‘So, is that why you never bring any of your boyfriends to meet me? I just thought you weren’t getting any and that’s why you’re so snappy all the time. Sex is a fantastic stress reliever you know darling. You should try it! It’s been over a year since you split up with Liam and I only ever see you with Stevie.’ Carol leant across the table and squeezed his hand. ‘Not that I don’t love seeing you my darling.’
‘There hasn’t been anyone special enough to bring home, Mum. That’s all.’ Or anyone at all for that matter and, if there was anyone special, Ashleigh certainly wouldn’t be racing to introduce him to Carol.
‘Well, there is someone.’ Stevie who had been idly flicking through the papers, in between choking on his tea, had happened across the picture of Tom and the mystery blonde. He clearly wasn’t ready to let his theory about her attraction to their new boss go. ‘This is Tom.’
‘Ooh darling, what a hunk!’ Carol grabbed the proffered paper from Stevie and squinted at the picture. ‘Yes, he’s definitely dishy!’ She was probably the one woman left in the world who’d describe a man as ‘dishy’.
‘Don’t get excited Mother.’ Ashleigh struggled to look nonchalant, vowing to kill Stevie later. ‘He’s just our new boss, but that’s Stevie’s idea of a joke. Anyway it’s obvious from the picture he’s got a girlfriend.’
‘And I thought you were a hip girl about town!’ The time warp that was her mother’s vocabulary never ceased to amaze. ‘Don’t you know who that is?’ Ashleigh shook her head.
‘It’s Selly Medley. They say she’s the new Germaine Greer and what’s more she’s just come out as a lesbian.’ Ashleigh could have hugged her mother and would have done if she could have faced another embrace enveloped in Eau de Compost.
‘Have you gone red, honey?’ Stevie laughed. Although he seemed to have realised that now wasn’t the time to embarrass her further.
‘No, I haven’t!’ She shot him a look she hoped would make it clear that it was definitely time to shut up. ‘Where’s Jamie? Out with his mates?’ Ashleigh had been hoping to see her brother and was grateful of the chance to change the subject.
‘Geoffrey’s taken him to drama practice. He’s going to play the lead in the Christmas show. You must come down for it, Jamie would love to see us out in force.’ Carol had that scary animated look she always got when she was planning something. Ashleigh didn’t know what it was, but she could bet that it was almost guaranteed to embarrass her little brother and probably her as well.
‘I didn’t even know he was in to all that sort of stuff?’ Jamie was almost thirteen. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been waiting for the school bus and mooning over one of the girls, who was about the same age as him but didn’t seem to realise he existed. Oh, she remembered that feeling well. Please don’t say unrequited love was back to haunt her again in the shape of Tom Rushworth.
‘Well I for one would love to come.’ Stevie was genuinely enthusiastic. He’d always been fond of Jamie, who’d been just a toddler when they’d first met.
‘Let us have the date and we’ll be there.’ She risked the Eau de Compost again and kissed her mother on the cheek. ‘We’ve got to get back to London. There’s a big shoot tomorrow with that girl who won that TV talent show last year.’
‘That’s not really my thing darling. Much as I adore the gossip pages, I never waste my time on reality TV stars.’ Carol squeezed her hand. ‘I prefer real singers, like Bob Dylan or Simon and Garfunkel, but I’m sure it’ll be great.’ Ashleigh sometimes wondered how she’d ended up spending most of her working life hanging out with celebrities, when she’d been brought up in a house where lentils and mung beans were more revered than movie stars and she’d been the only person she knew whose family still had a black and white TV.
Chapter Nine
Chloe Nicholas was even more delicate and doll-like in person than she appeared to be on screen, but she had a huge voice that had won a legion of devoted supporters and some of her biggest fans were from the older generation. A week before the launch of her first album it had all hit the fan. Her childhood sweetheart had come forward, told all about the unwanted pregnancy that had almost put an end to Chloe’s dreams when she
was still at school. The papers must have paid him well for the amount of dirt he’d dished. The tearful last minute change of heart at the abortion clinic. The last goodbyes to baby Holly as the social workers took her away to a new family. The headlines screamed ‘SINGING SENSATION DECEIVES PUBLIC. VOICE OF AN ANGEL OR GYMSLIP MUM?’ and in that instant it looked like her promising career was over. Which it might have been if Rushworth Associates and Glitz hadn’t stepped in. Now Ashleigh and Stevie were at the offices of Chloe’s record company, which occupied every floor of a Georgian town house.
‘Thank you so much for coming.’ Chloe’s voice was barely more than a whisper and her cheeks were pale; puffy red eyes indicative of sleepless nights and plenty of tears.
A team of make-up artists from Glitz buzzed around, trying to undo the damage that the recent revelations had done to her appearance. Chloe had insisted on having her own hairdresser though. Her mother.
‘No problem, we were really pleased to get the assignment.’ Ashleigh said and smiled, as a fresh crop of tears threatened Chloe’s baby blue eyes.
‘What are the chances of this working do you think?’ It was as though Chloe couldn’t look anyone in the eye. ‘You know, to make the public and press like me again, instead of hating me?’ She bit her lip, looking more like a frightened twelve year old than a pop sensation.
‘I don’t think anyone hates you.’ Ashleigh crouched down at the side of Chloe’s chair and laid a reassuring hand on her arm. ‘And if they hate you for this, then that makes their opinion worth less than nothing anyway.’
‘Arseholes!’ Gilly was just as small in stature, but her body language bristled with more fight than her daughter’s. ‘Don’t suppose any of them have done anything they regret, have they?’ She spoke out of the corner of her mouth, whilst clamping hairgrips between her teeth and teasing Chloe’s hair into a Grecian style up-do.
‘Jesus! Regrets?’ Stevie was incredulous. ‘Sweetheart, anyone who hasn’t got a regret, hasn’t had a life.’ He began sweeping through the outfits hung on the metal rail in Chloe’s dressing room, loudly dismissing each one in turn. ‘I’ve got this all wrong. I picked these for the remit Glitz gave me but now that I’m here none of the ideas I had seem to fit like I thought they would. No, it won’t do.’ Stevie exchanged a look with Ashleigh. Tom’s brief for the photo-shoot had been that Chloe should look demure, but it seemed neither of them were convinced that the public would buy into it. They’d see it as fake. Chloe had been outed as a mature woman, with a past and flaws, just like everyone else, and pretending to be anything less just wouldn’t wash.
‘What do you have in mind?’ Chloe eyes darted nervously between them and Ashleigh crossed her fingers that Stevie wouldn’t suggest hot pants and a feather boa; no-one was ready for quite that level of image change.
‘Look this isn’t protocol, to completely change everything at the last minute, but I’ve got an idea. I’ll need to source an outfit, but, as luck would have it, I think I know just the place.’ He dropped one of his trademark lazy winks. ‘Just give me ten minutes and I’ll be back.’
‘Are you going to let me in on this secret?’ The whole focus of the shoot could change with Stevie’s choice of outfit. ‘I need to set stuff up, brief the make-up artists and Gilly, is this going to work best inside or out?’
‘Non je ne regrette rien.’ With another wink he was gone. Sometimes she could kill him. It was lucky she knew him as well as she did – and this might just work.
‘Sorry Gilly, I think we might need to change the hair.’ Ashleigh smiled apologetically. ‘Tell me, how do you feel about Edith Piaf?’
****
True to his word, Stevie was back ten minutes later. With a dress draped over his arm and a victorious look spread across his unfeasibly handsome face.
‘Where on earth did you get that? It’s gorgeous.’ Ashleigh touched the delicate lace overlay of the bateau necked black dress. With its ribbon detail at the waist and full skirt, it was perfect.
‘You know that little dress agency around the corner, Clothes Line?’ Stevie raised his eyebrows in question and Ashleigh nodded. She ought to know; he’d dragged her in there enough times. ‘I hoped they might have something suitable, but they’ve outdone themselves with this.’
Gilly had restyled Chloe’s inky black hair into the loose ringlets worn by 1930s singing icon, Piaf, and a slick of crimson lipstick perfected the look. They’d decided not to go for the legendary arched-to-within-an-inch-of-their-life eyebrows, but all in all the look was effective. Looking as fragile and half-starved as any artist in a Parisian garret, Chloe’s vulnerability screamed from every pore. It was just down to Ashleigh to capture it as effectively on camera. No pressure then.
****
Two hours later she’d done it. Critical as she was of her own work, Ashleigh couldn’t help feeling pleased.
‘They don’t look like me.’ Chloe’s voice was quieter than ever as she viewed the photos that Ashleigh had uploaded to her laptop. It was hard to believe that someone who spoke so softly, as if a gust of wind might snap her in two, could hit notes that even Adele might balk at.
‘Don’t you like them?’ Ashleigh bit her lip. They’d taken a risk. Gone against Tom’s advice and taken Chloe out of her comfort zone. Perhaps, subconsciously, they actually wanted to be unemployed.
‘I love them!’ Chloe threw her slender arms around Ashleigh. Stevie had disappeared somewhere; probably back to Clothes Line now that he’d hit a vintage jackpot. ‘I can’t believe I look so…’
‘Grown up? Like a woman who’s been through stuff?’ Gilly interjected, wiping a tear away. ‘I’ve heard that saying about a picture painting a thousand words, but I never thought it was true before.’
‘We lost Dad, you see, when I was twelve.’ Chloe slipped an arm around her mother’s waist. ‘When he died, it was unexpected and he didn’t really have a back-up plan, so we ended up losing the house as well.’ There wasn’t a trace of self-pity in her voice, but Ashleigh understood more than Chloe could ever imagine.
‘I was worse than useless.’ Gilly shook her head when Chloe tried to protest. ‘No, I really was. I was so wrapped up in my own self-pity that I couldn’t see how much Chloe needed me. So she turned to friends, one boy in particular and one thing led to another.’ Gilly was crying now. ‘I didn’t even know she was pregnant until close to the end. She went through all that alone, the abortion clinic. If I’d been there, if I’d been well, perhaps she’d have felt she had other options and we might have had Holly with us now.’
‘Mum, don’t.’ Chloe hugged her. ‘You’ve more than made up for it since. We did the right thing and one day maybe we’ll get the chance to tell Holly why. Tell her that we’re both survivors and I for one am not going to feel ashamed anymore.’
‘Nor should you.’ Tears stung Ashleigh’s eyes. As quirky as her own mother was, Carol had always been there. No wonder Chloe looked so vulnerable. ‘Are you okay for me to share these photos with Angus? He wants to select the final choices for release. If you can pre-approve that would be great.
‘I love them all, but especially this one.’ Chloe pointed to a reportage style image where Ashleigh had captured Gilly adjusting her daughter’s hair. They were smiling at some shared comment, the warmth between them tangible. ‘I know Glitz probably won’t want to use it for anything, but I’d love a copy if that’s okay?’
Ashleigh nodded and silently prayed that there were some photos from the shoot that the magazine would want to use. They undoubtedly looked their best in black and white, but Glitz was all about colour and bling. It was quite possible that not everyone was going to be as delighted with the results.
****
Isobel plonked the box file on Tom’s desk and sat in the chair opposite. She was in London for a check-up at the Royal Marsden and he’d sent his head of security, Shaun, down to Hythe to pick her up, whilst he’d met
with Angus about the proofs from Chloe’s shoot.
‘You shouldn’t be carrying heavy stuff like that. Why didn’t you get Shaun to do it?’ Tom’s attempts to protect her had evidently fallen on deaf ears.
‘I’m not dead yet you know! Aren’t you going to ask what it is?’ She was shifting from side to side in her seat, like an excited child waiting for a present to be opened.
‘I’m almost afraid to.’ Tom lifted the lid, a knot forming in his chest at the sight of the picture lying on top of the pile of papers.
‘It’s your father’s memory box.’ His mother was turning the words over carefully, as if trying to make sense of them herself. ‘Who knew?’
‘Where on earth did you find this?’ Tom couldn’t move past the first picture. It was a Polaroid of him with his father, with that typically orange tinge that a lot of photos from the late seventies seemed to have. But it was nothing like the family photos that had been on display in his childhood. The stiff, posed formality, which mirrored the relationship he’d had with his father, had been carefully framed and hung on the walls. This slightly fuzzy image had been kept out of sight and it told a different story all together.
‘It was up in the loft.’ Isobel raised her hand as he began to protest. ‘I know what you’re going to say about me going up there, but what’s the worst that can happen? It’s not like it will rob me of years!’
‘Mum, don’t. You know I’m more than happy to come down and do any jobs like that or arrange for one of the staff to do it.’ He picked up the photo, if he didn’t know better he would have sworn it had been photo-shopped. ‘Is that really me?’
‘Well, who else’s baby do you think he’s got cradled on his chest?’ Her tone was reasonable, but she must have been just as shocked when she first saw the photograph.
‘But he’s actually cuddling me and he looks…’ Tom struggled to find the word that was so alien when talking about his father, ‘…happy.’
