Why did it bother her so much that Tamzin didn’t really wear the product? That she was playing a bit fast and loose with the truth? That Tamzin wasn’t even going to put on one of the pairs of ‘designer knickers’ for the advert?
Jessica began to chew her nail thoughtfully, something she hadn’t done since she was about eleven. She tasted the bitter flavour of nail polish, and stopped.
Instead, she watched the action as the advert gradually took shape.
A row of male models appeared from nowhere, each smartly dressed and carrying a bunch of flowers. One by one they walked down the path, knocked at the door, which Tamzin would open wearing an outfit that reflected one of the Little Accidents styles: leopard-print, sequins, even fake fur. Each time, she’d give her ‘date’ a little twirl and wink elaborately at the camera as she passed, as if to say, ‘They don’t know my secret.’
The voice-over, which Tamzin would do later, was set to read: ‘When it comes to dating, I like variety and it’s the same with my underwear. No two days the same, but no nasty surprises.
‘Like the surprises that come with bladder weakness.
‘That’s why I love the new range of Little Accidents disposable knickers. Sexy, stylish and – like all the best dates – you can chuck them away when you’re finished.’
The end of the advert saw a tousled Tamzin in a sequinned robe pushing her date out of the door in his boxers and winking.
‘That’s when the voice-over artist will say, “Treat yourself to a Little Accident every day”,’ Linda had explained.
‘That’s great,’ Jessica had replied, uncertainly.
‘I’m so glad you like it,’ said Linda. ‘I hope it’ll give you lots of ideas for promotion,’ she added. ‘We’re really hoping that a big name like Tamzin will help us appeal to a whole new demographic.’
No doubt it would, seeing as the advert would be suggesting that the bulging paper pants would disappear under tight clothing.
On the way back to the office, Jessica called Dave’s phone from her car; his answerphone cut in after just one ring – obviously he was screening his calls.
‘Hi, it’s Dave. If you can’t get me, I’m probably at the gym.’
‘Hi, Dave,’ she said, trying to inject a smile into her voice. ‘Just a quick call. I know you said it wasn’t … wasn’t honest, but, well, Mum and Dad are still coming tomorrow. Anna won’t be there, so it’ll just be them. Could you …’ she swallowed nervously. ‘Could you maybe come over? Just this one time? It’d … it’d be good to see you anyway …’ she heard her words trailing off. She sounded desperate.
Perhaps she was. But the thought of having to sit through the mixture of disbelief, pity and dismay that her parents would project at her over dinner if she had to come clean was too much to think about. Comparisons to Grahame and the wonderful Tabitha, Stu and his perfect relationship. And there she’d be – Little Miss Flawed.
As it was, Mum was sniffing around and dropping heavy-handed hints about weddings and rings and babies whenever Jessica saw her. ‘So, when are you two lovebirds going to make it official?’ she’d asked recently. And, in a surprisingly modern reference, she’d once asked Dave whether he ought to take some advice from Beyoncé and ‘put a ring on it’.
It was hard enough dealing with her mum’s continual disappointment that she wasn’t remarrying and creating a whole new set of grandchildren, let alone telling her that Dave was now off the scene and she was back on the market like an outfit someone had tried on for size but returned to the shelf, complete with foundation stains and the smell of perfume.
Oh, Mum would be positive. She’d try to bolster her up. But every time she offered her well-meant advice, Jessica would be only too aware of the concern and disappointment lurking underneath. ‘Oh, don’t worry. Lots of women are single these days … you’ll find someone.’ Or ‘Be careful when you choose the new wallpaper, dear. Too many florals and no man will want to live here.’ Mum was from a different generation – obviously. But it still hurt when her advice on Jessica’s love life revealed the fact that she clearly didn’t think that Jessica could manage on her own.
‘I thought you were a feminist, Mum,’ she’d said once. ‘Women don’t need men, you know. We can manage without.’
‘But that was the seventies,’ Mum had said, kindly. ‘We paved the ground for your generation, so you could have it all, Jessica! Newsflash – we WON! And you know, you really could do with a nice man to look after you.’
Too late to get to the office, Jessica went straight to the school and waited outside for Anna. She was a little bit early, able to watch the children coming out – first the year sevens, then eights. Finally, year nine were released and walked towards the gates in small groups – talking and laughing.
Scanning for her daughter, Jessica looked across the playground and finally saw Anna walking on her own, her shoulders hunched, arms wrapped around her body. She looked, from this distance, as if she was weighed down with the cares of the world.
When she saw Jessica’s car, she straightened up and waved.
‘Everything all right love?’ asked Jessica as her daughter clambered into the front seat.
‘Yeah. Yeah, not too bad,’ came the answer.
Later, she prepared a dinner of couscous salad, torn chicken pieces and parmesan and half-heartedly photographed it for her Instagram. ‘#DinnerWithMyDaughter #GirlsNightIn #HealthyFood #GoodTimes’, she typed.
But even though they sat together chatting as normal, Jessica couldn’t shake the image of her little girl, hunched over like someone five times her age, and looking utterly alone.
Fit at 30
Dinner for four
One of the challenges for those of us who take our diet seriously is inviting people around for dinner. It’s hard not to appear fussy, or slip off the wagon and scoff a piece of chocolate fudge cake.
But there are ways around this for those of us serious about keeping in shape. Tonight, I’m cooking dinner for Dave and my parents. I love my parents, but their tastes are of the old-fashioned, stodgy kind when it comes to food. However, I reckon I’ve created a menu that would please even the blandest of palates – and without slipping from the low-cal, high-protein path.
The starter’s going to be a salad – avocado (of course), with cucumber, feta cheese, olives and tomatoes, drizzled with olive oil.
The main: I’m going to get out the spiralizer and create courgette spaghetti, topped with steamed chicken and tomatoes.
Dessert? It’s not impossible to create some mouth-watering desserts with a little imagination. I’m going for frozen raspberries and grapes with home-made, sugar-free sorbet.
I defy anyone’s taste buds not to water with that on the menu!
#Healthy #DietFriendly #DinnerforFour
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Chapter Twenty
She uploaded the menu, feeling slightly guilty that most of the pictures had been stolen from her archives, or even – when it came to the salad – from someone else’s Facebook post.
‘Come on, Anna, Dad will be here in a minute!’ she said, noticing the time.
‘Coming!’ yelled her daughter, who was already on her fourth outfit change.
Jessica sat on the stairs, wondering not for the first time why it was Grahame and Tabitha got to see the perfectly adorned, polite and enthusiastic Anna, whereas she had to live with the real-life stroppy version most of the week.
Jessica had spent the morning writing the blog, deciding to turn off the comments so even if Mum was confused about the fake menu, she couldn’t let her know online. After lunch, she’d dragged Anna to the supermarket to buy ingredients; Anna had complained again about having to go to Grahame’s, and in the end Jessica had compensated her with a new pair of headphones – probably Anna’s intention the whole time.
When Anna emerged, finally, she was wearing a pair of pink jeans and a black cardigan. Her light-brown hair was pulled back into a plait and she appeared to be wearing lip gloss.
‘Do I look OK?’ she asked – and Jessica was surprised at how shy and uncertain her daughter seemed to be.
Anna had never seemed to notice how she looked at all until she was about eight, when suddenly she developed a penchant for anything with either glitter or unicorns – and preferably both. Four years on, she was starting to develop a personal sense of style, choosing her outfits carefully when she saw friends, and asking for things she’d seen on TV.
It was sweet, watching her daughter grow up. But sometimes Jessica longed for the scruffy-haired seven-year-old who hadn’t cared whether her trousers were on the right way round, or if she had odd socks, as long as she was warm and dry.
‘Of course, you look lovely!’ she said. ‘Come here.’
She opened her arms and Anna buried herself in them, nuzzling into her like a much younger child for a moment. ‘Are you OK?’ Jessica asked, breathing in her familiar scent – so typically Anna.
‘Yeah. I just, you know …’
‘No? What?’
‘I just want Dad to be proud of me, I suppose.’
‘Of course he’s proud of you! Don’t be silly.’
‘It’s just he’s always telling me these stories about his boys at school, and how well they’re doing. But he never mentions me.’
‘Don’t be silly. Your father probably tells Forest and River all about you when you’re not there. He’s so, so proud of you!’ She squeezed her daughter a little tighter. ‘And I am, too. You know that?’
‘Yeah.’ Anna shrugged. Clearly, Jessica’s pride wasn’t worth quite as much as the wonderful Grahame’s. Jessica tried to swallow the jealousy down – this wasn’t about one-upmanship. She’d talk to Grahame in the week, if she could catch him on the phone between meetings.
A sleek white Audi purred into the driveway and Anna broke away instantly and charged to the door. ‘It’s him!’ she exclaimed, as if Harry Styles had suddenly turned up on the doorstep. ‘He’s here!’
Grahame emerged from the car, looking as if he’d literally just left Gant in his new, completely crease-free clothes. His dark-blonde hair – what was left of it – was neatly brushed and as he approached, Jessica caught a whiff of Steam for Men before, by rights, she should have.
Back in the old days, Grahame had been a jeans and T-shirt man. Gradually she’d watch him morph into Tabitha’s version of an ideal partner – his Levi’s tossed aside for chinos, trainers replaced by faux leather footwear so highly polished she half-expected him to break into a tap dance on her doorstep. He’d had his hair highlighted at first, then, as it had receded, had started using ‘product’, as he called it, which as far as Jessica could see meant that he glued what was left of his fringe to his scalp using some sort of sticky oil.
‘Daddy!’ Anna cried, suddenly three years old again, and flung herself into his arms. As he enveloped her in a bear-hug, it was hard for Jess not to feel a pang of regret that they couldn’t have tried a little harder to keep things together for their daughter. Had she been too unforgiving? Could they have worked something out? Or was it her destiny to always pick guys who disappeared the moment things got a little rocky?
Jessica smiled – fakely – for probably the tenth time that day and opened the door up a little wider. ‘Coffee?’ she asked, confident that her invitation would be refused – which would be a relief seeing as she had about an hour and a half to whip up some sort of dinner for her parents.
‘OK, why not!’ he replied cheerily and she felt a frisson of annoyance. She’d been asking this question every other week since they split, and this was practically first time he’d decided to take her up on the offer.
‘Great!’ she lied, opening the door a little wider. ‘Well, come on in.’
‘I can’t stay long, I’m afraid,’ he said, unzipping his jacket but leaving it on. ‘Tabitha is making vegan paella.’
Jessica was tempted to ask whether this meant she was whipping up plate of boiled rice, but managed to hold her tongue. ‘Ooh, lovely,’ she said instead. ‘I don’t suppose you could take a pic of it, could you? Might be able to use it on the blog at some point.’
‘Yeah?’ Grahame looked doubtful. ‘OK, why not.’
Jessica quickly loaded two espresso pods into the coffee machine and deposited the result into two small cups. ‘Oh, sorry,’ she said, handing it to him. ‘I should have asked whether you wanted a cappuccino or something. I’ve got soy milk.’
‘No, this is fine,’ he said, grimacing a little at the bitter taste. He’d always hated espresso – and this was a double.
‘Anna, do you want to nip to the loo before you go?’ asked Jessica.
‘OK,’ her daughter moaned, rolling her eyes in the way she did when she saw through a grown-up ‘ploy’. ‘Hurry up talking about me, though.’ She trudged pointedly out of the room and closed the door with a click.
‘Everything OK?’ Grahame asked when their daughter had gone.
‘Yeah, look – thanks for taking her tonight. I know it’s not strictly your weekend.’
‘Don’t be silly – any time!’
‘Thanks – you might regret saying that!’ she joked. ‘Anyway, look … I just wanted to say, well, Anna mentioned that you were really proud of the boys.’
‘Yeah? Well, that’s OK, right?’
‘Sure, sure, of course. I didn’t mean that! It’s just I think she’s got the impression that you’re not very proud of her.’
‘What?’
‘Yeah, I know. I told her that you were, of course, but maybe a couple of compliments over the weekend …’
‘Sure.’ Grahame drooped over his tiny cup. ‘You try and try, don’t you? To get it right. And you still end up getting it wrong.’
‘That,’ said Jessica, in a rare moment of utter honesty, ‘is the story of my life.’
‘Really? You seem as if you’ve got it all together.’ Grahame gestured around the kitchen, which was – it had to be said – unusually tidy, but it was still only a flatpack self-assembly she’d bought on sale at the local DIY store.
‘Yeah, I suppose.’ She shrugged. Clearly he had no idea. But then, why would he? Even her daughter didn’t know the mess her life seemed to be in – and she only shared edited highlights online. Maybe if she’d been more honest, she’d have had more support.
‘Honestly, I don’t know how you do it. Anna’s always going on about how great things are here – and how you’re so successful now, and stuff. Me and Tabby spend the whole week getting ready for her to come round just so we can compete!’
‘Really?’ Jessica was astounded. ‘All I hear is Dad and Tabitha this, the twins that …’
Grahame shook his head. ‘We love having her, it just never seems as if she enjoys herself much. I think she misses you, to be honest.’
Their eyes met briefly and Jessica felt herself having to look away. What was it about Grahame? Something about the age at which they met, perhaps. Something about having grown up together? The fact he still knew more about her than anyone else?
She’d used to love watching him holding Anna, the way he’d sing ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’ quietly in their daughter’s ear to make her go to sleep. Carrying her on his back in that ridiculous baby carrier they’d bought. Yes, Tabitha might be the perfect woman, but she’d never understand what had made him walk away from his tiny daughter.
‘Oh,’ she said, after a pause.
‘Yeah … and …’
But Anna burst in the room at that point. ‘Finished talking about me?’ she said, glaring at them. ‘I heard my name as I was coming downstairs.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Jess, reaching over to rub her daughter’s head, but choosing at the last minute t
o pat her on the shoulder, remembering the hard-won hairstyle choice.
‘Ready, sweetie?’ Grahame said, putting his arm around his daughter. Jessica would never get away with calling Anna something so babyish but Anna smiled at her father and leaned into him as they walked out of the door.
‘Hang on!’ Jessica said suddenly, running after them and planting a huge kiss on Anna’s cheek. ‘Miss you,’ she said.
‘Mum!’ Anna said, but she was smiling. ‘You’re so embarrassing!’
Jessica looked up, caught Grahame’s look and grinned. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘But it’s worth it.’
‘Come on, let’s leave your mother in peace,’ Grahame said, nodding his goodbye.
Jessica watched the car drive away: she might sometimes look forward to her ‘nights off’ when Anna was with her father, or the evenings when her parents took over to give her a break, but when push came to shove her life was always a little bit greyer when Anna wasn’t in it.
It struck her suddenly, too, that a lot of what she’d been jealous of when it came to Grahame and his perfect life had been a fabrication – partly created by Anna, partly by her own imagination. Like her, Grahame didn’t feel as if he had it all together, despite appearances.
Noticing the time, she realised this really wasn’t the moment to sit and ponder. She had a meal for four (or three) to cook. And a whole elaborate fabrication to plan.
Because her parents were expecting Dave. And they were going to get him.
Chapter Twenty-One
Catching up with my parents over a family meal! #GoodTimes
‘Hello, darling!’
Jessica opened the front door to her mum and dad. Mum in front, as always, clouding the air with lavishly applied Chanel No. 5, Dad loitering in the background, like a reluctant teenager being dragged to a family do. Mum was wearing a garishly floral blouse and had clearly spent some time blow-drying her blonde hair into a kind of candy-floss puff. Dad was sporting a dishevelled-looking white shirt, creased jeans and a pair of brogues. His hair, as always, was practically non-existent.
Everything is Fine: The funny, feel-good and uplifting page-turner you won't be able to put down! Page 12
