‘Come on. I’ll show you something.’
We trailed after him into the hallway and up the stairs, past the main bedroom and to the very top floor and a door on the left. He pushed it open. The thick curtains were drawn and he strode across the cream carpet to pull them apart. Sunlight revealed a roomy studio lined with built-in wardrobes on two walls and a tailor’s dummy in one corner dressed in the most flamboyant fish-tailed sequined dress like a bird of paradise. By the door stood an old-fashioned white lacquered dressing table with a movable mirror housing cut-glass beakers rammed with make-up brushes and hair brushes, bottles of expensive perfume, trays of lipsticks all laid down flat and a giant powder-puff box topped with a white froufrou pompom.
A wooden streamlined desk was stashed under the windowsill with three picture frames curved round the right top corner. I walked over to inspect them. One, in black and white, was of an excruciatingly young Norman holding a baby who looked about one, then another frame with Frankie looking maybe ten, waving at the camera from a merry-go-round. The biggest frame displayed a collection of pictures, some overlapping, all of Norman and another man. He had an ethereal quality about him, like an actor working out who he was supposed to play next, not revealing his true self. He reminded me of Jeremy Irons.
‘That’s Lucas,’ Norman said, as if I was supposed to know who he was.
‘Ah,’ Samantha said behind me. ‘I’ve heard you talk about him before. He was an actor, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes, mostly theatre and rep. But he also specialised in drag.’
‘What was his drag name?’ Samantha asked. ‘I bet David knew of him.’
‘Fiona Angel. He was a regular compere at Madame Jojo’s all through the eighties and early nineties until he got really sick.’
‘Oh, I love Madame Jojo’s,’ I said. ‘I’ve been there a few times – the one in Soho?’ He nodded. ‘I wonder if I ever saw him too.’
There were more framed posters of theatre productions hanging up on the walls and some stunning photos of women having their make-up done in front of professionally lit mirrors. I assumed Norman had been the make-up artist. He caught me looking at them.
‘I did the make-up for the West End shows. Worked my way round them all. Plus, I always did Lucas’s, then ended up doing everyone’s at Jojo’s.’
‘Wow, so you know everything there is to know about dramatic stage make-up. How about subtler make-up, all the smoky eye trends and pared-down styles?’ Lila asked. ‘The older ladies shy away from lots of slap.’
‘Oh, please, I invented the smoky eye!’ Norman said as he tossed his head in a camp way. We couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Do you want to see some of Lucas’s outfits?’
‘Yes, please!’ we all cried.
He opened all the cupboards to reveal rails of glitter, marabou, sequins, chiffon in all the colours of the rainbow, shoe racks, wigs presented on polystyrene wig stands on shelves. It was like a one-stop shop that probably wiped the floor with David O’Donnell’s walk-in wardrobe. My inner magpie couldn’t help itself as I gravitated towards all the glittery stilettos, picking up a silver pair and marvelling at their beauty.
‘Did you carry on working in the theatre?’ Lila asked, fingering one of the sequined gowns.
‘No. Once Lucas died, that part of me died along with him. I used to love the theatrical elements, the transformation of someone’s face into a new character, painting a different story, but I felt so dead inside and it killed the drive. I let it all go. Looking back, it was probably the one thing that would have helped the most, but I found the memories too hard to live with. Until now.’
‘So, you’re free next Friday?’ Lila asked Norman. ‘We’re doing Isabelle and Debbie.’
‘I might be washing my hair.’ He smiled broadly revealing the most perfectly straight teeth and tapped his closely cut salt-and-pepper Afro hair.
‘How did you suggest it?’ Lila asked after we’d left Norman’s for a quick powwow at Samantha’s.
‘I just asked him. I could tell he would say yes. I talked to him for ages about all sorts and gathered he’s very lonely. He did hesitate a bit, maybe because he’s hidden a huge part of his life for so long, but perhaps it was time for a change.’
‘Did you see the little boy and the baby?’ Lila asked. ‘Do you think he has kids?’
‘No idea,’ Samantha said. ‘They could have been relatives. I have a feeling they’re not on the scene now.’
I kept quiet; it wasn’t my story to tell.
‘Well, we’ll have to see how this works out,’ Samantha added. ‘I’m sure Norman isn’t suddenly going to become the super-chilled professional we need. He’s still Norman and Norman has always been a spikey bugger.’
‘Keep an open mind,’ I said. ‘You never know, he might surprise us!’
38
Chakra Cleanse
‘You may feel dizzy, hot, cold or sick, or all of the above!’ Francesca warned after an unexpected initiation that involved her requesting the animals and spirits from all four corners of the world to assist in opening the sacred space for us in her spare room upstairs. She doused me in citrusy shamanic Florida Water, used for cleansing heavy vibes, then she sat me on the edge of the bed that she’d pulled away from the wall.
Francesca had texted earlier when I’d told her about puking in the pot plant.
Let’s see if we can get to the bottom of your nerves and knock them on the head.
‘How are you feeling? What are we here to do?’ Francesca, my mad friend, who stashed secret wedding dresses under this very bed had vanished. In her place was a professional shaman with a fitting bedside manner and commanding aura surrounded by a throng of invisible spirit animals.
‘I want to be able to go on TV without having a panic attack.’
‘So you feel panicky?’
I nodded.
‘Panicky…’ And she made me blow into a polished pink stone I had chosen from her collection of crystals. ‘What’s under the panic?’
‘Fear.’
She repeated and I blew that into the stone too.
I trawled through a few more scenarios, including anger at Alice for putting me in such a difficult situation, bewilderment at why I constantly chose the wrong men, anger at my inability to hold on to money, rage at Jim for EVERYTHING, then at the bottom, the bedrock that underpinned it all: ‘Not good enough,’ I squeaked, tears burning inside the bridge of my nose.
‘So, that’s it,’ Francesca said calmly. ‘Not good enough.’ And I puffed into the stone like I was blowing away my words. ‘Lie down.’
I leaned backwards onto the bed and she covered me with the quilt. Francesca placed the stone on my heart. I closed my eyes, and before you could say Beardy Weirdy, I’d fallen down a rabbit hole. Francesca’s hands cradled the back of my head, preventing me from slipping away into a topsy-turvy unending void. Sometime later she blew in my ear and snapped me back to my body where images flickered across my murky mind’s eye: Dad standing on a podium similar to an old photo from his wrestling days. Me stepping forward and placing a gold medal round his neck. Mum next to him with her arm snaked round his waist, looking up to him, full of love. It made my eyes sting and a sob dragged itself up from my belly as tears coursed down the sides of my face, pooling in my ears. My heart brimmed with a love it couldn’t contain, making me want to reach out and bring him back.
The rattle jolted me away from a jungle scene with a hummingbird flying high above it. More blowing in my ear. An eagle arced overhead and Francesca slipped her hands under my back, moving away from my head and I sank further into a deeper state, calm now, no pictures or people. Just before she spoke, a jaguar slunk across the back of my mind.
‘When you feel ready, open your eyes. No rush.’
I lay there for a moment, fizzing, not sure what had happened.
‘You OK?’
‘Very dizzy. That was fucking weird.’
‘Yes, I sensed you found it difficult. There was man here, ve
ry tall, grey receding hair, freckles.’
‘Dad! I saw him on a podium with Mum. I was putting a medal round his neck. They were so in love.’
‘How did it make you feel?’
‘Inadequate.’ More tears sprung from nowhere. ‘I want that, but I never get it.’
‘I think you need to take them off that pedestal. It probably wasn’t perfect if you look back without those rose-tinted glasses on. Maybe by unconsciously choosing rubbish men, you will never be disappointed that they’re not like your dad, and now he’s dead, he’s almost canonised in your mind.’
I nodded in agreement.
‘The child in you needs to be at peace with it. Be kind to yourself while you let these things come up, as they will. Acknowledge anything that surfaces and wrap it in love.’
‘I will,’ I sniffed.
‘Remember, facing success can sometimes be as daunting as facing failure – they are intrinsically linked, polar opposites. You’re programming yourself to fail with men and money, but what if you programmed yourself to succeed? You may still fail every now and then, but so what? Failure is part of success’s journey.’
I laughed thinly. ‘Well, I have certainly tried very hard at failure so far.’
‘I cleared the chakras that were blocked. Obviously your heart chakra was choked with heavy energy, as was your throat chakra. You need to communicate freely if you have to think on your feet in front of a camera. I also released the eagle in your chest – the fight-or-flight mode you seem to be permanently tapping into. You will hopefully stop catastrophising about TV appearances now. See – that’s another example of you self-sabotaging success – this job is important and you are good enough to do it. You deserve it, Ali.’
‘Can I pay you?’ I asked in the hallway, just as Ian wandered out of the kitchen with a mug of tea.
‘Hello, Ali!’ he said, abnormally pleased to see me. ‘Ready to face the world?’
‘Er, yes, thanks. Francesca has hopefully worked a miracle.’
‘I’m sure she has. Good luck with all the TV stuff.’ He gave me a genuine smile, not the usual stretching of his sealed lips across his teeth into a measly half-moon.
‘Thanks,’ I mumbled.
‘I made you one of your Yogi teas; it’s on the side,’ he said to Francesca, and he subtly grazed her arm with his fingertips as he walked past to the living room.
‘You don’t have to pay me!’ Francesca said, ignoring the fact Ian had just crossed the barricades. ‘It’s good for the soul to do freebies every now and then.’
*
‘I got us some wine,’ Mum said once Grace was in my bed so Mum could sleep in hers. ‘And I also found all these when I was clearing out some of the boxes from Penge I’d still not unpacked.’ She placed two photo albums and a shoe box full of loose photos on the coffee table.
‘Oh, all the old pics!’ I cried, settling on the sofa next to her.
She poured us each a glass of Rioja. ‘There’s some good ones in the second album.’
I’d already picked up the shoe box and the first picture I pulled out of the photo lucky dip was one of Dad straight after a wrestling match, the referee holding his arm up in the air to show he’d won.
‘Oh my God, that’s so freaky!’ I cried. ‘Coincidence!’ Mum looked at me nonplussed, so I explained what had happened at Francesca’s.
‘Oh, Ali, your dad wasn’t faultless. Far from it! He was just a normal man who could be as annoying as the next person. Remember how he wouldn’t learn to drive because he was so scared of failing the test, or crashing – just like he was scared of winning in the wrestling ring?’ I nodded. ‘I had to drive him everywhere, and when the business was booming and he was travelling all over the place giving lectures on how to create intricate plaster moulds for restoration work, he still refused to learn. He was a stubborn so and so. We used to fight about things all the time in the early years.’
‘But we never heard you. I just remember it being cosy and happy, and Dan, Alex and me having fun. It was always busy and full of laughter!’
‘Of course you didn’t hear us – we went out to the garage and tore strips of each other. He used to drive me mental sometimes and I had to suck it up because ultimately we loved each other. I’m sure, well, I know I annoyed the crap out of him too. It’s finding that middle ground. All romance, chiselled jaws and racing hearts don’t last. Eventually what you’re left with is friendship and respect, and an understanding of each other’s bad habits, and you have to try not rise to them. No one is perfect.’
‘He was perfect to me,’ I said in a small voice, my heart fluttering in my chest. She put her arms around me as a single tear slid down my face. ‘I miss him. I wish I could go back for a day and take Grace, show her what Dad was like, what we were all like. Alex in his judo outfit thinking he was Bruce Lee, jumping out from behind the front door to karate-chop me. Dan mooning round the whole time thinking he was bloody William Wordsworth with his notebook of long words. All my friends round the kitchen table after school gossiping about boys. You making spaghetti pie, always there when we needed you.’
‘Oh, the spaghetti pie – I’d forgotten about that. Grace would turn her nose up at it!’
‘It felt like nothing could go wrong then. I wanted that for Grace, but from the start it’s been a fight to keep my head above water: money, childcare, where to live.’
‘I didn’t work, love. You do. I wasn’t a single mum. You juggle so many things. I don’t know how you do, but I’m so proud of you, Alison, and I know your dad would be too. Grace is a credit to you. She doesn’t know any different. She’ll just grow up seeing a strong mummy who worked for a better life for her.’
I nodded, tears streaming now. The chakra cleanse had certainly unleashed a barrel-load of memories and feelings about my childhood that I longed to smell and savour. I took Francesca’s advice to heart and just let the memories hit me full force while I cried, sometimes laughing through my tears, Mum holding me, occasionally offering another tissue, letting me ask questions when I needed to, until I was spent.
‘Can I have some wine now?’ I asked in a tired voice.
‘Of course! I need some too.’ Mum hugged me. ‘I feel like your dad was here just now. You know what he would say about the whole perfect-man syndrome?’
I shook my head.
‘He would say look for someone to whom you will never run out of things to talk about. Yes, you have to fancy them at some point, but don’t be deceived by first impressions; you can grow to fancy someone too. I thought your dad was a gangly ginger streak of piss when I met him at fourteen. He kept asking me out and I kept saying no. It was when he invited me to one of his wrestling matches that I realised he was something else. A gentle giant with a will of iron. The unconscious part of me that maybe wanted one day to get married must have finally woken up and spotted the partnership potential.’
I knew the well-worn tale of their famous courtship, but I never knew she had thought he was a gangly ginger streak of piss first! I could hear Dad laughing in my head.
‘Do you think you’ll ever meet anyone else?’ I asked, picking up my wine.
‘I would have said no a few years ago, but the hole in my chest has eased off, life fills in around it and grandchildren help enormously. Maybe one day. God knows how, though. I was fourteen, Ali, and the world’s a different place now. You order a partner the same way you order a takeaway now. I can’t see me doing that.’
‘Well, I know a lady who might be able to guide you,’ I laughed, blowing my nose on a soggy tissue. ‘I’m going to knock on Elinor’s door and see if she’s in!’
39
Full Circle
‘How are things with Carl now? You don’t still fancy him?’ Jacqui asked. It was the night before she had to return to Australia and, as usual, we were dealing with the denial about her leaving by sinking a bottle or two of cheap fizz. We’d congregated in the Bishop on our favourite leather banquette seat back from the door, but
close enough to it so we could inspect everyone who walked in and judge the fuck out of them.
‘Have you asked if he went to the doctor or anything?’ Amanda said.
‘Yes, he’s been to the doctor! I weirdly don’t fancy him any more, though – the spark just died for me, which makes it easier now he’s the official photographer for Clothes My Daughter Steals. Neither of us wants it to be uncomfortable.’
‘What did he say about the doctor?’ Amanda insisted. ‘Did he really go? Men can be funny about their willies.’
‘They put his name down for psychosexual therapy, but the waiting list is ridiculous. I don’t think he can afford to go private.’
‘What a shame about all of it,’ Jacqui reproached, sipping her commiserative glass of fizz. ‘I could see you with him, he’s so pretty.’
‘But in such a complicated mess, and so recently sober,’ Amanda surmised. ‘He really does need to be on his own. Starting a new relationship is as tricky as it is exciting. I’m not sure I could begin a new relationship with someone who was freshly sober. It’s such a glaringly huge chasm that wine normally fills. I would be so self-conscious about my own drinking.’
‘Maybe you wouldn’t drink?’ I said.
Jacqui and Amanda looked at each other and burst out laughing.
‘As if!’ Amanda cried.
‘So what about Francesca and the toy boy Qi Gong twat?’ Jacqui laughed. ‘God, he was a squirt, wasn’t he?’
‘She shagged Ian.’ I just let that settle on the table.
‘What?’ Amanda and Jacqui screeched in unison so piercingly that people on other tables turned to see what the fuss was about.
‘Shh,’ I said, flapping my hands at them. ‘We can’t mention names too loudly in case anyone hears.’
‘What the fuck happened there?’ Jacqui hissed. ‘She hasn’t had sex for a million years.’
‘I knew something was up when I went for my chakra cleanse, but I also think I saw them up to something at the party when they were pissed, but dismissed it. They were acting like they had a secret.’
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