Samantha had received a windfall of emails from people requesting to come on the vlog, something she was now having to consider if we wanted to keep people engaged. ‘It starts getting messy with the liability insurance policies – who’s covered and who isn’t, all that jazz. People could sign waivers absolving us of blame should, God forbid, anything happen they don’t like during a makeover. I’ll have to think about it, get Amit, my lawyer, to have a look at everything,’ she’d said before we popped into Norman’s. But the biggest surprise had been an email request about something completely different.
‘Hello, boss lady,’ Norman said opening the door. ‘What can I do for you two, and the lovely Grace?’
‘Can we come in?’ Samantha asked in her professional agent voice tinged with trepidation.
‘Oh God, what is it? You’re sacking me already because my highlighter wasn’t visible from the moon?’
‘No! We’re coming in, make way!’ I said jokingly. ‘I promised Grace you had some amazing shoes upstairs. Can we show her?’
‘Of course, follow me.’ Norman led us up to the studio and opened all the cupboards so Grace could browse the shelves, a magpie like me.
‘Now, she’s busy, we need to talk to you,’ I said, feeling nervous and we stepped onto the landing.
‘I’ve received an email from a member of your family,’ Samantha said softly.
‘What? How?’
‘They must have found my details at the end of the video. I have my website address on there as a point of contact. That’s how we get sent freebies, all that sort of thing.’
‘Who contacted you? My parents must be dead.’
‘They are, I’m sorry,’ Samantha said.
Norman nodded slowly, biting his lip.
‘One of your brother’s children got in touch. They’d seen the footage shared somewhere, and the penny dropped.’
Norman opened his mouth and then closed it.
‘Shall we go downstairs so you can sit down?’ I asked.
He nodded again.
‘Grace, don’t move anything. We’ll be downstairs, OK?’ She didn’t even hear me; she was hypnotised by all the glitter.
‘Do you want to read the email?’
‘Yes please.’
Samantha whipped out her phone and showed him.
‘I can’t read that, it’s too small.’
‘Yeah, I know. Ali, can you make it out?’
I squinted. ‘Just about. “To whom it may concern,”’ I read out loud.
I was wondering if you can help me. I came across a video on YouTube that has been going viral, and think my uncle may be the make-up artist on there. His name is Norman Francis and I have found out that my father, Ambrose, was discouraged from keeping in touch with him years ago because he was gay. This all came about a few years ago when Nanny Elizabeth finally died. I had known about him but they all talked like he was dead. Anyway, life got in the way, I had a baby, and then a friend shared this video with me, because I’m a make-up artist too, and said how sweet it was with the old gentleman and the poor woman suffering from cancer. I then put two and two together when I heard his story. Is this my uncle Norman?
With kindest regards, Rochelle Hughes
‘Ambrose, wow, he had a daughter…’ Norman sighed broodingly. We sat in silence for a moment. I handed Sam her phone back and picked my nails.
‘Do you want me to forward you the email?’ Samantha asked eventually. ‘Then you can deal with it yourself?’
‘Yeah, sure, thanks,’ Norman said vaguely, staring into the distance.
‘I need to shoot off to a lunch meeting. Are you going to be OK?’
‘I’ll be fine. I always am,’ he said pragmatically.
‘I can stay for a bit,’ I offered. ‘Make us some tea, or something stronger?’
‘It’s ten in the morning!’ Norman protested.
‘So? You’ve had a shock!’
‘Are you going to reply?’ I asked after Samantha had left. Grace had returned downstairs and Norman had put on The Wizard of Oz for her to watch. She was standing in front of the TV wearing a pair of enormous ruby stilettoes, like glittery canoes on her feet.
‘I think I should, but what if this gets Rochelle into trouble? Ambrose won’t be impressed she contacted me.’ He looked doubtful.
‘Norman, she’s a woman with a baby and probably can’t fathom why anyone would want to deliberately cut themselves off from a member of their family. She’s a grown-up and allowed to do what she wants, just like you were when you chose Lucas over them.’
‘I know. I guess I’m just apprehensive. I’ve often wondered about them over the years, thought of trying to track them down, but couldn’t face rejection again. It was bad enough the first time round when I had someone worthwhile in my life to alleviate the sting.’
‘You have a worthwhile life now. You’re putting yourself out there and engaging again after so long. We need you at Clothes My Daughter Steals – you were a mega hit online – did you read some of the comments? People saying how much your story touched them, how you’ve helped them with things in their own lives. Your story is important.’
He laughed quietly.
‘This could be a second chance at family, help you feel less alone.’
‘Yeah, I know. It’s just overwhelming when you’ve made peace with the fact you have no family.’
‘I don’t think family means what it used to any more. My friends are also my family. I would have died of a broken heart if Amanda hadn’t let me stay in her attic after Grace’s dad left us. She supported me, we supported each other. Just because someone is related to you by blood doesn’t mean they get to call themselves your family. They have to earn it, that’s what I think. Anyway, the Mews is like a mad house family!’
‘How about you?’ Norman asked, deflecting from his own dilemma. ‘You have anyone special?’
‘Nope. I’m single.’
‘Him next door thinks you’re pretty special,’ Norman said, looking right at me with raised eyebrows and pursed lips. He nodded his head for added emphasis.
‘Norman! He does not.’
‘Really? I see a different story. He likes you so much he can’t look at you.’
‘When have you even noticed this?’
‘The walls have eyes and ears, remember,’ he laughed softly.
‘Oh, Norman, you’re making things up.’
‘You scared him.’ He laughed loudly now. ‘When you told him off about the cannabis, because he could tell you have no idea how he feels.’
‘Norman, I couldn’t scare anyone!’
‘You scare me!’
‘Oh, no, I’m sorry.’
‘I’m messing with you. You remind me of Lucas. He was always the life and soul of the party. We were friends for a long time before we became partners. He was always dancing so close to the sun, always getting his wings burned with the wrong men. He was actually very sensitive underneath all the brash exterior. The drag act, Fiona Angel, was really a projection of who he wanted to be but without props and make-up he felt he couldn’t pull off.’
‘What made you get together in the end?’
‘The fact that I could be myself with him. Other men – and there weren’t many for me – wanted a pound of flesh or didn’t understand my roots, but Lucas did. He was from an Irish Catholic background and was in a similar trap to me. He was happy to be friends, like I was with Marie. He knew all about Frankie. One day we were talking about a date he’d been on, the guy had wanted him to dress as Judy Garland and whip him, then asked if he had any feta cheese.’
‘Feta cheese?’
‘Yes, and Lucas asked him, what do you want feta cheese for, to make a salad? The man took great offence. It was his accent – he was Spanish – and he had been asking if Lucas had any fetishes.’
I burst out laughing.
‘I know! It’s funny and when he told me I reacted the same as you. That was when I knew I would rather spend my days laughing a
t the same things than not. Turns out he had always felt that way and was just waiting for me to catch up. But he knew if he had pushed me, I would probably have run a mile.’
‘Oh, I love that story. You must miss him dreadfully.’ I felt a pang in my chest.
‘I do, but I think it’s time I moved on. I can hear Lucas telling me off for being a recluse. He lived to wring every last drop out of each day.’ He slipped away somewhere else for a moment, smiling reflectively. ‘So what shall I say in this email…?
*
My phone burst into life as soon as I set foot in my house.
‘I’ve met someone!’ Mum said, her barely concealed excitement audible.
‘Mum! A man?’
‘Yes!’ she giggled like a teenager.
‘Was this after Elinor set you up on Guardian Soulmates?’
‘Kind of. It didn’t quite go to plan, though.’
‘Did he have to carry his beard in a shopping trolley?’
‘What?’
‘Nothing, sorry, carry on.’
‘I had met one man for coffee like Elinor had suggested, just in Herne Bay, far enough away that I wouldn’t bump into him afterwards if I didn’t like him. Anyway, that was two weeks ago when I got home from yours. He took my Soulmate cherry.’
‘I gather that didn’t work out?’
‘No! He was dreary. Elinor is so right, many of those boring buggers want someone to look after them. No one is interested in doing exciting stuff.’
‘So what happened after that?’
‘Oh, I got inundated with men. Honestly, it’s like I’m twenty-five and look like Jean Shrimpton. I think they’re all desperate. Anyway I was on my date, and yes, you guessed it, dull, so I said I had to leave, made my excuses and in my haste to escape I dropped my umbrella on the floor of the café. I didn’t notice and this other man caught me up outside further down the street.’
‘Don’t tell me, he was a sex god.’
‘No! He was funny, though. Keith was in there having lunch with his daughter. He’s from Manchester originally. We got talking and he’s just moved here. His wife died a few years ago and he decided on a fresh start to be near his kids. Anyway, we’ve been on four dates.’
‘Mum! In old people land that’s practically marriage! Have you done the deed?’
‘Alison!’ I didn’t want to think of my mum having sex, like normal people. I was sure everything died after the menopause anyway, if you believed articles online. That’s why all nanas took up knitting, wasn’t it – to compensate?
‘If you must know, I have had sex for the first time in over four years.’
‘MUM! That’s gross! I think I’m actually going to be sick in my mouth.’
Instead of instilling me with renewed hope, Mum’s story veiled me in a grey fug that clung stringently round my throat. I honestly had no idea how I was ever going to meet anyone by ‘being on my own’, because if I was brutally honest (sorry, Amanda, we can’t be robots like you), I wanted to be in a relationship. I felt like I was denying who I really was. I wasn’t built to live on my own; I liked having someone to care for, to buy things for, to daydream about, to make plans with. It wasn’t just about having sex on tap, though that would be most welcome at the moment; even Rampant Rabbit was in hibernation. I needed a real live man.
I was glad Mum had met someone, but it would be typical if my sixty-nine-year-old mother beat me to the altar. Obviously it wasn’t a race, and I didn’t expect every relationship to end with a ring. However, I did want to get married one day, even if it was outdated and one in four marriages dissolved into bitter squabbles about who got to keep the four-door hatchback and the contents of the freezer. Being honest about how I felt somehow loosened the fug’s grip. The difference from previous times when I had really wanted a boyfriend was that I didn’t feel desperate. I didn’t want a relationship to take away my Single Mum badge, or my Crap with Money certificate, or my Sole Breadwinner hat – these were all part of me whether I liked it or not. Fuck me, maybe I had graduated to actually, well, almost becoming a grown-up?
Don’t get cocky, Mini Amanda said in my ear. One step at a time.
43
Double Dumping
His name was Jack, he was thirty-five years old, he was super-cute, he worked in insurance and he was meeting me in the EDT for a drink that Wednesday night. Once I had stepped into my power (as Amanda had explained it to me in Beardy Weirdy terms), and I had realised I could date for the hell of it with no expectations, it felt a bit like shooting fish in a barrel. I had been on several dates via Bumble, an app Ursula had told me about.
‘Bumble is where you have to go if you want something more real. The women are in charge, you choose, the men can’t choose. They can only say yes or no if they have been selected. A girl from work’s sister’s friend met her fiancé on there,’ she’d explained reverently.
‘That tenuous link makes it sound like one of those urban myths!’
I sat waiting at a small round table near the bar and stared dreamily out of the window. This was technically our second date, the first one having been a swift coffee to scope each other out, like dogs sniffing anal glands, only more hygienic. I had declined all second dates so far, leaving Jack out in front for the race to claim my heart. He was a bit late, so I decided to go through my work diary for the coming weeks. After half an hour, I checked the app – no text to say he wasn’t coming. I sidled up to the bar to order a glass of red to pass the time.
‘Hello, Ali,’ Nick surprised me as I unsuccessfully tried to catch the barmaid’s eye. ‘You here on your own?’
‘No, I’m waiting for someone. What are you doing here? On a hot date?’
He laughed gawkily. ‘Yeah, kind of.’ I looked over his shoulder and spotted the blonde girl from last time sitting at a table for four.
‘Oh, you are! How’s it going? Sorry, you don’t have to say.’
‘Do you want a drink?’ he asked, ignoring the question while managing to attract the barmaid over towards us.
‘Yes, why not? Thank you.’ I sat back down with my Merlot after more small talk and thought I would virtually twiddle my thumbs on Instagram, which inevitably led to being sucked into a cyber rabbit hole of fashion pages, stylist feeds and foodiegrams. I flicked up my gaze from my phone like a light-shy miner, eyes blinking, and realised I had been in the pub forty-five minutes. Nick caught my eye and beckoned me over.
‘Do you want to sit with us while you wait for your date to turn up?’ he asked when I wandered over.
‘No, I don’t want to intrude.’
‘You wouldn’t be, would she, Emily?’
‘No, sit down, it’s fine.’ She smiled at me, but I couldn’t tell if she meant it or not.
‘You’ll have to sit here now,’ Nick said. ‘Look!’ I glanced back at my seat and saw that some cackling girls had claimed it, stealing stools from all the other tables.
‘I won’t be long; I’m sure he’ll be here in a minute. I’ll just check the app. I’m Ali, by the way.’ No message. Where was he?
‘So how did you two meet?’ I asked to fill the space.
‘On Bumble,’ Emily answered.
‘Oh, like me! It’s so much better than Tinder, isn’t it?’
‘God, yes. Some of my friends have had horror stories on there,’ Emily agreed laughing.
‘Did you have some disasters then?’ Nick asked me interestedly.
‘Oh, yes.’ And I described my squirrel date in minute detail, making Nick and Emily laugh.
‘Do you want anything from the bar?’ Emily asked when I’d finished. ‘It’s my turn.’
‘No, I’m fine, thank you.’
Nick ordered a beer.
‘Have you seen the mad vet in East Dulwich since?’ he asked, draining the dregs of his pint.
‘No. This is my first foray onto the scene since then. My mum’s new relationship inspired me, really.’
‘Your mum has started dating on apps?’ He laughed sceptica
lly.
‘Noooo, but your mum would love the story.’ And I explained how Mum had met Keith, embellished with a few artistic details of my own for dramatic effect. Emily placed Nick’s beer in front of him and sat down with her white wine while I continued the tale.
‘You should come round and see Mum and tell her that. She keeps talking about her fifteen minutes of fame on the vlog.’
I laughed. This was a different experience from sitting in his kitchen. I always felt like he was carefully selecting each word before he spoke, he was so guarded. With all the underhand cannabis growing, you would be permanently cautious about who you let in to your inner circle.
‘So you two are neighbours?’ Emily concluded.
‘Yes. I moved in at Easter and it’s been an eye-opener ever since!’
We talked about the Mews and my initiation with the shisha pipe, Nick mentioned Jo’s previous attempts to conscript him into the fold, then told me about the time they’d had a street Christmas Party with carols and a hot dog stall and Jo had asked everyone to contribute. He gladly gave money to get her off his doorstep, but wondered how he was going to avoid the party so made plans, thinking it would all be over by the time he got back at eleven.
‘As you can guess, it was still going strong, kids all roaming feral on scooters, an actual bonfire on the street in an old-fashioned metal bin. So I climbed over the mansion’s fence, round the side, over another fence until I found my back garden and attempted to climb over that, falling at the final hurdle and knocking myself out on a fence post. I came round on the grass next to the greenhouse looking at the stars, completely forgetting how I’d got there until later.’
‘All that just to avoid a party!’ I couldn’t stop sniggering at his puzzled face, like that was normal behaviour.
‘I was shit faced, there was no logic.’
‘Where’s Emily?’ I asked suddenly, looking round. ‘She went to the loo about ten minutes ago.’
‘Maybe she got locked in.’
‘Shall I go and see if she’s OK?’
The Single Mums Move On Page 29