by Fiona Perrin
‘So, this morning Peter said to me, “You don’t fancy a deep and meaningful relationship, do you?”’ she said, looking distressed. ‘I said, “If I ever did, darling-face, it would be with you,” and tried to laugh it off.’
‘And this is so bad because…?’
‘Then he said it was the first time he’d ever said anything like that to anyone and it was mean of me to laugh.’
‘Well, it was a bit mean,’ I said as the waiter finally got to our table and deposited two glasses of Sauvignon Blanc onto the Formica. ‘You do really like him – why don’t you just admit it?’
‘Good God,’ said Liv, but she paused for a moment as if it were occurring to her that it might be a possibility. ‘Then he said, “You’re something entirely different and I kind of like it.”’
‘Oooh,’ I said. ‘Practically a declaration of love.’
Liv pushed her risotto away so I knew that this was affecting her badly. ‘People are always telling me that one day I’ll meet a man and want to settle down. But the older I get, and the more I know of monogamy, I think it’s society that’s got it wrong, not me. I don’t want the same person in my bed every night forever. People keep going on about my biological clock and I think I just talk too much to hear it ticking. I explained all that to Peter.’
‘What did he say?’
‘That I was a refreshing kind of bird. And then we made bacon sandwiches.’
‘Really romantic,’ I said.
Liv laughed and changed the subject to Rome. ‘Who else is going to the dinner? Did Marti hear from Ben?’
Whenever I heard his name, I felt a warm shock. And despite everything, I had hoped that he would turn up, because just to see him would be amazing. But he’d sent his apologies to Marti’s invitation, because he was going to be in New York; he’d asked to hold the place for a European colleague of his I’d never met. When Marti told me, I convinced myself it really was the best thing.
‘Even if there was something between us, he still lives in another country with his children while I’m here with mine. And I’m really getting my act together on my own with the kids,’ I explained to Liv, with a feeling of pride.
‘To you.’ Liv clinked her glass against mine.
‘And to you, being all moony about my ex-shag.’
‘It was sweet of you to share your leftovers with me.’ Liv had a decidedly soft look in her eyes.
*
‘Hallelujah, we can have dough balls,’ said Tessa. It was Saturday lunchtime in late October and we were in the Pizza Express in Muswell Hill: a canteen for yummy mummies, nannies and kids. ‘We need to remember to say grace.’
My daughter was currently Born Again. Her favourite activity was watching fundamentalist Christian ministers from the American mid-West on YouTube on my iPad, despite my efforts to stop her. She’d also taken to playing a tambourine.
It had started when she’d been taken by Mr Carter on a school outing to St Albans cathedral a couple of weeks back. There was a happy-clappy choir that had performed for the children, which had all seemed innocent enough until, a few days later, I’d found Tessa on the playroom sofa, reading my very old copy of the Bible, turning its wafer-thin pages slowly as she pretended to be able to understand the tiny print.
‘Umm, are you interested in that, darling?’ I’d said, surprised. Lars and I had always been quite fundamentalist non-believers.
‘I would like to know more about Jesus and accept Him into my heart,’ Tessa had said. I’d nodded slowly and she’d explained about how the minister at St Albans had told her that Jesus was for everyone. Then she’d started singing ‘Kumbaya my Lord’.
I’d reminded her that there were many religions and she could choose one if she wanted to when she was older, and she’d said, ‘I know that.’ Later that evening I’d gone onto Amazon and ordered a picture-rich book about the religions of the world.
Lars had told me she’d asked to be taken to church one Sunday when she was with him; they’d gone to the one at the top of Crouch Hill and joined in the hymns. Afterwards, however, Tessa had asked to go to one with more guitars, singing and shouting. ‘You know, the sort where people get saved and cry,’ she’d said. ‘They shout hallelujah a lot.’ We’d decided to try and find a child-friendly Sunday school for her if it carried on.
Of course, her having a new obsession had made me worried, but we’d finally seen the child counsellor who’d assured me that Tessa was a highly intelligent child and her preoccupation with things was a sign of a curious mind.
I’d asked whether she thought my daughter had been affected by her parents’ marital breakdown and the counsellor had nodded and said, ‘It will impact all children one way or another, but, from what Tessa has told me, she sees quite a lot of her father now, and she seems happy that you and he are friends again. You’ve done quite a good job in the circumstances.’ It had been like being given a gold star for divorce; it had also been an enormous relief.
Now we looked at the menu. As usual, Finn wanted margherita; Tessa wanted pepperoni and dough balls. I ordered a large glass of wine and sat back, while they coloured in their sheets with the crayons the waitress had automatically plonked on the table.
Both looked up, though, when they saw their father arrive.
As Lars wound his way through the tables, my first thought was that he looked well; there was a little more fat on him.
Lars smiled broadly at us and the children started waving. He kissed them both with gusto and I stood up. We awkwardly circled for a bit before he settled for a kiss on my cheek. He still smelt of lemon soap.
‘How’s it going, gang?’ he said.
‘We waited for you to order,’ I said. ‘What do you want to drink?’
‘Beer, please.’ Lars took off his puffa jacket and hung it on the back of the wooden chair, then sat down at the table. He picked up Finn’s crayons and said, ‘Bet I can do this faster than you.’
‘Gambling is a sin, Daddy,’ Tessa said and he caught my eye as we both tried not to laugh.
*
Lars and I chatted about my new clients: Brand New had just won the Lazarus jeans brand, which was famous for covering the arses of a range of Clebs. ‘Well done, you,’ Lars said and raised his bottle of Becks at me.
‘Bridget’s really, really bossy to the new people,’ I told him. I’d promoted her to account manager and recruited two new account execs. Marti had also presented me with the keys to a new office next door to Goldwyn’s and we’d moved out of our little basement. ‘It’s fantastic.’
The pizzas arrived. We listened to Tessa recite her version of ‘grace’ with what seemed to be an American accent and then started to eat. Then Lars told the children about a trip to Sweden he and Ulrika were taking them on at the start of the Christmas holidays. ‘It’s going to be really, really cold,’ he said. ‘With everything covered in snow.’
‘Will we see a moose?’ Tessa asked.
‘Or a reindeer?’ Finn said.
‘They eat reindeer in Sweden,’ Tessa said. ‘Grandie told me.’
‘That’s enough, Tess,’ I said as her brother’s face curled up in horror about the idea of a slice of Rudolph on his plate.
*
Later, we said goodbye outside by the roundabout. Lars gave both the kids a massive hug and said he would see them on Wednesday. He hugged me too and said in my ear, ‘Great that we can do this,’ and what he meant was spend a simple Saturday lunchtime together – on a table for four – with our children. As we walked back down the hill through the park at Alexandra Palace, there was a small bounce in my step. There was that odd feeling I got now when I saw Lars – that the tough times were over and we could approach the future with hope.
40
Rome, Liv-style, involved exactly five minutes at the Coliseum, a quick gasp at the round shard of light that fell onto the Pantheon floor, two entire minutes looking in wonder at the Trevi Fountain and the rest of the time claiming freebies from Rome’s up-and-coming de
signers. Not only was her trip paid for by Brand New, she was now the proud beneficiary of a free new autumn wardrobe.
It was quite awe-inspiring, as was her in-depth knowledge of Roman nightlife – the bars one should be seen at, the restaurants that one simply had to have been spotted in and, most excitingly for me, the LaidBack Club, where apparently you lay down to eat your dinner.
‘We do what?’ I asked when Liv explained what we would be doing with our Saturday evening. ‘We lie on beds and beautiful men feed us?’
The waiters were not all beautiful but the crowd, lounging on the white banquettes, propped on plump pillows, certainly was – or maybe, as I lay down and thought how life could be fun again, it was the vast grins on their faces, reflected in the champagne buckets, or the animation of their excited chatter, that made them seem like a very gorgeous in-crowd. When the doors opened at the end of dinner and a tall, thin jazz singer with blonde hair, dressed entirely in white faux fur, came in and, starting with some slow numbers, took the crowd to the state where we were ready for the DJ, with his soaring, never-ending mix of deep South vocals and dance tempo, I found myself shoes off, arms in the air, dancing on the beds along with everyone else.
‘God, what fun,’ I slurred to Liv as we finally made it home to the discreet spaces of the hotel.
‘It’s nearly 4 a.m.,’ Liv told me.
I wobbled past the night concierge and into the mirrored lift. Liv pressed the button. It shot down and the doors opened at a dark corridor.
‘My God, we’re in hell,’ said Liv.
‘Press five, not basement,’ I said and she fumbled about for a while and we started to move upwards. ‘Are you missing Peter?’
‘He sent me a text this morning that said: “Down with mornings without you,”’ said Liv as we got to our floor and wobbled along the corridor. ‘I mean, how sweet is that?’
‘Pretty sweet.’ I struggled to wave the card key in front of the door. ‘You can blag your way through life together.’ I fell into the room followed by Liv. ‘That’s my bed, damn you. Get off it. And you’d better at least try to take your clothes off before you go to sleep.’
*
I’d chosen a bright red column dress from Prada for the Lux awards; on first sight, it looked like the sort of dress in which you couldn’t either sit down or eat, but it was made of fantastic Spanxy stuff that thrust out the right bits and pulled in everywhere else.
‘That’s gorgeous,’ said Liv, coming out of the bathroom. ‘Marti’s going to come over all faint.’
‘You look pretty bloody fantastic yourself.’ Liv was encased in a silver sheath dress – one of her recent freebies – that clung to her body as she moved.
‘It’s all part of my plan to progress your career,’ Liv said. ‘If I’ve got to sit next to Lord Haydon then I’m going to show him a lot of leg all night and encourage him to eat really fatty foods.’ She held out her arm. ‘You ready, gorgeous girl? Shall we go to the ball?’
*
If the princess castle at Disneyland was based on a real place, it should’ve been the palazzo where the Lux ceremony was being held. Our taxi circled up a road like a helter-skelter; my stomach churned with nerves. At the open gates, we joined a queue of snaking jet-black limos, poised in first gear as their drivers tried hard to hang onto the road.
‘There’s Marti,’ Liv said as our car swung in front of the double doors. Women in couture and feathers drifted towards the entrance on a breeze of wealth. On the marble steps, a crowd in evening clothes shook hands eagerly with their competitors and pretended that they wouldn’t like to see each other rot in commercial hell. Among them was Marti, resplendent in a white dinner jacket and tie, cigar in hand as he boom-boomed greetings.
‘Here you are!’ We exchanged our first really close moment for several months as he came to kiss my cheek. Then he went towards Liv: ‘Now, you’re not to show anyone your knickers.’
‘Killjoy.’ She kissed him hello. ‘Are we going to win?’
‘Should bloody well hope so but the competition is stiff,’ said Marti. ‘We’re up against the Valentino campaign and the Jimmy Choo one.’ He held out his arms and Liv and I tucked our hands in snugly. We progressed through the chattering crowd into the centre of a glittering ballroom strung with thousands of white lights like snowdrops suspended in mid-flight on the wind. Marti introduced Liv and me to a circle comprised of Bridget, looking lovely in a blue velvet dress from TopShop Boutique that I’d helped choose and actually fitted, City investors, high-profile customers and a man from Rigby & Peller that Marti was trying his damnedest to turn into one. Lord Haydon was there and blushed the colour of Chianti as Liv approached.
‘Champagne?’ Marti passed out glasses and made introductions. Liv flirted around her while I tried very hard to look professional.
‘What are our chances?’ Haydon turned to me.
‘We should be honoured to be nominated.’
‘Absolutely,’ Haydon said, ‘but winning would do wonders for the share price, you know.’
Bridget and I swapped travel stories and then I asked her, ‘Did you find out who’s coming in Ben’s place?’
‘Luca Berloni,’ she said efficiently. ‘Campury’s Italian operation. I’ve put him next to you. That’s if he turns up. Strange being so late.’
Marti shepherded us down the circular staircase towards an ocean of white tablecloths decorated with antique silver.
‘Do I really have to sit next to the old goat?’ Liv hissed in my ear.
‘They’re all old goats. I have to sit next to an empty chair. Ben’s colleague hasn’t turned up yet.’
Haydon pulled out Liv’s chair with a flourish and she sat down opposite me. We were sixteen in all, counting the vacant seat beside me. Everyone tucked into champagne and I tried to earwig on Liv telling Haydon what was a very naughty story, from the subversive look on her face.
‘Good God,’ he kept saying. ‘Really?’
‘Just tell her to behave herself,’ Marti said before turning back to the prospective Rigby & Peller client he was chatting up on his left.
I concentrated on buttering bread. At least Ben had been kind enough to spare me the embarrassment of sitting next to him for the evening, making polite, disjointed small talk. I’ll make polite, disjointed small talk with his colleague instead, if he ever bothers to turn up.
The trouble with eating alone, without conversation, is that you always finish before everyone else who is gabbling away. I looked around me and wished I felt part of it.
I felt part of the children and me; this was the resolve that had steered me through the last month. How self-sufficient we were now, in our ferret-infested road.
I saw Liv say to Haydon, ‘Listen, are you going to leave the rest of your salmon? If you are, I’ll have it.’ I didn’t know whether to giggle or die of mortification as I watched her shovel his leftovers into her mouth.
As we were served coffee I made patterns with petits fours on my side plate and willed the night to finish.
‘Where’s Ben’s colleague?’ Liv asked in the loo as we waited for the ceremony to start.
‘He can’t possibly be coming,’ I said, renewing my lipstick half-heartedly. ‘We’re nearly at the awards. The first bit will be all glassware to the director’s second cousin’s best boy’s runner.’
As we neared our table, I noticed that a bit of table-hopping had been going on. We were missing two of the clients – probably flirting with other agency bosses to bolster their Christmas stockings – and we’d gained a blonde called Camilla, who’d long wanted to work at Goldwyn and was talking to Bridget. There was also a person sitting in my chair – I couldn’t see who. Probably someone else who wanted my job, I thought.
‘Campury person still not turned up, then?’ I blithely asked the table in general, sinking down into the empty chair beside mine. ‘Let’s hope we don’t bloody win, then.’
There was a silence and then the body next to me swung round to face me.
<
br /> ‘Seeing as I’ve rushed all the way from New York to be here, let’s hope we bloody do, Ami Fitch.’
*
‘Hello, you.’ He smiled into the silence that followed.
My stomach did a full-on jive number but all I managed to say was, ‘But, but, but…’
‘I hope you’re going to be more articulate than that if you have to make a speech,’ said Ben. He looked tired but tanned and happy, his mouth teasing while the lines around his eyes crinkled.
I tried to fix a social smile on my face rather than let on just how amazing it was to see him. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Fan-bloody-tastic that you could make it,’ said Marti. ‘You’ve missed dinner but we’ve got to be able to get you some.’ He started waving around in an effort to find some service.
‘A drink will be fine.’ Ben turned and spoke to me. ‘You look gorgeous.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘It’s a shock to see you. We were expecting someone you worked with from Italy.’
‘Supposed to be. The deal in New York was simpler than I thought so I realised I could get here. I binned the guy who was coming – he wasn’t happy, already in a DJ apparently.’ His mouth twisted into a very happy grin. I couldn’t help but smile back. ‘Only just had time to jump into a penguin suit myself.’
The knot of his black tie was slightly askew but he looked great. ‘You look pretty good, actually.’
‘And I got a promotion,’ he said. ‘Don’t want to boast or anything.’
‘Seriously grown up,’ I said. ‘What’s the gig?’
‘You’re only looking at Campury’s new European Brand Director. It’s on the back of the brilliant work you did.’
I coloured and stopped myself throwing my arms around him. ‘Massive congratulations. So glad for you. That’s fantastic.’ I paused, then said, ‘You probably don’t get much time for hanging out now, then?’