Wonder Women

by Fiore, Rosie

  She was true to her word, and rang back within ten minutes. ‘Richard genuinely does want to get involved in your business. It’s not for the bank. It’s in his personal capacity.’

  ‘What do you think I should do?’ asked Jo.

  ‘I can’t advise you on that. All I can say is this: Richard’s a banker by trade, but he’s not a bullshit artist. He is genuinely interested. The question is, is it what you’re looking for? Only you know the answer to that.’

  Until she heard what he was offering, Jo didn’t know the answer, but it seemed Holly did. When she tentatively told Holly and Mel the next day, Holly just stared at her.

  ‘What? Are you sure? Are you sure he wants to buy in?’

  ‘I’m not sure about anything. And I won’t be, unless I go to the meeting and see what he has to say.’

  ‘Please, Jo, please be careful. Don’t agree to anything, don’t shake on anything and don’t give him too much information. Not before you’ve put any proposal he has in front of a lawyer.’

  Jo smiled. ‘I’ll be careful, I promise.’

  ‘I’m sorry, it’s just … I had a business. I let someone buy into it and I lost everything.’

  ‘I don’t know what this guy wants to give us. It might not be an offer of money at all. He just said “help”. And I know it ended badly for you, but it doesn’t mean every experience will be like that.’

  ‘I know,’ said Holly, calming down slightly. ‘It just … well, the idea of it freaks me out.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Jo. ‘But at the very least, I want to hear him out. For his family connection to Louise, if nothing else.’

  ‘It does seem odd to me,’ ventured Mel. ‘I kind of remember him from the launch day, and the description you give makes him sound like a banker wanker, if you’ll pardon the expression. What interest could he possibly have in a little suburban shop, miles from where he lives?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Jo. ‘When you put it like that, it does seem strange. But I won’t know unless I talk to him, will I?’

  She rang Richard’s secretary, who set up a lunch date for the end of that week. Lee took a day off work so she could go and not worry about the time and picking up the kids. In the morning, Jo took herself off to the hairdressers and had a blow-dry and a manicure, to give herself a little polish and courage. She dug out a suit from her working days, a classic Chanel-style knee-length skirt and cropped jacket in a dusty pink. Thankfully, it still fitted her. Discreet make-up, pearl earrings, low-heeled but elegant shoes, and she was ready to go. Lee, who was sitting on the floor doing play-dough with Imogene, gave a low whistle when she walked into the living room.

  ‘Bloody hell. You’re working that sexy businesswoman look,’ he said, and stood up to look at her more closely, then drew her into his arms. He kissed her softly and whispered, ‘Don’t be in a hurry to take that off when you get home. You look delicious.’

  ‘Mamma!’ gurgled Imogene and toddled up, her doughy hands reaching for Jo’s skirt. Lee broke free and snatched her up in his arms, covering her little face in kisses. ‘All right, little miss, let’s let Mummy go to her meeting without play-dough accessories. See you later, love. Knock ’em dead. Oh, by the way … do you want to take my iPad?’

  ‘And do what? Show him how good I am at playing Fruit Ninja? Let him watch an episode of Bob the Builder?’

  ‘I don’t know … I just thought it would make you look professional.’

  ‘It would, if I had some whizzy presentation of the figures with pie charts and stuff, but I don’t. I just have my little balance sheet, and a folder of press cuttings.’

  ‘That sounds fantastic,’ said Lee firmly and loyally. ‘Now go. Take the car and park at the station so you don’t have to walk in those shoes. If we go anywhere it’ll be to the park, and we’ll walk there. And have fun.’

  He held Imogene off to one side so she couldn’t touch Jo, and leaned in to kiss Jo softly at first and then very much more passionately. ‘Now go, before I put a DVD on for the kids and rumple your suit.’

  Jo giggled. ‘Why, Mr Hockley, you’ve still got it. You’ve made my knees go all funny. I’m quite collywobbled.’

  She blew a kiss to Imogene, who wasn’t particularly interested in her departure, blew Lee a saucy kiss over her shoulder and headed out of the door.

  Lee

  Lee sat back down on the floor, put Imogene on his lap and reached for a lump of play-dough. ‘All right, lovely, what do you want Daddy to make now?’

  ‘Poo!’ said Imogene delightedly.

  ‘Well, that shouldn’t stretch Daddy’s artistic talents too much. I can manage that.’

  They played contentedly for a while longer, then Lee read Imogene a couple of books. She went soft and quiet in his arms so he knew she was getting tired. He changed her and gave her some milk, and she curled up obediently in her little toddler bed for a nap. He tidied the house and made a plate of sandwiches for lunch. He checked his watch, and there was a good hour before he had to go and pick Zach up from nursery. He knew Imi would sleep until he transferred her into the pushchair to walk to Zach’s school. He had an hour. A perfect, silent, uninterrupted hour at home, and he could do anything he liked.

  He quite fancied sitting on the sofa and surfing the TV channels, or reading a magazine, but those pursuits seemed too mundane for such rare and precious time, so instead he dug in his desk drawers and found his old college pencil case. Inside were some ancient charcoal sticks. He took out a few sheets of textured drawing paper and found a board to press on, and then sneaked into Imogene’s room and sat on the edge of the armchair where Jo used to breastfeed. He looked at his daughter’s perfect face, her little lips pink and pouted in sleep, the sweep of lashes touching the swell of her cheek and her rather dramatic dark brows curved under the mad tangle of her hair. He began to draw, trying to capture the essence of her face with the charcoal lines. The first drawing was a disaster. It was stiff and wooden, and it made Imi look like a rather scary doll. He tried again, remembering the feel of the charcoal in his hand, and finding the natural arc as he drew. The result was slightly better, and he felt he had caught the shape of her mouth particularly well, but the hair wasn’t right and her eyebrows looked wonky.

  The third drawing was better still, but, Lee felt, too fussy and mannered. He did a series of five more, and with each he tried to capture the essence of Imogene’s face with fewer and fewer lines. Some of them worked, some of them didn’t. He suddenly glanced at the clock and realised that they had to leave in ten minutes. He put his drawing things away in his desk. He knew from experience that he would need to leave the drawings for a little while before he looked at them again to get a real sense of whether they were any good. He washed his hands and got the pushchair ready, then gently scooped a sleepy Imogene up and slipped her into the cosy cocoon of the pushchair. He pulled a woolly hat on to her head, yanked on his coat and a scarf and set off to walk to Zach’s school. It didn’t matter if the drawings were terrible, he realised as he walked in the crisp, cold sunshine. He had just spent the most fulfilling and creatively satisfying hour he had had for ages.

  The weather was too cold for the park, so they came home for sandwiches and then Lee and Zach played an indoor ball game with a pair of Lee’s rolled-up football socks, while Imi giggled and was the piggy in the middle. Later, he bundled them both up and they walked to the shop to get a few things for dinner. It was almost four o’clock, and while Lee wasn’t worried, he was aware that lunch would be long over and he hadn’t had a text or call from Jo. He hoped it was because it was all going so well, and not because she was depressed and wandering the streets of London alone.

  He took a moment to check his work email. There was very little, not just because everyone knew he was out of the office, but because things at work were quiet. Not just quiet, worryingly silent. Custom typography was a luxury, and in these economic times, one that many companies were having to forego. A beautiful individual typeface or logo was a
lovely thing, but when marketing and advertising budgets were being slashed, losing that was an easy way to trim costs. The company had seen a marked decline in their revenue over the previous year, and Lee knew his bosses were worried. They’d already had to let three junior designers go, and Lee was under no illusion that his job was secure. If he lost it, what would he do? The shop wasn’t bringing in anything like enough money; he knew Jo hadn’t paid herself anything at the end of January. He’d have to find work, and find it fast. There was usually graphic-design freelancing to be had, but it would mean a lot of travelling and working in strange offices, and there was no guarantee of work. Well, he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

  As he shut down his email, his phone rang. It was Jo, sounding breathless, obviously calling as she walked along. ‘Hi, love, so, so sorry,’ she began. ‘I’ve just left the restaurant and there just wasn’t a chance to nip out and ring you earlier.’

  ‘No worries, everything’s fine here. The kids are playing a game that involves a cardboard box and two wooden spoons. No injuries so far, but lots of laughing. How did it go?’

  ‘It went … wow. Well, it wasn’t at all what I expected, and I’m very surprised, but it’s a long story. I’ll tell you everything when I get home.’

  ‘But it was good?’

  ‘I don’t know. It could be good, or it could be impossible. There are just so many things … so many problems … Lots of things we need to discuss. Look, I’m sorry I’m being cryptic, but just let me get home. I’m dying to see you and the kids, and once they’re in bed, we can talk.’

  It didn’t take her too long to get back, and she came through the door, looking beautiful and smelling of the cold and the outside world, just as Lee set plates of dinner in front of the kids. She kissed him, then sat down between the children and helped them with their meal. Zach chattered away nineteen to the dozen about his day, and Imogene banged her spoon and squealed in delight. She managed to flick a baked bean on to Jo’s lap. Jo laughed, grabbed a baby wipe and scrubbed the stain off her expensive skirt, then leaned in and kissed Imogene’s chubby cheek. Lee watched her and thought he had never loved her more than he did right that minute, his clever, resourceful wife, mother of his precious children and builder of a successful business. He’d known from the first time he’d seen her at that student party all those years ago that she was something special, but he hadn’t imagined she’d get more special as the years went by.

  They got through the bathtime and bedtime routine, although it took an extra twenty minutes or so to calm the kids down. Although Jo did go out to work, a day at home with Daddy, and Mum coming home late, were out of the ordinary, and like all small children, Zach and Imogene saw it as an excuse to get madly excited. Eventually they were both in bed, and Lee went downstairs to finish washing up. Jo came down a few minutes later. She was still wearing her suit skirt and blouse, but she’d replaced her heels with fluffy animal slippers.

  ‘Sorry, I know you were loving the sexy librarian look earlier, but my feet were killing me,’ she said, kissing Lee on the cheek.

  ‘I don’t know. I could be persuaded by the gorilla feet. It’s kind of animalistic.’

  ‘Wow, I know keeping the romance alive in a marriage takes imagination, but that is impressive.’ She gave him a squeeze. ‘Tea or wine?’

  ‘Not that fussed either way. What would you like?’

  ‘Well, I stayed on the fizzy water at lunch so I could keep my wits about me, so I would say definitely wine.’

  ‘Wine it is then,’ agreed Lee. Jo opened a bottle of red and carried it into the living room, grabbing glasses as she went. Lee finished up in the kitchen and followed her.

  They settled on the sofa and sipped their wine in silence for a few minutes. Eventually, Lee said. ‘Okay, go. I can’t take the suspense any more.’

  ‘Well, he seems a nice enough guy. I think he’s nicer than he used to be, if that makes any sense. He seems to be on the point of a big epiphany.’

  ‘Epiphany? What, like a religious vision?’

  ‘No, not religious as such, but he seems to be reassessing his life and wanting to do something different.’

  ‘Because …?’

  ‘Well, he says it’s having kids. He’s been in high finance all his life, working all hours, doing deals, making pots of money, as far as I can ascertain, but he wants to do something … his words were “a bit more meaningful”.’

  ‘Like caring for orphans in Romania? Eradicating rinderpest?’

  ‘Bear in mind he was an investment banker. His idea of “a little more meaningful” may be slightly more modest than that.’

  ‘So his idea is …?’

  ‘He thinks Jungletown is an amazing business idea, but that it could grow exponentially and open stores nationwide, and beyond.’

  ‘Nationwide?’ said Lee incredulously.

  ‘And beyond. He seems to think it would do especially well in Australia. Apparently conquering the American market is part of the five-year plan, but we wouldn’t be tackling that quite yet.’

  ‘And how does he plan to go about this?’ asked Lee.

  ‘Well, he’s talking about significant financial investment from himself and a few friends. He proposes that he comes on board as Chief Financial Officer, I stay as founder and Creative Director, and we go from there.’

  ‘And his banking job?’

  ‘He wants to quit. He sees this as – quote – “downsizing”.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ said Lee.

  ‘It’s okay, you can laugh. I did. All the way home.’

  ‘So what do you … think?’

  ‘Think? Well, it’s amazing that he sees so much potential … I mean, I just wanted to open a little neighbourhood shop, something to make a bit of money and fit in with caring for the kids … but … a multimillion-pound operation? Stores everywhere? Franchising?’ She sighed, long and deep.

  ‘That still doesn’t tell me what you think,’ said Lee.

  ‘There’s no point in saying what I might or might not think, Lee. It’s just not possible. I thought about it on the way home, and even if I wanted to do it, what about the kids? We stick them in care from seven till seven while I go off to my high-flying business empire? And what if I had to go away on trips? If we went nationwide, there’d have to be travel …’

  ‘But in an ideal world …’

  ‘What – an ideal world where my children don’t exist?! That’s scarcely an ideal world, is it?’

  And to Lee’s surprise, she burst into tears and began to sob. She rested her head on his shoulder and cried and cried. Lee had hardly ever seen Jo cry, and other than putting his arms around her and holding her tight, he didn’t have a clue what to do.

  15

  RICHARD THEN

  Confidence is a funny thing, Richard thought. Nobody was born with it. People who were smooth, open and affable and who exuded power and self-assurance hadn’t always been like that. He believed that deep down inside, everyone was a small and rather frightened child, hanging back, afraid to get something wrong. Nobody was naturally charismatic. Some people learned early on in life to fake it, and they kept faking it until it became second nature, or at least until they believed their own press and really did think they were amazing.

  At twenty-five, he was still deep in the ‘faking it’ phase. Yes he was a successful trader on the floor of a major multinational investment bank. He already owned his dream car (a vintage Porsche), and a delightful Docklands apartment. He was never without a beautiful woman on his arm or in his bed. He knew he was reasonable-looking, and by the standards of most people, extremely successful. Nevertheless, he couldn’t shake the feeling that one day, as he sat at his desk, a heavy hand would fall on his shoulder, and a deep voice would say, ‘Richard Anthony, no one was fooled. You’re a fake. Out you go.’

  His lack of confidence came, he thought, from his rather commonplace beginnings. He’d been born the eldest child in a very ordinary middle-class
family living in one of the slightly less posh parts of Kew. His mum was a music teacher, and his dad was a solicitor. His father, Matthew Anthony, had been born Matteo Antonioni, the only son of Italian immigrants who ran a small restaurant in Bethnal Green. Matteo’s parents had literally worked themselves into an early grave to give their son the finest education available. They both died when he was in his early years at university. He repaid their efforts by becoming a modestly successful lawyer, marrying a beautiful blonde English rose and anglicising his name. Mario and Rosa would not have recognised the polished man with his clipped vowels that their son became. Matthew was even more ambitious for his son, whom he named after the Lionheart – Richard was the most English and heroic name Matthew could think of, and he hoped it meant his son would leave his Italian peasant roots far behind.

  Richard’s mother, Elizabeth, was a fierce disciplinarian and expected a lot from her son. Music was everything to her, and she taught him to read music before he could read words, and play the piano before he could use a pencil. It was this intensive tuition and these high expectations that revealed Richard’s golden ticket: a pure, clear treble voice and a perfect ear. Elizabeth took him to audition for the Westminster Abbey choir school, and by the time Richard was eight, he was boarding full-time and singing in the cathedral every day. He found it frightening and lonely at first. He would ring his parents every evening and beg to come home, but they were both immovable and just kept repeating how it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience and he would thank them when he got older.

  He did get used to it eventually, and loved the camaraderie of the small group of boys. His talent led to a music scholarship to Harrow School when he was thirteen. He had been there just eighteen months when his voice broke, and the fluting treble was replaced with a very average tenor. He was still musical however, and continued with the piano up to Grade Eight, but he knew that, despite Elizabeth’s efforts, music would never be his career. He felt that he had been faking it as a member of Harrow’s exclusive community, riding on his musical talent, but he believed it wasn’t enough. He began to work harder at his academic subjects. He mistook his classmates’ easy confidence for cleverness, and he always felt he wasn’t quite keeping up, even though his marks were excellent. He knew he was bright, but he didn’t think he was exceptional, so he studied intensively to make up for what he saw as his lack of talent. It paid off, unsurprisingly, with outstanding results and a place at Oxford to read Politics, Philosophy and Economics. He worked just as hard there, with equally gratifying results. With a first-class honours degree under his belt, he went straight into a graduate programme at an American bank, and was swiftly headhunted to work at the one where he was currently employed.