by Adam Leigh
Sarah was so happy to have me home to hang out with quietly, enjoying the chaos and exhaustion of a new baby. We drank lots of tea and went for walks. Our horizons were limited to the practical considerations of naps and feeds. Days blurred into each other and I drifted aimlessly, with little purpose. I can’t tell if it was a happy time. It was just different, fuelled by domestic contentment and professional grief.
One morning, I was distractedly giving the older two breakfast and reading The Times when I suddenly saw a headline that made me crash back into my former world. The fairy-tale romance between Lucy and Julian had progressed to an imminent fairy-tale wedding. What particularly piqued my interest was a quote from Julian, who declared: ‘I recently had some great news professionally and it just seemed the right time to ask Lucy.’
My paranoid alter ego returned. What was the good news? Was he suffering less than me? Had he finally run out of stories to leak about me in revenge? I showed Sarah the article and she snorted in derision. “People like Julian always come out on top. They’re just not afraid of the selfish consequences of their actions.”
I thought this was a bit harsh – after all, he was entitled to remarry and Lucy was objectively quite a catch. I made this point to Sarah, who was too tired to argue, simply shrugging her shoulders and saying, “You may be right, but when all’s said and done, you have to admit he’s a bit of a wanker.”
His ears must have been burning because the following day I got a text from him. It was a simple entreaty: Bury the hatchet breakfast? Can you meet me at Manuela’s tomorrow?
***
Manuela’s had not changed much, but perhaps looked a little tired and sorry for itself. When I arrived, there were a few tables with a single occupant on each. They were wearing headphones and tapping assiduously on laptops, nursing the dregs of a single cup of coffee with no visible signs of any food. No wonder Manuela’s was struggling – they were not smashing enough avocados. Entrepreneurial opportunists using it as cheap office space was not a sustainable business model for an ambitious café.
Julian was already there, sitting, of course, at the table where we wrote our business plan a lifetime ago. He stood up as I approached and went to give me a hug of friendship, which was not what I expected. I had deliberated hard on whether to come. The last communication I had with him was a threat of biblical-proportion revenge. He had gone some way to achieving it, so I was unsure if acquiescing to a meeting was desirable. It was an opportunity to ‘seek closure’, but in practical terms I was not sure what that meant. I declined his attempted embrace.
“Sorry, Julian, I’m not sure I’m ready for displays of physical affection yet.”
“Fair enough. We’ll hold back on the cuddles until we finish.”
The waitress came to take our order and I asked for a coffee. Despite being starving, I didn’t want to order food in case I needed to sprint for the door. Julian had no such reservations and ordered something cooked. He could not have looked more relaxed. I decided that we needed to ease ourselves into the awkward stuff, so I kicked off with a bit of general chit-chat about his forthcoming marriage.
Despite Sarah’s unwavering belief in his callousness, he could not have come across as more in love. He spoke briefly about Lucy and how considerate she was to his parenting responsibilities. His kids adored her. She was a kind and empathetic stepmum and he talked genuinely about planning to have more children with her. Inevitably, being the perennial romantic, I softened and told him how pleased I was that he had found such happiness. It was soon time to tackle the unspoken enmity.
“You really were vicious to me, Julian, when you left. My view was that our relationship was untenable and one of us had to go. After that, everywhere I looked, you were leaking bits of info and undermining me wherever you could. You were like the Russians trying to influence an election with fake news.”
“It wasn’t such fake news, though, was it? If you could trounce my reputation by getting rid of me, there was no way I was going to let you appear the patron saint of ethical behaviour.”
“My question is why you could never accept that we were in this together. I always felt that you were trying to come across as the clever one behind the success. You loved it when something made me look silly.”
“Alex, are you joking?”
“I think the amount we’ve both spent on lawyers over the last year would suggest that there is little that’s funny about all this.”
‘It’s remarkable how unaware you are of what it was like for me to be your partner.”
“How so? I would pride myself that I’m lovely.”
“Oh, there’s no doubt that you’re a top chap. Really good values, even-tempered, love your family. I don’t know what you were trying to prove and to whom, but you were always obsessed with telling everyone it was your idea, not mine.”
“Well, it was.”
“But why would that matter? You felt that leadership meant telling everyone what you had achieved rather than sharing the load with the rest of us.”
“I think you’re being unfair?”
“Am I? This is not a case of who said what to whom. Trust me, even your closest confidants struggled to stop you making all of it about proving yourself to the world.”
“Then why did you always put me down or ridicule me when you could?”
“Sometimes for sport, sometimes because I can be a bit nasty, but most of the time to stop your inane need to create a narrative about your ambition and your tedious journey of self-discovery.”
I didn’t know what to say. Maybe Julian was right. I could only see him as an obstacle to the vision I had created. He was no angel, but it was certainly much easier to amplify his faults and make them threats. I hadn’t come to meet him for a moment of cathartic revelation, but his calm reasonableness was very unsettling. We were both out of the business now, so perhaps the therapy session could stop. I didn’t want to hear more in case I ended up agreeing with him rather than making him the focal point of my anger.
“Let’s leave it there. The noble thing would be to shake and remember the good times and the successes. We don’t have to be friends but let’s be proud of what we did.” I extended my hand towards him and he clasped it in both of his and said nothing other than gently nodding.
“Anyway, Julian,” I continued, “I learnt in the paper that you were getting married because you’d had some good business news. What is it?”
“Hadn’t you heard? I sold our shares to Moshe.” My heart danced a rumba as I saw the triumphant glint in his eye. “Yes, he wants complete control. Couldn’t have been more enthusiastic to pick them up. Of course, you leaving the business was very helpful.”
“How so?”
“The value of the company is soaring. I don’t want to brag, but he paid me a lot more than you got. Made up for all the trouble you caused me with Catherine. We’re actually on better terms now, you know?”
“And I assume that’s the real reason we’re meeting today? Not because you wanted to give me some meaningful insight into my behaviour?”
“What can I say? I’m very competitive, and you know how I hate to lose.”
***
It has been six months since I met with Julian.
I have the perspective of distance and have managed to regain a smidgen of equilibrium. I am a stone lighter and go for a run every day. I sleep soundly and for once the children have a father who is genuinely attentive rather than distracted and guilt-ridden. Sarah has gone back to work and been made a partner at her practice. She has taken on the additional responsibility with measured calm and minimum fuss. I hope the kids have her genes.
My relationship with my parents is healthy. My father teases me for my wealth, and I try not to rise to the bait. He has even created a few university lecturing opportunities for me in his faculty. Half the undergraduates see me as a role model for self-advancement and success. Those with a social conscience question my need for so much wealth.
I’
ve worked with my sister to do something worthwhile with my money and we’ve set up a charitable foundation focusing on vulnerable children. We are now being inundated with approaches and have hired a director to oversee the grant-giving. I had hoped it would be Judith, but she’s moving to New York to take up her role in the Secretary-General’s team at the UN, overseeing prevention of violence against children. We are all very proud and, as ever, she makes me look so shallow.
Alice called me a few months after we both left to tell me that her wife, Caroline, had been diagnosed with breast cancer. They had just come back from Tuscany, where they were looking to buy a wreck of a farmhouse to take on as a project. The prognosis was not a bad one for Caroline, but Alice went to pieces. I went to meet her immediately and watched as she silently wept in anger. She couldn’t believe the cruelty of the timing.
“You sacrifice everything for your work because you have a vision of a better life for your family and then what? You get an enormous cheque followed by a shitty cancer diagnosis.”
It was so cruel, as no one deserved unchallenged happiness as much as Alice. You should be able to work hard and enjoy the spoils, but unknown cosmic forces beg to differ. Should we live in the moment? Must we balance the hard work with a commitment not to compromise on our personal well-being? Maybe the universe is just random in its dispensation of good fortune. Alice and Caroline were stoic in their misfortune. As the tears and shock evaporated, they tackled the crisis with admirable calm. Caroline is coming through the treatment very well and somehow I know they’ll be all right.
Dimitri has disappeared and I am secretly relieved. He is probably sitting in a dark cellar with super-fast broadband, working for different businesses in a highly illegal but effective fashion. I was very nice to him and he was a disloyal weirdo in the end.
Julian’s wedding on Mykonos was covered extensively. Hollywood royalty, pop star royalty and real royalty all mingled in the glorious Aegean sunshine. There wasn’t an ugly person in sight. Shortly afterwards, he announced he was launching his own talent agency. He would represent the interests of his wife and her coterie of acting friends, writers and directors. The press release also revealed that he had set up a joint venture with Nigel O’Connor to handle all of his future novels. (I had no interest in renewing any contact with Nigel, for what it’s worth. He’d have to find some other schmuck to abuse with classically alliterative insults.)
After some soul-searching, I decided that a good person acknowledges the progress of others. Besides, I also wanted to be invited to some good premieres and parties. After a few days, I sent him a congratulatory text. It simply said: Don’t forget I made you what you are. I want 15% of everything.
Brooke and Cole Johnson announced they were divorcing. I did some online investigation and saw much speculation about Brooke and her youthful yoga instructor breaking the normal acceptable boundaries of the teacher/pupil relationship. Nevertheless, a carefully crafted statement emphasised the amicable nature of their parting while stressing the continuation of their flourishing commercial partnership and shared financial investments.
Several weeks later Moshe bought them, George and everyone else out of PrimaParent. I was certainly not surprised but it was a big story, the Israeli cyber-security tycoon taking full control over a huge retail, entertainment and experience global brand. I can’t really tell you his motivations, and the press struggled to link his core business protecting financial services and defence industries from hackers with a mainstream consumer organisation.
I was bombarded for comment and my least favourite journalist, James Connor, desperately sought an off-the-record conversation, which I refused. Having been the victim of leaked information and consistent character assaults in the press, I had no desire to do the same to Moshe. Besides, I’d met his muscular security team.
I can’t tell you what Moshe’s thinking was or what ambition drove him. I just knew that he always wanted to challenge, disrupt and surprise the world. He enjoyed making people uncomfortable, especially me. He had grown up on a kibbutz, a socialist experiment in ensuring that a principled and decent community spirit created something noble and worthwhile. Moshe liked power and the trappings of wealth and there is no psychological reason that explains his motivation. Sometimes people are driven because they know no other way to live. I have no doubt he will sell PrimaParent one day for much more money than he paid to gain control. And like a serial philanderer, he will then move on to his next conquest.
And what of me?
When Moshe bought PrimaParent, I felt a detached pride, but little jealousy or anger. I had put all my energy into its creation and had revelled in its success. But when I reflect on the intervening years, I can’t really decide if I was happy. At heart, I have lots of ideas and want everyone to love me, but I also like the mundane nature of everyday life and the occasional midweek trip to the cinema, making sure I also never forget the sanctity of a happy family.
As for ambition, perhaps my father was right all those years ago when he argued with my grandfather. There is an inquisitive side to me that is interested in simply having a good brain and using it for something other than making money. I am curious. I love words. I have always wanted to write a book.
So that is what I am sitting down to do right now.
Acknowledgements
This book has an autobiographical seed.
On a hot summer’s day in 1999, my very close friend Maurice Helfgott and I were loosely supervising our two-year-old children in the playground in Queen’s Park as our heavily pregnant wives relaxed in an adjacent café. He was a rising star at M&S, and I was forging ahead with my advertising career, producing mediocre yogurt and toilet paper commercials. Mindful of the exploding dotcom revolution, we brainstormed our future millions and alighted on the concept of fabparent.com, which was going to be a global marketplace of solutions for over-stressed parents. Over the following few weeks, we met up and hatched loose ideas for a business plan to precipitate a digital parenting revolution. However, our second children were born, and we were engulfed by practical childcare responsibilities. The imaginary start-up wound down; Maurice was put in charge of a sizeable dotcom investment fund for M&S, and I got a decent pay rise when I moved to another agency.
For years we always joked about what if and imagined a different reality. At the end of 2018, lying in the bath trying to imagine my next attempt at a first novel, I wondered what success might have looked like had we had the confidence to take such a risky step, and the germ of a business idea became the inspiration for this novel. I must stress that while Alex may have inherited some of my more grating personality traits, Julian Lloyd-Mason is an entirely fictitious creation. Maurice has been the best of friends and we have managed to share some entrepreneurial journeys together subsequently. His unstinting encouragement and enthusiasm for this book has really inspired me.
Three books have been very useful to guide the narrative. William Casey King’s 2013 book Ambition, A History: From Vice to Virtue (Yale University Press) is a great study of the profound changes in the meaning of ‘ambition’ from Elizabethan England to the Declaration of Independence. To understand the mercurial mayhem of a start-up business, I found Brad Stone’s 2017 The Upstarts (Corgi) and John Carreyrou’s 2018 Bad Blood (Picador) enormously helpful. The former charts the rise of Airbnb and Uber, while the latter is the astonishing tale of Elizabeth Holmes and the Theranos scandal. They both prove that ambition can often be driven by luck, unrelenting drive and a flexible vision aligned to questionable morality. These bonkers start-up stories liberated me to create my own unlikely narrative.
Huge thanks to John, George, Nikki, Kelly, Gabrielle and the team at whitefox for training this enthusiastic puppy and all the wise guidance and advice throughout. And thanks to Jack Smyth for designing a terrific cover.
And finally, to my gorgeous wife Hannah, as we approach our 30th wedding anniversary, my eternal thanks for all the love and support which has seen us metaphorica
lly grow from an ambitious start-up into a secure and established corporation. You laughed at all the supposed funny lines I shouted to you as I wrote. And let’s be honest, it’s not as if you haven’t heard them before!
March 2021