by Sue Watson
12
Fois Gras and Faux Pas
The Christmas Bella and I made the shoebox dolls’ house, she received a real one from her parents on Christmas Day. When I saw it I was transfixed and I have to admit tinged green with envy as I ran my hands along the brick facade, looked through the windows, and opened the little front door. It was decorated inside with gift wrapping which looked like real wallpaper and the front opened up to reveal life-like figures sitting around in chairs and leaning against fireplaces. Tiny cups and saucers sat on the dining room table, along with a teapot, and the smallest frying pan I’d ever seen was on the tiny oven hob. The curtains wafted and the windows opened, and on the rare occasions I visited Bella’s home I always asked if we could play with it. Sometimes Bella would allow it, other times she refused, like little girls do – enjoying the power their toys have over others.
I was thinking about this now as she stood in the conservatory, the snow falling thicker and instead of heading out into the dark for supper I walked into the conservatory. I didn’t realise, but Crimson was in there, they were talking quietly, none of the TV speak Bella usually adopted when talking to her staff. I was intrigued, but as soon as she realised I was there Bella immediately changed the tone of her voice and ‘performed,’ for me. ‘Crimson, I need you to twatter – ready?’ Before Crimson could answer she was off. ‘Okay…shimmery flakes of twenty-four carat gold leaves and the world’s most expensive olive oil are the only things to toss on one’s salad this Christmas.’
She looked at me defiantly, but for once I wasn’t interested in what she was tossing or how much it cost. I was too intrigued by the scenario I’d just walked in on. What had she and Crimson been talking about in such quiet voices? They seemed conspiratorial even. But Bella was now egging the pudding and expanding on her largesse for my benefit by wandering over to the fridge – still ‘twattering’ – and uncorking a bottle of champagne. She wanted me to know she deserved this, that I had no right to criticise her and I was the last person who could take it from her. I understood how she felt, I’d taken something from her a long time ago and I could never replace that.
‘Sounds like a delicious salad,’ I smiled, still standing in the kitchen doorway. She shrugged; ‘I thought it would be too expensive for your frugal tastes… all that nasty gold leaf?’ She poured the champagne defiantly into a crystal flute and looking straight at me, she took a good, long drink.
I didn’t want to argue any more, I was tired of the confrontation, and despite the front she was putting on, I guessed she was too.
‘Can I have one of those?’ I asked, climbing onto the kitchen stool next to where Bella sat.
‘I thought you didn’t drink before the sun was over the yardarm, Miss Goody Two Shoes?’ she hissed. Okay, perhaps I was wrong, perhaps she bloody loved the confrontation?
‘Well, you’re a bad influence,’ I shrugged my shoulders as she grabbed another flute from the cupboard and poured me a glass.
‘Bella, do you remember the lovely doll’s house you had that one Christmas?’ I asked, taking the proffered glass and nodding in thanks.
She put down the bottle and stood for a moment. ‘I do… I loved that doll’s house…’
‘Me too,’ I sighed, remembering the brickwork and the frying pan sitting on the hob.
‘And we made it out of an old shoebox,’ she smiled.
We were obviously remembering different dolls’ houses, and saw the past and our own lives in different ways. I’d envied Bella the beautiful house her parents had bought her, but she’d had more fun with the shoebox we’d made, which said it all really.
It seemed like the mention of the doll’s house had softened her slightly – or perhaps it was the champagne – but she touched my glass with hers.
‘Cheers Ames! And happy Christmas.’
‘Are you okay with me being here?’ I asked, taking a sip and allowing the ice-cold fizziness to tingle down my throat.
‘Yes,’ she smiled. ‘You are annoying and I didn’t like you contradicting me on camera earlier, but if I’m honest… I’ve missed you. Ames, I don’t really have any friends any more – I don’t even think I have a life outside of the TV programmes.’
I nodded.
‘I mean, I sometimes make a ham sandwich and talk through the process like the bloody camera’s there when I’m all on my own.’
‘That’s weird,’ Crimson said from under her black plumage. I’d forgotten she was there.
We both laughed.
‘I have to say I wasn’t keen on the initial idea of you being here, knowing about everything, but… oh you know what I mean, I can’t think when I’ve had a couple of these,’ she held up her flute and took a large gulp.
‘Don’t drink then,’ I said, trying not to sound like a teacher.
‘Yeah… well, like I say, I can’t think when I’ve had a drink. And that’s how I like it. I can forget about everything.’
I wasn’t sure how to respond, but before I did she continued.
‘A journalist once asked me the secret of my success and I said: “Three things; planning, planning and planning…” I should have said “Drinking, drinking, and drinking”.’ She laughed. I felt so guilty, I knew why she was drinking, she was trying to dull the pain from all those years ago. I had to say something, but before I could her mobile rang and she threw it over to Crimson who caught it with one hand without looking up.
‘I hate answering the phone… why do people still call me? I mean, what can you say on the phone that you can’t say in a quick text? I give five minutes to friends and family and the rest get a short sharp thirty seconds or I pass the phone to Crimson or Fliss,’ she smiled, sipping her champagne, she was finally relaxing.
‘If close family only get five minutes on the phone, no wonder you never responded to my Christmas cards,’ I said, pointedly.
‘Oh darling, Christmas cards are so bloody provincial – who has the time to read them, let alone write them? I’m far too busy. Fliss sends out the corporate Christmas cards and a few crates of champagne or whatever…who cares?’
‘Some people care.’
‘Oh… sorry Ames, I didn’t realise.’ So she did have a conscience in there, somewhere – however small.
‘It’s the same when people try and call me at Christmas,’ she continued. ‘It’s my busiest time – I invariably have a new book to promote or am working on a Christmas Special. As the Queen of Christmas I don’t have time for anyone – I just wish they’d understand.’
‘It seems like you’re so busy doing the TV Christmas you don’t have time for the real one,’ I said.
‘Exactly,’ she said, missing the irony completely at first, then looking at me and twisting her mouth. ‘Oh Ames, I’ll be honest I’ve resented you for so long for what you did, seeing it as a betrayal, that you weren’t a good friend, but I wasn’t a good friend to you either. I never responded to your calls or emails or cards because I wanted to forget everything, I didn’t want the past crowding in. You know how unhappy I was as a kid, and then it all got so messy…’
‘I know and it was my fault…’
‘Not just you, I reckon Mum can take some of the blame for almost everything that’s gone wrong in my life. She was a terrible mother, still is – but then I haven’t been a great daughter. She moved to Sydney, you know?’
‘I didn’t realise…’
‘Ha, neither did I until I got a bloody postcard from halfway around the world. Then she called me and after five minutes I said, ‘Sorry, Jean, your time is up.’ She never had any time for me when she was working – and I’ve no time for her now while I’m working. I’m a busy lady and don’t have a spare moment to waste on friends, family or phone calls – I’ve got a business empire to run.’
I nodded. It was clear Bella was now living the life her parents had – workaholics, fiercely ambitious, constantly striving. Their business plans had consumed them so much they lost sight of the goalposts and never realised their
lives were going by and their daughter was shrivelling up from lack of love and attention. Bella had grown up virtually alone – which is why when we were teenagers we’d bonded even more. I’d lost my mum – and in effect she’d never had one because hers had never been there for her. But the one time her mum could have helped her she’d simply thrown her out.
Later that evening, when the first day’s filming was over I tried again to talk to Bella. She was explaining to me what a brilliant assistant Crimson was, which I found hard to believe, but looking at Crimson, half-smiling into her iPad, it clearly made her happy to be described as ‘an online genius’.
‘She’s fabulous, and saved me from myself,’ Bella said. ‘I used to do all my own online media – I Facebooked daily, “liking”, “sharing” and congratulating myself on everything from a good show to a well-made cup of coffee. But I was cheating,’ she giggled, putting her hand to her mouth like a naughty girl. ‘I would put someone else’s photos on my tweets, bragging about a delicious dish I’d “whipped up” for supper – or a fabulous restaurant I’d been to – which of course I hadn’t,’ she threw her head back and laughed. ‘Too busy filming and tweeting about it to actually eat in restaurants aren’t we Crimson?’ she laughed and Crimson rolled her eyes.
‘Anyway,’ she continued, after a quick slurp, ‘I was having so much fun until one day I tweeted to Fliss about a couple of other celebrities without realising tweets were public, not private. It wasn’t long before my less than complimentary tweets were retweeted and sent directly to the said celebrities. Only when the newspapers called Fliss for a comment from me and she phoned me to make it stop did I realise the enormity of the situation. I was physically sick. Apology emails, Jane Packer Rose Sundae Hatboxes and magnums of Dom Perignon eased the pain for those lovely, forgiving souls, but some of them have never spoken to me since. I’m hoping one day at least one of them will forgive me and accept my invitation to stay at Dovecote,’ she smiled.
So it did matter to her what people thought – she still wanted to be liked, forgiven. Perhaps there was hope for her after all?
‘I should have trusted my instincts and left well alone… it was like when I texted my producer, Delia. She is very posh and quite fierce and I was flattered to think I’d reached the inner sanctum when she sent me a light-hearted text about foie gras…’
‘As you do,’ I said, sarcastically.
‘Quite,’ she answered. ‘So I immediately texted back saying, “Oh Delia you are such a joker,” but predictive texting had turned joker into “hooker”. Delia was quite understandably offended to receive a text from one of her lovely presenters saying “Oh Delia you are such a hooker,” so I tried to rectify this. Unfortunately I merely ended up informing everyone of Delia’s “hookery” by pressing the wrong button and sending the message to everyone in my contacts list.’
‘Don’t tell me… the great Delia Smith was in your phone book too?’ I said.
She nodded, almost unable to speak about it.
I was mortified on Bella’s behalf. ‘Oh dear… it’s not easy being you, is it?’ I smiled sympathetically, as the old, disorganised, more frantic and funnier Bella emerged from under the perfect make-up. It’s like she’d suddenly remembered it was okay to laugh at herself sometimes.
‘Fliss said to prevent any future online mishaps and faux pas I had to get a young person to do my social media and manage my texts… so I did. Crimson’s in her early twenties and like the rest of her generation prefers the virtual world to the real one so it was a no brainer to involve her in the all aspects of text and twittery.’ She poured us another drink, and though I was tempted to put my hand over my glass I thought ‘If you can’t beat them.’
‘Meanwhile, I’m living to tweet another day… well, Crimson is,’ she laughed. ‘I now don’t understand a word of what I’m saying online, but thank God she does,’ she said, leaning over to rub Crimson’s arm.
‘God Bella, it’s not rocket science,’ she muttered from behind a Himalaya of hair.
I had to smile, Crimson was like my own kids, she’d probably grown up with an iPod in her hands. It was all so new and different for people mine and Bella’s age, and like her I knew the perils of Twitter all too well; ‘I’ve been there too Bella, you’re not alone,’ I laughed. ‘ Last year the headmaster thought it might be a good idea for us all to “get down with the kids,” and for a while it was nice to be able to communicate outside school hours with the odd maths query. But the pupils soon saw the potential for public humiliation and when they weren’t hacking teacher’s accounts, they were abusing us under Twitter pseudonyms. It was a levelling experience to be told by a stranger that I was ‘a minger’ and a ‘stupid old cow’.’
Bella laughed. ‘Kids eh?’
I laughed too and sipped on my champagne, thinking how this was just like being with a lovely, old friend.
I finished my glass of champagne with Bella, feeling quite warm and comforted – yes it was partly due to the alcohol, but I had sensed a thawing from her and felt much happier about everything. As Crimson had now left the kitchen to go and have some food, I decided to take advantage of our time alone together.
‘Bella…you and Peter haven’t had children… is it because of what happened?’
Bella’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Don’t, please don’t, Amy. I’m sorry…’ she stood up and touched my arm, then left the kitchen, tears streaming down her face.
I watched her walk away, wishing she’d stayed and talked to me, but she was obviously too upset. I’d read every interview she’d ever done but she’d never mentioned having or wanting children and I wondered… was it my fault she now couldn’t have children?
It all happened such a long time ago – twenty-two Christmases had gone by since then – but it still felt like yesterday. We were eighteen and it was mid December. I wasn’t really looking forward to Christmas, it hadn’t been the same since mum had died, but I planned to bake and revise (in that order!) for my mock A levels. Bella hadn’t been herself for a couple of weeks and I wondered if she was having problems with her boyfriend, Chris. At nineteen, he was older than her and they’d been together a few months and she was crazy about him but constantly worried he was cheating on her. She kept saying how boys only liked slim girls and had gone on a crash diet, so when I’d caught her being sick in the toilets I waited outside the cubicle to confront her. Girls were squealing and chatting, toilet doors were banging and we stood among the wet confetti of paper towels and teenage hormones.
‘You’re anorexic, aren’t you?’ I said as she emerged, face wet with tears.
She grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me out of the toilets, away from the chatter and the paper towels.
She led me to our lockers where she opened the door, took out a packet of polo mints and offered me one, but I was so anxious I couldn’t eat anything. She popped one in her mouth and nodded her head for me to hide behind the locker door so we could talk. ‘I missed my period Ames… I’m pregnant,’ she whispered, her minty breath filled my face and my heart lurched. I hadn’t seen this coming at all.
‘What am I going to do?’ Tears filled her eyes – we were both so young and I don’t know who was more scared.
I just stood there clutching my bag, all thoughts of revision and set texts drained from my head and I couldn’t speak as we looked at each other. She was, as usual, waiting for me to give her an answer, to rescue her, but for once I was lost.
‘Will you keep it?’ was all I could say.
‘Ames, of course, how could you even ask that? You know how I feel about babies…’
‘Yes, but this isn’t a baby yet… like you said it’s a missed period, are you even sure?’
She nodded. Life had changed in a moment – Bella’s exams and university hopes, our plans to go travelling round Europe, her pregnancy would change my plans too. I was still dealing with life after Mum and with no one to talk to except each other we were both lost.
Over the next fe
w weeks Bella was a mess, she cried in lessons, never went home and the only person she wanted to talk to was me. So I would sit up all night listening and at school I’d leave my lessons to go to her and sit in the toilets holding her hand and telling her it was all going to be okay. But what did I know? Eventually I convinced her to tell Chris, who said he loved her and they’d bring up the baby and be happy ever after. She was young and in love and believed everything he told her – but he’d never had a job and I’d heard the rumours about his cheating and was worried for her future. She couldn’t waste it all on this unfaithful layabout, but she wouldn’t listen.
The whole situation affected both our lives and my grades began to suffer, I was unable to concentrate and wasn’t revising because I was spending every spare moment with Bella. I felt like this whole problem was on top of me and I wasn’t able or prepared to make the decision for her.
I remember wishing my mum had still been around, she’d have known what to do. Bella always said I took on other people’s problems, I was like Mum and I wanted to help, but at the same time Bella was keen to hand me her problems, again another reason why we fit together so well, but she just kept asking me what she should do. Apart from the obvious which was to terminate the pregnancy, and just carry on like nothing had happened, I didn’t know. So instead of telling Bella she must make her own choices and I’d be there for her, I’d taken matters into my own hands. One evening when I knew Bella was at Chris’s I went round to her mother’s and told her everything. I thought she would help, guide Bella through the decision-making and support her in whatever she decided to do as I know my mother would have. Little did I know that the fallout from my revelation would ruin Bella’s life and end our friendship.
I tried not to go over it all in my head, why I made that stupid decision and why her mother reacted with such anger. I hoped now, finally with some time together at Dovecote, I might be able to make amends and she might come some way to finally forgiving me.