FORTY
JANUARY, SURPRISINGLY, HAS BEEN a good month. I said my goodbyes to Edward but didn’t feel a great sadness as he was booked to be working in the UK all of February on the new business expansion, so really it was just a three-week break and he’d be back again. Usually January is a pretty dull month, but it turned out Gloria had a plan to beat this.
‘Ladies, forget Dry January. Let’s go out! I need to let my hair down after three weeks of solo-parenting my two beasts, dearly though I love them,’ she added for good measure.
‘I’m always up for a night out!’ I said eagerly. Maybe a bit too eagerly. ‘Gillian, Finola, can I tempt you two?’
‘You certainly can, my dear! Edgar bought me the most beautiful Charlotte Tilbury palette for Christmas and I’m desperate to give it a whirl,’ Finola said straight away.
Gillian and I feigned falling over backwards in shock.
‘I don’t know what I love more, Finola, the fact that you are going to glam yourself up again or the fact that Edgar bought you something better than garden centre vouchers!’ Gillian said in thrilled tones. ‘I’d like to come out just to celebrate this!’
‘Hurrah, then! A night out for the four of us.’ Gloria cheered eagerly, just as her phone pinged in her hand.
She tried to move it away but my speedy eyes caught the name: RavelleySir. Dear God. For a split second we locked eyes and exchanged the slightest of knowing smiles. She’s in. We have a new mum in our gang, and I’m more than happy about it!
WITH LACEY’S FEBRUARY DUE date looming, I can’t help but think of the baby I didn’t have. Since all my chats with Edward, I feel a great sense of healing, but I don’t think it’s something I’ll ever be fully ‘over’. Gillian has been such a support and has shared more of her coping strategies. She, Paul and Clara still do special things for her angel babies, like planting roses or work on special art projects together. It means a lot to know she understands my journey.
I haven’t told Lyla about the baby. I might do one day, but for now it’s just me and Edward, Kath, Gillian, Lacey and a few people from work who needed to know. I’m happy with it like that. I haven’t even told Mum: I know it would lead to a thousand other conversations that I can’t be bothered with (interestingly, though, not conversations that I can’t face).
This last year was so unlike the one before. The previous year was all about dragging myself out of The Emptiness and finding a way to live happily without the things I didn’t have. The year just gone was allowing myself to find a way to let them in. To let Edward in, to let myself lead on big projects, to help Lyla navigate letting Colin in and, most joyfully yet painfully, to let in the thought of Lacey’s gorgeous new baby.
‘The year just gone was full. Full of love (eventually!) and creativity and people and soon, a new baby. Here’s to the new year and all that it will bring!’ I write in my notebook, underlining ‘all’ with gusto.
THE NEXT DAY I drop Lyla at Kath’s to work on the latest batch of lavender lotions, pick up a little posy of the fragrant lilac-coloured flowers and then head out in the car.
Twenty minutes later I’m pulling up to the cemetery we visited a few months ago with Lyla.
It feels more peaceful today than it did last time. Perhaps I’m somehow more peaceful.
I walk the few hundred yards from the car to Derek’s grave and note that the wreath we laid is still there, but the glitter has been washed off the polystyrene balls by the rain. I place my posy of lavender down next to it and stand up, tilting my head to the sky.
I’m aware of my breathing, in and out. I’m aware of the weak sun on my face and the damp of the grass soaking through the seams of my ballet pumps. I try to focus just on these three things as I let my body stand very still, very calm.
It’s been such a big year, without me ever having meant it to be. I keep my eyes shut and say a silent prayer for the baby I never knew I wanted to love so much. I’m not particularly religious, but I like to think that he or she is up there, sitting on Derek’s lap, waiting for me, like he is.
‘Derek,’ I whisper to his headstone, ‘keep my baby safe for me. I can’t wait to meet it and cuddle it and kiss its little hands. Until then, I’ve got to live properly for Lyla, so I’m leaving this one with you. I’ll take care of Kath, and then when she’s up there with you, she’ll have a cuddle too.’
I’m whispering to a piece of black marble but my heart feels such a weight removed, such a tension soothed. I whisper my goodbyes, wipe the tears from my eyes and head back to the car.
Bye-bye, baby, see you one day soon.
FORTY-ONE
LACEY IS NOW TEN days overdue and ten days beyond the end of her tether.
‘I’ve tried everything to get the bloody thing out, but it’s not moving!’ she huffs as I walk into the back room of Dovington’s to see her sitting amid a technicolor heap of Valentine’s decor debris.
‘Shall I assume by “bloody thing”, you mean the baby you have lovingly grown for nine months?’ I say, smiling and sitting down at the table, reaching for an open packet of custard creams and helping myself to one.
‘Yes, the bloody thing I’ve grown for nine months and is now outstaying its welcome inside me. I can’t walk comfortably, I can’t sleep comfortably – my skin feels like it’s going to burst open.’ She huffs some more.
‘I’m assuming you’ve tried all the tricks? Pineapple? Curries? Sex?’ I offer in support.
‘Robin, I’ve tried them all over and over again. I’m tempted to try eating a pineapple curry while Karl shags me senseless if it will bring on labour.’
‘Wow, that’s a vision. Thanks for that,’ I say with a half-laugh. ‘The best thing to do is take your mind off it, and that’s what I’m here for. Your trusty friend is here to lighten your load and tell you about my life, and then you can tell me all the answers and all will be right with the world!’ I carry on, in my peppiest of pep-talk tones.
‘Oh my God, no!’ Lacey says, horrified.
‘What do you mean, “Oh my God, no”? You usually love sorting my life out! I’m not beyond saving, am I? Has this baby addled your brain?’ I say, mocking her slightly but also thinking, My life’s not that bad, is it?
‘No, I mean, oh my God, you’re better than sex and curry!’ she says, beaming.
‘Erm, OK. So my life is interesting to listen to?’ I ask, completely clueless.
Lacey stands up. ‘I think my waters have gone!’
‘What? You’re supposed to have gentle contractions and surges for hours before that happens. You’re meant to have signs of labour and be practising your breathing. You should be leaning over a birthing ball with a midwife when this happens, shouldn’t you? It’s not meant to be like this, like in the films. It’s all happening so fast. I don’t know what to do!’ I say so quickly I almost can’t hear the words properly.
‘Robin. Robin! Get a hold of yourself! Research says that ten per cent of women will start their labour with the breaking of waters.’ Only Lacey could greet the start of childbirth with a handy selection of statistics. ‘I’ve been having little squeezes all morning but I thought they were Braxton Hicks. It’s OK, I’m calm. I’m ready for this, I’ve been waiting so, so long for this day. Just pass me my bag, I need to phone Karl. Also pass me that tea towel, I need something dry!’ Lacey is in control. She’s in her element. Her tranquillity is catching. I feel calm has been restored.
I pass her the phone and watch her ring her husband.
‘Karl,’ she says, her eyes shining with excitement, and maybe just a little trepidation. ‘It’s happening.’
LYLA AND I PACE down the hospital corridor, almost dizzy with excitement. I have a bunch of flowers in one hand and Lyla’s hand in the other. She has a balloon, which is bobbing about vigorously as we walk, and I can feel such a fizz of excitement in my chest I keep having to take huge great gasps of air to contain myself.
As we turn onto the ward, I see her.
Lacey is propped up
in bed in the corner by the window. The other three beds are unoccupied, so it’s just us. And there it is in her arms, the most lovely little bundle of blankets and teeny squished baby face I have seen since my own teeny squish was born.
‘Laceeey,’ I whisper as we approach the bed.
‘Meet Willow,’ she says, moving the blanket away from her brand-new daughter’s face a little bit. ‘Willow Faith Hunter.’
I can’t talk for crying. I just lean over and smile and cry and look at Lacey, who is doing the same.
‘I can’t believe it,’ I manage.
‘Mummy, she was pregnant for ages,’ Lyla pipes up, ever the voice of reason.
Lacey and I laugh as I pick Lyla up and pop her on the end of the bed, and pull up the guest chair to the side.
‘Oh God, she’s absolutely gorgeous,’ I say, gazing at the tiny face.
‘She’s my everything. She’s just everything. Willow Faith – and Faith is for Granny Dovington, isn’t that lovely? Do you want a little cuddle?’ she says, tearing her eyes away from her new daughter just for a moment to ask.
‘I’d absolutely love to,’ I say, choking up again. I knew I’d be happy, but I never thought I’d be this happy. I think because we all waited for so long, because our friendship has had its knocks this past year and, of course, because this baby is everything that mine never could be. It’s a lot. It really is a lot.
I stand over Lacey to gently pick Willow up out of her arms. I’m as careful as possible not to nudge Lacey post-birth and to be as tender as I can be with this beautiful new life.
I sit back down, holding precious Willow in my arms and marvelling at her, taking in every curve of her pink face. I take a deep breath in and beam at Lacey.
‘What do you think then, Robsy?’ Lacey asks.
‘Lacey,’ I say, pausing for effect, ‘I’m wild about the girl.’
And with that, Lyla laughs as though I’ve just said the funniest thing she’s ever heard; Lacey laughs – and then cries because she’s ‘pulled the stitches’ – and Karl walks into the room laden with sandwiches, crisps and drinks to celebrate Willow with a joyous, messy, emotional bed picnic. She is surrounded by love, food and balloons, and I know she’s going to be the miracle we’d all wished for.
Welcome to the world.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Well, here we are, another book and another chance to say my most heartfelt thank yous to so many people who have made this book happen.
Last year I recall writing it at my dining table in a big old sweatshirt with a bag of Wotsits to hand. This year things have ramped up a bit and I’m sitting on my bed, in a faded Mickey Mouse tee with half a Toblerone to hand – not bad going, eh?
Wilde About The Girl is fantastic, even if I do say so myself. Like when you have one baby, you don’t think you will ever love your second as much, but actually, your heart doesn’t split in half, it doubles, and that’s what’s happened here. I now have space for two wonderful stories and I’m bursting with joy for them both.
Much like with Wilde Like Me, I could not have produced this book myself and so I would like to thank a selection of people who are so very valued.
Firstly, as always, I would like to shout from the rooftop my thanks to my team at Gleam Futures who have helped co-ordinate all of my many work projects so that I have had the time and creative space to pour love into Wilde About The Girl. Special thanks to Dom, Maddie, Charlotte and Abi. Air hugs all round!
Just like last year, Bonnier Zaffre have absolutely aced it. Whilst I sit in my soft office (aka, on my bed), tip-tapping away on my laptop, dreaming up Robin’s life, there are a team of diligent book bods, book bodding away, ensuring the book makes it from my laptop to your fair hands. This is no small task. It takes months and months of planning and meetings and logistics and effort to ensure the book looks the way it does, sits in the places it does and reaches the people it does. I don’t take Bonnier Zaffre’s efforts lightly. They are, quite frankly, excellently good eggs.
My thanks go to, and brace yourself because things are about to go all Oscars on you now, Eleanor Dryden, my Editor Extraordinaire, who we’ll discuss more later, Sarah Bauer (who not only worked hard on the book but also posed in front of a giant Pixar Sully statue with me whilst holding my book out so I could promote it on Instagram – if that’s not commitment, what is?) and Tara Loder.
I’d like to thank Sahina Bibi (I knew I liked her from the moment she made the most inappropriate joke at my house at our first meeting – love a gal with humour like that!), Alex Allden (who spent so much time with me umming and erring over the exact Pantone of the book cover: ‘It’s quite a pinky-coral isn’t it? Or is it a reddy-pink coral? Not a reddy-red coral though?’), Francesca Russell (who said it was OK to have two glasses of wine pre-book signing and thus, it was the most lively and jovial book signing to date!), Clare Kelly, Imogen Sebba, Stephen Dumughn, Felice McKeown, Nico Poilblanc, Angie Willocks, Victoria Hart, Vincent Kelleher, Gen Narey, Sandra Ferguson, Jenny Page, Becca Allen, James Horobin, Kate Parkin, Mark Smith, Perminder Mann and Laura Makela. Without the tireless efforts of these most brilliant people, this book would still just be files on a laptop somewhere in Northampton. I VERY much look forward to raising a glass or three with them at our book launch and potentially over-sharing how much I love them all.
Whilst it has definitely been a huge team effort, the person I would most like to thank, so much so that I have dedicated this book to her, is Eleanor Dryden (Editor Extraordinaire), or, ‘Eli’. It would make sense that I would love Robin and her friends and family very deeply because they are my creations. I think, though, Eli loves them more. Eli constantly champions everything Robin stands for. Eli encourages, supports, teaches and mentors in the very best ways. I have never, for even a day, felt like Eli didn’t have mine – and most importantly Robin’s – back. Eli has, again, gone above and beyond in her role as Editor. She’s schlepped up to my house, pushed deadlines to the very limit for me (I went and had a bloomin’ baby right in the middle of this whole process!) and handled every single thing that’s been thrown her way. I enjoyed writing Wilde Like Me but I LOVED writing Wilde About The Girl. Having Eli as my teammate has made this journey feel so joyful and so full of fizz and excitement. I love that Eli hasn’t tried to dull down the most heartbreaking themes in this book or tried to fluff up the most wonderful ones. Eli has allowed me to make this book raw and genuine and exactly how I want to it be, and I’m so grateful. It is worth noting, too, that without Eli, this book would just be a bunch of themes, mini stories and blurbs, and without Eli’s finesse and skill, it wouldn’t be woven so beautifully together in the gorgeous way that it is now. Eli, too, is a good egg. She is actually my favourite egg.
Talking of eggs, (ew this is a weird transition – see why I need Eli now?!), I went and had a baby during the writing of this book! Despite this being my second, I somehow completely forgot how much time babies take up and so would like to raise a glass to my wonderful boyfriend, Liam, who has stepped up and taken such wonderful care of our daughter, Pearl, whilst I focussed on the book. We are firm believers in equal parenting, but Liam has done far more than his share so that I can write this book. Thank you, Liam. I love you.
I read back the acknowledgements of Wilde Like Me and in those I thanked my sweet daughter Darcy for having faith in her Mummy. I was surprised that she had grasped what I did when I saw that she had written, ‘My Mummy is clever because she wrote a book!’, on a piece of school work. This year, of course, she is fully in the loop after seeing all the copies of Wilde Like Me in shops and at home. This year, with the arrival of her little sister, it’s definitely been a more challenging task, but Darcy has been my tiny cheerleader, constantly being excited for ‘the next winner Wilde book!’, and, as always, having such faith in me. Darcy, when you can read this, thank you. You and your sister are such motivators!
I could happily sit here and thank more and more people, it’s a very satisfying thing to do!
However, the Toblerone is gone (shhh, let’s blame it on the baby) and it’s time to wrap up this year’s Oscar moment.
Thank you so much team, you’re the freakin’ best. Xx
Dear Reader,
If you’ve found your way to this letter then chances are you’ve bought, read and finished my book. Unless you stole it and then skipped straight to this page to spite me, but that seems a bit ‘extra’ right? ‘Extra’ is what the youth say for ‘keen’. Other words I have noted of late are ‘muggy’, ‘prangy’ and ‘sick’. Perhaps I’ll try and slip them into book three!
Anyway, I digress. Assuming you haven’t stolen the book and behaved in an ‘extra’ way, I’ll go with option one, and if that is the case, I would like to thank you.
Buying a book is quite a commitment. Did you know this? You’re not just parting with a few pounds and pennies (or whatever currency you have used), you’re vowing to yourself that you’re going to spend time reading and understanding something. The hope is that you will enjoy it, feel entertained by it or be moved in some way by it, but it’s always a risk. Thank you for taking that risk.
As you’ll know, Robin Wilde takes a few risks here and there. Protecting Marnie and standing up to Val in Wilde Like Me and now opening her heart to Edward and taking on so much at MADE IT in Wilde About The Girl. I want you to know that Robin isn’t any braver, stronger or riskier than you are. Robin is an ordinary woman with the potential to do anything, just like you and me.
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