by Jenny Colgan
‘Why didn’t you answer the phone to me?’ I said.
‘Because I thought you were going to be so furious with me for not saving your things . . . I couldn’t take your venom, Sophie, not when I was in such a state about your dad. I know you hate me. But you have to know, if I’d known . . .’
I nodded. ‘I didn’t hate you.’
She grimaced a smile. ‘Oh, Sophie,’ she said, taking a sip of her tea. ‘You’ve no idea how much I hoped and hoped and hoped that we’d be friends. I dreamed of you being the daughter I’ve never been able to have. When I fell in love with your father I used to imagine you coming to me and telling me what you were up to in school, and we could watch girly movies together and I could maybe, maybe, just in a tiny way, be there for you somehow in a way a mother should . . .’
Her voice trailed off again tearfully.
‘I know you didn’t want to share your dad. And he was great. I don’t blame you.’
Well, she should do. Shamefully I flashed back to the way Carena and I mocked the clothes she chose, and the way she ate, and how much we would talk about how much we hated her and wouldn’t let her come near us. We even had a WE HATE GAIL club and used to leave the badges lying around. I just didn’t give a shit. He was my dad, and she wasn’t my mother.
‘You know, in your dad’s eyes you could do no wrong, so I couldn’t talk to him about it. I couldn’t tell anyone, it would make me sound so wicked.’
‘Is that why you used to drag me to the shops all the time?’
‘I thought you’d enjoy a little mother-daughter bonding expedition, we could try things on and have tea at Fortnums and it would be fun.’
‘I thought you were punishing me.’
‘Is that why you’d never try anything on or eat anything?’
‘Prisoner rules.’
‘And drag your feet all the way up the King’s Road?’
‘I was being punished! Of course I wasn’t going to make it easy for you.’
She laughed. ‘Oh, Sophie! I promise, you never did that.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ I didn’t know what else to say.
‘Good,’ she said. ‘I’m glad. And I’m sorry, too; that I couldn’t be what you needed. I was so jealous of you too. My good intentions never lasted as long as I hoped they would. He loved you so much, Sophie. More than anything. Much more than me.’
I felt a lump in my throat.
‘But he loved you too.’
‘Yes, he did,’ she said.
‘I can’t . . . I can’t get rid of the guilt. That I should have answered the phone that night.’
She regarded me for a long while. She looked like she was going to say something - that it didn’t matter, or that it was OK, or something, but finally she just said, ‘I know.’
And we sat there for a little while, and drank our tea, and told stories. Stories of him. How Gail had met him, and their courtship. I told her what we used to do before she came. She told me how he used to talk about me. Little bits and pieces of daily family life; things we should have been sharing for years and years and years. But maybe it wasn’t too late to start.
Before I left she said, ‘I do have one thing for you.’
I raised my eyebrows.
‘They didn’t think it was worth anything. But I knew better. Hang on.’
And she went into a little cupboard and brought out the clunky black Leica that had belonged to Daddy.
And that evening I’d gone back to Eck, who had been watching Top Gear in the sitting room, sat down next to him, and cried and cried and cried; and he’d put his arm around me, and the feel of his warm strong body next to mine made me feel a million times better.
So, after the visit to see Gail, I knew there really was no secret stash of diamonds, which is why I was now half-naked in a freezing cold garage in New Cross.
At least Julius had started to look a bit uncomfortable asking me to do all this stuff.
‘Sorry, love,’ he was saying. ‘It’s just what the punters are after, isn’t it?’
‘No matter,’ I said. ‘I let Delilah do my bikini line. I’m never going to be in that much pain again. Psychic trauma is piffling.’
Grace and Kelly had turned up to provide moral support. They arrived in a limo for a set of shots for Playboy. They really were moving up in the world.
‘How did you get a limo to bring you to New Cross?’ I said, from my perch on a high stool.
‘It’s to make us feel like princess bunnies, innit,’ explained Grace. ‘The Playboy experience looks after you every step of the way.’
‘Just relax,’ said Kelly, tossing her hair. ‘Stop worrying about it.’ She was probably right. She’d recently had pink extensions put in, followed the next day by Grace getting identical ones. I don’t know what had happened, but the next day they’d arrived Kelly had no nails and Grace had no extensions and they both looked sad. Now Grace had baby blue ones but she kept tugging them and grimacing in the mirror.
‘Now the thing is, sweetheart,’ said Julius. I stiffened. He never called me sweetheart. I glanced at Philly at the back of the studio. She was still pacing up and down in a pair of killer boots, glancing at me occasionally and giving me a thumbs up.
‘This is a men’s mag, right?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Which one?’
I mentioned the name of it, and Julius sucked his teeth.
‘What?’ I said.
‘Well, did she not mention it?’ he indicated Philly.
‘Mention what?’
‘Well, they’re going to want nipple shots.’
‘Not from me,’ I said. ‘Philly’s got it all sorted out. Bikinis only. No more than Natalie Portman would do.’
Grace and Kelly both snorted.
‘Philly,’ I said, shouting across the studio. She lifted a finger to tell me, hush, she was on the phone.
‘PHILLY!’
Julius glanced at his watch. ‘Sorry, Sophie,’ he said. ‘It’s just . . . no tits, no tips. No nips, no tips. No bazongas, no wonga. No twins, no pins. No bust, no crust. No—’
‘OK, OK, I get it. I get it. PHILLY!’ I shouted, panicking.
With a sigh, Philly muttered something into the phone and walked over slowly. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘Yes, there’s a problem. You said this was a bikini shoot. You told me categorically definitely no tits.’
Philly sighed. ‘Yes, but, darling . . . I mean, look, you know the ropes. You hang out here. I figured you’d work it out.’
‘But, I—’
‘What are you saying, Sophie?’ said Philly, swinging her expensively cut, short coat expansively. ‘Are you saying that you’re too good to get your knockers out? That it’s all right for Kelly and Grace here but actually you’re too good for it? Too posh?’
‘Yeah,’ said Grace. ‘Is that what you think?’
‘What’s she talking about?’ said Kelly. ‘I like getting my tits out.’
‘No, no, not at all,’ I said, desperately backtracking. ‘I don’t mean that at all. I respect what you do.’
‘Doesn’t sound like it,’ said Philly, looking critically at her mobile phone and preparing to fire it up again. ‘Sounds like she’s dissing you lot.’
‘Come on, love,’ said Julius, uneasily. ‘You want to just do it? Just get it over with, yeah?’
‘Well, it’s that or you don’t get paid,’ said Philly. I thought in terror of all the bills piling up, day by day, every time I took a shower or turned on a light or ate a meal; things I just couldn’t pay for.
‘She really thinks she’s too good for this,’ Philly was saying in a disbelieving tone to Grace, who was nodding in agreement. Oh no. Oh God. Hand trembling, I gradually lifted it to behind my neck, in order to undo the straps of my bikini top. I found myself fumbling for the clasp. It wasn’t like I hadn’t gone naked on the beaches of Porto Cuervo, St Kitts or St Tropez a thousand times. But this was different. Different, and much, much colder. I stifled a sob
. I could do this. The world wanted to grind me to dust. Did it matter any more? It wasn’t like I’d embarrass my dad . . .
Suddenly, the door to the studio flew open with a bang, letting in even more freezing air from outside.
‘Sophie?’
Everyone froze. In strode Cal, looking tall, and blinking in the lights. ‘Eck said you’d be here. Are you here?’
I squeaked an assent as he blinked in front of the arc lamps. Philly’s mobile phone dangled from her fingers.
‘Oh. Thank goodness. That could have been embarrassing, ’ he said.
‘Hello, Cal,’ said Philly in a cool tone. ‘This is, like, a closed set, yah?’
Grace and Kelly raised their eyebrows at each other; Cal completely ignored her and walked up to face me.
‘Look, Eck told me . . . he was worried about you. He said you guys discussed it and thought it was all right . . . but it’s not, is it?’
Meekly, I shook my head.
‘You don’t want to do this, do you?’
I shook my head again.
‘I mean, loads of girls don’t mind and want to do it.’
‘Yeah!’ said Kelly.
‘Not people who are just desperate, like you.’
I looked at him, suddenly feeling desperately, horribly humiliated. Why did I have to be so desperate, so helpless and pathetic? Suddenly I felt furious.
‘That’s easy for you to say,’ I spat. ‘Want to pay my rent?’
‘OK, OK,’ he said. ‘Sorry, Miss Hostility. I just . . .’ He looked around, as if recollecting where he was, and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Er, I guess I got a bit carried away.’
‘I guess you did,’ I said, just wanting him to leave, for Christ’s sake, not to see me like this.
‘But, I guess . . . I mean, I’m just sticking my nose in. You don’t need me, obviously.’
He looked around, embarrassed and pink. ‘Er, sorry everyone. Carry on.’
And he started backing out of the studio. But before he reached the door, I’d made a decision.
‘Stop!’ I shouted.
Everyone froze.
‘Stop,’ I said again. ‘Julius, Philly, everyone. Stop. This has to stop.’
‘Eh?’ said Philly.
‘Cal, you’re right.’
‘Huh?’ said Cal.
‘You’re right. I don’t want to do it. There’s nothing wrong with it if you want to,’ I said in Grace’s direction, who humphed audibly. ‘But I don’t want to.’
Julius put down his camera.
‘Sorry, Jules.’
‘It’s all right, love, you don’t really have what it takes anyway.’
‘Oh. Really? Uh, I mean, never mind. Sorry, Phil.’
‘You’re throwing away a terrific career.’
‘Really? Honestly. Tell me the truth.’
Philly sighed. ‘Oh, Sophie, there’s no room for divas like you in this business.’
‘I think you’re probably right about that,’ I said. I smiled gratefully at Cal. He smiled back and gave me an awkward wink. It was the first time I’d ever seen him less than a hundred per cent sure of himself. It was cute.
‘OK, then,’ I said, glancing around for my clothes. ‘What? Why are you all still looking at me?’
‘Uh, your bikini top,’ said Cal. Philly sneered. I clutched at my neck. Sure enough, the cords had unslid from my grasp. My bikini top was round my waist and I hadn’t even noticed.
‘That’s how I knew you’d never make it,’ observed Julius.
‘What - you’ve all just been staring at my tits for the last ten minutes whilst I’ve been talking about how I’m not going to get my tits out?’
‘Not me,’ said Cal. ‘I’ve seen ’em.’
‘Oh for fuck’s sake.’
‘Oh, come on, it was funny,’ said Cal, walking me home later.
‘Funny wouldn’t have been my first description . . . did Julius take any sneaky shots?’
‘Oh, yeah, definitely. He pretended he was setting up the lights.’
‘Really?’
‘No! Julius is all right.’
‘I know.’
After I’d got dressed again, Julius had taken me aside and said he’d really liked some of the shots I’d been taking, and he hadn’t realised how desperate my financial situation was. So, if I liked, he’d take me on more full-time, doing more photography with him, and less of the cleaning up. There’d be a bit of a boost in salary, and he could give me an advance if I needed to cover things right away. I was overcome with gratitude. Cal had bought me chips on the way home.
‘Well,’ I reflected. ‘At least I won’t have to worry about whether or not my boss is wondering what I look like under my clothes.’
‘Exactly. Everything has an up side.’
When we arrived back I noticed something quite bizarre. Eck was standing on the top step. Even stranger, he had a brush in his hand.
‘What are you doing?’
Eck looked nonplussed. ‘Uh,’ he said. ‘I knew you were working today. So I thought I’d have a bit of a clean up for you coming back.’
He’d been cleaning. I was completely taken aback.
‘Was it . . . was it OK?’
‘She didn’t do it, actually,’ said Cal, with a hard edge to his voice.
Eck put down the mop. His face looked concerned.
‘Why, what happened?’
‘Well, she didn’t want to. You gave her bad advice.’
Eck’s eyes widened. He looked really perturbed.
‘He didn’t give me any advice,’ I said. ‘I made the decision. It turned out to be wrong. OK. End of.’
‘Oh, Sophie, I’m so sorry,’ Eck was saying. ‘Honestly. I thought it was what you wanted, I thought it was, I don’t know. A break for you.’ He looked absolutely stunned. ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘This is awful.’
Cal snorted and stalked upstairs, treading his huge feet through Eck’s fresh mopping. Eck didn’t say anything.
‘I think he’s a bit embarrassed,’ I confided in Eck. ‘He kind of burst in and made a scene. Very strange.’
‘Oh, bugger. Maybe I should have done that,’ said Eck, staring at his feet. ‘Damn. I just . . . I just didn’t realise.’
‘That’s all right,’ I said heading for the kitchen. I hadn’t eaten properly in about a week from nerves and bikini prep, and I was absolutely starving. ‘Now, what shall I have for supper. Toast or crackers? Toast has more of a comforting feel, I find, whereas crackers make it feel like more of a festive occasion.’
Eck followed me through, still holding the mop. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Come out to dinner with me.’
‘That’s really kind of you,’ I said, ‘But honestly, I don’t think I can handle any more goat stew right now.’
‘No,’ he said, looking decisive. ‘Let’s go into town. Somewhere posh. College is nearly finished. So. My treat.’
‘Are you sure?’ I asked, looking at him. He was a bit pink in the cheeks.
‘Unless you need the money to pay the rent?’ he said.
I shook my head. ‘Actually, Julius is taking me on for more things. Isn’t it great? I should be celebrating.’
‘Then we shall celebrate!’ he said. ‘I mean it.’
‘Will it be just you and me, or you, me and the mop?’
A pleased look passed over his face and he turned to the mop. ‘Are you being rude about my butler?’ he said.
We grinned at one another.
‘Can I change?’ I said. ‘It’s not really bikini weather.’
‘A man can dream,’ said Eck, and we headed off to our separate rooms, excitement in the air.
Eck had his floral shirt on again and still looked pink.
‘Where shall we go?’ he said.
‘Well, I don’t know,’ I said. I’d squeezed into a purple top that came down over my jeans but hung off my shoulders. It was a bit chilly, but it looked quite nice. ‘We could have Chinese, or go for a curry . . .’
‘No,’
said Eck. ‘Let’s go up West. I mean it. Get out of here for a bit. When you were rich, where did you like to go?’
I thought about it. Then I remembered what they charged for a cup of coffee.