Wilde Women

by Louise Pentland

  ‘It’s taken me a few years to realise that it was never because I didn’t have any good ideas, or because I wasn’t worthy of having friendships, but rather, I totally lacked the confidence to put myself out there. It’s not easy! It’s not easy to share parts of yourself you feel insecure about, and it’s not always easy to come to events like this, so before we even hear the amazing tips and hacks Gloria has put together, I just wanted to tell you, I think you’re already Women Who Win, and I’m so honoured to be here tonight.’

  To my shock, the women in the room clap. Not a standing ovation, and not Oscar-winner-level cheering (although Kath is actually cheering, ‘That’s right, lovey! You’re our winner!’), but it feels amazing. How far have things come, eh?

  ‘So in a moment, I’m going to pass you over to Gloria, but before I do that, I wanted to let you know we’ll be looking for a volunteer model so I can demonstrate some simple but effective make-up techniques that might help you feel a bit more confident. For those who don’t know, I am a professional make-up artist at a local company called MADE IT, and I have worked on film sets, at London Fashion Week and on an array of commercial sets, as well as offering wedding and event sessions and private bookings.’

  I say the last bit about myself with so much confidence I can see Gloria at the back making silent whooping gestures. That’s right, kids, I am a proper professional make-up artist and I’m not afraid to say it. Mum’s opinions be damned: I am worthy.

  ‘While I let you all think about whether you’d like to volunteer, I’d love to welcome Gloria Straunston to the front of the room to share with us her incredible tips for confidence!’

  Gloria bounds up to the front and stands there in silence, smiling for a few moments. We’re all a bit bemused, until she tells us we’ll understand what she did when she gets to point three of her ‘top tips’.

  She has the whole room under her spell as she lists them.

  ‘If you don’t ask, you won’t get’ is her first tip, and I have to admit she’s right. I’ve always been afraid of asking for what I want, waiting for someone to offer me things instead, but I can see it ties in perfectly with her second tip: ‘What’s the worst that could happen?’ As she explains how the fears that hold us back are so often only in our heads, I can see the audience all sitting up straighter, a wave of self-belief spreading through the room. And when she gets to her last point, her intro suddenly makes sense. ‘To project confidence, simply don’t say anything at all,’ Gloria tells us. ‘Silence is one of the highest-status tools in your arsenal. You don’t have to fill every gap. Believe in yourself and your value and take your time, own your space, your right to be in the room.’

  Gloria elaborates on her tips for a few minutes, and takes some questions from the room. Everyone is engaged. It’s a pleasure to hear her insights, and I can tell the rest of the attendees feel the same. I’m riding on such a high from my intro, and her amazing talk, that I barely notice it is coming to the point in the evening where I have to showcase my make-up skills.

  ‘And now, please welcome back to the podium Robin Wilde, who I just know is going to wow us with some fantastic make-up artistry!’ Gloria beckons to me, the women clapping again.

  If ever there was a time to feel confident, it’s now. Channelling Gloria’s three tips, I walk to the front of the room, where one of the other mums is wheeling out the little trolley I set up all my make-up on earlier.

  While all this is happening, I take a moment to gather myself. I look out over the room, and everyone is looking back, ready for me to speak. I have commanded their attention with my confident silence. I’m acing this already!

  ‘Hello. Again. Aha. As I mentioned earlier, I am a fully qualified make-up artist. I’d love to show you some techniques I use to portray that mask of confidence for the days when I’m not quite feeling it on the inside, and trust me, there’ve been a lot of those. Is there anyone who’d like to volunteer?’ I ask, secretly hoping it will be somebody I know.

  A few women meekly put their hands up. Just as I’m about to pick Gillian (because I know her and feel really confident working on her), I decide to push my comfort zone. I’ve already done so much this evening I wouldn’t normally do, so why not go a bit further?

  ‘Yes, the lady in the front, I think it’s Amrita?’ I say to a mum I’ve seen around but haven’t ever really spoken to much.

  Amrita nods and comes up ‘on stage’ (it’s not a stage, it’s a little area at the front of the hall, but it feels special to be there).

  ‘Before I begin working on Amrita’s lovely face,’ I say with a smile that makes Amrita smile too, ‘I just wanted to mention that you don’t need make-up to feel confident. Every face is beautiful and strong and confident, and make-up is really just the icing on the cake. But I also wanted to say that if you’re having one of those days, or like I have, one of those years, it’s OK to let make-up help you. For a long time I felt quite shy and nervous, but by making sure my skin was glowy and my lips were bright, it sort of helped me feel a bit brighter, too,’ I finish.

  I notice a lot of nods around the room, and feel geed on by the support.

  ‘OK, so tonight I thought I’d show you something that we can all do but that I often hear people saying they don’t have the confidence to try. As Gloria has said, though, what’s the worst that can happen? You can relate that to make-up. If it all goes horribly wrong, just wipe it off! I’m going to demonstrate here, on Amrita, how to apply the perfect red power lip.’

  The next ten minutes are a blur of being in my happy place, applying precise red lip liner, filling in with one of my favourite MAC lipsticks in ‘Russian Red’ and finishing off with a little concealer around the mouth to give it that powerful, crisp outline. I find myself relaxing more and more, and having such a fabulous time thinking about how exciting it will be when my MADE IT live tutorial project is off the ground.

  Once finished, I receive another round of applause and Gloria takes over, thanking me for my efforts and urging everyone to book me the next time they need a make-up artist.

  As I go back to my seat, my heart is racing, but I realise that I’m ten times more nervous thinking about doing new things than I am when I’m actually doing them. All hail the red lip!

  SIXTEEN

  AFTER THE SUCCESS OF the second WWW night, I’m on a high. I feel so good about sharing some of the tricks of the trade that the glow stays with me all the next day at work. But as the end of the day approaches, the glow changes to nerves. There’s something I have to do.

  Biting the bullet, I drive straight to Lacey’s after work to tell her what’s going on. There’s no doubt in my mind – she’s not going to be OK about this. I haven’t seen her OK about anything for a really long time, so I’m dreading how this is going to go.

  Twenty minutes later, Lacey opens the door of her stylish Victorian terrace with tears running down her cheeks and a screaming, red-faced baby in her arms. Not a good start, but, I tell myself, it’s better than Lacey still pretending everything is ‘fine’.

  ‘OK, the cavalry has arrived. Let me take Willow, you go and take fifteen. Wash your face, scroll through your phone, scream into a pillow – we’ve all been there, and you are going to be all right,’ I say in my most confident tone.

  Lacey doesn’t say much but hands me a very cross Willow, a damp, crumpled muslin square and a bottle of milk and thuds upstairs with heavy feet. I park myself in the unusually untidy lounge (not that I’m judging, but for four to five months it’s been show-home standards), and put the bottle to Willow’s lips. Instant contentment. Oh, wow, I’ve missed holding a baby like this. Her warm little body rests against mine and she holds onto the end of the muslin as she drinks, keeping her eyes locked on me, as if to say, ‘Who is this woman? She’s not my mummy but she’s feeding me and she seems nice.’ At least, I hope that’s what she’d say if she could. For a couple of moments I think again about the baby Edward and I lost last year. I wonder if I’ll ever stop silentl
y comparing. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to talk about it with Lacey, or if it’s too morbid to compare your friend’s beautifully thriving child to your baby that never was. With miscarriage affecting so many of us, why do we live in a secret world of grief? I lose myself in my thoughts, not feeling sad or angry but melancholy for the way things are, until I hear footsteps in the hall and Lacey comes into the lounge in fresh PJs, her hair brushed and a weak smile on her face.

  ‘God, sorry about that. I’m a mess. Ha. I’m always a bloody mess. I just had a big horrible chat with Mum about breastfeeding,’ she says, flopping down onto her stylish grey sofa and moving the plump crushed velvet silver cushions out of the way to get comfy.

  ‘Really? I always thought Tina was super-supportive? I used to be so jealous of you and Piper having such a chilled-out mum when mine was so, well, like mine,’ I say, still looking at Willow’s face. She’s mesmerisingly beautiful. Bright blue eyes almost the same as Lyla’s, but white-blonde, fluffy hair like a duckling’s feathers and big pillowy cheeks that you can’t help but want to stroke.

  ‘She is. She’s great. She’s done loads for me, but she’s old school. She never worked, it was always Dad, and so she’s made motherhood her profession and bloody aced it. You remember what she was like, don’t you? Cooked everything from scratch, baked for every school fete, read us a story each night, mended our carefully ironed matching dresses – all of that lovely mum stuff. She thinks I should stick at breastfeeding and “push through” for Willow’s sake. I just can’t. I feel utterly drained in every single way.’ She starts to tear up again, distracting herself by plumping the already plumped cushions. I can see how the cleaning thing got out of control.

  ‘Lacey, you are an amazing mum. It’s so lovely that your mum enjoyed the whole homemaker side of things, but it’s OK if you don’t. You’ve done so, so well with breastfeeding this far! Willow’s already benefited, and now if you feel it’s time to move to a bottle, that’s perfectly OK,’ I reassure her.

  ‘I know. I know you’re right, and I’d say the same to you. It’s just that her words seem so powerful and I feel so crap. She just kept saying: “Breast is best, Lacey”, over and over, and I’m so tired. I don’t sleep because I can’t fill her. Karl offers to help all the time but it’s me she needs. I’m just done.’ The tears start falling again.

  ‘No! I will not let you be upset over this. You’re a brilliant mother! Let Karl help. If you feel ready for the bottle, it’s OK. You know what’s best? A mother who feels well and rested and in good spirits. Once you find your footing with this new feeding and you’re sleeping a bit more, and Karl’s taking on some night feeds, you’re going to feel so much better. It’s going to be OK, I totally promise you.’

  ‘OK,’ she says, wiping her eyes. ‘I’m so glad I have you, and that you get it.’

  We sit in silence for a few minutes, just looking at Willow while I sit her up and burp her.

  ‘Lacey, I need to tell you something,’ I start.

  ‘Oh God, it’s bad news, isn’t it?’ she jumps in, instantly looking panicked. This is going to be hard.

  ‘It’s not bad news. It’s good news for me, but I don’t know …’ I trail off, suddenly wishing this wasn’t happening and I could stay looking after Lacey and holding Willow forever.

  ‘I’m going away. For a work thing, and for an Edward thing. We’re flying to New York in just two weeks,’ I begin.

  ‘But that’s so soon! Not for long, though? Because of Lyla, right?’ she queries.

  ‘I know, crazy! We’ll be there for nearly a month, and we’re going to take Lyla. Kath is coming, too, and will look after Lyla while I work,’ I say slowly and steadily, almost afraid to make eye contact.

  The pause that follows feels eternal. Lacey is gathering herself, and I’m not sure if she’s going to throw the pillow at me or plump it again.

  ‘Obviously I’m really happy for you all,’ she lies, kindly, ‘but I’ll miss you so much.’ Her eyes fill up a little, but she smiles tightly.

  That was a lot less stressful than I’d anticipated. Well done, Lacey, eh?

  ‘I know. We’ll miss you so much, too. But I can FaceTime you every day, and you still have Karl and your mum, who I promise will be fully on board with the bottle once she gets to do this,’ I say, nodding down at Willow, who has now snuggled into me and fallen asleep.

  ‘Karl works all day and is still in his golf group,’ Lacey says sadly, picking imaginary fluff off her PJs, a couple of tears escaping down her face and dripping off her chin.

  ‘Oh well, your mum is never too far away, is she?’ I try. I wish I could say something to solve this. I hate seeing her this way.

  ‘She makes me feel crap. Robin, I’m happy for you,’ she lies again, fully crying now, bless her, ‘but I really can’t cope. I don’t want to be even more of a burden than I already am—’

  ‘You’re not a burden,’ I say desperately.

  ‘But if I’m honest, I really, really don’t want you guys to go. I need you. I need Kath! I’ve never felt so lonely in my whole life, even though I never get even a minute actually alone. I literally feel like everything is slipping through my hands like salt. Please don’t go. Not just yet. Me and Karl will give you the money you’d have earnt there, or something. Please stay here, just this time, please.’

  By this point, Lacey is a complete mess. She’s doing that crying where you can’t catch your breath and everything sounds thick and snorty, and you can guarantee that in about an hour you’re going to have a raging headache. My heart breaks for her.

  ‘It’s not a money thing for me, it’s a business thing, really. Without this, I don’t know if MADE IT will, you know … make it,’ I begin trying to explain.

  ‘I’ll help! I’ll support the business, but please, just don’t all go for so long,’ she sobs, probably knowing that’s not really any help but clutching at straws.

  ‘Oh Lace, I wish that was a thing we could do. I’m sorry, I never normally go away, and I won’t be going away again for a really long time.’ I’m almost crying myself now, seeing how hysterical my best friend is.

  ‘I just need everyone to stay together. This is too much. This is … I … It’s all …’ Lacey peters off with a series of short, sharp breaths and great, huge sobs.

  ‘Stop!’ I cut her off, a light bulb suddenly flashing on in my head, hopefully just in time. ‘Lacey! Why don’t you come out too? It’s a bit out there, but fuck me, you need a break, and a change of scenery might do you good,’ I say, looking around the grey room full of baby garb.

  Lacey blinks at me through puffy red eyes.

  ‘What, just drop everything and fly across the world in two weeks’ time? Leave home for weeks and weeks?’

  ‘Three weeks, and yes. Why not?’

  ‘I’ve got a baby,’ she says, dumbfounded, as though I’ve just told her to swim to the moon or something equally absurd.

  ‘Yes, you have a baby, but you’re not a prisoner, are you?’

  ‘What will I do on the plane? I’ll be that person everyone hates, with the crying baby. Or what about during the day, while you’re being a fabulous career woman? Just walk around by myself, all day?’ she says, now sort of angrily crying. I know this isn’t really her, but I want to shake her and make all this go away.

  ‘On the plane you’ll use a baby sling, carry Willow close or sit her on your lap. Kath, me and Lyla will be there too, so that will be lots of support. In New York Kath will be looking after Lyla, so I’m sure she’ll help you too, and, let’s not forget, your actual sister who flipping lives there! You could even stay with her! You’d have twenty-four-seven Team Childcare on your side!’ I say enthusiastically as all the cogs of how good this plan actually is click into place. This might really solve this! Piper will put her up, she only needs one air fare, the trip might snap her out of this funk, Karl can golf himself senseless! This is amazing! I almost feel a bit dizzy!

  Lacey sits for a moment, taking it all in, nod
ding, and then, wonderfully, the most enormous smile slowly spreads across her face.

  ‘Oh. My. God,’ Lacey says, with more life in her than I’ve seen in ages. ‘Fucking. Yes.’

  SEVENTEEN

  THE NEXT TWO WEEKS are a blur of anticipation, anxiety, packing and phone calls.

  Lyla is absolutely dancing on the ceiling at the prospect of New York. I’ve never done a big trip like this with her; our only holidays have been little UK minibreaks. Simon was a bit huffy when I told him I was taking Lyla away for three weeks and missing the last week of term. But his attitude evaporated when I asked him if he fancied having her for all of that time – managing her end-of-term social whirl, laundering the approximately eight tonnes of uniform, PE kits, lost property and goodness knows what else she keeps at school, plus explaining that he’d have to be the one to break it to her that he wanted her to spend three weeks enjoying whale song and gong baths with him and Storie, while I painted the town red in New York. He relented pretty damn quickly and seemed happy when I said he could spend some extra time with her in the school holidays, and he muttered something about a yurt and an organic family festival Storie fancied.

  Kath has rung multiple times asking how many cases of her lavender creations she can bring. She plans to see if little shops and boutiques will stock them while she’s out there. After attending her first WWW meeting and reading every tip, trick and comment on the Facebook group, this is her master plan for expansion: Lavender Lovies is going stateside. Problem is, I’ve had to make several calls to the airline to see how much three extra suitcases would cost, and if we can bring scented lavender powder and aromatherapy oils on the plane. ‘Tell them I’m not making an actual bomb, just a bath bomb,’ Kath said in the background while I was talking to Meghan from Virgin Airlines. Nothing makes a phone call to an airline more exciting than a middle-aged woman saying ‘bomb’ repeatedly.