by Fiona Gibson
‘Sure you still want one?’ Will is saying. ‘It’s a serious piece of kit, you know. D’you think you’ll actually use it?’
‘Yeah,’ Ollie replies, although there’s a trace of something in his voice – a slight waning of the enthusiasm he’d displayed a few weeks ago. ‘Or,’ he adds, ‘maybe I could have an iPod instead.’ Catching the look of disappointment on his dad’s face, he grins and says, ‘Or both! That’d be great …’
‘Still four months to your birthday,’ Will says quickly, catching my eye. ‘Plenty of time to decide … look, there’s Rosie!’ He gets up and waves, and she hurries towards us.
‘Hi,’ she says with a smile.
‘How did it go?’ I ask in an overly casual way, as if she’s just met a friend from school.
‘Okay,’ she says briskly. I glance at Will as we leave the square, still in awe of how he is managing to hold it together today.
‘We were talking about what Ollie wants for his birthday,’ he says in an overly jovial manner, falling into step beside her.
‘But it’s not for ages,’ she remarks.
‘No,’ he says, ‘but we were just, you know … thinking …’
‘Anyway,’ I add, ‘yours is only two weeks away and you haven’t said what you’d like to do.’ What did you think of him? I want to ask her, so desperately it’s making my heart race. Were you disappointed? Was it an anti-climax? Or were you so bowled over by him you’ll become super-close and won’t have time for Will, who’s your real dad, let’s never forget that …
I can almost see the tension radiating from Will. ‘There’s that new Japanese place, Rosie,’ he says lightly. ‘Maybe we could have a quick look today, see if you fancy it?’ I sense him catching himself as we make our way along Old Compton Street. ‘I mean, that’s if you want to go out with us for your birthday. Maybe you’d rather just do something with your friends? That’s okay. I mean, I’m not assuming …’
‘It’s fine, Dad,’ she says.
He glances at me as we walk, then turns back to Rosie. ‘I don’t want to force a family outing on you …’
She laughs. ‘It’s fine. Really. Stop going on.’ We check out the restaurant. With its deep red walls and black lacquered tables, it meets with Rosie’s approval.
‘Is it all raw fish?’ Ollie asks glumly, staring in.
‘No, of course not,’ she retorts. ‘Who says you’re coming anyway?’
They start to bicker, and I catch Ollie muttering, ‘Did you like him then? Or was he weird? Why haven’t you said anything about him?’
‘Just leave it,’ she snaps.
I reach for Will’s hand. ‘Listen, you two,’ he says, a trace of tension in his voice, ‘I’d planned a treat for this afternoon but if this is the mood, perhaps we won’t bother …’
‘What is it?’ Ollie asks.
‘Never mind,’ Will says. ‘Anyway, let me know how many are coming, Rosie. You can bring some friends, maybe Nina or Zach or …’ He tails off. Either he can’t remember Delph’s name, or is hoping Rosie won’t notice the admission. ‘Bring anyone you like,’ he adds, coming to a stop outside a smart boutique hotel in Dean Street. ‘We don’t need to come at all …’
‘Dad,’ she says, frowning now, ‘I’d love us to go out as a family for my birthday like we always do. But yeah, it’d be nice to ask Nina too. I feel bad, y’know, after that night at Zach’s gig. We haven’t spoken since then. I’ve tried to call but, I don’t know, her phone’s always been out of charge or something …’
‘Maybe you should go round to see her,’ I suggest. Rosie nods.
‘See if she wants to come, then I can book it,’ Will adds, clearly as desperate as I am to know about her meeting with Fraser. Why can’t she just tell us?
‘Er, why are we all standing here?’ Ollie asks, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
Will nods towards the hotel’s elegant facade. ‘I, um, booked a table for us in here. I heard they do a lovely afternoon tea.’
‘Really, Dad?’ Rosie asks, clearly delighted as we all file in.
We have tea and tiny cucumber sandwiches and miniature scones and cakes, all presented on multi-tiered stands. ‘Oh my God,’ Rosie exclaims as tiny French pastries arrive, ‘this is heaven, Dad. What made you think of it?’
‘I just thought we all deserved a treat today,’ he says simply, and I realise now why he planned this: to make today, meeting-Fraser day, seem like a special thing, something to celebrate. He’s done it to show that he’s fine about everything, and that he’s not going to sulk or make things difficult. I reach for his hand and hold it tightly.
‘So, um, how are things going with Zach?’ I ask, to fill a lull in conversation. She has still told us precisely nothing about her meeting with Fraser. I sip my tea and try to look relaxed, as if today is nothing out of the ordinary at all.
Rosie sighs, biting into a tiny chocolate éclair. ‘He’s all right. We’re just friends, though …’
‘I thought you seemed keen?’ Will says, then corrects himself. ‘But of course it’s none of our business—’
‘Dad, are you all right?’ she asks, frowning.
He gives her a bewildered look. ‘Yes, of course, I’m fine.’
‘You seem a bit nervy, that’s all …’ Hmm, and why might that be? Doesn’t she realise?
She grins at me. ‘Zach’s sweet and everything, but he’s a bit of a stoner, Mum.’
‘Yes, I know he likes his pot,’ I say to amuse her.
‘You mean his cheese, Mum,’ Ollie sniggers. ‘His assassin of youth.’
Rosie looks thoughtful. ‘But it’s not just that. He’s …’ She tails off. ‘He’s a bit, well …’ My mind races. Pushy, persistent? I glance at Will, imagining him mentally preparing his 200-page prospective-boyfriend-of-darling-Rosie questionnaire.
‘A bit what?’ I prompt her.
She exhales loudly. ‘A bit thick, to be honest. We were round there, and Sabrina and her friend Abs were watching a DVD. Me and Zach stood there watching it for a minute and he said, “What’s this?” And his mum said, “Titanic.” You know the film one with Leonardo diCaprio?’
I smile. ‘Yes, of course I do.’
‘Well,’ she adds, laughing now, ‘he said, “Oh, one of them stupid romcoms, they’re so predictable – everyone knows they’re gonna survive.”’
I blink at her. ‘You mean he didn’t know it actually happened?’
‘No! That’s the thing, Mum. He’d never heard of it. Well, he had, but he thought it was just a made-up story about Leonardo diCaprio and Kate Winslet kissing on a ship …’
‘My God,’ Ollie scoffs, ‘I’ve known about the Titanic since I was, like, five years old!’
‘Yeah,’ she sniggers, ‘you know everything, genius boy …’
‘Who doesn’t know that?’ he retorts. I glance at Rosie as they fall into teasing each other, wondering when she’ll divulge at least something about meeting Fraser today. I can’t understand it at all. We polish off every morsel from the stand – at least, Rosie and Ollie do; Will and I barely eat a thing – and by the time we leave, Fraser’s name still hasn’t come up.
‘So, how did it go today?’ It’s Will who asks her as we step out into Dean Street.
She gives him a bemused look. ‘What, with Fraser?’ His name hangs like a smell above us.
‘Yeah,’ he says casually.
She bunches her hands into the pockets of her skinny black jeans. ‘He was all right. He was nice. We chatted a bit, you know?’
I glance at her, trying to detect any hint of upset, or a sense that it was too overwhelming and that she needs time to think, to process it all … but there’s nothing. She links an arm through Will’s as we head for the Tube. ‘He’s a nice guy,’ she says lightly, ‘but he’s not you, is he? I mean, I’ll never know him like I know you. You’ll always be my Dad.’
I get a sense then that I should hang back, and give them a few moments together without me chipping in, wanting to know
every detail. As Ollie and I fall a little way behind, I see Will kiss the top of Rosie’s head. They are chatting as they walk, all awkwardness gone. I wish I could see his face. But this is their moment, and I slow my pace even further to give them the chance to talk.
Realising Ollie is no longer ambling along beside me, I glance round to see that he’s hanging back too, as if to disassociate himself from us, his mortifying family.
‘Come on, Ollie,’ I call back.
He looks away, his flat expression telling me, I don’t need to walk with you, Mum. I’m not going to get lost, you know. I’m not going to run into traffic. So I’m alone now, although not in a bad way. My family are here; it’s just that everyone needs their little bit of space.
Up ahead, a slender, olive-skinned woman with swathes of dark glossy hair is hurrying towards Rosie and Will. She calls out and waves to attract their attention. Ever the nosy mother – I know, I can’t help myself – I quicken my pace to catch up. Will and Rosie have stopped chatting and are looking expectantly at her.
‘Excuse me,’ the woman says, catching her breath as she turns to Rosie. ‘I hope you don’t mind me stopping you, but I work for a model agency called Carol Mortimer Management. Have you ever thought of being a model? I think you’d be perfect for a fashion agency like ours.’
Rosie hesitates, then a big, bright smile lights up her face. Sometimes, her loveliness knocks the breath out of me. Will takes my hand and threads his fingers through mine.
Rosie glances at me, then back at the stranger. ‘Thanks,’ she says, ‘that’s a really nice thing to say. But I really don’t think—’
‘Oh, please consider it,’ the woman says, already pulling out a card from her bag. ‘You have the face, the height, and your eyes are amazing—’
‘No, really, it’s not for me,’ Rosie says, leaving her looking a little crestfallen as the four of us stroll away, all together now, on this beautiful summer’s afternoon.
Chapter Forty-Four
I set off for my interview, not in a gloomy grey suit this time but a smart red shift dress from Hobbs, low, elegant black heels (lent by Sabrina) and a smart black jacket I found lurking in my wardrobe. My hair has been coloured to great effect by Rosie, banishing the last traces of aubergine. So it’s been a sort of team effort. I’m a little jittery on the way into town, but it’s okay. There are no sweaty hands this time, and I’m not having to pretend that I don’t care about this job.
I do, very much. And I’m fine with the size of it. It’s huge, actually; a high-profile launch of a digital magazine, and they need a Marketing Director. I’ve been putting in a few hours a week helping Sabrina to publicise Crystal Brides. But while I’m happy to help her out, I’m looking to get stuck into something new and exciting that’ll really push me.
‘About time you got yourself a proper job,’ Rosie teased this morning. I could have leapt on the defensive, and reminded her that my un-proper job has funded everything from school trips to every stitch of clothing she wears, not forgetting the tiny things like hair clips and deodorant and scented candles. But I didn’t. I just laughed and kissed her and set off.
I arrive at the offices just off Bond Street. It’s a huge, golden sandstone building, and extremely well-groomed men and women are striding in and out. They look confident and purposeful. It’s a fresh, breezy morning, and the sun is beating down from a clear blue sky. Taking a deep breath, I hold my head high and walk in.
The interview is long and intense and, when I finally come out, I am dizzy from talking about myself, and running late. In fact, when the interview was arranged, I’d been tempted to say the date wasn’t suitable, as it was my daughter’s birthday – but of course the woman from Deacon Publishing didn’t need to know that. So I’d said it was fine, and now I’m running through Soho, all in a sweat.
By the time I reach the restaurant for lunch, everyone is already there: Will, Rosie, Ollie and Nina. We have invited Gloria too, but she is running even later than me. ‘Mum’s held up at the hairdressers,’ Will says with a grin, getting up and kissing me. ‘So, how did it go?’
I exhale loudly. ‘God, I don’t know. It’s so hard to tell. But I think it went well …’ I turn and hug Rosie. ‘Happy birthday, sweetheart. Sorry I had to rush off this morning.’
‘That’s okay. You look great, Mum. Bet you’ve got the job …’
‘Well, let’s hope so,’ I say, as the waiter comes over to talk us through the incredibly complicated menu: none of us has the faintest idea what anything is. But it’s all beautiful – so pretty to look at that we all hesitate before piling in (except Ollie, who dives in as if he hasn’t been fed for weeks). We are just finishing off when my mobile rings.
‘Sorry,’ I say, ‘I’d better take this …’ I march to the door and step outside. It’s Kate, the woman who interviewed me.
‘Hi, Charlotte, are you okay to talk just now?’
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ I say, glancing in through the restaurant window where Will is up on his feet now, getting Nina and Rosie to sit closer, arms around each other, for a photo.
‘We’d like to offer you the position of Marketing Director,’ she says.
‘Oh! I didn’t think I’d hear so quickly—’
‘It was an easy decision to make,’ Kate adds, proceeding to talk about my start date, and that she’d like me to pop in and go through my contract, and all that stuff – stuff which I’m extremely happy about, of course, but can barely process right now.
I take a moment to breathe when we’ve finished the call. When I step back inside the restaurant, all eyes are on a huge white cake, ablaze with candles and decorated with icing roses, which is being carried to our table.
‘Oh, Mum!’ Rosie cries, feigning mortification but clearly thrilled, ‘did you have to?’
‘Yeah,’ Will says, getting up and hugging me, ‘did you have to ask them to do a cake? It’s so embarrassing!’
I laugh, realising that of course he arranged it. ‘I got it,’ I whisper into his ear. ‘I got the job, Will.’
‘That’s fantastic,’ he says, hugging me. ‘You’re brilliant, you know that? You’re so clever and smart and of course they want you. I knew all along …’ Then he kisses me again, in front of everyone in this busy restaurant.
For once, the kids don’t look appalled. In fact they haven’t even noticed our outrageous display of affection. Nina and Ollie are singing happy birthday, and strangers are glancing around and joining in as our daughter blows out seventeen candles on this, the loveliest of days.
Can’t get enough of Fiona? Then read on for exclusive extras!
The Stories Behind The Story
Whenever I do readings or events, the most common question I’m asked is, ‘Where do you get your ideas from?’ In fact, lots of my own life makes its way into my books. Here’s what was on my mind when I wrote As Good As It Gets?
Raising teenagers
I’ve written lots of books about the baby and little kiddie stage, which was great fun at the time – it’s the world I was immersed in then. Writing was squished into any spare time to could grab, when the children were napping, or late at night when everyone else was asleep. But I think it’s good to move on and explore new territory, so I was keen to delve into the whole mum/teenager dynamic this time around. It’s the stage I’m at with my own family (twin boys of 17, and daughter of 14). It can be heartbreaking, as a parent, when you start to feel shunned by the children you’ve devoted yourself to. But it’s all natural and normal – and I’d rather they were pulling away from me than still lying around at 37 years old, grumbling that I’d bought the wrong cereal. It’s a challenging, often frustrating but fascinating stage.
Growing older
I love being the age I am right now. While Charlotte feels insecure, and wonders whether Will still finds her attractive, there’s lots of good stuff that happens when you reach your late thirties, forties and beyond. I feel far happier, in a deep, real way, than I did in my twenties. While
I loved working on teen magazines, and made friends who are still my closest buddies now, my personal life was a bit all over the place. As for the not-so-great aspects of ageing – grey hairs, wrinkles, facial crevices: well, they’re fun to write about. Most women have glanced into the mirror and reeled back, thinking, ‘What the hell is that?’ I hope my readers can relate to these details in my stories and think, ‘God, yes – me too.’
Crisps
What can I say? I just love posh crisps! Give me a roaring fire, a box set and a big family bag on a cold winter’s night, and I’m happy. Mackie’s are my preferred brand – thick, crunchy and delicious – but really, I’ll grab any old packet in an emergency. As a freelancer who works from home, I tend to be a bit of a snacker. Hurrah for crisps!
Modelling
I worked on teen magazines – Jackie, Just Seventeen and more! – from the age of 17 to 31. Models would constantly be coming into the offices – gorgeous beings, almost otherworldly, but also quite shy and gawky sometimes. I wanted to incorporate a modelling strand into a story, and to explore how such a so-called glamorous career affects self-esteem when you’re so young. These models were usually around 16 or 17 and just starting out in their careers. I was Beauty Editor on Just Seventeen, which meant organising shoots, and I’d often book my favourite girls (they were always known as ‘girls’) as I’d know we’d have a great day with loads of laughs. Photographers, assistants, make-up artists and models – we were all great mates and many of us are still in touch, thanks to the wonders of Facebook. Kelly Brennan and Adele Mitchell were two of those favourite girls. While working on this book, I quizzed them about their modelling memories …