From London with Love

by Jemma Forte

  ‘Jessica!’ yelped Grace, launching herself at her.

  ‘Hi, angel, I hear you wore a backless apron at school today?’ she said, giving her a big squeeze.

  ‘She looked like she was going in for an operation when I got there,’ said Diane. ‘Still, she didn’t seem to mind too much.’

  ‘I showed them my bum,’ said Grace solemnly.

  ‘I’m sorry you’ve had such a stressy day and I can’t believe Madam was up so early again,’ she said to Diane. ‘Hey, Grace, you know what I was thinking we should do after tea?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Painting.’

  ‘Yessss,’ Grace lisped, punching the air. ‘Can I do playdough too?’

  ‘They should send her into the Middle East. She’d make a marvellous negotiator,’ said Diane drily, retrieving some apple puree from the fridge to warm up for Ava.

  ‘Only if it’s OK with your mom,’ said Jessica.

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Diane. ‘Just don’t let her take it out of this room.’

  ‘Yay,’ said Grace.

  ‘No worries,’ said Jessica, rooting around in the cupboards so she could start preparing Grace’s tea.

  ‘What would I do without you?’ Diane said suddenly, looking quite moved and utterly shattered, though overall she’d been looking a lot healthier recently. The other day she’d even joked that it was nice not to be looking like a crack addict any more and Jessica had seen how she and Mike must click in terms of humour. Over the weeks she’d found it immensely satisfying to witness Diane’s gradual transformation back into something resembling a human. Obviously there was a way to go. She was still exhausted and probably would be until Ava started sleeping through the night, but getting a bit more rest, a bit of help, a bit of breathing space, oh, and antidepressants, seemed to be helping enormously.

  ‘I need to talk to you actually, Jess,’ she said, shovelling puree into Ava’s mouth, though most of it seemed to ooze back down her chin.

  ‘Oh, really?’ replied Jessica. ‘Grace, don’t bash the cupboard with the guitar, please.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve decided to go back to work, on a part-time basis. I’ve missed it, to be honest, and compared to being at home it’ll probably feel easy.’

  ‘OK,’ said Jessica neutrally, while chopping some carrots. ‘Grace, please don’t open that drawer, you’ll trap your fingers. In fact, come and sit up here,’ she said, lifting the little girl up and sitting her on the work surface.

  ‘I know being a stay-at-home mum is a privilege some women would kill for,’ Diane added, for she could sense Jessica didn’t wholly approve and wanted to justify herself. ‘But these early years can be tough and … lonely at times. No one tells you if you’re doing a good job and the pay’s shocking,’ she said jokily. ‘You know I love my kids more than anything in the entire world, don’t you? I hope you don’t think I’m a bad person.’

  Jessica shook her head and quietly continued preparing Grace’s tea. She knew she should be saying something encouraging but bought herself some time by handing Grace some carrot to chew on. She’d always had rather strong ideas about motherhood and child-rearing, undoubtedly based on her own upbringing and the fact that her mother had essentially abandoned her. Unsurprisingly, she’d always vowed that if she were to have children of her own one day then she would spend every second with them. That she would sacrifice anything for them and that her own needs would be unimportant by comparison. However, Diane was starting to help her understand that maybe the subject wasn’t quite as clear cut as she’d once thought. She could see now that children didn’t need a martyr for a mother but one that loved them, one that gave them consistency and security and one that was happy in herself. She thought of Angelica and felt more confused and sad than ever about how she could have left her all those years ago, because as much as Diane might find motherhood tough, there was never any question that she’d be anything but there for her children, even if she did go back to work. Still, Jessica also realized that her anger and resentment meant she’d never stopped to ask any questions about why her mother had left. All she’d ever done was apportion blame.

  ‘Diane, you don’t have to justify anything to me,’ she said eventually. ‘I can see how much you love your kids. You’re a great mom.’

  ‘The thing is though, Jess,’ said Diane, looking anxious. ‘I just can’t see any of it working without you in the equation. As much as I’m convinced going back is the right thing to do, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t terrify the life out of me. So what I’m really trying to say is would you consider leaving the show and being my nanny for four full days a week when I start back?’

  Jessica, who was just carrying Grace’s food over to the table, put it down, lifted Grace into her seat and looked at Diane, a huge grin threatening to engulf her face. ‘I can’t think of anything I’d like more,’ she replied, realizing as she said it that this was unquestionably true.

  ‘Really?’ squealed Diane.

  ‘Really,’ said Jessica, and she meant it. Compared to nannying, Jessica’s ‘proper’ job now seemed insignificant. She adored looking after the children and on the days she did she felt like she was ‘escaping’ the office. Over the last couple of weeks she’d really felt the inklings of some kind of vocation starting to emerge.

  As Kerry’s assistant, she’d proved she was capable of ingratiating herself with a team, that she could be useful on the phone and pro-active in terms of helping around the studio, but what had she actually learned? She wasn’t a creative person like Paul and for obvious reasons had never been interested in the celebrity world, so the job didn’t challenge her particularly, didn’t excite her. By contrast, what some considered dull, mundane work, gave her more satisfaction than anything ever had before. She was developing a dangerously soft spot for Grace, who could be a handful at times but responded beautifully to Jessica’s firm but fair manner. Little Ava was adorable too, a placid, greedy baby, with downy, soft little feet and cheeks that were filling out by the day. And she liked Diane. She might not necessarily make the same decisions if she was in her position, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t respect them. Only one thing was clear. Whatever choice a mother made, it was never going to be clear cut, easy or without its drawbacks.

  That evening, once Diane and Mike had left, Jessica found herself grinning down at Grace as she tucked her into bed. They’d had rather a battle about what she could and couldn’t take to bed with her, but Jessica had won. Sort of. After much negotiation Grace had eventually agreed to relinquish the empty bottle of Evian and her scooter helmet, but wouldn’t budge when it came to the plastic farm. Her small arm was wrapped proprietorially around it, though Jessica intended to extract it from her grasp once she was deeply asleep.

  Damn. Just then Jessica remembered that yet again she’d forgotten to talk to Diane about telling Paul she was her nanny. What was wrong with her? The trouble was, she decided, that she was always so busy here, and when she wasn’t here she was either at work or it was too late to ring in case she woke the babies. She was halfway out of Grace’s bedroom door, wondering if it would be too late to broach the subject when they got back later, when her phone began to ring.

  ‘Hello?’ she whispered.

  ‘Jessica,’ said a silky French voice. ‘It’s me.’

  ‘Mom, are you back in London?’

  ‘Yes, I want to see you. When are you free?’

  As she thought about the answer Jessica realized this was another thing she’d have to lie to Paul about and yet after her horrid conversation with Graydon there was no way she was missing this opportunity to get things straight. Besides, there were more than a few questions she needed to know the answer to.

  The next evening Jessica found herself on her way to Claridge’s where Angelica was staying. When she’d spoken to Paul earlier, he’d been so absorbed in his writing he hadn’t even thought to ask what she was up to, so for once she hadn’t had to make anything up …

  As Jessica entered the
vast, beautiful reception of the hotel it struck her how completely at home she felt in such opulent and glamorous surroundings. Although she hadn’t missed luxury per se, she would have been lying if she’d said it wasn’t nice to have a taste of it once more. Or maybe she only noticed the luxury so keenly precisely because she hadn’t had it for a while?

  The receptionist called up to Angelica’s room and seconds later Jessica was travelling upwards in the lift. An excited Angelica, dressed in an elegant cream Stella McCartney skirt suit and beautiful Louboutin boots was waiting for her as the doors slid open.

  ‘Jessica,’ she exclaimed delightedly, rushing forward to kiss her daughter warmly on both cheeks.

  ‘Hi, Mom,’ said Jessica, noting how – as ever – her mother looked immaculate and gorgeous. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m well, my darling, come.’ Angelica went to link arms with her and Jessica let herself be led in this manner down the corridor and in through the open door of her suite.

  ‘Hi,’ Jessica said shyly to her mother’s assistant, who was sitting at a coffee table busily typing something up on his Mac.

  ‘Daniel, please can you find the room service menu so that Jessica and I can order some dinner?’ asked Angelica politely. ‘So,’ she said, turning her attentions back to Jessica. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Jessica replied. ‘And I’m so sorry about last time I saw you. It was really stupid of me to forget our arrangement. I hope you weren’t too upset.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ said Angelica bravely, ‘completely forgotten as far as I’m concerned and it’s just nice to see you now.’

  ‘Really? Because that’s not what Graydon said.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Angelica, looking confused.

  ‘Before you went away he rang to tell me how much he disapproved of how I’d been to you. He also told me what a state you were in and how unable to “handle” it all you were. In fact, to be honest, I’m surprised he didn’t try and stop you from seeing me altogether.’

  Angelica flushed red and her expression was instantly shifty.

  ‘Oh my God,’ exclaimed Jessica. ‘He did try and stop you from seeing me. Didn’t he? Mom, how can you be with a man who tries to stop you from seeing your own daughter?’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Angelica. ‘Nobody could, or would, ever stop me from seeing you.’

  ‘But he tried, didn’t he?’ Jessica persisted. It was so frustrating. How could she not see what a controlling bully he was?

  ‘Graydon just gets very over-protective, Jessica, but the truth is I know the two of you just need a bit of time to get to know each other properly. I can also assure you that he is starting to realize that I am not quite as delicate as he likes to think I am. Anyway, enough about him. I want to know what you’ve been up to and all about this new chap of yours.’

  Jessica slid down on to a ludicrously comfortable sofa while Angelica poured them both a glass of water. Maybe the change of subject was for the best. Otherwise she’d end up losing her temper. Besides, it sounded like Angelica had told him what for anyway. Good.

  ‘Actually, I’ve been working pretty hard.’

  ‘Yes, tell me all about what you’re doing.’

  ‘I work on The Bradley Mackintosh Show as an assistant to the celeb booker.’

  ‘No!’ exclaimed Angelica, one hand at her chest. ‘Ah, merci, Daniel,’ she added as he appeared with two menus. She handed one to Jessica. ‘I don’t believe it. That is so funny. My agent told me only the other day about that show because they want me as a guest. Was that your idea?’ she asked, looking flattered. ‘Because you know I don’t do things like that, but maybe if you wanted me to go on then … ?’

  ‘Not my idea,’ Jessica said, shaking her head. ‘In fact, I was quite enjoying the job until they decided to do a “Bond” special. Now all I hear about is Bond this and Bond that, plus I hear stuff being said about you and Dad all the time, which is awful. It’s typical that the one thing I’ve been trying to escape has tracked me down … sorry,’ she added as she realized how mean that sounded. It wasn’t her mom’s fault. ‘Anyway … it’s lovely to see you,’ Jessica added, feeling rather unnerved. It was almost like she was programmed to give her mom a hard time, a difficult habit to unpick.

  Angelica regarded her with an expression which said that as much as she wanted to believe her apology, she didn’t. Jessica shrugged. ‘So you wanted to know about my boyfriend?’

  ‘What is his name?’

  ‘Paul,’ replied Jessica, smiling at the mere thought of him. ‘Paul Fletcher and he’s amazing. He’s intelligent, really sweet and handsome.’

  ‘Mon Dieu,’ said Angelica. ‘You are in love.’

  She didn’t deny it.

  ‘Well, congratulations. I am happy for you and I just hope I can meet him one day.’

  Strangely, the idea wasn’t that repellent, though sadly it was also impossible, unless things changed.

  ‘I hope so too,’ replied Jessica, hoping that this response would go some way to making up for what had been said earlier.

  ‘If you married him, you’d be like Angela Lansbury in Murder She Wrote,’ noted Angelica. ‘Jessica Fletcher.’

  Jessica frowned, then realizing her mother was absolutely right, burst out laughing. ‘Oh my gosh! That’s so funny. Not that I am ever getting married in a million years, but I must tell Pam – she’ll find that hilarious.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Angelica, her beautiful face creasing up with mirth. ‘Pamela Anderson, that always made your father and me laugh so, so much.’

  Jessica picked up her water. ‘Actually, it turns out – and this is a bit weird really – but it turns out that Paul’s mom met you and Dad when you were together at one of his premières. She said you were about to have me, so it must have been the night you went into labour.’

  ‘Gosh,’ said Angelica, struck by the coincidence. ‘How bizarre.’

  ‘It is,’ agreed Jessica. ‘Do you remember meeting anyone called Anita Fletcher that night?’

  ‘Er … non, I don’t think so … maybe … it’s just we always met so many people, you know?’

  Jessica nodded, feeling mildly disappointed somehow.

  ‘Terrifying, isn’t it?’ said Angelica a few seconds later.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Being in love,’ she stated simply.

  Jessica was surprised. Her mother was clearly speaking from experience. How odd, she suddenly thought. It was always weird to think about your parents as people who made mistakes, who had feelings and weaknesses of their own. Being Mom and Dad was what usually defined them.

  ‘What do you want to eat?’ asked Angelica.

  ‘Soup and a chicken sandwich, please?’

  ‘Mais oui. Daniel, please order one soup, one chicken sandwich and for me the ricotta and spinach tortellini? A small portion.’

  Angelica had always subscribed to the French way of keeping slim. Eat whatever you want, even if it’s covered in cream, only in small amounts, little and often.

  ‘I’ve also been doing some work as a nanny,’ began Jessica, as Daniel went to place their order in the other room. ‘I’ve been working for my boss’s wife, Diane. She’s a really nice lady but has been quite depressed since having her second baby.’

  ‘Oh, really, what are the children like? How old are they?’

  ‘Five months and three and a half,’ said Jessica, her face unable to hide the affection she felt for them. ‘They’re so cute. Grace can be quite demanding sometimes and very cheeky but only because she’s so bright and, actually, with me she’s really good.’

  ‘And the mother?’ asked Angelica softly.

  ‘Diane’s cool. You can tell she adores her kids but she’s not been herself since she had the second one. She’s exhausted and has had trouble coming to terms with being a stay-at-home mother and not working any more. Anyway, she’s been depressed but she’s on tablets, which seem to be working. Plus her husband’s helping out more and she’
s figuring out what she wants to do in terms of work and stuff …’

  Jessica trailed off because her mother was looking at her in a way that had made the hairs on her neck stand on end. ‘What is it?’ she asked, experiencing an odd sense of foreboding.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Angelica in a strange, tight voice. ‘It’s just that she can’t be that depressed if she’s feeling better already … but I think it’s wonderful that you’re helping her. I can imagine you being very good, very patient with children, in fact.’

  Jessica gulped. A horrible, quite unimaginable thought had just occurred to her. Or, at least, she thought it had only just occurred to her, until on closer inspection she realized it had probably been lurking in the shadows ever since she’d started working for Diane. Suddenly she knew her relationship with her mother would never stand a chance until she got some sort of explanation as to why she had left. She was owed one, surely? They’d always skirted around the issue before because truthfully, until now, Jessica hadn’t known if she could handle the answer. But now she had to know.

  ‘Mom, why did you leave? Were you depressed?’

  The silence that greeted this unavoidable direct question seemed to stretch indefinitely. Then, after the most suspense-filled seconds of Jessica’s life, a sad-looking Angelica finally plucked up enough courage to confront what she’d been trying to bring up herself for weeks.

  ‘Yes, I was depressed. I was very, very ill, Jessica, only I just didn’t know it at the time. I thought … I thought it was me …’

  Angelica sat rigid, wringing her hands together in her lap as she tried to keep a lid on her feelings. Unlike Edward, she wasn’t particularly given to outpourings of emotion but years and years of hurt and undiscussed grief were bubbling dangerously close to the surface. Jessica had always wished her mother would display some regret about what she’d done, hoping that she’d offer some explanation, but now she was doing so there was no satisfaction to be taken from it.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ asked Jessica. She was so confused by the revelation that her mother had been suffering from depression that it only seemed to lead to hundreds more questions. She felt drenched in guilt for all the years she’d spent hating her mother, hating her for what she had always thought was utter selfishness. She had assumed so much about everything and yet it wasn’t her fault she’d been kept in the dark. ‘Why didn’t you stay and get help? Why didn’t you ever tell me you were ill? Why didn’t Dad tell me?’