by Fiona Gibson
‘Oh, Penny. There’s nothing to apologise for,’ I say flatly. ‘It’s me who should be sorry. But thanks for the champagne, although I’m not sure I’ve done anything to deserve it.’
‘No,’ she says, more firmly now, ‘you most definitely do deserve it, and I think I should explain.’ She looks at Nick, and he smiles encouragingly. The bond between them is so clear to see. I still don’t understand why she affected such a brusque attitude about him coming to stay, and implied that he’s a difficult houseguest, bordering on critical. I simply can’t see it at all.
‘Girl Friday ended pretty horribly,’ she begins, pushing her dishevelled hair from her face, ‘and although I blamed competitors copying me, that’s not really true. I’ve learned to accept it was all my fault.’
‘So … what happened?’ I ask, still wary.
She sighs heavily. ‘Do you remember I mentioned a man called Saul, who helped me to set up my stall at Portobello Market?’
‘I do, yes. The one who called you Girl Friday right at the beginning?’
Penny nods, and a wistful look crosses her face. ‘Well, he was my backer too. He became a very good friend, and he tried to advise me, but I was so headstrong in those days, such a wilful girl who thought she knew it all. I made so many bad decisions, Viv – expanding too quickly, taking on premises I couldn’t afford. Rolling out too many new pieces, too quickly, as if I was in some kind of race, and being unable to pay my suppliers. It all blew up in my face, and Saul kept telling me where I was going wrong, to slow down and be more considered, and to have an actual plan.’ She grimaces. ‘You know, like any sensible adult would. But I didn’t want to hear it.’
I nod, waiting for her to go on. She takes my hand and squeezes it.
‘Oh, I behaved terribly,’ she continues. ‘When things were getting really bad, and I couldn’t pay bills, I went down from Glasgow to London for an emergency meeting with him. I couldn’t even afford the train. Nick and I travelled on a rickety bus. And the meeting went badly because I simply couldn’t admit that I was wrong, that I’d made any mistakes at all. I shouted at Saul for trying to tell me how to manage my business, that I’d created, and I stormed out. And I did the most terrible thing.’
‘What was that?’ Nick asks.
‘Oh, it was so silly and juvenile.’ She looks around at both of us. ‘I egged his car.’
‘It was his car that you egged?’ I exclaim. ‘Not a woman’s?’
Nick’s eyes widen, and he catches my gaze briefly. ‘Yes, it was Saul’s,’ Penny murmurs, her cheeks reddening. ‘I did that to the man who’d shown nothing but kindness to me when I first started out, and was the only person who’d ever had faith in me really, because my own parents certainly thought I was mad—’
‘I never knew that, Mum.’ Nick comes over, sits beside her and wraps an arm tenderly around her shoulders.
‘It’s not something I’m proud of,’ she murmurs. ‘I’ve tried to forget about it and move on. All the other projects, the new lines I tried to get off the ground … Can’t you see how much I wanted to prove that I wasn’t incapable?’
‘I know, Mum,’ Nick says carefully. ‘But Girl Friday was still a wonderful thing. You won’t believe how positive people have been, how excited and nostalgic, when we’ve contacted them …’
‘And the fact that it ended eventually doesn’t mean the show can’t go ahead,’ I add. ‘I know things went wrong and the business collapsed. But when you see the actual clothes, you’ll remember how much they meant to young women back then.’ I look at her, imploring her to give us her blessing. ‘Can we go ahead, Penny? We can do anything you like. You can invite anyone – all your friends, and Hamish, of course; it’ll be a real celebration, just a fun night with people who love you.’
‘Oh, he’s preoccupied right now,’ she mutters.
‘What with?’
‘Something to do with his glow plugs.’
‘Is he ill?’ I ask, concerned.
‘They’re part of the engine on his boat,’ she says impatiently. ‘Honestly, that thing of his – it’s a bloody embarrassment. And he won’t admit it. He won’t let it go.’
Nick’s mouth twitches into a smile. ‘He loves it, though.’
‘Yes, because he’s an idiot.’
‘And he loves you too,’ he adds, gently teasing her, ‘doesn’t he?’
Penny scowls. ‘I suppose so,’ she says tersely, ‘in his own way. But I still haven’t forgiven him for the Rolling Stones thing.’ I look at her, wanting to ask, Yes, but do you love him, despite that terrible faux pas?
‘Mum, I hope you don’t mind me asking,’ Nick remarks, ‘but whenever you talk about Hamish it’s usually to run him down or complain about him …’
She blinks at him and shrugs.
‘He’s right,’ I add, catching Nick’s eye and quickly suppressing a smile. ‘But, you know, you have been together quite a while now.’
‘Well, he is good fun,’ she says briskly.
‘And you have just been away on the boat,’ I remind her, at which her expression softens.
‘Um, yes, well, that was lovely actually. I mean, he knows I’m not a natural boater but it was touching, the effort he’d gone to, to make it more comfortable for me. There’s a new bed, and bunting strung up, and cushions …’
‘He’s trying to woo you with bunting and cushions,’ Nick says, chuckling now.
‘Hmm, yes. The silly man.’ She smiles now, and fiddles with the ankle strap of her red patent shoe. Hamish, and even Nick, her own son; it’s as if she can’t resist being snarky about people who love her. ‘So, tell me this,’ she goes on, looking at me now. ‘How did I get involved with a boat man who’s invented this entire personal history based on one, silly little ice cream advert jingle that he composed about fifty years ago?’
I laugh. ‘Is that true? I mean, is that all he’s done?’
‘Pretty much,’ she retorts, ‘although he’s loath to admit it. You know what a terrible bragger he is.’
‘Well,’ I venture, ‘maybe he’s told those stories so often, he actually believes them.’
‘And the jingle was pretty good,’ Nick adds, grinning. ‘Catchy. You have to give him that, Mum.’
‘It was actually.’ She smirks, and the sparkle seems to come back to her wide, expressive eyes as she gathers herself up, smooths her honey-blonde hair and looks at Nick, then at me. ‘Anyway, at least he knows how to have a good time, and better that, I suppose, than being saddled with some boring old duffer.’ She shrugs, waving a hand, as if to signal that the topic is finished. ‘Anyway, about this show. I suppose I’d better get involved, hadn’t I? If we’re going to tell this story right.’
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Sixteen days later: Sunday, December 8
The enormous Christmas tree glitters magnificently in the dimmed lights. Smaller pockets of light illuminate tantalising corners of the main exhibition space of the museum. Spencer catches my eye and raises a brow, and there’s a quick smile before he turns back to the matter in hand.
The music starts. The hubbub of chatter dies down and the faces of the audience seem to light up. From my position at the doorway to the side room, I have an uninterrupted view of the runway, and I’m poised to signal to each model when it’s time to come out.
Charlotte is first, sashaying out in a gauzy floral dress accessorised with bright wooden beads and a white floppy hat. My gaze skims the display panels covered with photographs, magazine cuttings, posters and original advertising paraphernalia from the Girl Friday shops. It looks wonderful.
With an impressively proficient catwalk turn, Charlotte strides back, and I check the rapt expressions of the key members of staff: Isla, Hannah, and the others who worked on the graphics, displays and publicity. Everyone pulled out the stops, when it counted. ‘Museum time’ certainly sped up.
Andy is on the front row with Izzy sitting beside him. Millie, Spencer’s girlfriend, is on Izzy’s other side. Both girls look
entranced, and even Andy appears to be watching intently, turning away only to murmur occasionally to our daughter. Jules is here, with Maeve, plus Shelley, Chrissie and the baby, Tim and Ludo, Spencer’s friends who built the runway, and a whole bunch of my mum mates from school. There’s a significant number of younger audience members: the fashion and art students, and the girls and boys who have come out of curiosity, perhaps. And there are older women too, some of whom I know Nick tracked down and interviewed for his film. They are the original fans of Girl Friday: the customers, sales assistants and die-hard devotees. Some, I noticed with delight when they arrived, are wearing original Girl Friday outfits. A dapper woman whom I’d guess at late sixties is wearing a purple peaked cap.
The vintage shop owners, who lent the pieces, have come out in force, some from as far as Cornwall and London – and Tricia Spalding from Grange-over-Sands is watching with keen attention. Every press contact we emailed has turned up for the show; there are editors, journalists and bloggers, many of whom I know for a fact attend all the real shows in Paris, London, Milan and New York (hang on, ours is a real show too!). A couple of fashion editors are even sketching as Sammia strides past in the red trouser suit (as promised, I didn’t try to coax her into a mini), shortly followed by Grace in multicoloured patchwork dungarees. Erin appears, her blonde hair flowing as if in a shampoo ad, wearing a folk-art-inspired crocheted top and butter-yellow corduroy flares. As each model walks, Spencer follows her expertly with a spotlight while the music captures the spirit perfectly. In the side room, outfits are changed with impressive speed, with the hair and make-up artists fixing ponytails, reapplying lip gloss and powdering shiny noses and cheeks. The air is thick with hairspray.
Although it’s a tense operation, and my old anxieties are still there, fluttering like moths around a flame, I sense myself relaxing a little as the models come and go, striding past me with wide smiles and breezy confidence. There is one wobbly moment when Sammia teeters on her platform boots, but she rights herself, and there’s an audible gasp of relief. Ludo giggles and kicks at his chair legs, and I catch Chrissie shushing him. No, Ludo, she mouths. Be quiet.
Ludo hearing the word no? This must be a first. I turn to Nick, who’s sitting beside me – he knows all about my neighbours – and he smiles almost imperceptibly.
Back and forth, the women stride, in a dazzling array of colours. And then we are nearing the end, and the music cranks up as the last model appears, the indubitable star of the show: Penny, with her blonde hair bouncing in tumbling waves and her lips painted glossy red, as she sashays out in elegant black trousers and strappy espadrilles, topped off with the most fabulous piece of all.
There is applause, and everyone is standing now and cheering, as Penny beams with delight, twirling in her Pippa poncho, before taking a bow.
1 a.m., all back to mine
We have drunk Penny’s champagne, Nick, Penny, Spencer and me. Others came back too – Chrissie (minus the baby), and Isla, Shelley and Jules – but now it’s just the four of us, celebrating. Izzy and Maeve are asleep upstairs – or, at least, they’re supposed to be. More champagne was fetched from the shop down the road, and G&Ts mixed for Penny. And after a fair few, and her thanking me so much I’ve had to deftly change the subject, I have started to understand why Penny does this ‘brush-off’ thing, this trying to distance herself from her own son, as if her own life is far too busy to accommodate him comfortably.
Because she misses him dreadfully, I have come to realise. But she can’t bring herself to admit it. She goes so far as to imply that he’s a nuisance – perpetually checking for dust – when in truth her heart is breaking at the thought of him going back to New Zealand. She tries to coax him to stay by running his baths and fussing over him, getting in his favourite foods as if he’s a little boy. She even managed to track down butterscotch Angel Delight. But he has to go back, he explained, when she became a little gin-teary earlier. He has a film to make about a run of Christmas shows in Auckland; people are waiting for him. He can’t simply not go.
‘It’s because of Canada really,’ he murmurs later, when the two of us find ourselves alone in the kitchen. ‘Remember I told you my dad took me there?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘But why—’
‘Dad was supposed to fly back to the UK with me,’ he explains. ‘I was four years old and only supposed to be out there for a two-week holiday. But then he decided he quite liked this dad lark after all – he had a couple more kids by then – and that all of his children should be together, in a kind of fantasy happy family way. And he phoned Mum to say I wouldn’t be coming back.’
‘She must’ve been horrified!’
‘Yeah. And she had the shops by then – it was all taking off back here – and she had to get on a plane and come and fetch me and take me home. So,’ he adds with a grim smile, ‘you can imagine how well it went down when I told her I was moving to the other side of the world, of my own accord.’
I nod, taking this in. The festive fairy lights I’ve strung around the kitchen are filling the room with a soft golden light. Nick looks especially handsome tonight in a pale blue shirt and jeans, his hair freshly trimmed. I’ll miss him more than I can begin to imagine, I realise now. ‘But you were, what, in your late thirties then?’ I ask. ‘I know it would’ve been hard, but it wasn’t quite the same.’
‘Didn’t make much difference,’ he remarks. ‘She was kind of … well, furious, I suppose. And it still surges up in her from time to time. But that’s not the reason …’ He breaks off and looks at me. ‘I mean, it’s not the only reason I’m coming back.’
I blink at him. The chatter and laughter from the living room seems to have faded away. ‘You mean, for your next visit home?’
Nick smiles and shakes his head. ‘No, I don’t mean for a visit. I mean …’ He blinks, and my heart seems to stop as those grey-blue eyes meet mine. ‘I mean for good, Viv.’
I stare at him, barely able to take this in. ‘You mean you’re coming back to live in Glasgow?’
He nods. ‘Yeah, that’s what I’ve decided.’
‘When?’ I blurt out, not caring if I seem too eager.
‘I’m not exactly sure,’ he replies. ‘There’ll be a lot to sort out. But soon, hopefully.’ And he smiles that smile that lifts my heart. ‘Don’t say anything yet, will you?’
I look at him in the soft, warm light, barely able to contain my joy. ‘You want me to keep another secret from Penny?’ I pull a mock-terrified face.
‘Just for now,’ he says, touching my hand, and then squeezing it. ‘And please, never let her know I told you first.’
Chapter Forty
Wednesday, December 11
I haven’t seen Penny at all since Sunday night. I have been busy with the aftermath of the show, starting to parcel up some of the clothes, which need to be returned – whilst trying to get my head around my own future. Hannah has asked to drop in for a meeting tomorrow evening, presumably for a debrief. I’m also keen to discuss how we might keep the public’s interest up, after our big success. I suggested bringing Penny this time; after all, she’s the expert on fashion, and the last thing I want is for her to not feel consulted.
‘Perhaps next time,’ Hannah said quickly. ‘For this meeting, I’d like it to just be me and you.’
Thursday, December 12
I smile when I see the old-school Christmas decorations in the main open-plan museum office. With paper chains strung about, and several tiny tinsel trees perched on desks, the place looks almost homely. Back home, our decorations are a more full-on affair; Izzy insists on it, and I wouldn’t be such a spoilsport as to rein her in. We have a large, real tree in place already, which Nick helped us to set upright and drape with lights, once it had been delivered.
‘So, Penny says she’s happy to come in and do a question-and-answer session with an audience,’ I tell Hannah as she hands me a mug of tea.
‘That would be great. I’m sure we could get more media coverage fo
r that. You know, we’re being featured in all the supplements this weekend, and there’s been tons online already.’
‘Yes, I’ve seen some of that. The photos of the show looked great.’
‘The models were brilliant, weren’t they? And Spencer did a fantastic job with the lighting!’
I grin with a surge of pride. ‘Thanks, I’ll pass that on to him.’ I pause. ‘You know most of the Girl Friday pieces were lent to us, don’t you?’ Hannah nods. ‘Well, quite a few of their owners are happy for us to keep them on long-term loan, so I was thinking, perhaps we could set up a small collection here? A sort of capsule collection?’
‘I think that’s a wonderful idea. It would be a lasting legacy of the event.’
I smile. ‘Can I ask you, honestly, do you think the museum has a future now?’
She looks at me, levelly, as if I have just asked a ridiculous question. ‘I should think so, Viv. It seems we’re the talk of the town now, and it’s already had quite an effect on visitor numbers.’ She smooths back her fine light brown hair. ‘Of course you can never tell, in today’s climate, what the future holds – but, yes, things are looking good for now.’
‘That’s so good to hear.’
A small pause settles over us. ‘And what about you, Viv?’ Hannah asks. ‘How d’you feel about your job these days?’
‘Oh, that’s just a stopgap kind of thing,’ I say.
‘Really?’ Her eyes widen in interest as I laugh awkwardly.
‘Well, yes – a stopgap that’s gone on for way too long. Half a decade in fact. But actually, working on the show here has been really useful for me too. It’s changed everything, actually.’
‘In what way?’
I exhale, wondering whether to hold back, or just to let it all out. ‘I’ve been treading water these past few years,’ I say. ‘Not just with work but in all ways really. It’s just happened. Maybe it was having a second child fairly late on or, um, other things in my life … but the show reminded me how much I loved my job, when I was younger. And it wasn’t about the salary, or the recognition back then. It was just doing something I loved.’