I’ve also popped a few samples in the post – they should be with you today or tomorrow. I’d love to get some feedback!
Best,
Linda
Wonderful. A day with Tamzin Peters talking about urinary incontinence. Jessica opened her diary; she’d blocked out tomorrow to catch up with her smaller clients – important phone calls, new hooks for potential press coverage. That sort of thing.
But she didn’t want to look as if she wasn’t interested either. Because, while she wasn’t completely sure about the product, Little Accidents was her biggest client yet.
To:[email protected]
From:[email protected]
Re:Re: Re: Press Release
Dear Linda,
Great to hear that you’re filming the ad! I’d be delighted to attend! Let me know the time/location and I will make sure to be there.
Kind regards,
Jessica Bradley
CEO Star PR
She began to compile a list of outstanding calls she’d be unable to make and once again felt a warm glow of pride that she actually had people to help her keep things moving. The client list was growing, and she was becoming more widely known among journalists. It all helped.
When she got to the name ‘Hugo’ her hand wavered. Could she really pass him over to Natalie? She’d called and left a message, but hadn’t spoken to him properly since penis-gate. She glanced at the clock: two thirty. If she tidied up here, she’d have time to pop into Hugo’s studio before picking Anna up from school.
The phone rang and she almost jumped out of her skin.
‘Hello, Star PR, Jessica speaking,’ she said, feeling sure she was about to hear Hugo’s voice.
‘Hello, dear!’
Jessica’s lips involuntarily stretched into a smile formation. ‘Oh! Hello Mum!’
‘Just wanted to make sure it was still OK for dinner Saturday?’
Shit.
‘Um—’
‘Lovely. Well, your father seems to be on the mend, so we’ll definitely be there. Is seven still OK?’
‘It’s—’
‘Lovely, well, I won’t keep you. You sound awfully busy. Goodbye!’
The phone rang almost immediately as she placed it back on the desk.
‘Hello, Star PR, Jessica speaking.’
‘Hello, Jessica.’ This time it was Hugo.
‘Oh, hello. I was about to phone you, actually.’
‘Sorry I didn’t get back to you after your message. It’s been a strange couple of days. I just … well …’
‘Yes, I saw the story yesterday.’ Jessica felt suddenly guilty. Hugo might not be a big money-spinner, but he was someone who’d had faith in her when she was a one-woman band just starting out. She should have gone to see him, tried a bit harder.
‘Oh,’ his voice was flat.
‘Honestly, I don’t think it was that bad. There’s no such thing as bad publicity and all that.’
‘You really think so?’ His tone lifted with hope.
‘Yes, I do,’ she lied. ‘Anyway, I wanted to pop by and see some of these oil paintings you’ve been talking about. And maybe the competition entry?’
‘This afternoon?’ His tone was suddenly guarded.
‘Yes, if that’s OK?’
‘Yes. Yes of course. Will see you in a bit.’ The call ended abruptly.
With an hour until she needed to set off, she picked up Robert’s book again.
REMEMBERING RAINBOWS
ACTIVITY TWO
Muddy puddles
How do you feel when you look out of the window and discover it’s been raining? Chances are, you’re depressed by the puddles that pepper the pavement. Perhaps you’ll choose to wear waterproof boots to work; take an umbrella in case there’s another storm later.
Can you pinpoint a time in your life when rain started to symbolise doom and gloom for you? When you started to care if your hair got wet or your shoes started to leak?
Close your eyes for a second and try to think back to an earlier time – a time when rain meant puddles, and puddles meant fun! A time when you’d be begging your parents to let you into the garden in your wellingtons, or leaning your head back to feel the raindrops on your face.
The reason you find rain depressing is the (often adult) associations you’ve made about this type of weather. You’re thinking about being damp and cold, looking messy at work, or having your hairstyle ruined.
But really, rain is just water. And water is the very essence of life.
Next time you open your curtains in the morning to damp weather, take a moment to remember how you used to feel as a child – excited at the new opportunities rain presented, eager to get outside and feel the sensation on your face, or jump in puddles until you were wet through.
Take a second to experience the rain again, and look at it in a new light. Then, when you have a moment, find somewhere you can go to rediscover the joy of this weather. A park, where you can jump in puddles, or run over the damp grass. Finding pleasure in something you’ve previously seen as negative is one of the steps to a happier, more positive you.
Was he right? Jessica wondered. Was it really that simple?
Walking to Hugo’s studio a later, Jessica couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. He was always on at her to visit his gallery ‘where the magic happens.’ So why the reluctance this time?
Puddles of rainwater from the earlier shower looked at her expectantly, but she was hardly going to start jumping in them like an idiot. Especially not in her new gold pumps.
Stopping briefly, she unlocked her phone and sent Dave a quick message. ‘Great seeing you last night – time to talk? J X’ then put her phone back into her bag.
Across the road was one of the play areas that were scattered around the city. A dad was there, pushing his daughter on a swing to her evident delight. Jessica looked away, suddenly overcome with a feeling of guilt. Why? It was hardly as if Anna would want to be pushed on a swing at her age.
The chip shop situated below Hugo’s studio on the high street was frying and the smell of fat hung in the air. But the stairs to the studio were clean and had been recently swept. She walked up the narrow corridor and pushed open the door, which had been left on the latch.
She remembered the first time she’d entered this room. It had been in the early stages of renovation – dust sheets everywhere, easels, stands, paintings propped around. The space had been light and airy, and had felt purposeful somehow.
Then the awful day when she’d come to see Hugo’s ‘new direction’. The walls had been painted black and she’d felt as if she was walking into some sort of horror-movie trap. Seeing lolling sculpture heads hadn’t exactly helped her to relax. ‘Darkness,’ Hugo had told her solemnly, ‘is the new light. By unleashing our inner darkness we find our real truth.’
She’d feigned an appointment and got out of there as soon as possible. Over time, she’d got used to the rather sombre studio, and felt pretty confident that Hugo almost definitely wasn’t going to keep her prisoner or murder her or anything.
This time the studio had changed again. ‘Oh,’ she found herself gasping. Because the dark sculptures and black walls of her last visit had disappeared in favour of bright white walls and bare wood. An easel sat in the centre of the room, covered with a white sheet. Propped around the walls were several paintings in delicate watercolour or sketched in oil – all subtle portraits of women. And all absolutely breath-taking.
Hugo, who was washing his hands at the stainless-steel sink in the corner, turned around. ‘What do you think?’ he grinned. With a start, Jessica realised how much he’d changed too. Gone was the strange sliver of a beard that had run across his chin and instead he was clean-shaven. The piercing had been removed from his eyebrow and his hair was shorter – the small flecks of grey visible in its d
ark brown giving him natural highlights that set off his blue eyes. He looked about ten years younger, and several shades cleaner.
‘Wow,’ she said.
‘Yeah,’ he gestured flamboyantly around the room, ‘bit different from the dark phase, yeah?’
‘Yes. They’re beautiful. And you’re looking nice!’
‘Oh this,’ he ran his hand through his newly short hair. ‘It’s a disguise, I guess.’
‘Disguise?’
‘Oh, you know. People were stopping me a bit in the shops. Saying, you know. Penis stuff.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Still, it looks great.’
‘Thank you,’ he smiled. Even his smile looked different – wider, more relaxed. More genuine.
Suddenly Jessica realised she had an artist she could promote. She imagined interviews in broadsheet weekend pull-outs. A chiselled shot, next to the best of his artwork. The studio itself looked raw – just right for a photo shoot. This could be good. This could be really good.
No more Mr Penis Guy.
‘Can I see it?’ she asked. ‘The competition entry?’
‘Do you really want to?’
‘Yes, of course! I’ve been imagining what it might be like!’
‘It’s … I’m just not sure if it’s impressive enough.’
‘I’m sure it’s great! Perhaps just a little peek?’
‘Actually … um. Do you mind if you don’t yet?’ he said, raising his hand protectively to the cloth covering the easel; the awkwardness she’d heard on the phone back in his voice. ‘Just … I’m just adding a couple of things.’
‘Oh, but you said?’ He’d known she was coming to the studio to see the painting, so why had he changed his mind?
Hugo flushed slightly. ‘I’m sorry, I know I said … it’s just … I’m not sure whether you’re going to … It’s just, it’s not quite …’ he trailed off, his eyes darting to the canvas.
For a moment she wondered whether she ought to just grab the corner of the sheet and whip it off before he realised what was happening, like a magician with a tablecloth.
But something stopped her.
‘OK. Maybe next time?’ she said.
Twenty minutes later, as she left the studio, she checked her phone to see if there were any messages. But nothing. She sent Dave another message. ‘You know what I said yesterday? About not being ready to tell everyone yet? Well, Mum and Dad are coming for dinner. Could you come? Just this one time? You know what Mum is like. I’ve said you’ll be there …
Seconds later, a vibration in her pocket. ‘I’m sorry. Not sure I can lie to your folks.’
This from the guy who’d encouraged her to forget about a few kilos when recording her weight on the blog. The man who’d lied through his teeth to get out of work when they’d booked a last-minute mini-break. The man who used a special spray to disguise the tiny pink bald spot that had recently appeared on the back of his head.
He didn’t mind lying when it suited him.
As she walked back to her car, her worries about the forthcoming dinner party faded as she thought again about the cloth-covered canvas. Something in Hugo’s expression worried her – surely whatever he’d produced couldn’t be worse than Proud Man? Couldn’t be worse than the painting of a rotted corpse he’d given her to hang in her office?
It would be fine, she told herself. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be that bad.
Chapter Eighteen
Can’t wait to try my free sample! @LittleAccidents
Jessica arrived home to find a parcel on the front step, complete with the Little Accidents umbrella logo. Gathering it in her arms, she turned the key in the lock to let herself and Anna into the house.
‘Please, Mum!’ Anna said as soon as they entered, picking up from where they left off in the car.
‘No. Homework first.’
‘Oh, but Mum!’
Anna stomped up to her room to complete her maths homework, after which Jess had promised to let her go online. Anna’s smartphone had internet capabilities, but for now at least Jessica would only let Anna use it in the front room, in plain sight. She’d allowed her an Instagram account, which she followed and checked regularly. And supervised time on YouTube. But not WhatsApp or Messenger.
It made her very unpopular with her daughter, but meant that – for now, at least – Jessica could sleep at night.
Not for the first time, she felt annoyed at Grahame, who could swoop in once a fortnight, all permissive smiles and treats. He never had to be the bad cop – the miserable parent who said no to everything. Jessica knew, in the long term, Anna would probably appreciate everything she’d done, but it would be nice – just once – to have a little acknowledgement of it now.
‘When you’re a mother like me,’ she often caught herself saying, ‘you’ll understand.’
Anna would look at her wearily with an expression which suggested that she would never end up in any way like her mother.
To be fair, Jessica had never imagined she’d be the kind of mother she’d turned out to be. Like most mums, she’d had great intentions at the start. But it turned out no matter how good her intentions had been, life and circumstances meant that her version of motherhood was a series of mistakes tied together with the odd moment where she’d inadvertently got something right.
The day she’d found out she was expecting, she’d resolved that she’d be one of the women who ‘have it all’. Her start-up had been ticking over nicely, providing her with the part-time income she needed, so she’d have plenty of time for perfect parenting. She’d yet to start following any supermums and yummy mummies online, so the only mums she had to compare herself to were the ones she saw in the supermarket clutching screaming toddlers under an arm and looking close to mental collapse.
Now, as well as the daily trolling over her menu choices, her social-media feed was peppered with smug mum-upmanship – Kelly and me, working on our craft projects together! Such fun!; or Sam baked oat muffins with Mummy – so delicious!
She’d meant to give Anna a perfect childhood – but now look at her. A single mum, so preoccupied with work and the gym that she barely had time to iron the girl’s school uniform and couldn’t even manage to pick her up each day. The fact she also had to be the one who applied discipline and rules meant that she spent most of her time feeling pretty shit about her parenting abilities. And her own mum’s interfering – albeit well meant – didn’t help. Jessica had spent the first few years of single mumdom being showered with advice on the importance of a Stable Family Unit.
On the plus side, raising Anna had made her see her own parents in a much more favourable light. Mum’s constant favouring of Stu; Dad’s embarrassing school disco pick-ups; the time when Mum had bought her salmon-coloured trainers for PE and she spent six months being called shrimp feet … They’d been doing their best too, probably.
In the kitchen, Jessica put the box down on the table, quickly assembled a simple pasta-bake, shoved it in the oven on a low heat, and sat down heavily in a chair. With a sigh, she opened up the packaging to reveal the Little Accidents range. Sequinned, coloured, decorated. Lacy – where the paper had been cut into like a kind of doily – and a special ‘wedding night’ pair – white, and edged with artificial fur. She held one in her hand and was surprised how like a baby’s nappy it felt. No attempt had been made to shape it more closely to the body, and the absorbency pad was thick enough to last a newborn for a month.
She grabbed the sequinned pair, which seemed to be the least offensive, and put them on in the downstairs toilet. The pants crackled as she slid them up over her thighs, the coarse paper grazing her skin. Once in situ, they were slightly more comfortable, but as she pulled her black trousers up over the top, Jessica found she could barely fasten them. Looking in the mirror, she grimaced – her bottom looked e
normous, and her trousers were practically straining at the seams.
They might have been covered in sequins, but the effect certainly wasn’t glamorous.
Half an hour later when the doorbell rang, Jess was half asleep on the sofa, with her laptop balanced on her Little Accidents selection box. The trill of the electronic bell made her jump up, almost sending her laptop crashing to the ground.
Through the narrow window in the front door, Jessica could see the outline of a woman – her hair shimmering even through the frosted pane. Liz.
She was tempted for a moment to scuttle back into the living room and pretend she was out – the way her mother had used to when cold-callers had rung the bell when she was a child.
Jessica was a magnet for salespeople, charity clipboard wielders and anyone with a cause. She’d once bought twenty bunches of lucky heather from an old woman in the town centre, rather than admit that she wasn’t interested. Once she engaged with people, she was trapped by her need to please.
Anna soon put paid to any notions of subterfuge. ‘WHO IS IT, MUM?’ she hollered down the stairs, just when Jess was considering a leap back onto the safety of the sofa.
‘Just a friend,’ she called up. Calling Liz a friend was stretching it a bit, obviously, but the glass wasn’t soundproof, and she didn’t want to face the fallout. ‘Mummy’s friend,’ she added, referring to herself in the third person in a way she’d always resolved she wouldn’t.
‘Hi,’ she smiled, opening the door and feeling her jaw ache in the same way that it did after a phone call with her mother. ‘What a surprise!’
‘Hi,’ Liz smiled. ‘I know you’re busy, but I was just passing and thought I might just pop in for a quick chat about how everything’s going?
‘How lovely!’ Jessica was going to have to relax her smile a bit before she pulled a cheek muscle. ‘Well, come in.’
For the first time she noticed that Liz was carrying a box. Which seemed rather ominous.
‘So,’ said Liz once she’d shed her coat and made it into the living room. ‘This is where the magic happens, eh!’
‘Magic?’ Jessica looked around the room to see what had prompted Liz’s description. A pile of magazines sat on the table, her laptop flickered where she’d left it on the couch. There were a couple of Hockney prints on the wall, alongside a tapestry she’d picked up in France with Grahame. Pretty, but hardly ‘magical.’
Everything is Fine: The funny, feel-good and uplifting page-turner you won't be able to put down! Page 10