Lovestruck (12 page)

The Wendy’s mums were sitting round Caroline’s oak kitchen table, drinking coffee from her Nespresso machine and studiously ignoring the plate of freshly baked pastries in front of them.

‘Eat, eat!’ Caroline cried, frantically waving the platter under the women’s noses. ‘They can’t go to waste.’

‘I’d love one but I’m gluten-free,’ said Elise, immaculate in a black trouser suit. ‘Did you really bake them, Caroline?’

‘What can I say? I love baking. I find it so
connecting
.’

‘I can’t, darling, I’m on one of my fast days,’ Patrizia apologized. ‘Five: two. It’s harsh, but, my God, I’m seeing results. I may never have to have lipo again.’

‘You do look amazing, Patrizia,’ Minette agreed. She turned to Rosie, who was longingly eyeing a Danish. ‘So how are you getting on with the Westwood? I’m hoping to see you in the pages of
Grazia
at some celebrity bash. Rosie bought my Vivienne Westwood,’ she told the room.

‘Oh, what, the one you couldn’t shift and were about to mark down?’ exclaimed Bella. ‘That’s fantastic! Ow! You just kicked me.’

Patrizia sighed. ‘So any joy with the schools, Rosie?’

‘We’re
going on a tour of King’s Mount next week. They say they may have a place.’

The women looked at each other meaningfully. ‘ I seem to remember when Brangelina were in town, they found room for their boys pretty quickly too,’ Caroline said. ‘Though I think they rejected the place.’

Rosie laughed. ‘Jake and I are hardly Brangelina!’

Patrizia nodded vigorously. ‘Of course you’re not; you’re nothing like them. But you never know.’ She clapped her hands. ‘So what are everyone’s summer plans? We’re going to Brazil, of course, but I thought maybe a stopover in the Caribbean. Any recommendations?’

‘Just make sure you fly British and not Virgin,’ said Bella with a shudder. ‘They call it Upper Class, but frankly I wouldn’t send the dogs anywhere with them. Dreadful.’

‘I agree, but then Adrian maintains if Emirates doesn’t fly there, you shouldn’t bother going at all,’ Minette chipped in earnestly. Rosie wiggled uncomfortably on her see-through plastic Ghost chair, another item on David Allen Robertson’s must-have furniture list. She wished she was back in Neasden, talking about stretch marks and how her children refused to eat anything not smothered in ketchup. She would never fit in here. She couldn’t help judging these women for being so carelessly rich. Even though she was now one of their number, she knew deep down she was nothing like them. They led such privileged lives, yet none seemed very happy. Patrizia’s house was gorgeous, but she’d only really be happy when they’d dug out the basement
and put in a gym. Elise’s housekeeper had just left after a row about pay. And so many of them seemed so angry with their husbands, although their gripes were always couched lightly.

But then Rosie lived in a large house and didn’t feel as happy as she should. She was cross with her husband too, most of the time. What was happening to her?

‘So any more coffee, ladies?’ cried Caroline. ‘Bella, you haven’t had any. That’s not like you. Have a macchiato.’

Bella blushed prettily. ‘I’d kill for one, but I can’t. I’m off the caffeine.’

‘Why?’ Caroline asked casually and then: ‘No! You’re not …’

‘I am,’ she grinned.

‘Aaagh!’ The women all descended on Bella and started kissing and hugging her.

‘Congratulations, babe. That’s epic.’

‘I’m pregnant again,’ Bella explained to a bemused Rosie. ‘I’ve been trying for two years; I was just about to sign up to IVF.’

‘That’s wonderful!’ Rosie beamed.

‘Thank you!’

‘So you have to book my maternity nurse,’ said Patrizia, scrolling through her phone. ‘She will have the baby sleeping through the night in one week. How pregnant are you?’ She studied Bella’s pancake stomach. ‘Four months?’

‘I’ve just had the twelve weeks scan.’

‘Mmm. Yes, well, usually people book Jacqui as soon as the test comes up positive, but you never know.
Someone might have had a miscarriage and then you’ll get lucky.’

That afternoon Rosie had decided to bake with the boys. If Caroline could do it, then why not her? But things hadn’t gone according to plan. She’d forgotten to add the eggs to the mix, so had to pull the cake out of the oven after ten minutes and hastily whisk them into the already settling goo. Then when the time was up, the so-called cake had stuck fast to the tin and had to be prised out in about a million pieces. Both boys had looked disgusted.

‘Eurgh!

‘I’m not eating that.’

Rosie had exploded. ‘There are children in Africa who walk twenty miles barefoot to school every day and you’re turning up your noses at a delicious cake.’

‘School and cake have nothing to do with each other,’ Toby pointed out with unerring logic and it had been all Rosie could do not to chuck the whole wretched mess in the bin. Instead, she’d forced herself joylessly to eat a huge slice that probably contained about forty thousand calories, while the boys watched her pityingly. She’d cleaned her teeth afterwards, but the charred lumpen taste still lingered.

Now the boys were in bed and she was sitting in the snug, a large glass of Pinot Noir at her side and
O’Rourke’s
playing silently in the background. She saw far more of Ellie Lewis now than she did of her husband. She was about to call Nanna – the hospital
appointment was tomorrow and she wanted to wish her luck. But just as she was picking up her phone it rang, making her jump. Nanna calling her. A psychic thing. But no, it was Christy.

‘Hiya, sorry I haven’t been in touch for ages. I’m just
so busy
.’

‘Again,’ Rosie muttered. Christy ignored her. ‘But I thought we could have a chat since Jake isn’t home tonight.’

‘How did you know Jake isn’t home?’ Rosie asked crossly. Jake was indeed out yet again, ‘cheering up Simon’, who’d apparently had yet another rough day with Ellie Lewis.

‘I just saw him in Soho House with a whole gang of people. Told him he should be home with you. He said he’d have another pint and be on his way.’

‘Oh. Right.’

‘Rosie, don’t sound so pissed off,’ Christy said.

‘I’m not pissed off,’ Rosie lied. ‘I’m just tired … you know, with the boys and everything.’

‘I know Jake’s been coming home late a lot. He feels bad about it. But it’s part of the job at the minute, the schmoozing. It’s what allows you to live in your beautiful house and not go to work, like you always said you wanted.’

‘I know,’ Rosie said. She hated the way Christy made her feel so ungrateful. She knew she’d always said she wanted those things, but it was a long time ago. There were other things she wanted more now.

‘He
loves you and the boys so much, you know. He does everything for you three.’

‘Sure.’

‘Are you OK?’

Rosie tried to come up with a good reason for her grumpiness. ‘I’m stressing about this weekend away with Becki. It’s only a couple of weeks away now.’

‘Oh, bugger. Yeah, I’d be stressing too. But listen, how bad can it be? Just flex your credit cards. The spa’s meant to be incredible, so spend as much time chilling in there as possible.’ Christy ploughed on. ‘Anyway, listen, I have exciting news. I’ve tickets for the three of us to go to a film premiere. On Thursday. Jordanna Coughlin’s new one. Can you come?’

All sulkiness was forgotten. ‘Ooh! A premiere! Fuck, yeah! Thanks, Christy.’

‘You’re welcome. It’ll be fun. There’s an after-party at the Roundhouse. Book your babysitter.’

‘I will. Dizzy will love it; I could get her Jordanna Coughlin’s autograph.’

Christy coughed. ‘Ahem, please, that’s very unprofessional.’

‘I’m
not
a professional.’

Christy hesitated for a second, but then laughed and said: ‘Fair enough. Bring your autograph book. Clooney’s going to be there.’

‘I’ll wear the gold dress.’

‘Brilliant, you do that. Sorry, I have to go – LA’s on the line.’ Christy vanished.

Conversations
with her always ended like this these days. Sometimes it upset Rosie, but now she sat grinning like an imbecile. A premiere. She’d always wanted to go to a premiere. All right, she wasn’t a huge fan of Jordanna Coughlin, who was a pointy-nosed girl-next-door blonde but still …

She picked up her wine. ‘Here’s to me,’ she crowed and took a large gulp.

Rosalba, Christy’s PA, called her in the morning.

‘So, Rosie, don’t get me wrong,’ she said in her nasal voice, so totally out of keeping with her slinky appearance. ‘You’re a beautiful woman, but we don’t want you to feel intimidated on the red carpet with all those stars posing, so we’d recommend you go a bit more high-maintenance than usual for the premiere.’

‘Oh?’ Rosie’s heart thudded.

‘Mmm. I’m going to email you an approved list of hairdressers our clients use. Select one and I can book you in for highlights and a blow dry. They can also do you a fake tan – nothing
TOWIE
, very subtle, but it’ll give you a glow – Christy says you need one.’

‘Oh does she?’

But Rosalba didn’t do sarcasm. ‘Yes, she does. A manicure the day before. And we’ll send a make-up artist round. Christy says she’s helped you select a dress. A lot of cameras will be on you. At least that’s the plan – it’s a big moment for Jake with the show coming up. We want his picture everywhere and that’s more likely with a glamorous woman by his side.’

‘Well, then it’s not going to happen,’ said Rosie cheerily, but Rosalba didn’t laugh.

‘I’ll
send the email with the schedule now.’

‘No pressure,’ Rosie said, continuing with the joking tone, but the line had gone dead.

‘What do you think?’ Rosie did a twirl for Jake. Her hair had been coloured and styled at Melly & Lyne in Knightsbridge, and her new, slightly shorter cut had created previously non-existent cheekbones, while the light brown streaks somehow made her eyes brighter. A tight-lipped Indian lady had given her a spray tan, a very gay man a manicure. Ten minutes earlier, she’d put on the gold dress. It felt a bit tighter than it had in the shop that day, but with her trusty ancient M&S control pants underneath she reckoned she could just about get away with it.

On her wrist was the gold and diamond bracelet Jake had bought her when she became pregnant with George. On her feet were her nude L. K. Bennett sandals, her only smart pair of shoes that went with everything. OK, so they were a bit Kate Middleton visits a hospice, but her calves ached simply at the prospect of wearing anything fancier.

‘Hey, sexy lady.’ Jake started to perform ‘Gangnam Style’, then flopped back on the bed. ‘Dizzy’s just arrived, so we can get going.’

Dizzy was sitting on George’s bed, reading two rapt boys
The Tiger Who Came to Tea
.

‘Enjoy!’ she called out. ‘I went to a couple of premieres with my friend Muggy – her dad’s a drummer; he
worked with the Rolling Stones and Duran Duran. They were really boring. You had to sit around for ages while the stars went up the red carpet and there weren’t even any adverts to watch.’

‘Outsmarted again by our cleaner,’ Rosie sighed, as they got into the waiting car. She loved these waiting cars, it was definitely the best thing about their new existence. No more having to carry her heels in an old Tesco’s bag, so she could walk to the tube, and do an awkward change just before she arrived. Their very own car, sent by the film distributors, because they were on the VIP list. VIPs apparently being urgently needed to give the movie ‘buzz’.

‘No longer semi-VIP,’ Jake pointed out.

They high-fived each other.

‘Baby, we’ve made it.’

As the car carried them out of the Village and towards central London, the air heady with lemon-scented freshener, Rosie pressed her face against the tinted window. A lightning flash of happiness zipped across her. Those frustrations she’d voiced the other night about being imprisoned by motherhood could be forgotten. Tonight, she was a free agent again and she intended to relish every second of her parole.

‘We’re having another date night,’ she said, squeezing Jake’s hand.

‘A date with all of the industry,’ he frowned. ‘Christy says I have to be on my best behaviour and schmooze.’

‘You
may have to. I don’t!’

Jake looked appalled. ‘What are you planning, Old Bean?’

‘Nothing much,’ she teased.

‘You must behave. All the Disney people will be there.’

‘What do you mean, Disney?’

The look that came over Jake’s face when he knew he hadn’t quite got away with something appeared. ‘
You
know. I told you about Disney.’

‘You didn’t.
What
about them? Are you up for a part as a talking elephant or something?’

‘They’re planning a huge family franchise – a series of eight comedy-action films. I’m up for the role of the dastardly villain.’

‘Wow.’ Rosie digested this.

‘Not the handsome hero, oddly enough. A bit hurtful but I’ll cope.’ He paused. ‘If I do this, it’ll be our pension. I’d never have to work again. Though I’d want to, obviously, but it would give me freedom to choose parts. Can you imagine?’

‘Where would this be filmed?’

‘In Hollywood. Probably. If it happens.’

‘Oh.’
I don’t want to go to Hollywood
. Like Elvis Costello not wanting to go to Chelsea. But the film world was so flaky, it might never happen. ‘Who will the hero be? Daniel Craig?’

‘God, I hope not. I hope it’s someone very ugly and a million years old.’

‘That
sounds likely.’

‘Anyway, a load of the execs will be there tonight, so you will behave, won’t you?’ Jake said anxiously.

‘Whenever have I not?’ Rosie was indignant.

‘Well, there was the time we got back from Stooks’s party and I found you wedged between the fridge and the kitchen units, with your skirt over your head.’

‘I shouldn’t have drunk that whisky.’

‘Or that time you needed a wee so badly when we were coming back from the pub at Mum and Dad’s you did one in the lane, and sat on a nettle.’

‘Shh. The driver will hear.’

To end the conversation, Rosie pulled her phone out of her little gold clutch bag. She wanted to try Nanna again. She’d called her twice, and texted her too with a photo of the dress – Nanna would love to see it – but there’d been no reply. Still, Nanna often didn’t answer the phone if she was watching telly, though she was too proud to admit she was too deaf to hear it ring over blaring
Corrie
.

‘Hey, Nanna. It’s me. We’re on our way to a film premiere, can you believe? Jordanna Coughlin’s latest. What do you think of her? What did you think of the dress? Call me when you have a second, and let me know how it went today. Love you.’ She turned to Jake. ‘I hope she’s OK.’

‘Mmm,’ he said, staring out of the window.

‘Jake! Did you hear me? I am talking about Nanna.’

‘Sorry, Bean, sorry. I’m just stressed.’

‘What
are you stressed about?’ Rosie asked slightly impatiently. ‘You’re a VIP being carried to a fancy awards ceremony in the West End!’

‘I’m so scared about this play, Bean. Everyone’s going to realize what a fraud I am.’

‘You
are not a fraud
. You are a fantastic actor.’

Jake laughed wryly. ‘You’re kind, but you’re a terrible liar. You’re not a fantastic actor and neither am I.’

‘But … Ow!’ The sandals were starting to rub against her toes. She fumbled in the little gold clutch she’d bought and pulled out a plaster. Moshi Monsters of course. Well, it was all she had and it was better than blisters. She stuck it on her sore toe, then looking up saw they were drawing up outside the theatre. Christy was standing on the pavement in a blue jacket and black cigarette trousers, waving tickets above her head. Panic lurched in Rosie’s chest. She was totally overdressed.

‘Finally,’ Christy huffed, as they piled out of the car. ‘I was worrying you’d be late. Quick, this way to the VIP entrance.’ She squeezed Rosie’s arm in one of her sudden bouts of warmth. ‘It’s so nice to have you here. Normally you’re always stuck at home with the kids.’

‘The kids!’ Rosie’s irritation at Christy’s patronizing attitude was replaced with worry about her sons. She fumbled in her bag for her phone. ‘I should call Dizzy, check they’re OK.’

‘They’ll be fine,’ Jake said. ‘She’ll call you if there’s a
problem.’ He yawned loudly. ‘Come on, let’s do that red-carpet thing.’ They approached a burly suited man with a clipboard and a I-work-at-the-Gap head-mic.

‘All right, Jake?’ he smiled, waving him through. Rosie tried to follow but he stuck out his arm. ‘Sorry, love.’

‘Hey!’ Jake turned.

‘Oh sorry, mate, is she your plus-one? Off you go then.’

I’m not his plus-one, I’m his wife
, Rosie fumed silently. Ahead was a rather grubby red carpet filled with people giving each other exaggerated air kisses and laughing. Penned behind metal barriers, a huge crowd was screaming, waving pens, scraps of paper, camera phones and even – disconcertingly – cute babies. Behind another fence, flashbulbs popped and photographers screamed.

‘Oi, Denise, love that dress! Hey, Holly, smile won’t ya, darling? Amanda, hey, Amanda, over here!’

‘There’s Jordanna!’ Rosie shrieked, pinching Christy so hard that she yelled.

There indeed was the star herself, radiating narcissism in a floor-length silver gown, talking intensely into a bevy of microphones.

‘God, she’s hideous,’ Christy said. ‘Made entirely of plastic. Shagged the director to get the part.’

Rosie giggled. ‘She speaks highly of you too.’

‘Jake, Jake!’ the reporters were bellowing. ‘Not on
my
patio. Not on
my
patio.’

‘I’d
better get this over with,’ Jake sighed, stepping forward and switching on a megawatt smile. Christy stopped to talk to someone, so Rosie followed Jake.

‘Oi!’ shouted a photographer. ‘Get out of the way, love.’

‘Who the fuck’s she?’ yelled another.

She heard two women in the crowd, waving cameras above their heads. ‘I don’t like that Jake Perry; he thinks he’s all that.’

‘He looks rank,’ agreed her friend. ‘Who’s that in the stupid dress?’

Rosie looked away, blushing. They obviously thought she was in the pages of a magazine and couldn’t hear them. A sudden breeze made her shiver, and her hair flapped round her face, a lock sticking to her glossed lips.

‘Dunno. What is she wearing?’

Rosie stood as the crowds mingled around her, feeling like a mouse trapped in the pathway of a Sherman tank. Everyone seemed to be talking to someone, throwing back their heads, laughing. Only the stars were in dressy dresses like hers, most people looked as if they’d come straight from the office and hurried straight into the cinema, gabbling into their phones. She felt both horribly conspicuous and totally invisible. She wanted to lie down and be rolled up in the red carpet. Then she saw Christy, turning around, looking for her. She waved and teetered towards her as fast as her heels would allow.

‘Hey,
Christy!’ exclaimed Ellie Lewis. Rosie gaped. She was even more beautiful in the flesh than on telly: face smooth as a mirror, eyes round and blue, hair like golden candyfloss and wearing a green dress that was modest but displayed a perfect body. She longed to whip out her phone and take a photo for Nanna, but she knew what Christy would have to say about that.

‘Ellie!’ shrieked Christy, instantly in professional mode. ‘Darling, you look amazing. Darling, do you know, Rosie? Jake’s wife.’

Rather alarmingly Ellie held her arms wide open and pulled Rosie to a generous bosom, completely at odds with her skinny body. ‘Rosie. Great to see you again!’

‘Er, we haven’t met.’

Ellie stepped back as if she’d been irradiated. ‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I, like, say that to everyone because usually I have met them and I’ve, like, forgotten and then they’re insulted and think I’m a stuck-up bitch. But it’s so great to meet you.’ She looked down at Rosie’s feet. ‘Great shoes. Hey, and I love the toe decoration. Cute.’

‘Oh!’ Rosie glanced at the Moshi plaster. ‘Thank you.’

‘So nice to meet you,’ Ellie said firmly, before moving swiftly away. Rosie stood there, waiting to be rescued. To avoid looking like too much of a lemon, she started counting facelifts. She’d reached fifteen (nine women, six men) definites and three maybes by the time Jake returned.

‘Done
that,’ said Jake. ‘It’s so weird. They ask you things like what’s your favourite breakfast cereal and are you a fan of Jordanna.’

‘I hope you said yes!’ cried Christy, popping up behind him as a uniformed woman tapped Rosie officiously on the shoulder.

‘Take your places for the film now! It’s starting in five minutes.’

‘They always lie about five minutes,’ sighed Jake, as they sat in semi-darkness in hot scratchy seats while the big screen showed footage of Edith Bowman on the stage outside, interviewing any old random star who could be pulled off the carpet, before Jordanna finally deigned to talk to her. ‘It’ll be at least half an hour before this kicks in and then we’ll have all the tedious speeches and arse-kissing.’

‘I much prefer normal films,’ agreed Christy.

‘You sound like Dizzy. Look, we’ve got a free bag of popcorn,’ Rosie pointed out. Though she daren’t eat it in case she exploded out of her dress. ‘And a bottle of water.’

‘Bless you, so easily satisfied.’

‘As the bishop said to the actress.’ Rosie was determined no one should ruin this for her, even if the glamour of the occasion was rather spoilt by the huge fly that kept buzzing around in front of her, bloated from gorging itself on the popcorn strewn all over the floor.