Please Let It Stop (22 page)

One of the new channels we’re trialling is vending machines, which will help us reach a new audience in places where people are already having fun such as nightclubs and bars. Of course, one of the things in business you should never do is forget what made you, and we know that party plan is at the heart and soul of our business. Lots of people talk about experiential retailing but that’s what we’ve been doing for twenty-five years. Now we’re looking at taking it a bit further. Recognising that we live in a world where
being single is utterly normal and should not confine you to sitting at home listening to miserable ballads, we’ve decided to have Freedom Parties to help the newly single get over their ‘ex’ and get back into the world. They’re all about regaining your confidence and remembering that you’re a gorgeous, sexy, fun woman. That’s what Ann Summers is all about.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Even though I’m kept busy running a sizeable business, I still have other things I need and want to do. I make every effort to lead a balanced life, which means making time for family and friends as well as for myself. Occasionally, when my personal and professional lives collide the result can be quite surreal. Late in 2006 Vanessa and I were making one of our regular visits to see Grandma Rosie, Dad’s mum, in the residential home where she lived. The home, which was more like a five-star hotel, had a lovely atmosphere and they seemed to really care about their residents. That day I was consulting the messages on my telephone rather more than usual. The Gold Group were in the process of selling our private jet business, Gold Air, so I was keeping tabs on the sale, which was rather a large one. After visiting Rosie I would be attending a meeting to finalise the deal.

Meanwhile an entertainer had arrived at the home and was singing to the assembled crowd. I was anxiously
looking at my texts and half-listening to the song when he came up, unexpectedly grabbed one of my leopard-print shoes and proceeded to show it to the elderly residents, who seemed bemused and perhaps bewildered by it all. He finished with my shoe and gave it back. He then asked if Vanessa and I were sisters and invited me up on stage. Still participating in the deal, and still sending messages, I found myself up there beside him. The crooner, who was still crooning, then went and got Vanessa and soon both of us were up on stage dancing, me wearing a Mexican hat and Vanessa a poncho. He’d told us to keep dancing while he sang his finale. By now we’d really got into the spirit and decided to go down among the audience and freestyle, especially Vanessa who was now twirling me enthusiastically around the room, having apparently forgotten that I needed to be in good shape for the meeting that was to follow. As we finished and were trying to make our escape, the entertainer called down to me from the stage and asked me what I did for a living. Exhausted, I looked up at him and said, ‘If only you knew!’

Rosie, of course, had been Goddy’s wife but they had divorced over thirty-five years earlier. Goddy, always the rogue, had then had a relationship with a seventeen-year-old girl, which resulted in a son called Mark. Several years later, after falling out with Ralph and Dad, he signed over all his money to Mark, thinking it would be safe. Mark ran
off to South Africa and hasn’t been heard of since! The result is that Dad and Ralph have been helping Goddy out financially. Now an old man of ninety, he still retains his East End attitude and has lost none of his desire to capitalise on an opportunity, as we were to discover in late 2005.

It all started innocently enough when Julie Harris was having her nails done at a salon called Pinkys, where I also sometimes went. While sitting there, she overheard another client gossiping about a house where the client’s friend Lori had worked as a home help. Apparently, Lori subsequently found out the house was being used as a brothel. As Lori was also a nail technician at Pinkys, Julie took a lot of interest in the conversation. The story was that an old man of about ninety years old, who owned the house, slept with very young girls from the Eastern Bloc and that some of them were as young as sixteen. A remark was made that at his age, sleeping would probably be all he could do! The woman telling the story continued to say how disgusted Lori was and that she was concerned that people might think she was a prostitute instead of the home help. Until she made her discovery, Lori used to give the old man a lift to the hospital and do odd jobs around the house for him. There was nothing to suggest he was anything more than a harmless old boy.

Julie told me later that the person who was doing her nails seemed very uncomfortable about the conversation. However, Julie was fascinated so she kept listening and learnt that the house was in this smart road where there
were expensive cars coming and going at all hours. All of a sudden Julie put two and two together, and realised that the old man they were talking about must be my grandfather, Goddy Gold. At this point she says she was caught between laughing at such a preposterous situation and wondering what she was going do with this little gem of information! Julie and I are very close and she knew that I did not see him or have anything to do with him. She sat there wondering how on earth she was going to deliver the words, ‘Jacqueline, I’m sorry to tell you but your grandad is running a whore-house!’ At the same time she was obviously concerned about our business and what would happen if the press got hold of the story. Apparently, the technician then gave Julie a set of keys and a hospital registration card to return to the family, as Lori had no intention of going back to the house. She asked Julie to give them to me. Julie didn’t think this was right so she refused the keys and suggested they be given to my Auntie Marie, who also had her nails done at the salon.

Four weeks later, on her next visit to the salon, it was still the conversation of the day and apparently the local residents were all up in arms and ready to revolt as there were cars coming in and out at all hours of the day and night; it was now common knowledge that the house was being run as a brothel. Many had threatened to go to the police, so the risk of bad publicity was quite high. Ever the professional, Julie was concerned because she knew that if it got out, the press would try and drag me in. She decided to
take matters into her own hands and do a bit of sleuthing. She managed to get the number that the brothel used for appointments (not Goddy’s home number) and then asked her son to call the number and ‘make an appointment’ for himself. The address he was given was indeed Goddy’s home address! Meanwhile poor Lori was beside herself as her dentist had mentioned the brothel to her and knew she worked at the house. Julie decided to call Lori to try and defuse the situation and calm her down. All Lori could say was that she felt disgusted at Goddy, that she had washed his bits and now did not know where they had been! It was all too bizarre to be true: an elderly man who could not bathe himself was running a brothel from his grand house.

Julie finally decided it was time to tell me. I don’t know what she was expecting me to say but I do know she apparently spent ages rehearsing the most tactful words she could find to tell me my grandad was a pimp. When she finally told me I wasn’t surprised at all. It turned out that Goddy had befriended some Eastern European women who came to work for him around the house, saw an opportunity to take advantage of an old man and set up a brothel. As for Goddy, he just enjoyed the benefits until visits from the council and police, plus pressure from the family, meant he asked the girls to leave.

In the autumn of 2006 my beloved Grandma Rosie suddenly fell ill and after a very short illness died peacefully, with her family around her, at the age of ninety-two.
Until Rosie’s funeral I hadn’t seen or heard from my grandfather, Goddy, for about fifteen years. Mum enjoyed taking Vanessa and me to see Grandad even though he’d divorced Rosie and no longer had any contact with Dad. After leaving home, Vanessa and I made fewer visits, partly because he would always find an opportunity to say ‘your father is a bastard’. Even though we weren’t close to Dad at that time, we both found this hard to take. As Grandad walked into the chapel I didn’t immediately recognise him. Age had shrunken him a little and I suppose I had no idea what he should look like. I discovered he was surprisingly mentally sharp and physically quite agile for his age. The thing I noticed the most was how he had mellowed. Nonetheless, it was hard to keep a straight face thinking about his recent business activity!

We have a large extended family but, other than Dad and Vanessa, I have only ever been really close to Rosie, whom I absolutely adored. She was a real girlie girl even in her nineties. Because she lived for most of her life in the East End I didn’t see her as often as I would have liked. She was a devout football fan and her first love was West Ham. And my father’s passion for Birmingham City FC was shared by Rosie, who used to travel up to the vast majority of home games. She was vivacious with a passionate personality and would lift the spirits of anyone fortunate enough to meet her. Vanessa and I thoroughly enjoyed taking her out for girlie lunches and gossip. On one occasion when Grandma
was in her eighties, she was dating a man twenty years younger and was complaining to us about their relationship in a typical girlie fashion. Then, out of the blue and oblivious to the waiter standing there, she said, ‘There’s no sex any more, you know.’ It was a very funny moment and needless to say, he was dumped soon after.

Rosie was such an inspiration to me and we related to each other on so many levels. She was extremely glamorous and, like me, she loved getting dressed up to go out. She was meticulous about coordinating her outfits right down to the smallest detail. Socialising was an inherent part of her personality, whether it was her nightly visit to the West Ham supporters’ club, her weekly visit to the Senior Citizens’ club at St Andrews, which she cofounded with her friend Thelma or her weekly visit to the gym – yes, in her early nineties she insisted on her regular visits to the gym. At ninety-two she was an incredible lady who had survived lung cancer at the age of fifty. She lived life to the full and refused to listen to anyone who dared to suggest she should slow down. I loved her determination and her energy, and loved just being in her presence. She was a true lady and will always be my inspiration.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

If I’d been able to step outside the situation I was in with Dan I would have recognised that I was caught up in a vicious circle where regret was immediately followed by promises which would then be broken. There would be more regret, more promises and so on. We were at that desperate state in a relationship where you throw anything at it just to keep it going, hence Dan declaring that he wanted to marry me. As we all know words are just that unless they are supported by some seriously meaningful behaviour, which I wasn’t seeing. While I believe that deep down I knew it had to end, I didn’t want to accept it. I suppose you could look at it as either optimism or stupidity – or simply human nature. Between September 2004 and July 2005 Dan had returned, left and returned once more, just in time for my birthday. Again it was to be a themed party – this time a White Party. The party itself was great fun but, once again, it wasn’t long before we hit
our usual obstacles. Nevertheless, even though I was upset and confused about our relationship, I was determined to extract as much fun as I could from life.

The worst thing you can do is put your life on hold for a man. I have realised that whatever is going to happen will happen whether you stay at home and mope or go out and have fun. Fun for me inevitably means girlie holidays with my sister Vanessa and our friend Sandie, and I wasn’t going to stop those for Dan or anybody. In May 2005 we planned to jet off to Spain in search of sun and whatever else transpired.

I’d been speaking at a business conference in the morning so it was agreed that I would make my own way to the airport. The three of us met up there and headed off to deal with important things, i.e. glasses of wine that were awaiting us in the BA Club Lounge. We completely missed the flight boarding calls and had to endure the shame of hearing our surnames boomed out over the tannoy. With only a few minutes to spare before the gate closed, we then had to run from the Lounge to the boarding gate. Vanessa was the first to arrive at the gate, having overtaken Sandie and me, both of us gasping for air in a very unattractive manner. As if in a relay race, Vanessa managed to grab our boarding tickets as she passed so she could hold things up at the gate for us. The stewardess suggested it might be a good idea if she called out our names again on the tannoy. Thoughtfully, Vanessa told her this was a bad
idea, as it was more likely to give us a heart attack than speed us along.

A couple of months later, just before Dan came back in July, the girlies set off once again for La Manga. This is a beautiful resort located on Spain’s Costa Calida, in Murcia. As well as the five-star luxury – my preferred way of travel – there is no shortage of things to do: golf, tennis, spa, swimming, mountain biking, water sports, horse riding – the list goes on. Most of this is lost on us since we are too busy getting up to mischief and sharpening our wit on each other. And nobody is sharper than Sandie. As well as being a source of good advice, she has always been the joker of the pack. She is sassy, sharp-tongued and capable of turning the most desperate situation into a joke. We have a very honest relationship char-acterised as much by a love of clever humour as by our love and respect for each other. I respect her honesty: if Sandie is giving me grief I will give it back to her. I’ve called her a witch and an evil cow, and I can get away with things with her that I would never dream of saying to anybody else. In turn she will say to me, ‘Stop being precious, darling.’ She is aware that I don’t like hearing that so she knows she’s getting to me. On holidays together, when we are all getting a bit tired and emotional, she might say, ‘Jaq, you’re really getting on my nerves.’ I won’t be offended.