Fern Britton Summer Collection: New Beginnings, Hidden Treasures, The Holiday Home, The Stolen Weekend

‘Christie. We’re ready for you.’

She turned and caught a vicious glint of satisfaction in Gilly’s eyes as she went over to sit on the edge of the bed.

‘Camera running, speed and action,’ called the director.

She began gently, asking nothing controversial, letting Gilly relax. ‘Tell me, Gilly, how excited are you and Derek now your instant family is imminent?’ As the interview progressed, they touched on the design of the nursery that was being finished off down the corridor, the thrill of buying three sets of baby clothes and the difficulties of choosing names for the little darlings. Then they alighted on Gilly, the mother herself, and that was where they stayed as Gilly talked enthusiastically about her favourite subject until Christie, tired of hearing about exercise (body and facial) and beauty products, decided it was time to up the pace.

‘Now, Gilly, so many women see you as their friend.’ Gilly looked her most demure as Christie continued, ‘Having triplets at your age is quite something. What advice have you for any woman pregnant for the first time so late in life?’

There was a shocked silence. All that could be heard was the faint hiss of the fake fire and the clatter of Marie dropping a hairbrush onto her makeup box. Gilly pulled back a little, her eyes blazing. ‘Well, I …’ She hesitated.

‘There must be something.’ Christie smiled her most encouraging smile.

‘Well, women may have weak and feeble bodies but I have the heart and mind of a man.’

Christie was slightly taken aback by this unexpected non-sequitur. Was Gilly channelling Elizabeth I, the Virgin Queen? That seemed unlikely, not to say inapt. She pressed on regardless: ‘What about practical advice? You’re a role model for so many older women, they’ll want to hear from you.’ She ignored the basilisk glare.

‘I’m not sure I …’

The shrill jangle of her mobile prevented Gilly going on. She seemed relieved. ‘Can we break for a moment? I’m so sorry. Julia! Hi. Yes, utterly beautiful. I’m looking at them now. Christie’s just been admiring them.’ This time there was no mistaking the little look of malicious pleasure directed at Christie. As Gilly turned away to continue her conversation, Christie exchanged glances with the crew who were regarding her with new-found admiration. Everyone in the studio knew that Gilly’s age was off-limits. Once the interview resumed, Gilly switched the conversation to life as a working mother and avoided any further discussion of her age.

After the interview was over, Christie had raced back to the studio where she edited the tape for that night’s programme, making sure her question and Gilly’s bizarre answer remained intact. When it was done, and before she went into the studio, she called Julia.

‘Christie, darling. How did the interview with Gilly go?’ she purred.

‘Very good, I think. Viewers will definitely see another side to her.’

‘Oh?’ A note of alarm sounded. ‘I’d better ring her.’

‘Before you do, I need to remind you about next week. It’s half-term, remember?’ Christie tried to sound as reasonable as possible.

‘I think you may have mentioned it.’ She sounded as if it was the last thing on earth to be of interest to her. ‘Why?’

Christie cursed the stagey other-worldliness of the woman. ‘If you remember, you said you’d squared it with Jack that Gilly would cover four days next week, so that I could be at home and spend some proper time with the children. So, if Gilly isn’t able to work, who’ll cover for me?’

‘Oh, yes, Jack’s already been on the phone. I’ve said you’ll stand in, of course.’

‘You’ve done what?’

‘You heard. Don’t tell me you’re going to be difficult.’ A steeli-ness had entered her voice that warned Christie not to be.

‘But who’s going to look after Libby and Fred? I’ve promised them I’ll be at home. You can’t agree something like that without discussing it with me.’

‘Of course I can, darling. That’s my job. As far as I’m concerned, I have a star performer whose life may be at risk, not to mention the lives of her three babies. None of us can afford to be selfish. This is a great opportunity for you. I’m sure you can find someone to help out.’

‘It won’t be that easy at such short notice, Julia.’ A flame of anger licked through her. ‘Look, I’ve got ten minutes before I go on air so we’ll have to discuss this later. I’ll speak to you after the show.’

Julia had made it quite clear with which of her clients her loyalties lay. Christie hung up, furious but with no time to think about what she should do. She had only ten minutes in which to run to the green room to meet the guests on that night’s show before they went on air. Her childcare problems would have to wait.

*

Going home that evening was like walking back into normality. The hallway was strewn with Fred’s football kit. Children’s fingerprints had marked a grimy line at hip height down the stairs and along the corridor. Coats were hanging off the end of the banister. The sound of the TV blared from the living room where she found Maureen lying on the sofa, eyes half shut, and Fred engrossed in some gory science-fiction serial. She tiptoed out and went upstairs to Libby, who was curled up on her bed texting. The carpet was invisible under the clothes, clean and dirty, that were dumped there. Grungy boy bands stared down from the posters that now almost completely covered the horse pictures that had once held pride of place. Just the head of one grey stallion emerged from behind the latest, which featured Cheryl Cole. Among the magazines on the desk, Libby’s laptop was open and switched on. Along the window-sill stood a row of discarded My Little Ponies, collected when Libby was much younger. The small selection of soft toys that were still her friends lay on her bed between the pillow and the wall.

She looked up as Christie tapped on the door.

‘Mum! At last! I saw the show where you interviewed Gilly. That house was so gross.’ She flipped shut her phone and sat up.

‘It wasn’t that bad. Not everyone wants to live in a pigsty like us, you know.’

‘Maybe.’ Libby fished out a copy of Time Out from under the magazines on her bed. ‘I’ve been looking at what’s on next week. Which day are we going to town together?’

Christie’s heart sank. She had promised Libby they would have a girly day’s shopping with a film thrown in while Fred was at Olly’s and now she would have to disappoint her. ‘Well, Libs, the thing is …’

‘What?’ Her daughter’s excitement turned immediately to accusation.

‘I’m going to have to work next week after all.’

‘I thought you said you were going to spend it with us? You promised.’

‘I was. I want to. But the doctors have told Gilly to stop work so I’ve got to step in. I’m sorry. You could come to work with me, though. Might be fun.’ She didn’t sound convinced, even to herself.

‘Whatever.’ Libby flipped open her phone again and returned to texting.

‘Libby, please – I’ve got a blinding headache and I’ve got to talk to Julia again in a minute. I know I can’t get out of this one. Sometimes in life we have to do things we don’t want to. This is one of them.’

‘Yeah, right.’ Libby didn’t look up.

‘Don’t be like that.’ Christie was torn between wanting to strangle her or to scoop her up and cuddle her but, anticipating Libby’s reaction, she did neither. ‘I’ll make it up to you, I promise. What about this weekend?’

‘You always say that. Forget it. Sophie’s asked me for a sleep-over tomorrow. Remember? Jess is going too.’

Of course Christie didn’t remember. Libby must have thrown the information into another conversation when her mind was elsewhere. That was her tried-and-tested method for getting what she wanted. Get a yes when her mother was preoccupied with something else. Then wait until the maternal guilt factor was sky high to bring the request up again as a fait accompli so Christie couldn’t refuse. Always worked. Crushed by her daughter’s rejection, racked by her failings as a mother, frustrated by the demands made on her by Julia and TV7, ashamed of her pointless feelings of rivalry with Gilly, Christie retreated downstairs. She opened the fridge, poured herself a large glass of Sauvignon, sat down and sent up an accusatory message to Nick (‘This is all your fault!’), made a mental note to stop drinking and picked up the phone.

‘Julia? Sorry to call so late, but I wanted to wait until I was at home.’ She ignored her agent’s attempt to cut in. ‘I will work next week, but please don’t agree to anything like this again without asking me first. My family’s going to suffer and I don’t know how I’m going to persuade my mother to pitch in. She’s bound to have her own plans.’

‘I’m sorry, darling.’

Christie double-took. Was that contrition she heard in Julia’s voice? Surely not.

‘I should have asked you, I know. But I was forced to make a quick decision on your behalf. I thought I was acting in your best interest.’

‘Next time, you must remember that there’s my family to think about too,’ said Christie, taken aback by Julia’s apparent change in attitude.

‘I will. I promise. Now, I must fly, darling. Dinner with the director of programmes at Space TV.’

There was nothing left to be said, except goodbye. Christie hung up, feeling much better about the balance of their relationship. Julia couldn’t walk all over her whenever she wanted. She wouldn’t let her. After all, who was working for whom here? She knew what her agent’s answer would be.

She looked ahead to the following week with foreboding. Julia was driving her up the wall, exactly where Maureen would go when she heard the news, while Libby was already up there. She took a sip of wine and closed her eyes. How would Nick have advised her to deal with their prickly young daughter? He would be so surprised if he knew how much their adorable baby had changed.