‘What about the agency?’ I know she’s signed up with people who are supposed to manage her creative partnerships. So I’m not completely in the dark.
‘It’s not really their thing,’ she says dismissively.
I lean against the fridge, dislodging the clay fridge magnet she made me a very long time ago, in less fraught times, of Walter curled up in his basket. ‘Aren’t they supposed to be guiding your career?’ I ask.
‘Yes, but they don’t deal with that kind of thing.’
‘You mean, the difficult things and not just the easy, money-making things?’ It comes out sounding more judgemental than I meant. But surely these people – who, I gather, take a hefty whack of her earnings – are there to help?
‘You just don’t get it,’ she mutters.
‘What about seeing a friend, then?’ I ask, filling the kettle to make tea. ‘That’d cheer you up. How about meeting up with Gracie and Jess? They must be home for Christmas, surely?’
‘I’m not sure,’ she says quickly, looking down.
I frown at her, realising that there must have been some kind of shift in their friendship because, before they went off to uni, they always hung out on weekends, even though Esther had gone to a different school. I hand her a mug of tea, at a loss now as to how I can help her. ‘I’ll make an appointment to see Chrissie,’ she murmurs, referring to her therapist.
‘Right.’ I blow across my mug. ‘D’you think she’ll be able to help?’
‘I don’t know. It’s hardly her area …’
‘Whatisher area then?’ I ask before I can stop myself. Esther has mentioned that she’s ‘not exactly a conventional therapist’ and I must admit, I have doubts about her credentials.
‘She’s a good listener,’ Esther says firmly.
‘Well, yes, but that seems like entry-level stuff,’ I remark. ‘It’s like saying a dentist is good with teeth.’
She glares at me and now I realise I should have kept my mouth shut. ‘Well, yes,’ she retorts. ‘But isn’t that exactly what you want?’
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
ESTHER
Esther has always enjoyed being at her dad’s. She feels cared for here, with his squashy old sofa and bowls of spaghetti and a great mound of freshly grated parmesan to sprinkle on. And garlic bread! It’s funny that he still gets it in for her as if she’s a little kid. So yes, he does his best. But he’s also incredibly annoying as, whenever anything goes wrong in her life, he’s right there suggesting possible solutions.
Maybe it’s because of his work. After all, if someone brings in an Alsatian with a fractured leg he can hardly shrug and say, ‘Sorry, I don’t know what to do.’ He’s solutions-focused. That’s his job. But Esther isn’t his job; she’s his daughter – a fully grown woman capable of leading her own life.
Of course she can’t ask the agency for help over these terrible pictures. That’s not what they’re for, to minimise damage over stuff like this. It’s already being called ‘bucket-gate’ – she’s seen that all over – and ‘chickengate’ too. That’s not their area at all.
And now, on this bleary late December morning, Estherstretches out in her pyjamas on her dad’s sofa, elongating her body in the way Walter does. As he pads into the room she calls him to jump up and sit with her. But he slinks away under the armchair instead.
With a sigh, Esther reaches for her phone. As she checks her emails she notices one from the agency expressing ‘regret that we feel we have no alternative but to cease working with you’.
She stares at it, willing the words to rearrange themselves before her eyes. Everything she’s done, to reach a point where they’d represent her! The expensive facials and hair extensions; the lengths she went to in order to find a photographer who could translate her vision. Okay, it wasn’tthathard to find Lauren, as she happens to be dating her dad – but still! Esther has forged a creative relationship with her, and the pictures have been amazing; everyone’s said so.
She sits bolt upright and shivers in her PJs. She wears brushed cotton pyjamas now because Miles isn’t here to complain. Esther had started to feel happier about being single; about being able to do whatever she likes without being judged. But she isn’t happy now, because there’s another email, she realises, which the agency has forwarded to her.
Esther’s heart seems to clang as she reads it. Maybe it actually did, because nervous old Walter darts out from under the armchair and shoots out of the room.
Dear Esther,the email reads.
In light of recent media coverage we have made the difficult decision to end our relationship with you with immediate effect.
Wishing you the best for the future.
Love and light,
The Bethani team
