CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
LAUREN
Last time I packed a suitcase was for Corsica. Then it was all cotton vests, T-shirts and denim shorts: easy clothes for the hot Mediterranean sun. This time it’s jeans and thick, cosy sweaters, including the beautiful Fair Isle one Kim knitted me for Christmas; the loveliest one I’ve ever owned.
This is where my life’s at now, I reflect with a smile as I place it in my suitcase. I can truly appreciate great knitting. Remembering the sweaters Mum knitted for me when I was little, I wish I’d been more appreciative instead of cringing at the chunky necklines, the buttons on a shoulder, the fact that they didn’t have labels inside like my friends’ jumpers from Chelsea Girl and C&A.
I also pack sturdy walking boots because I know about James and his ‘ample structural support’, and I’m looking forward to producing them from my suitcase with a triumphant ‘Ta-daaah!’ Because there’ll be plenty of walking in Cornwall. But I’m sure we’ll be doing lots of other things too.
My heart quickens at the thought of our three days together, cut off from everything. ‘Charlie?’ I call out.
‘Yeah?’ He appears in my bedroom doorway looking a little bleary. With his prelims coming up he’s been grafting away late into the night. We might not have had the easiest time together over the past year, and I’ve found it tough, being pushed away by him. But he does work hard, and we still have a bond of sorts. At least, I hope we do.
‘How’s it going, love?’ I ask.
‘All right?’ He phrases it as a question.
I pause, not wanting to patronise him. ‘Are you sure you’re okay with me going away?’ I place my toiletry bag in the case.
‘’Course I am.’ He raises a smile. ‘What if I said no? Would you start unpacking?’
I smile. ‘I’m only asking. You do know we won’t be contactable, don’t you? Are you all right about that?’
He pulls anare-you-mad?expression and shoves his hands into his pockets. ‘How d’you think I’m going to manage when I leave home?’
‘Oh, I know, love. But Kim’s going to cook for you, she’ll message you when dinner’s nearly ready—’
‘I can cook!’ he exclaims, laughing now.
This is true. He can knock together pasta dishes and roast a chicken – not that he’ll be doing that, I’m sure. And it’s not food I’m worried about really. It’s about him being here alone.
Remy still lives at home, in theory – just down the road – but he’s often away, and when he’s home I gather he’s wrapped up with Freya. However, as Charlie wanders off, I reassure myself that of course it’s okay to leave him here by himself. James messages to say,Can’t wait for our trip.I gather there’s been some kind of drama with pictures of Esther being splashed about in the media; unflattering shots of her eating chicken or something like that. I’mthinking, James really needs this break. His work is full on, and now that Esther’s living with him, I imagine that his home life is pretty intense too.
I wish I could help, but what can I do? So many times, I’ve had to hold back from saying anything about Esther, and the way she treats him – which isn’t always respectful, in my view. But then, James is probably fully aware of that, and the last thing I want to do is criticise his parenting. He does a great job, I think. I just wish Esther was a bit more thoughtful sometimes. After all, he has a life too.
It’s gone 10 p.m. by the time I’ve finished packing. James will catch the train out here first thing tomorrow morning, and I’ll meet him at the station. Then we’ll be off, away from everything. I should get an early night but, too excited to sleep, I sit up at the kitchen table planning some columns and ideas for recipes over the winter months. I know some people keep gratitude journals so they can remind themselves of all the things they have to be thankful for. I don’t need to write that stuff down because IknowI’m lucky. I have a wonderful son and a lovely home. I’m going away tomorrow with a caring man who I love, and who loves me. I have a job that fulfils and even thrills me sometimes, which I stumbled into purely by accident.
I was already shooting all kinds of objects for Frank, and it didn’t bother me that clients assumed he’d done the pictures. It wasn’t a modesty thing, and I certainly didn’t feel martyrish about it. I just wanted to do the shoots so his clients would have their pictures on time, and Frank would be paid, and not gain a reputation for being unreliable. Then everyone would be happy.
That felt like my main purpose in life back then:to keep everyone happy. I’d been around enough shoots tosee how things were set up – not just with Frank, but on food shoots back in my magazine days. I’d seen how to light a shot, and while I still had tons to learn technically, I picked it all up on the job, experimenting with lenses and lights and gradually getting better over time. I’d shoot anything from luxury goods like precious jewellery and handbags, right down the scale to jelly sweets and haemorrhoid ointment. I didn’t mind what it was because a thing is just a thing, basically.
In some ways I enjoyed doing the less glamorous shoots the most. It’s harder to make a tube of bum ointment look appealing than a Prada bag, and I rose to the challenge.
Then one day a courier turned up with a box of French cheeses, a couple of them Corsican, and I went to town on that one, finding fresh herbs and table linens to make it look as appealing as possible. I even scoured charity shops for ceramics like the ones Mum and Dad have, and re-arranged our kitchen so the table could be set up in a shaft of sunlight.
The client loved them and a whole new food thing started: baked goods, fresh produce and confectionery, for cookery websites, magazines and product lines. It was huge fun. The work started pouring in. By then I’d fallen in love with taking pictures and even stopped telling Frank when ‘he’ was booked for these shoots. All the bookings had been coming through me anyway. Most clients thought I was his assistant.
Then one time a client showed up at our house and it was me shooting. I was literally in the middle of the job. We’d become friends by then, and the client said she’d suspected it was me doing the pictures all along. From then on I worked as me, Lauren Summer, focusing on food shoots and gradually creating recipes myself,styling the pictures and putting together the whole package.
I fell into this world, and back in July I fell into this lovely thing with James. Of course there’ll be challenges but now, I’m sure we can handle anything that’s thrown at us.
I get up and check the fridge to make sure Charlie has all the basics he’ll need while I’m away, even though he’ll be round at Kim’s for some of the time and is perfectly capable of venturing to the shop. I’ve figured out the route to the holiday cottage, because the owner warned me that it’s not the easiest to find. I’ve packed blankets because I have a yearning to sit outside at night and look up at the stars. There’s no light pollution there. There’s literally nothing for miles around, and my heart lifts at the thought of being alone with James, away from everything.
Frank didn’t do holidays as a rule. Charlie and I would always go to Corsica for summer breaks on our own. It was always a bone of contention because I’d felt strongly that family breaks were important; time for the three of us to be together, away from work and everything else. Then, out of the blue – ten years ago – Frank announced that he wanted a family trip to Mexico. A friend of his had a villa we could stay in for free. But I think there was more to it than that. My work had started to take off. I was busy and in demand. Yes, I knew he’d had affairs but I’d never had the courage to leave him. Now I was successful and could take care of Charlie and me.
I wasn’t scared of leaving Frank anymore. But perhaps, I thought, this holiday would be a turning point and we’d come back stronger. He was making an effort, I decided, and that meant a lot back then. He was Charlie’s father, after all. And perhaps he was turning over a new leaf.
I felt stronger by then, and my confidence had grown. And, while I no longer needed Frank, the difference was that it was my choice now. And I’d chosen to give us one final chance.
