Angie stubbed out the cigarette with the pointed toe of her tiny designer shoe, and we went inside. A huge overweight lad was sitting by a flashing fruit machine. Several crisp packets were open on the table, and he had a pint on the go. I was expecting us to move past him, and over to some smart executive in a cosy corner, but Angie and Chloe stopped at his table. He rose, hitching up his tracksuit bottoms.
‘Coco this is Aerone Eldersson from Mashed Potato Productions,’ said Angie. He shook my hand.
‘Another drink?’ she said.
‘Lager top,’ said Aerone. He had a thick London accent.
‘Coco? What about you?’
‘I’ll just have a J20,’ I said.
‘She’s got a baby on the way,’ said Angie rolling her eyes. She went off to the bar with Chloe.
‘Me too,’ he grinned.
‘You too what?’ I said.
‘I’ve got a baby on the way too. A beer baby!’ he lifted up his t-shirt to show a huge saggy belly, covered in mousy hair. I gave a high pitched laugh then we sat in awkward silence until Angie and Chloe came back with the drinks.
‘Right let’s get down to business,’ said Angie when we were all settled. ‘Aerone is a very talented reality tv producer.’
‘I prefer guerrilla documentary film maker,’ said Aerone.
‘He’s done some groundbreaking stuff for cable,’ said Angie. ‘Shows like, ‘Exhuming The Parents’, ‘Romanian Spider-Baby’, and ‘Serial Killer Cribs’ to name a few. I’ll let him do the rest of the talking.’
Aerone went on to say that he’s making a new documentary series called ‘Unknown Knowns’, where people known for one thing, reveal a fact about them that nobody knows.
‘Where do I factor into this?’ I said.
‘Well your ‘unknown known’ is that your husband was in jail,’ said Aerone. I looked at Angie.
‘I think a better way of pitching it, is that Coco refused to believe Adam was guilty, and she didn’t stop until the sentence was overturned,’ said Angie.
Aerone went on to say that they’d like to interview me and Adam, so we can tell our story. They’ve found news footage of his release, and the TV company has been granted permission to film inside Belmarsh Prison.
‘We’d love to take you and Adam back to his original prison cell and film your reactions,’ said Aerone.
I looked at them all. Aerone was grinning, so was Angie. Chloe was busy writing things down.
They were serious.
‘Can I have a moment with you Angie?’ I asked.
‘No probs, I need to take a shit,’ said Aerone. He squeezed past us and loped off.
‘What’s this got to do with my book launch?’
‘Everything. This is about you Coco, your life,’ said Angie.
‘Yes, but I’m a writer.’
‘The problem is, that on its own that doesn’t sell,’ said Angie. ‘If you’re Dan Brown or Regina Battenberg it’s no problem, but for you we need an angle.’
‘What about magazine articles? Grazia, Cosmo?’ I said.
‘They said for now they’re not looking for the prisoner’s wife angle…’
‘What do you mean the prisoner’s wife angle?’
‘It’s a great angle Cokes,’ said Angie
‘Well, I can’t do this,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to be exploited for some cheap documentary. Nor does Adam. He’s trying to find a job, think what would happen if someone saw it?’
‘Coco we’ve made a big effort to set this up,’ said Angie. ‘Aerone is much in demand. I had to, well, not beg, but close enough.’
‘Is there really no magazine interested? Not even a little corner piece in Take a Break?’
Chloe and Angie shook their heads.
‘So what are my other options?’ I asked.
‘We’ve got Regina Battenberg’s quote for the front of the book, ‘I laughed and laughed and laughed, what an imagination this author has!’ said Angie.
‘And there’s social media,’ said Chloe. ‘Start going on Twitter and Facebook.’
‘Does that work?’
‘Well, your publishing house would like you to,’ said Chloe. ‘We don’t know if it does work. But we don’t know if it doesn’t work either, and of course everyone’s doing it, so until it’s absolutely proved that it doesn’t work, we think you should do it.’
‘So what do I put on social media?’ I said.
‘Just, you know, tweet about stuff and mention your book,’ said Angie.
‘But keep stuff about your book to a minimum,’ said Chloe. ‘People get really pissed off.’
‘So you want me to go on social media to promote my book, but not mention my book too much?’
‘Yes,’ said Chloe. There was silence. Aerone came back from the toilet and I, very nicely, apologised and said I wasn’t interested.
‘No biggie. I didn’t have a clue who you were anyway,’ said Aerone. He hitched up his trackies and left the pub.
Wednesday 14th March
The rent still hasn’t been paid.
Chloe emailed me a list last night of all the social networks I should join: Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Instagram, Google Circles, Stumbleupon, Goodreads, Tumblr, Digg, Reddit… Diaspora.
When I published Chasing Diana Spencer in 2008 all this barely existed. Even ebooks barely existed. Facebook was just something you arsed about on, and Twitter was something that only Stephen Fry did.
I decided to start with Twitter, as I have some minor experience, and an old twitter account. I logged on and sought out Regina Battenberg. She seems to be doing something right because she has nearly a million followers. Her latest tweet reads,
@ReginaB Ah! just found a drinks coaster I was looking 4 down back of sofa #luckyday
She had included a picture of herself with the drinks coaster, which was plain and made of cork. This tweet has had six hundred re-tweets, including one from Colin Thomas the head of The House of Randoms; the CEO of the publishing company! He had replied saying,
@RandomColin I love that coaster! #wineoclock
Imagine if I went into a meeting with Colin Thomas, and started talking about finding a coaster down the back of my sofa. He would look at me if as if I were mad; he’d tell me to stop wasting his time. Yet on Twitter these banal conversations are the norm. I don’t mean to be a misery, and I see how Twitter can be fun, but couldn’t someone just come out and say it’s a load of old bollocks, and reassure us we don’t have to do it.
The problem is that the Prime Minister and the US President are doing it too. If they think they’re going to miss out, I think we’re in trouble. I sat there for two hours with my hands poised like chicken feet over my keyboard, trying to think of something to tweet, but I couldn’t. I just don’t get the rules. If there are any rules?
Friday 16th March
I’d forgotten what social media really is about. Spying on people. Over the past few days I’ve been spying on Regina Battenberg’s Twitter feed. She’s been going to a lot of celebrity parties with Angie.
On Tuesday Regina Battenberg tweeted pictures from a lingerie launch party. Most of Angie had been cropped out of the picture, but I could just make out her ear next to Regina, who was carrying a goody bag of free knickers.
On Wednesday they attended a charity benefit for adults with alopecia. This time a little more of Angie was on display, (a whole ear plus side of mouth with cigarette). Regina Battenberg had decided to forgo her usual gold turban, and wore her hair down. She could be seen in the pictures fluffing it up for the cameras, whilst the bald people with alopecia looked on jealously.
On Thursday both Regina and Angie got a free iPad. I’m not sure what the event was, but they were pictured side-by-side with an iPad each. On the screen was an image of the cover for Winetime.
Last night Regina and Angie dined together at The Ivy. Regina had tweeted a paparazzi photo, taken as they were leaving the restaurant. She is striking a pose on the pavement in her gold turban and bla
ck cloak, whilst Angie is in the background with a fag in the corner of her mouth trying to pull Pippin away from humping the doorman’s leg. Regina had written,
@ReginaB Just had scrummy dinner with my agent, Angela Lansbury. #Beasties
I think she’d meant to write #besties … but maybe not.
My book launch is only a month away.
Tuesday 20th March
It’s all very fraught, there is still no rent from Tabitha, Adam is starting another week of job interviews, my twenty-two-week ultrasound scan is looming, and my book? Who knows what is going on there. Adam keeps saying Try not to get stressed. But when has this ever succeeded in working for a stressed person?
I woke up this morning as Adam was adjusting his tie in the bedroom mirror.
‘Morning beautiful,’ he said picking up his phone and keys from the dresser.
‘I’ve got a good feeling about today,’ he said. ‘I’m through to the fifth round for this job.’
‘How many rounds are there?’ I asked.
‘Twelve,’ said Adam. He kissed me, cuddled Rocco and went off. I came downstairs, fed Rocco and made some decaf coffee. Then my phone jingled, it was a text from Chris.
Dad’s Funeral is Thursday. Have arranged 4 car 2 pick U up. Mum & Rebecca had a terrible argument about the flowers, M slapped R so hard there is still a handprint 2 days later. Only Dad knew how to make them get along. I’m missing him like mad - Chris x
I texted him back,
Need 2 talk? I’m here whenever you need me Cx
Then he said,
No time. Being Lord Cheshire is a full time job. Don’t know how my Dad did it all and stayed sane - speak soon, Chris x
I put my phone down and then the oddest thing happened. I really missed my mother… which is not a feeling I’ve had in years.
My mother was judgemental and pushy and drove me crazy. She’d have known how to deal with Tabitha and my scan and Angie though… and if she’d approved of Adam (which I doubt) she’d have known how to get him into a good job. I bet she’d even have been brilliant on Twitter. She had a very cruel, but very funny sense of humour. I thought of all the things she never knew about me, and all the things she never got to do, and I was gripped with an urge to see her.
I met Rosencrantz an hour later at the entrance to Kensal Green Cemetery. He was wearing black jeans, a winter jacket, and he looked a little tired. He gave his cigarette a last puff, and ground it out with one of his winter boots, the red embers flaring up for a moment against the dark earth. He gave me a big kiss on the cheek, and put his arm around me as we walked along the gravel path, past scores of wonky gravestones.
‘Where is she?’ he asked, after a moment.
‘By the trees over there.’
We carried on walking, our shoes crunching on gravel.
‘I’ve never known what to call her.’ said Rosencrantz.
‘It’s okay. You never knew her,’ I said. ‘She died a few days before I found out I was pregnant with you… I think she would have wanted to be called ‘Grandma’.’
‘Not, Nan?’ he said.
‘No. Ethel is Nan.’
‘Did they ever meet?’
‘Far too many times,’ I laughed. The long path between the endless gravestones rose up then dropped, and there she was. Evelyn Willoughby. The black marble headstone had weathered in the twenty-three years since she’d died. The little basket of silk flowers that Adam had insisted on putting there six months ago, were now faded. I lay the bunch of red roses I’d bought beside the marble slab, then pulled out a tissue and wiped off the film of dirt.
‘What was she like?’ asked Rosencrantz. I decided to be diplomatic.
‘I think she was always trying to be good enough… My dad, your granddad, was from a well-off family, and they didn’t approve of her.’
‘Didn’t she like Dad?’
I shook my head. ‘She wanted me to marry someone else.’
‘Who?’
‘The son of friends of theirs, posh friends of theirs.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘I was crazy about your father. Hard to believe now.’
‘What was this posh guy called?’ asked Rosencrantz.
‘Kenneth.’
‘And did this Kenneth guy love you?’
‘No. He loved someone else too.’
‘Who?’
‘Chris,’ I said softly.
‘What? Chris, our Chris?’ asked Rosencrantz, shocked.
I nodded.
‘Jeez. What happened?’
‘Kenneth’s mother made him marry a girl, and he broke Chris’s heart. Of course Kenneth was in denial about being gay, but he carried on meeting guys in secret, and he contracted HIV.’
‘That’s awful,’ said Rosencrantz.
‘It was 1987 and, well, he didn’t live long. When Kenneth’s parents found out, they disowned him, his wife filed for divorce, and my bloody mother took their side. It was Chris who looked after Kenneth until he died.’
‘Is that why you didn’t talk to her for years?’
‘Yes… and then suddenly she died.’ We stood in silence for a few minutes. Tears rolled down both of our faces.
‘And now I’ve got this baby, and I’m the same age as she was when she died, and… and I’m scared.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Oh well, nothing I can do about things now,’ I said.
‘Mum, it’s all going to be okay,’ said Rosencrantz.
‘Is it?’ His face was full of love, and youth and hope.
‘Yes it is,’ he said. ‘I’m here for you.’
‘The lesson I learned from all this, is that when you told me you were gay, I knew it would never be a problem, and if anyone else had a problem, they wouldn’t be welcome.’
‘Luckily no one did.’ Rosencrantz grinned. ‘So where is Grandpa?’
‘I think he would have liked being called Granddad,’ I said. ‘His ashes are scattered around her headstone. It was a heart attack, shortly after she died. I think he died of a broken heart. He couldn’t live without her. All he wanted was her, but she spent most of her life trying to be something she wasn’t.’
We stayed and had a good cry, which made me feel miles better, and then made our way back out of the cemetery. Rosencrantz pulled a hip flask out of his pocket and took a long slug.
‘Since when do you have a hip flask?’ I asked.
‘Since I’ve got a really important audition, for a big theatre tour… For nerves,’ he explained.
‘Okay, well good luck love,’ I said. He gave me hug and went off to the bus stop. I went in the opposite direction to the train station. When I got home I decided that, as a pregnant woman, I should start napping.
Wednesday 21st March
Adam is getting desperate for someone to hire him, and I think this might be coming across in his interviews. He talked last night about getting a bar job, and I told him absolutely not. I’d never see him, and who can bring up a baby in London on one bar wage? I went on Twitter and saw that the Angie-Regina Battenberg love-in continues. Angie is now re-tweeting everything Regina tweets. Six boss-eyed selfies in a row of Regina with Pippin, and a picture of the Japanese language edition of Winetime. I tweeted to Angie:
@AngieLangford Remember me? It’s @CocoPinchard… I’ve got a book out in 3 weeks!
I waited ten minutes for an answer, but she ignored it, then re-tweeted Regina again. They are sending Regina to Africa to do a report on clean drinking water for Comic Relief! Has the world gone mad? Despite myself I clicked on the link.
A few minutes later I heard a coo- ee and Ethel let herself in (another spare key?) she came into the living room and I quickly wiped my eyes.
‘Alright love? Feelin’ emotional?’
‘Yes,’ I said. She came round and started reading off the screen.
‘Little Amina ’as to walk twenty miles a day to the well to get clean water… Gawd, you think ’er parents would move a bit closer!’
‘Ethel!’ I said t
he tears rolling down my face.
‘Well ’oo lives that far away from a bloody well when you’ve got no taps?’
‘Maybe they can’t move?’
‘Iss not as if they’ve got a mortgage. They just untie the goats, pack up the tent, bob’s your uncle…’
She put her hand on my shoulder, ‘Come on love, you can’t get sucked into those charity ads.’
‘It’s not the advert.’
‘Then what?’
‘Everything. I thought Angie was my friend, I’ve got my twenty-two week scan coming up, Adam can’t find a job, we sold our car for 5p, the old prostitute round the corner owes us five weeks’ rent… and I’m failing in everything. ’
‘There there love,’ she said, giving me a hug. ‘What?’ she said after a minute. ‘A prostitute owes you money?’
I told Ethel all about Tabitha. When I’d finished she grabbed her handbag and left saying, ‘Don’t you worry love, I’ll sort it out.’
Half an hour later, Ethel returned with an envelope containing all the rent Tabitha owes. I couldn’t believe it.
‘She usually does a bank transfer,’ I said counting out the fifty pound notes.
‘She ’ad ’alf of this in ’er bra,’ said Ethel.
‘How did you get it?’
‘I put the fear of God up ’er,’ said Ethel.
I was very impressed. Tabitha seems a rather godless woman, and in the space of twenty minutes, Ethel had managed to convince her of His existence, the consequences of His wrath and five weeks’ back rent in cash. When Adam got home he was stunned.
‘How did she do it?’ he said.