Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

A Good Woman is always poised. She must display a calm and graceful temperament, even when her temper is ruffled.

Matilda Beam’sGood Woman Guide, 1959

‘I cannot believe it. I just cannot believe it,’ Valentina is saying. ‘I heard that beautiful voice and thought, could it be? Could sweet Jessica Beam of all people be here? And it is you!’

We’ve drifted into the drawing room and are now sitting round Grandma’s teal silk ottoman, which holds a pewter tray full of fancy tea-making paraphernalia. Valentina confidently pours out tea into cups, as if this is her house and we are her guests. It occurs to me that Valentina Smith is the publishing big gun Peach mentioned was coming to visit Grandma today about her guides. The Southbank Press. Of course. Like Summer said, they publish everyone.

Except bloody me.

I nod my hello politely but don’t return Valentina’s smile. This woman made out like Summer and I were going to get a book deal and then backed out because I insulted her ex. All right, accidentally threw champagne over her ex. But still. She was so into the whole idea, and to just drop it because of the party, well, I think that’s quite fickle.

‘I’m afraid I do not understand,’ Grandma sniffs, her liquid blue eyes flicking from me to Valentina and back again. ‘You are acquaintances?’

‘Oh, Matil, Jess and I are old friends.’ Valentina tosses her perfectly tinted locks back with a warm laugh. ‘Such a shame I can’t stay much longer, because this − ’ she points one finger at me and one at Grandma − ‘really is just the most amazing moment. Grandmother and granddaughter! Jessica, you dark horse. You never mentioned your esteemed bookish heritage. Beam. Of course. I should have known! Both writers, both extraordinarily talented. Matil, can you believe that Jessica turned the Southbank Press down? I don’t think I’ve ever been turned down before. I was awfully disappointed. I kicked my office fridge because I was so disappointed. Now it’s broken. Just like my heart.’

Turned down?Wait, what?

‘I didn’t turn you down,’ I say, outraged. ‘You turned us down!’

Valentina’s brows draw together. ‘I told you at the party! It was damn near as good as a done deal. Of course, I was a little tipsy, but where books are concerned I never say anything I can’t back up. When Summer said you’d decided to go in another direction, TV of all things, I was heartbroken. I thought we had a connection, you and I! No need to be embarrassed, Jess. I can’t win them all, although,’ she muses, ‘I usually do … ’

I don’t believe it. Summer really did screw me over. We were offered the book deal for Summer in the City, but she turned it down because some glossy American TV producer was interested and she didn’t need me for that. She would have needed me for a book. What the hell? Disappointment claws at my empty stomach. What makes the whole thing worse is that there’s not a bloody thing I can do about it.

‘Jessica, you are a writer?’ Grandma asks, leaning forward in her chair.

‘I was almost a published one,’ I mutter darkly. Bloody Summer.

‘Jessica is a wonderful writer,’ Valentina says cheerfully, and then pauses. ‘Wait. Why did you not know that, Matilda? You’re her grandmother.’

‘It’s a long story,’ Grandma and I say at exactly the same time.

‘I do love a good long story. What a shame I have to dash off. Perhaps you can tell me over a gin and tonic sometime, Jess? Ping me an email, we’ll pencil it in.’ She turns to Grandma. ‘And once again, Matilda, I’m so sorry not to be able to make you a reprint offer.’

Grandma rises from her chair, worriedly kneading one thin hand into the other. ‘Miss Smith, I implore you to reconsider. Women today really could learn a great deal from my books, from my years of expertise. The way they behave nowadays. No grace! No manners! No skills for the home! How on earth are they supposed to find a good man … ’ She trails off and eyes the hot pink Wonderbra wrapped around my wrist. I unravel it and stuff it underneath my bum.

‘Oh, Jess, do help me to explain this to dear old Matilda,’ Valentina pleads, glancing discreetly up at the grandfather clock. ‘Perhaps she’ll listen to you. The Southbank Press can’t republish her 1950s Good Woman guides because they simply would not sell in the year 2014. My hands are tied.’

Grandma’s huge eyes are shining with tears behind her red-winged glasses. She looks so desperate. I feel quite bad for her. But Valentina is right.

‘Sorry Matild – Grandma. I’m afraid no young woman I know would take notice of old self-help tips in this day and age,’ I say gently. ‘They’re irrelevant. I mean, it’s just not what we’re thinking about any more.’

Grandma sighs, throwing her hands up in exasperation. ‘You, my dear, are a woman of almost thirty and without a husband! The whole thing is unfathomable. It is … sad.’

‘Oi, I’m not sad!’ I stand up from the sofa, indignant. ‘I’m not “almost thirty” either. I’m twenty-eight. And aside from marriage being a generally daft idea, being single is my choice. I like the way I live. That’s who I am. Young, single and ready to tingle. I’m a feminist and an independent woman and I love it. I work hard, I play hard, I party hard and do any bloody thing I want to, OK? That’s the opposite of sad.’

‘Bravo, Jessica!’ Valentina claps. ‘Bravo!’

‘Oh dear me. Dear me.’ Grandma presses both wrinkly palms to her cheeks. ‘You mean to tell me that you choose to live this way? I thought this was just part of … a terrible breakdown. Goodness. Does this mean that the colour of your hair is a considered decision and not a cry for help?’

I gasp. Beneath the teary eyes and worried glances, Matilda Beam has got an attitude and a half. And she’s not finished yet. ‘You have no job, Jessica. You have no home. You come to me for money, dear. Living the way you are living doesn’t seem to be making you very happy at all.’

‘Gosh,’ Valentina says, thoroughly enjoying herself now. ‘Gosh.’

‘Leave my lovely platinum blonde hair alone!’ I complain. ‘I’m not super happy right now, admittedly. Things are quite shit, actually. But in general I am! I have more freedom and equality than you ever had. That’s awesome. And it’s not like you’re in great shape now, either, is it? You’re totally skint, you hoard all of your shit and you have a room full of porcelain dolls. I’m pretty sure that life tips from you would just not fly with the cool, fierce young women of today.’

Grandma gasps, two blotches of pink colouring her cheeks.

‘I assure you, my tips are one hundred per cent effective in any day and age,’ she sniffs, folding her long arms in front of her bosom.

‘Er, I don’t think so,’ I grump back.

Valentina looks between us, a most entertained grin on her face. ‘The familial resemblance is uncanny.’

My face buzzes with heat. I need to go for a run, shower, clear my head, get the hell out of here.

‘Can I go now?’ I indicate the door.

‘I really must be going too,’ Valentina says brightly. ‘It was so lovely to see you both. A particularly wonderful surprise to see you, Jessica.’

As I open the door, Valentina close behind me, Grandma suddenly gasps and calls out, ‘Wait! Both of you. Just a moment. Don’t go! I can prove that my tips will work in this day and age. I have an idea! I will − I will show you how!’

Valentina’s face melts into a sympathetic grimace. ‘I really am sorry, Matil. I truly am. It’s simply not possible. I hope that you can—’

‘It is possible!’ Grandma frantically shouts out over Valentina. ‘Jessica here will help me to prove it!’

‘Excuse me?’ I say.

‘Beautiful Jessica?’ Valentina narrows her eyes for a moment before nodding. ‘All right, go on.’

Grandma glances at me and takes a step towards Valentina.

‘If we could use my tips to transform Jessica into the epitome of a Good Woman, then surely that would absolutely prove that the guides work and are worth republishing.’

‘Well, that’s the daftest thing I’ve ever heard,’ I scoff. ‘And pretty fucking presumptuous, to be honest.’

Grandma flinches at my swear, but ignores me and continues addressing Valentina as if I’m not even in the room.

‘We would fix poor Jessica’s look, work on her manners and poise, her feminine skills, how to behave around a good man . . . ’

Manners? Matilda Beam is the one who needs a lesson in manners!

‘My look is cool!’ I cut in. ‘And trust me, I have plenty of feminine skills. Plenty. Jeez.’ I turn round once more to leave the room when Valentina calls me back.

‘Hold on a second, Jessica.’ She puts a finger to her chin thoughtfully. ‘Continue, Matilda, I’d like to hear this.’

I stop short. Valentina is listening to her? I snort, shaking my head in disbelief.

Grandma goes on. ‘We could use my first book, Matilda Beam’s Guide to Love and Romance, to help find Jessica a good man who will fall in love with her.’

‘And create a book about that experience?’ Valentina ponders. ‘So … a dating bible? A vintage dating bible showing women how to use techniques from your guides in the modern day?’

‘Quite.’ Grandma nods slowly, sensing Valentina’s renewed interest. ‘Exactly that.’

‘God, not vintage again,’ I grump, trying to keep my patience. ‘No offence, but surely everyone knows by now that vintage is just a trendy word for “old shit”.’

‘Actually, Jess, our most recent non-fiction bestseller was a wonderful vintage afternoon tea cookbook,’ Valentina informs me with a wry smile.

Vintage afternoon tea cookbook?That might be the grossest, twee-est thing I’ve ever heard.

‘The vintage angle is very hot right now,’ she confirms. ‘Clever thinking, Matil.’

Valentina leaves me standing by the door and settles back down on the sofa, seemingly no longer in a rush. She pulls a pencil and a black Smythson notebook out of her handbag. She doesn’t write anything in the notepad, but points her needle-sharp pencil in the air.

‘Hmm. What about … How to Catch a Man Like It’s 1955?’ she murmurs after a few seconds.

I look at her blankly. Grandma absolutely beams.

‘It could work . . . ’ Valentina narrows her eyes. ‘A brand new book full of vintage dating tips, tried and tested from the wholly modern perspective of Jessica Beam. I like it. And, of course, the renewed interest would mean we could eventually rethink the reissuing of the original books.’

‘Oh!’ Grandma puts her hands to her neck, her cheeks flushed with pleasure. ‘I love it!’

‘Matil, in your opinion, how long do you believe it would take to snare the man?’ Valentina asks.

‘No more than two to four weeks if Jessica stays here at Bonham Square and we spend all our time on the project.’ Grandma looks me up and down. ‘There would be rather a lot to do, but we could condense it into a shorter space of time.’

‘Wait a minute – hold up,’ I interrupt, looking between them. ‘You’re saying you want me to stay here, in this house, for two to four weeks, change everything about the way I look and the way I behave, like some kind of science experiment, just to get some random chump to go out with me?’

‘Not to ‘go out’ with you. To fall deeply in love with you,’ Grandma says happily. Valentina smiles in agreement and scribbles something in her notebook.

I wave them away. ‘And then you want me to write about it?’

‘Yes,’ they say as if it isn’t an absurd, totally backwards, entirely humiliating proposal.

I glare at them both as if they’re mental. The very idea of hanging about here for longer than the two days I had intended, learning this strange new grandma’s version of manners and style, trying to chase after some bloke and get him to – puke – fall in love with me? It’s literally abhorrent, the complete opposite of anything I would ever want to do with my time. Yes, I’d like to be a writer. Yes, I’d like to have a book deal. But not like this. I disagree with the whole notion of changing your entire self for a fella on a very base level. Nuh-huh. No way.

I spot Grandma’s massive eyes fill with watery hope and my neck starts to prickle.

‘Look, guys.’ I back away in the direction of the door. ‘Thanks a million for the offer and all, but, well, no thanks. I like my “look” and my “manners” and my “feminine skills” exactly as they are. Good luck with it, though. I’m leaving now. I need a shower and then I’m going to go run.’

‘But didn’t you just go running!’

‘I like to run.’

* * *

Twenty minutes later, I’m out of the shower and dressed in my favourite running gear of lycra crop top and soft grey trackie bottoms.

I’m tying up the laces on my nice bright yellow trainers when there’s a knock on the bedroom door.

‘Jessica, may we enter?’

It’s Grandma.

‘You feisty duckling, Jessica, let us in. We want to talk to you.’

And Valentina.

What is their problem?I’ve just told them that I’m not interested in their idea. Why is Valentina even considering this? I thought she was so smart when I first met her at the Southbank Press. Turns out she’s as batshit crazy as Grandma. I hurriedly throw myself onto the bed and burrow under the covers, pulling the blanket right up over the top of my head. If they think I’m taking a nap then they’ll go away. No one bothers a napping person.

Except, of course, these people.

I hear the door click open and the muted footsteps of Valentina and Grandma walking across the carpet. Talk about invasion of privacy. Yes, I know it’s not my house, but still, I could have been doing any number of private things in here. I could have been practising my withering glance in the mirror or having a wank. Jeez.

‘Is she asleep?’ Grandma says curiously.

I scrunch my eyes closed and pretend I am deep in the land of nod.

‘Hmm. She’s wearing trainers,’ Valentina replies, ‘A super pair of bold yellow trainers. I love them, Jess. I really do.’

Shit. My feet are poking out of the end of the bed. I casually tuck them back in like the Wicked Witch of the East.

‘Yes, I think she is awake and simply trying to avoid us,’ Valentina declares.

‘What odd behaviour.’

‘Jess, we know you’re awake,’ Valentina says firmly. ‘Matilda and I have been chatting about this new idea and we really are rather excited about it. How to Catch a Man like it’s 1955 will slot very nicely into my list. Especially since Summer in the City is sadly no longer an option.’

‘And Miss Smith has already thought of the chap we could catch,’ Grandma adds. ‘A Good Gentleman by the name of Leo Frost.’

I splutter and choke, swiftly disguising it with a yawn/sleepy snuffle type sound. Leo Frost? What the sweet hell is Valentina Smith thinking of? He hates me. And I hate him. And Valentina hates him. Plus he’d recognize me in an instant.

‘We’d have you in disguise, of course,’ Valentina says as if she’s reading my mind. ‘And despite my personal experience with him, perhaps because of it, I believe he is a perfect choice. London’s most notorious, eternally single, hard-hearted bachelor. If you could get a declaration of true love from Leo Frost, then the book would be a bestseller.’

‘And my Good Woman guides would be reprinted. Jessica, my house could be saved! You could save everything.’

Emotional bribery to the max.

Valentina clears her throat. ‘And, of course, there would an advance. Five thousand pounds on spec.’

Whaaat? Five grand? Five grand. I get a vision of my bank account balance as it currently stands: twenty-three pence. Overdrawn.

I pop my head out of the top of the covers, meerkat style. Grandma’s hands are shaking with anticipation.

‘Five thousand quid?’ I say, just to be sure.

‘Initially,’ Valentina replies with a confident grin. ‘If it goes well then the possibilities are endless.’

I peer at Grandma. She’s about half a minute away from squeaking.

‘Does the dude have to be Leo Frost?’

‘I can think of no one better. And surely you can see what a good story it would make.’

‘Do I have to do it under my real name?’

‘Yes. Matilda Beam and Jessica Beam. The family dynamic must be clear.’

‘Er … do we get to keep the five thousand even if the whole thing fails miserably?’

‘Well, I’d very much hope that doesn’t happen, but yes. That is how an advance works.’

Wow. Half of five thousand guaranteed for two to four weeks’ work. No matter how futile this project is, no matter how much I will despise doing it, that kind of money is hard to argue with when you’re in my position. That much money would get me to Thailand. Hell, it would get me to Fiji. It would be a leg-up, a fresh start. I picture myself beachside at sunset, sipping on half a coconut filled with pear cider, wearing a brand new silk jumpsuit and swaying in time to a soundtrack of Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon. It’s too much to turn down.

‘All right. I’ll do it.’

Grandma bursts into a decidedly unpoised round of tears and mutters ‘thank heavens’ and ‘what a day!’ before dashing out of the room to fetch the Good Woman guides. Valentina simply leans over the bed to shake my hand.

‘Of course, I’ll need the first twenty thousand words of the book within four weeks,’ she says happily.

What the fuck have I just agreed to?