Melisse aren’t talking about sex. They’re congratulating each other again on a great day and I definitely want to tune them out, as all the talk about Gina’s books and TV show and commercial deals is making me feel totally inadequate.
‘What did you think of it?’ Gina asks me suddenly.
‘Excuse me?’ I glance at her in the rear-view mirror.
‘The Bite Boost,’ said Gina. ‘Did it fill you up?’
I check my own reflection to reassure myself that there are no cake crumbs on my lips.
‘It was filling.’ I’m trying to be diplomatic. ‘I’m not sure it substitutes for a meal, though.’
‘It’s not meant to,’ said Gina. ‘It’s instead of cake and biscuits.’
I feel as though the words ‘chocolate cake’ are tattooed across my forehead.
‘It would certainly see you through,’ I say.
‘You see.’ Gina sits back in the rear seat and gives a satisfied sigh. ‘I will bring healthy eating to the masses.’
I’m not sure how I feel at being considered part of the masses. Although from Gina’s point of view, that’s exactly who I am.
I indicate and turn off for Belfast City Airport.
‘That was quick,’ says Gina.
‘Small city.’ I pull up outside the terminal building and get out of the car to open the door for her.
‘Got everything?’ I repeat the question I put to Thea and Desmond earlier as she steps out.
‘Of course,’ says Gina.
‘Any promotional stuff you need to bring back?’
I ask my clients to check because most of them are in a hurry and it’s easy to overlook personal items.
‘Oh!’ Gina reaches into the car and takes out a book. It’s one of the copies she was signing at the bookstore and includes a free icing bag. ‘Can’t forget this,’ she says. ‘Not that I use traditional icing on anything, of course. I have a great vegan sugar frosting, though.’
Hopefully she doesn’t see me shudder.
‘Actually . . .’ She hesitates and then thrusts the book at me. ‘You keep it. You might find it useful.’
‘That’s very good of you, but—’
‘You look tired,’ Gina says. ‘I didn’t want to say before. I’m not sure what you were snacking on while we were busy, but I’m pretty certain none of it was optimal. Read the book. It will help.’
Have I been insulted by a famous person?
‘There are recipes that kids will love too,’ says Gina. ‘I’m guessing you have them.’
‘Do I look that exhausted?’ I try a smile.
‘Yes,’ says Gina. ‘Read up on my sections about sleep and healthy living. The book isn’t only a recipe book. It’s about how to live your best life.’
‘Well . . .’
‘You’re welcome.’ Gina reaches into her bag, takes out a Sharpie pen and signs the book with a flourish. ‘Next time I see you, you’ll look years younger.’
Definitely an insult, I think, even if she doesn’t mean it that way. And how can I live my best life when I’m currently not living with my husband?
I wait while Melisse walks into the terminal building with Gina to point her in the right direction. I’m a bit edgy by the time she comes out again.
‘All sorted,’ says Melisse as I open the door for her. ‘Now if you don’t mind, I’ve some stuff to catch up on. So I won’t be talking much on the way back.’
I’m stunned at how much time one person can spend on her phone. From the moment we leave Belfast until we reach the Port Tunnel at the end of the M1 in Dublin, Melisse keeps up a constant stream of texting, emailing and instant messaging. She briefly remarks that she’s updating Gina’s social media, tweeting about her appearances on TV and letting people know there are signed books in the bookshops.
‘Got to squeeze every last bit of mileage out of her,’ she says as we enter the tunnel.
I love driving through the tunnel, although some clients expressly ask me not to use it – nearly five kilometres underground makes them feel claustrophobic. Melisse says nothing. I’m guessing she’s happy that it saves a lot of time in getting her home.
‘Not just my home, my office too,’ she says when we finally arrive at the single-storey-over-basement house. ‘Office downstairs. I live upstairs.’
I guess my home (or at least my mum’s home) is my office too. Or maybe Dad’s car is.
‘A lot of my clients are creative people,’ Melisse tells me, even though I haven’t asked. ‘Musicians, writers, artists. I enjoy working with them. They don’t try to interfere. Most of them, anyhow.’
‘Do you have many people working for you?’ Although all I want is to get home myself, I have to appear interested now that she’s suddenly decided to become chatty.
‘One intern, one admin person,’ she says. ‘You spoke to Jess. She made the booking.’
Jess, who didn’t tell me I’d have to drive her boss home.
‘We weren’t sure about asking you after we heard about Christy . . . your dad,’ remarks Melisse as she gathers a bundle of papers from the seat beside her. ‘I got on well with him. He was a nice man.’
I nod.
‘But you were very efficient today. So we’ll use you again.’
‘Thank you.’ It’s good to be appreciated.
‘Have a nice evening.’
She gives me a quick wave and then hurries down the steps to the basement. I allow myself to release a relaxed breath and am about to drive away when I decide I’d better check to see if she’s left anything behind. There’s nothing on the seat itself, but a couple of brochures are sticking out from the passenger seat pocket. I lower the window and call after her.
‘Sorry!’ she says as she opens the rear door and takes them out.
‘No problem.’
I give the rear section another quick glance, but Melisse seems to have taken all her stuff now, so I pull away from the kerb. I call Mum’s landline when I’m stopped at the lights. Mica answers.
‘I’ll be home soon,’ I tell her. ‘I hope you had a lovely day.’
‘Emma and Oladele came over and we played in the garden,’ Mica says. ‘Tom was out with Andrew.’
‘Great,’ I say. ‘I can’t wait to get home and cover you with kisses.’
‘Mum!’ Mica sounds horrified.
‘Two kisses, then.’
‘One.’
‘Deal,’ I concede. ‘Is Gran there?’
Mica tells me to hold on, and a few seconds later Mum says hello.
‘I’m on my way,’ I say. ‘Would you like me to pick up a takeaway?’
‘Would you?’ Mum is pleased. ‘I did fish fingers and beans for the children a while back. I knew they couldn’t wait.’
I don’t know what Gina Hayes would have to say about fish fingers and beans. But it’s fish and . . . and . . . pulses – though are baked beans actually pulses or are they some hybrid pretend-bean? I’ve no idea. So yes, I’m a crap mother who’s allowing her own mum to raise her kids while she mainlines coffee, chocolate cake and Chinese takeaway.
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