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Authors: Julia Llewellyn
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appetizing as usual, but then everything came out a bit differently from the Aga. ‘It makes me feel like a grown-up.’
‘It’s an amazing place,’ said Sandrine. ‘Like something on telly.’
‘I know. It’s the sort of place unfeasibly gorgeous people live, who do something unspecified that brings in huge wealth and leaves loads of time for
rumpy-pump with the gardener and plotting to murder their spouses.’
‘All you need is a chihuahua called President Muh-gah-bay, who’ll touch nothing but Beluga and will only wear a diamond-studded collar and you’ll be made.’
‘I’ll put one on my shopping list.’ They laughed.
‘Shame Jake’s not here,’ Sandrine said, as Rosie removed Christy’s Moët from the fridge.
‘He drinks far too much champagne as it is,’ Rosie said, then couldn’t resist a mischievous, ‘Blame Christy, she scheduled this meeting with the American agent for tonight.’
‘Sorry, Rosalba fucked up.’ Rosalba was Christy’s slinky PA, who tended to get the blame for an awful lot. ‘I thought of asking her to cancel but this guy is the key to Hollywood.’
Hollywood. That sick feeling hit Rosie again.
‘You’re his agent, why are you introducing him to another?’ Sandrine asked.
‘We’ll work in cahoots. He has the West Coast link. I have London. Powerful combination.’
‘If your clients keep doing this well, you’ll be able to buy yourself a mansion soon, sis,’ said Sandrine teasingly. ‘Have your very own gold taps and jacuzzi.’
‘Stop taking the piss out of the gold taps,’ Christy retorted, as Rosie popped the cork. ‘Rosie’s going to get rid of them.’
‘Eventually,’ Rosie cautioned. She poured the fizz into three wine glasses.
‘I can’t believe you don’t have champagne flutes,’ Sandrine teased. ‘Well, now I know what to get you for your birthday.’
‘Yes, please,’ said Rosie, proudly removing the lid of her new Le Creuset casserole she’d ordered from John Lewis. Le Creuset in the kitchen. Molton Brown in the bathroom. Scatter cushions in the living room. Cake ingredients in the cupboards. She had finally become a grown-up. But was the lamb OK? It had shrunk strangely since she’d last seen it several hours ago.
‘Mmm!’ Sandrine cried, as Rosie frowned over the diminished offering. ‘Smells yum.’
As she dished out the lamb, she told them about Patrizia’s comments about how to bring up her children. ‘Fair enough, they are pretty feral,’ Rosie concluded, sounding cheerful, though the usual pincers of doubt about her mothering abilities were squeezing tight. Maybe she shouldn’t be a stay-at-home mother? What did she know about bringing up kids?
‘She sounds like an idiot,’ Sandrine said firmly.
‘No. I am rubbish at controlling them.’ Rosie took a bite of the lamb. It had a bitter, charred taste. ‘Oh God, sorry. This really isn’t very nice.’
‘It’s fine,’ said Christy, pushing the food around her plate.
‘I had a moment of wishing we’d never moved here,’ Rosie suddenly confessed. Until that moment, she didn’t even know she’d harboured this thought. ‘Why are we starting from scratch all over again? We should
have stayed in Neasden and just bought a bigger place. Then I could still see all my old mates.’
Christy looked outraged. ‘Rosie, the only large place you could have bought in Neasden would have been the boys’ reform school. The place you have now is
amazing
. I can’t believe you’re complaining about it. You always said if you lived in a lovely house your life would be perfect. You have everything you ever wanted.’
Christy’s fantastic memory again. ‘I have no problems about the area – or the house – I just miss things about the old neighbourhood.’
‘Like litter blowing up and down the high street and yellow police signs about stabbings at the tube station? God, people would kill to live in the Village.’
‘It takes time to settle into a new place,’
‘It’s an amazing place,’ said Sandrine. ‘Like something on telly.’
‘I know. It’s the sort of place unfeasibly gorgeous people live, who do something unspecified that brings in huge wealth and leaves loads of time for
rumpy-pump with the gardener and plotting to murder their spouses.’
‘All you need is a chihuahua called President Muh-gah-bay, who’ll touch nothing but Beluga and will only wear a diamond-studded collar and you’ll be made.’
‘I’ll put one on my shopping list.’ They laughed.
‘Shame Jake’s not here,’ Sandrine said, as Rosie removed Christy’s Moët from the fridge.
‘He drinks far too much champagne as it is,’ Rosie said, then couldn’t resist a mischievous, ‘Blame Christy, she scheduled this meeting with the American agent for tonight.’
‘Sorry, Rosalba fucked up.’ Rosalba was Christy’s slinky PA, who tended to get the blame for an awful lot. ‘I thought of asking her to cancel but this guy is the key to Hollywood.’
Hollywood. That sick feeling hit Rosie again.
‘You’re his agent, why are you introducing him to another?’ Sandrine asked.
‘We’ll work in cahoots. He has the West Coast link. I have London. Powerful combination.’
‘If your clients keep doing this well, you’ll be able to buy yourself a mansion soon, sis,’ said Sandrine teasingly. ‘Have your very own gold taps and jacuzzi.’
‘Stop taking the piss out of the gold taps,’ Christy retorted, as Rosie popped the cork. ‘Rosie’s going to get rid of them.’
‘Eventually,’ Rosie cautioned. She poured the fizz into three wine glasses.
‘I can’t believe you don’t have champagne flutes,’ Sandrine teased. ‘Well, now I know what to get you for your birthday.’
‘Yes, please,’ said Rosie, proudly removing the lid of her new Le Creuset casserole she’d ordered from John Lewis. Le Creuset in the kitchen. Molton Brown in the bathroom. Scatter cushions in the living room. Cake ingredients in the cupboards. She had finally become a grown-up. But was the lamb OK? It had shrunk strangely since she’d last seen it several hours ago.
‘Mmm!’ Sandrine cried, as Rosie frowned over the diminished offering. ‘Smells yum.’
As she dished out the lamb, she told them about Patrizia’s comments about how to bring up her children. ‘Fair enough, they are pretty feral,’ Rosie concluded, sounding cheerful, though the usual pincers of doubt about her mothering abilities were squeezing tight. Maybe she shouldn’t be a stay-at-home mother? What did she know about bringing up kids?
‘She sounds like an idiot,’ Sandrine said firmly.
‘No. I am rubbish at controlling them.’ Rosie took a bite of the lamb. It had a bitter, charred taste. ‘Oh God, sorry. This really isn’t very nice.’
‘It’s fine,’ said Christy, pushing the food around her plate.
‘I had a moment of wishing we’d never moved here,’ Rosie suddenly confessed. Until that moment, she didn’t even know she’d harboured this thought. ‘Why are we starting from scratch all over again? We should
have stayed in Neasden and just bought a bigger place. Then I could still see all my old mates.’
Christy looked outraged. ‘Rosie, the only large place you could have bought in Neasden would have been the boys’ reform school. The place you have now is
amazing
. I can’t believe you’re complaining about it. You always said if you lived in a lovely house your life would be perfect. You have everything you ever wanted.’
Christy’s fantastic memory again. ‘I have no problems about the area – or the house – I just miss things about the old neighbourhood.’
‘Like litter blowing up and down the high street and yellow police signs about stabbings at the tube station? God, people would kill to live in the Village.’
‘It takes time to settle into a new place,’
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