pretty much everything. I say ‘pretty much’ because there was one thing that I was leaving out for the moment. But Mum’s no idiot. Far from it.
We chatted about the awards’ night for a while. I think the vicarious thrill of the glamour and sophistication gave her a real buzz. Then she told me all your news (which I knew already, but didn’t let on), although I could see she was watching me very carefully, and giving me one of her funny looks.
‘Okay, Laura. Out with it. You’re like the cat that’s got the cream, and it’s not just that award that’s doing it. You’re positively glowing. It’s a man, isn’t it?’
Typical! I was going to tell you all later, when you and Will arrived for supper (although I know you’d guessed there was something going on), but Mum’s so perceptive! I had to respond - no choice, really - and I couldn’t hide my self-satisfied smirk!
‘Yes, it’s a man. And this time, I think it’s the real thing. I’m actually in love!’
Mum was so excited for me. She said I’d had nothing but deadbeats for years (charming!) and she couldn’t wait to meet him.
Oh - oh. This was when I knew it would get a bit tricky. I tried to explain that we don’t want anybody to know about us yet, so although I’d been given permission to tell my family, we weren’t ready to go public. Of course, she didn’t like the sound of that. Not straightforward enough for her.
So I explained.
‘The thing is, Mum, he’s quite famous. We’ve not been seeing each other for long - only a few weeks - and there are some things to be sorted out before we go public, because the press will be on us like a ton of bricks.’
That perked her up again. ‘Famous? Wow! Who is he? Don’t keep me in suspense any longer!’
I tried to keep the smug smile off my face.
‘Well you’ll probably have heard of him.’ I paused, for effect. ‘It’s Hugo Fletcher. Ring any bells?’
It was clear from her face that the name was certainly ringing bells, but plainly not the bells that I’d been hoping for.
‘You don’t mean Sir Hugo Fletcher, do you?’
‘I most certainly do. Sir Hugo Fletcher, famous philanthropist, property tycoon, multi-millionaire, thoroughly gorgeous man.’ I couldn’t resist the last bit, but it fell on deaf ears. She was on a roll.
‘Well of course I’ve heard of him, although I don’t care about his millions and neither should you. And certainly his title doesn’t impress me. He got that for all his charity work, didn’t he? I remember very clearly the number of television and radio programmes dedicated to his ‘good works’ that we all had to sit through in the months before the Honours’ List was announced. It was outright self-promotion, paid for by some of those millions, no doubt. If people do things for charity, it should be because they care, not because they want a title!’
See what I mean when I said my bloody, bloody mother? But things were about to get worse, and a full-scale argument ensued. I, of course, went on the defensive.
‘You don’t even know him, but you’ve judged him! He has to get publicity for the charity. It’s how he raises money. It’s not his profile he’s promoting.’
You should have seen her face, Imo! Her mouth was set in a hard line, and she had that dismissive look - as though everything I was saying was complete rubbish. You know the one, I’m sure.
‘Well, it’s all irrelevant anyway. Because if memory serves me right, he’s married. How could you, Laura, after everything this family has been through?’
Well, what could I say? We all know that Dad was a womaniser when he was younger, but this is different. This is not some grubby little affair. Hugo loves me and he’s getting a divorce! I explained all this as calmly as I could.
‘So tell me, madam. Are you the cause of this divorce, then? Are you going to be named? Is he going to drop you when the time comes and move on to somebody from his own world?’
Does she
We chatted about the awards’ night for a while. I think the vicarious thrill of the glamour and sophistication gave her a real buzz. Then she told me all your news (which I knew already, but didn’t let on), although I could see she was watching me very carefully, and giving me one of her funny looks.
‘Okay, Laura. Out with it. You’re like the cat that’s got the cream, and it’s not just that award that’s doing it. You’re positively glowing. It’s a man, isn’t it?’
Typical! I was going to tell you all later, when you and Will arrived for supper (although I know you’d guessed there was something going on), but Mum’s so perceptive! I had to respond - no choice, really - and I couldn’t hide my self-satisfied smirk!
‘Yes, it’s a man. And this time, I think it’s the real thing. I’m actually in love!’
Mum was so excited for me. She said I’d had nothing but deadbeats for years (charming!) and she couldn’t wait to meet him.
Oh - oh. This was when I knew it would get a bit tricky. I tried to explain that we don’t want anybody to know about us yet, so although I’d been given permission to tell my family, we weren’t ready to go public. Of course, she didn’t like the sound of that. Not straightforward enough for her.
So I explained.
‘The thing is, Mum, he’s quite famous. We’ve not been seeing each other for long - only a few weeks - and there are some things to be sorted out before we go public, because the press will be on us like a ton of bricks.’
That perked her up again. ‘Famous? Wow! Who is he? Don’t keep me in suspense any longer!’
I tried to keep the smug smile off my face.
‘Well you’ll probably have heard of him.’ I paused, for effect. ‘It’s Hugo Fletcher. Ring any bells?’
It was clear from her face that the name was certainly ringing bells, but plainly not the bells that I’d been hoping for.
‘You don’t mean Sir Hugo Fletcher, do you?’
‘I most certainly do. Sir Hugo Fletcher, famous philanthropist, property tycoon, multi-millionaire, thoroughly gorgeous man.’ I couldn’t resist the last bit, but it fell on deaf ears. She was on a roll.
‘Well of course I’ve heard of him, although I don’t care about his millions and neither should you. And certainly his title doesn’t impress me. He got that for all his charity work, didn’t he? I remember very clearly the number of television and radio programmes dedicated to his ‘good works’ that we all had to sit through in the months before the Honours’ List was announced. It was outright self-promotion, paid for by some of those millions, no doubt. If people do things for charity, it should be because they care, not because they want a title!’
See what I mean when I said my bloody, bloody mother? But things were about to get worse, and a full-scale argument ensued. I, of course, went on the defensive.
‘You don’t even know him, but you’ve judged him! He has to get publicity for the charity. It’s how he raises money. It’s not his profile he’s promoting.’
You should have seen her face, Imo! Her mouth was set in a hard line, and she had that dismissive look - as though everything I was saying was complete rubbish. You know the one, I’m sure.
‘Well, it’s all irrelevant anyway. Because if memory serves me right, he’s married. How could you, Laura, after everything this family has been through?’
Well, what could I say? We all know that Dad was a womaniser when he was younger, but this is different. This is not some grubby little affair. Hugo loves me and he’s getting a divorce! I explained all this as calmly as I could.
‘So tell me, madam. Are you the cause of this divorce, then? Are you going to be named? Is he going to drop you when the time comes and move on to somebody from his own world?’
Does she
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