The Perfect Retreat (34 page)

Willow was reticent. ‘He hasn’t even rung them to see how they are,’ she had said to her lawyer over the phone. ‘He missed Lucian’s birthday,’ she said, remembering the cake and present festivities she had organised. A few of Lucian’s friends from kindergarten had been invited, including Rose’s son Milo. She had become close to Rose in London, and Rose had arrived at Willow’s home with presents and champagne and Rose and a few other mothers had stayed while a
magician entertained
the children and the nanny organised party games.

It had been a lovely afternoon, sullied somewhat by Kerr ignoring his eldest child’s special day.

‘I know it’s frustrating,’ said Willow’s lawyer, ‘but I suggest you head over and see what he’s up to. Who knows? He may have changed.’

Willow doubted it very much. Kerr had shown his true colours, she had decided; but he was their father after all.

So she had packed up everything and, mindful as ever of her budget, had decided to fly to LA and to go business class, not first as she was used to. She had meetings set up in LA with the director and production company for the action franchise, and had rented a house in Beverly Hills for two months. She would have Christmas with the children and her parents would fly over to spend the holidays with them.

The house she had rented was modest, but it had a pool and a playroom for the children. Fully furnished, it belonged to a Hollywood actress, a friend of Rose’s who had gone to Gstaad for the time Willow was there.

Willow sat with a wriggling Jinty, who insisted on throwing the headphones at Poppy, who started to cry. She was tired – they were all tired, thought Willow as the plane stopped moving and the seatbelt light went off.

Willow jumped up. ‘Lucian, get your backpack and Custard,’ she said, gesturing to Custard who was tucked between two seats. Lucian did as she asked and Willow sent a silent thanks to the people who were helping him in his learning. He had grown more confident and even had a few words, mostly consisting of ‘Hi’, ‘No’, ‘Mummy’, ‘Pops’ and ‘Jint’, but it was a start, she thought. He was far more receptive to the world; he accepted her hugs and kisses, returned them even, and laughed with George the dog, who had reluctantly been put into kennels for the time they were away.

Poppy insisted that George had to go to Merritt’s to stay, but Willow said that Merritt was away on holiday. It was easier than trying to explain to Poppy that she, her mother, had ruined everything.

After an arduous time at the airport wrestling bags and children and with no help, Willow faced the American paparazzi. ‘Are you reuniting with your husband, Willow?’ they asked as she walked through the airport, Jinty sitting precariously on top of the Samsonite cases and waving
the headp
hones at them that she had stolen from the plane.

Poppy walked behind her mother, in tulle, pink Doc Martens and the bonnet that she had taken from Middlemist. Lucian was next to her.

‘Mummy has a new boyfriend,’ said Poppy as she looked down the barrel of a camera.

‘Is that true Willow? Do you have a new boyfriend?’ screamed the photographers.

Willow stopped and dragged Poppy to her side by the elbow. ‘Be quiet,’ she hissed. ‘You know I don’t have a new boyfriend.’

‘Yes you do Mummy,’ said Poppy, her face puzzled.

‘What’s his name? Who is he?’ shouted one photographer at Poppy.

‘He’s a Merritt,’ said Poppy. Willow wanted to throttle her daughter but didn’t want to be arrested in a public space.

The photographers looked at each other. He’s a merit? they wondered.

‘He has merit?’ they asked.

‘Yes, she has Merritt,’ said Poppy, confused.

‘Jesus,’ said one as Willow pulled away in the waiting car. ‘I didn’t even know what that word meant until I was thirty.’

‘I still don’t know what it means,’ said one of the more aggressive photographers. ‘She must be a freaking genius,’ he said.

The next day gossip hit the wires that Willow had a new lover who had great merit, according to her genius, gifted child.

Merritt read it online at Middlemist and wondered what on earth it was all about. Willow has moved on, eh? he thought sadly; and so, it seems, have the children.

The house in Beverly Hills was modest by LA standards, but comfortable all the same. It was nice to be in the relative warmth, and the children insisted on swimming as soon as they arrived. Willow sat watching them, enjoying their screams of delight. Jinty floated in a giant plastic iced donut and Poppy and Lucian wore armbands and jumped in and out of the water until Willow dragged them out with the promise of ice cream. Kerr would be arriving any minute and she wanted the children to be clean and shiny and happy to see him.

The doorbell rang and she answered it. There stood Kerr. He looked good, she thought; LA obviously agreed with him. He had lost the puffiness that he had had the last time she saw him; too much wine and cocaine probably. Now he stood fit and well, tanned and wearing relaxed jeans, a white t-shirt and flip-flops.

‘Hey Willy,’ he said easily, using the name he had given her from when they first got together.

‘Hey Kerr,’ she said, a little icily. ‘Come in.’

Kerr walked inside. ‘This is nice,’ he said, looking around the Spanish villa.

‘It’s fine; it’s just for the holidays,’ she said. Kerr sat on a chair in the living room.

‘I thought you might stay now.’

‘Where? In America?’ asked Willow, confused.

‘Yes, well I’m going to live here, and I thought with you being American and all that …’ His voice trailed off.

Willow thought for a moment. In theory she should live in the States – she was American, her parents were here – but she had begun to think of England as home.

She liked England, with its funny ways and manners. She felt more English than American, while clearly Kerr had become a flag-waving Yank.

‘I don’t know, Kerr,’ she said. ‘I like England.’

‘Man, you don’t know what you’re missing,’ he said. ‘America is fucking amazing. The lifestyle, the people, the opportunities. They want you to succeed. I’ve told a few people about my financial mess and they don’t care. In England I would be hung, drawn and quartered; in fact I think I was in the papers,’ he laughed ruefully.

And deservedly so, thought Willow. The press had on
ly reported w
hat he had done; it was up to the public to make their own decision. Kerr had obviously not told his new fanbase that he was a cheating, spendaholic, absent father.

A tearful appearance on
The View
, dancing with Ellen and a few dates with a star from
Twilight
and he was soon back in the game and loving it.

Poppy danced into the living room. ‘Daddy!’ she cried, and jumped into his arms.

‘Poppet!’ he yelled, and then Jinty toddled in. He picked her up too and Willow was surprised. He mostly ignored Jinty. Lucian stood in the doorway.

‘Hey Luce,’ said Kerr easily.

Lucian stood uncertainly in front of his father.

‘Say hi to Dad,’ said Willow, her heart breaking at her son’s scared face.

‘Hi,’ said Lucian quietly.

Kerr’s face filled with joy. ‘Hey! You can say hi! That’s great.’

Willow watched as Lucian walked up to his father and Kerr put down Poppy and picked up Lucian in a warm embrace. She turned to wipe away the tears that fell. Kerr held Lucian for a long time.

‘You want to come to my place and see Daddy’s new pad?’ he said.

‘We have an iPad here,’ said Poppy. ‘I play games on it.’

Kerr laughed, as did Willow. ‘I mean my new house.’

‘You should say what you mean,’ said Poppy sternly. ‘That’s what Mummy says to Lucian.’

‘I will promise to always say what I mean,’ said Kerr, looking at Poppy with a serious face.

‘I’m not sure Kerr,’ said Willow carefully.

Kerr nodded sadly. ‘I understand I’m a shit father but
please let me try again. I can’t fix it with you but I can try with the kids.’

‘Daddy said shit,’ whispered Poppy to Lucian, who giggled a little.

Willow looked at the smiling faces of her two eldest children and knew she must let them have a relationship with Kerr, even if their marriage was over.

Willow watched them leave in her car, Jinty tucked up in her car seat and the other two in their booster seats. Of course he hadn’t remembered to have his own fitted, so now she was left with his Porsche and nothing to do until her meeting at the film studio.

She wandered about the house, and checked her emails from Lucy. Lucy was more than her publicist now; she was her assistant and manager. Willow trusted her implicitly and was grateful to have a person like her on her side.

Lucy had organised a meeting for two o’clock that
afternoon
with the production company and the director. Willow decided to wash her hair and change for the meeting. She wanted to look fabulous and fresh and decided today was a day for the best English style that she could muster from the clothes she had brought over. As she walked to the wardrobe where the packers had put the clothes that she had sent over before her arrival, she saw some of the other clothes left by the Hollywood actress who owned the house. They were all hanging in plastic dry cleaning wrapping. Willow flipped through them. All Chanel. Then she remembered the actress was the face of the newest Chanel perfume. She pulled out the bags of clothes and laid them on the bed carefully. All of the pieces were amazing, and she almost salivated at the fabrics and styles. It had been a while since she had bought any new things. Lucy said she could get her lots of free clothes, but Willow felt uneasy about being beholden to anyone. She had borrowed dresses but hadn’t accepted anything free. Nothing was free, her father used to tell her, and she knew that was true now. Besides, one day she would have the money again to buy her own clothes, and she looked forward to that day. Meanwhile, she wondered if the actress would mind if she borrowed a few things.

Slipping on a pair of tight leather pants, almost like leggings, she put on a white silk singlet over the top. A Chanel jacket with bracelet-length sleeves covered in dull, matte sequins fitted perfectly, and Willow put on her black leather high-heeled boots with dull gold leather toes. She felt sexy and powerful. Flipping her long hair over her shoulders, she applied another slick of her Blessings lipstick in nude and sprayed herself with her Kai perfume.

The Porsche was surprisingly comfortable and Willow wondered where Kerr had got the money for such a lovely and expensive car as she drove towards the studio, Kerr’s satellite navigation telling her the way in a polite American accent.

As she pulled up to the studio gates and gave her name, she was directed to a bungalow and she parked out the front. Getting out of the car, she dropped her bag and swore.

‘Fuck a duck,’ she said, using Merritt’s favourite expression. Seeing her lipstick had rolled out under the car, she got back in, angrily started it and drove quickly backwards, feeling the power of the engine underneath her. She spun the car around, opened the door with the engine still running, reached out and grabbed her lipstick and then parked again, zipping her bag up to be safe.

She got out and slammed the car door and, flipping her hair, she walked towards the bungalow. She could see faces at the window watching her and she cursed her errant driving under her breath. Americans were fastidious about car safety, and she had just been driving like she was in a PlayStation game.

‘Hello; Willow Carruthers,’ she said to the man at the door.

‘Tim Galvin – call me TG,’ he said, smiling. ‘Come in.’

Willow walked into the room and saw three men and a woman sitting down.

‘Thanks for seeing me,’ said Willow.

‘No problem,’ said the producer, who introduced himself as Tom. ‘Actually, things have changed a little since we spoke to your agent in the UK. We don’t need a female love interest any more,’ he said, and Willow felt her heart sink as she pictured her big paycheque fly out the window.

‘OK,’ she said slowly, ‘well thanks for seeing me anyway. If you have anything else slated I would be interested.’

TG interrupted, ‘No, actually I think it’s a good thing. Research shows that women want to see stronger women in film roles. The films with Sapphira De Mont, Angelina Jolie, Uma Thurman made big money. So the studio has decided that they want the film to have a female star with a male love interest.’

Willow sat stunned. ‘OK, like Sigourney Weaver or Linda Hamilton, but with sex?’

‘Exactly!’ shouted TG. He turned to the group. ‘I told you she would get it.

‘I want to make a sexy, fun and dangerous film. I haven’t made one of these in a long time, and I can’t wait to get my teeth back into it again. And Willow, the only person whose name kept coming up to play this role is you.’

Willow shook her head. ‘Really? Wow. I’m flattered. Tell me about the film,’ she said.

TG stood up. He always worked the pitches well. ‘It’s about a woman who was a secret agent who’s become a stay-at-home mom. When her much-loved husband turns out to be a secret agent and then goes missing, she takes it upon herself to find him and take on the bad guys. It’s a parody on the working mom theme, struggling to be good at everything but her dramas are actually life threatening.’

‘So she’s trying to get childcare while in the middle of a shootout type of thing,’ laughed Willow.

‘Oh my god, have you read the script?’ shouted TG. ‘That scene is in there!’

The room laughed with relief; TG was right. Willow was the perfect person to play this role. It had been confirmed when they saw her rock the Porsche in the parking lot like it was a golf cart, and her appearance in leather and sequins was astonishing.

‘No, I haven’t read it but I live it,’ said Willow to the room. ‘I’m a single mother to three.’

‘Well if you take the role, we would love your feedback on the script,’ said Tom. ‘We would give you a writing credit of course.’