Authors: Kate Kray
Aunt Madge shook her head, a little less impressed. ‘Not until today.’
Ruby dissolved into giggles. ‘You actually took your clothes off, Mum?
All
of them? What on earth were you thinking! I
never
would guess that you’d
ever
do that.’ Looking at Aunt Madge again, who was keeping busy, brushing out the tangles in Dibble’s coat. ‘Why aren’t you as surprised as me?’
Aunt Madge tried to play it down. She shrugged, appearing to be more interested in the small dog that was perched on her lap. Of course, Rosie knew that, in reality, she was trying not to make a big issue out it. She was well aware of how she must be feeling after making such an enormous and personal admission.
‘Well… I surprised
myself
,’ Rosie assured her.
Ruby drew up and dropped her shoulders abruptly, gesturing indifference. ‘Who cares?’ she said, trying to act all grown up. ‘It’s so out there! My mother, the major sex symbol. It’s so wild!’
Rosie gave her a reassuring smile. Although she was relieved that Ruby was taking it so well, she was reminded how young and naïve her daughter was. Bless her, she really didn’t understand the dark, dangerous world that her mother had entered.
Meanwhile, in Maidstone Prison, Johnny sat on the bunk in his cell, staring at the white envelope in his hand. He knew it was from Rosie – he recognised her neat handwriting immediately. He turned the envelope slowly in his hands, over and over again. Considering how their last face-to-face had gone, he honestly hadn’t expected any more letters from her.
He scrutinised the envelope as it turned, as if he could somehow divine its contents without opening it. Was it a ‘I’ve made a terrible mistake – I love you’ letter? Or the ‘I want a divorce’ letter?
Let’s face it, it’s probably the second one
.
Johnny saw that his palms were sweating again, so he wiped them on his trousers before sliding a finger under the flap and tearing open the envelope. Pulling out the white, sweet-smelling paper, he began to read:
Dear Johnny,
I hope you are well. Ruby is fine and doing extremely well at school, she sends her love and a big kiss. I expect you’re wondering why I am writing this. Well, I have some good news – no, fantastic news. You know how hard I trained to become an actress, well all that training and hard work has finally paid off. I have been cast in a leading role in a new period drama, playing Eliza Dolittle in
My Fair Lady.
I know you have never given my career much thought, but to me it’s the big break I have been dreaming about.
Johnny took a breath and held it.
So far so good.
I wanted to write and tell you out of respect to you, so you wouldn’t hear the news from someone else. As you can imagine, Rube is totally ecstatic at the prospect of having a famous mum.
There is a second reason for me writing to you, Johnny.
Here we go
, thought Johnny,
it’s the big heave-ho
. With hands that were beginning to shake – with some kind of emotion, but he suspected it was anger – he continued to read…
As you can imagine, I will be getting some coverage on television and in the red tops. For obvious reasons, your name and predicament will be mentioned. Not by me, but by prying journalists trying to dig the dirt. The production
company will put a spin on the story and minimise the impact. I have been assured it will be dealt with better if I come clean about the story myself, rather than wait for it to break. You being in prison is something we cannot hide, so we will have to deal with it when it comes. But I promise you that I will not bad mouth you in any way, shape or form.
Johnny shrugged. He didn’t care if people knew that he was in prison. Why should he? It was just an occupational hazard and came with the territory.
There’s something else that might come out in the papers. Something that you might not like, Johnny, but I have decided be honest with you. I worked a couple of nights at the Keyhole Club in Mayfair. Not doing anything wrong, but in the office doing the books
.
Well, I’m signing off now, Johnny. Ruby is running late, and I have to learn my lines. I will write again, and let you know when your famous wife will be on the TV.
Take care, ’bye for now
Rosie and Ruby.
Obviously, Johnny knew exactly what the Keyhole was all about, but he didn’t for one minute consider that Rosie would work – as in ‘work’ – there. But as for shuffling some papers in the office, well, Johnny could accept that. In fact, he wondered why Rosie felt the need to mention it at all.
The most important aspect of the letter was what it
didn’t
say: it wasn’t the ‘Dear John’ that he’d be dreading. He re-read it four times, searching for something, anything, that might indicate that Rosie was still in love with him. He tried to convince himself that, because Rosie had written ‘
your
famous wife’, she would be waiting for him on the outside.
His brother Eddie had visited him in prison the week before, to discuss a new ‘business venture’, and had done his best to persuade Johnny that Rosie was ‘just like any bird’.
‘Okay, maybe she won’t get back with you… but who cares? She’s not all that!’ he had said. ‘But she’ll probably come crawling back at some point.’
Women were, Eddie told him, ‘funny bloody creatures’ who ‘change their mind every fucking five minutes’. Johnny had not shared his brother’s confidence. Worse still, he couldn’t help but feel that Eddie was hiding something from him. The way he talked about Rosie was unusually involved.
‘I’m not so sure,’he had said, ‘she’s seems to have made her mind up all right.’
‘Listen to me,’ Eddie had told him, ‘she’s just having one of her little moments. She’s probably got the painters and decorators in.’ They had both laughed at that one. ‘Give the dozy mare a bit of time, she’ll be okay. She’s Rosie
Mullins
remember?’
‘Honestly, I’m up to my eyes with costume fittings, hair consultations and don’t get me started on the publicity. And I’ve got
so
many lines to learn before the big, pre-shoot meeting on the twenty-first. You should see the size of the script! I need a memory like Rain Man to remember all this.’
Rosie heard Stevie’s unmistakable laugh. It was so loud she almost dropped her mobile.
‘So,’ Stevie asked, ‘have there been any shocking revelations in the papers about Rosie Mullins and her disgraceful behaviour?’
‘Very funny. No, actually. The press release only went out this morning. But apparently the publicist, Elsie, has already been inundated with interview requests. Well, sex sells, I suppose? I’m due to record a GMTV piece later today.’
‘Where are you now?’ Stevie asked.
‘I’m in the back of a cab, about to be late for a lunch with Stella Evans. Andrew warned me that she’s a bit of an ogre.’
‘Right,’ said Stevie, sarcastically, ‘like you’re scared of ogres. You’re married to one, and you’ve got an even bigger one for a brother-in-law. Speaking of which, how have they reacted to everything?’
‘In actual fact, Johnny has been really cool about it. At least, I think he has. He’s left quite a few messages, but none of them were too awful or anything. He even said “Good luck with the film, then”,’ Rosie said, doing an eerily accurate impersonation of him.
‘Well, that’s a turn up for the books, isn’t it? He’s proud of you, I suppose.’
‘Pigs might fly! If the truth be known, I think he has other things on his mind. He mentioned that Eddie’s been to see him about some deal that they’ve got going down.’
‘Anyway, enough about him. When are you likely to see this Andrew Curly-Wurly again?’
‘Brook-Fields.’
‘Well, whatever his name is.’
Feeling a pleasurable flip in her tummy, Rosie said, ‘Actually, not until the pre-shoot meeting – in a couple of weeks.’
‘Well, it sounds like you’re keeping busy.’
‘It’s amazing. Half the time I’m pinching myself to make sure its real, the other half I’m frantic, convinced that it’s all about to come crashing down around me.’
‘When does filming start?’
‘Monday. Honestly, Stevie, part of me is absolutely dreading sitting down and watching it. After all this hype, expectations are going to be so high, I can’t see how I can live up to them.’
No sooner had Rosie and Stevie said their goodbyes and hung up, another call came in. Seeing the publicist’s name flashing on the display screen of her mobile, Rosie pressed the ‘answer’ button immediately.
‘Hi Elsie!’ she said chirpily.
‘Hi yourself. Now, you are needed at the Dorchester, to do an interview and photo shoot for the
Mail
.’
‘When?’ asked Rosie, fumbling in her bag for her diary.
‘Sorry to put this on you at such short notice, but how about now? It’s just come up. You’re already booked in at hotel for a brief shoot at three-thirty, so it works out okay. Tom is going to be joining you for that, and the stylist is on her way. Costume have put some clobber a taxi, which is on its way, and –’
‘Hang on, hang on!’ Rosie cried. ‘I thought I was recording the GMTV interview at five?’
‘That’s been changed. They’re doing it tomorrow morning now, live.’
‘Oh my God! Look, before I forget, can you tell Stella? I was meant to meet her for lunch.’
‘Already done,’ proclaimed Elsie, proudly. ‘Where are you now?’
‘I’m heading down the Mall, towards Trafalgar Square,’ said Rosie, glancing out of the window. Have I got time for lunch?’
‘No, no, no. I’ll make sure there’s something waiting for you at the Dorchester, okay? Got to go now, the phones are going crazy. Call if you need anything.’
Then she was gone. Elsie was a force of nature. Although Rosie had known her for less than a month, she was already, hands down, the most energetic person she had ever come across. With her head spinning, Rosie redirected the cab, and noted the GMTV interview in her diary. As she wrote ‘live i/v – GMTV’, she already knew she would probably have a sleepless night. It might be stressful, thought Rosie, but this is living.
Considering that they hadn’t even started shooting, it was phenomenal how much press she had received. True, she had always wanted to be a success and stand on her own two feet, but, as the cab pulled up outside the grand entrance of the Dorchester, Rosie felt uneasy. She couldn’t forget the advice that Aunt Madge had given her all those years ago:
Things that go up quickly usually come down with a huge bump
.
I
t was visiting day for Johnny again, and Eddie and Hate-’em-all-Harry were on their way to see him. Hate-’em-all, a big man with large cauliflower ears and a nose as wide as a double wardrobe, was like Eddie’s shadow – the brothers’ most loyal friend.
Maidstone Prison, one of Britain’s oldest jails, is situated right in the very heart of the town. Maidstone itself is well known for its appalling one-way system, with the prison acting as an island, around which the constant stream of traffic is filtered. So, wherever you want to get to in town, you’ll pass HMP Maidstone. The traffic whizzes around the nick, with most of the drivers oblivious of the secret world that goes on behind those tall, cold walls. A few of the cells actually overlook the main road, which, for long-term prisoners, makes their sentence even more difficult, as they can personally witness life carrying on outside. And Tuesdays are the worst of all – that’s market day in Maidstone. The hustle and bustle of the market penetrates the walls of the imposing, stone fortress, and echoes through the minds of each and every man inside.
Hate-’em-all was chauffeuring Eddie in his pride and joy, a silver Mercedes SL500 with a personalized number plate – EDM1. Throughout the journey from London to Maidstone, Eddie was, as ever, very critical of the way Hate-’em-all was driving. Every time he pushed, pulled and crunched the gears, Eddie would throw him a ‘sideways filthy’.
‘It’s a gearbox, not a fucking jukebox.’
A light rain was falling as they parked and made their way to the huge, medieval-looking oak gates. The journey had not been an easy one, and the reason was that Eddie and Harry loathed visiting anyone in prison, even Johnny. They hated the degrading routine of the endless security checks.
The security was incredibly thorough. First, images of their faces would be electronically transmitted onto a security badge, and their hands placed onto a machine which took an impression. Next, they had to empty their pockets and take off their jackets, which were, in turn, put through an X-ray machine. Then, they would have to go through a metal detector, into a small side-room, where they would be searched from top to toe, including their mouths and under their tongues. Next, it would be back to the corridor, where they would stand still, with their arms by their sides, while a sniffer dog checked for illegal substances. Then on past several more checkpoints, their handprints checked and double checked. Eventually, they would go through a turnstile… like the ones at football matches. A final check of hands, and they would be escorted into the visiting hall and told to sit.