I'll Be Home For Christmas. Abbey Clancy
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and they love the bones of me. I know they’re always 100 per cent on Team Jessy – even if they’re telling me things I don’t want to hear. The fact that we came close to having a serious falling-out at the end of last year has made me even more aware of how much I owe them, and how much I need them. It’s easy to lose your sense of gravity in this business – and they’re like those big clumpy space boots that astronauts use to keep themselves grounded.
I used the landline to call them, and was greeted by a fake Italian accent: ‘Welcome to Luigi’s House of Pancakes and Pain! What may I do you for?’
‘Luke, why aren’t you in college?’ I asked, immediately. He wants to be a sports physio, and is doing his A-levels at the moment. Loosely speaking.
‘Study morning,’ he replied.
‘So you’re sitting in your room playing “Call of Duty”?’
‘Yup! Do you want Dad? Mum’s round at Becky’s, looking after Ollie. And can you get me tickets to the Dua Lipa tour? And can you arrange for me to meet her as well?’
‘Yes, I want to speak to Dad, and no, I can’t get you a date with Dua Lipa. Or maybe I can. I don’t know. Leave it with me.’
‘Cool. I’ll get Dad. He’s watching the Formula 1 highlights and cutting his toenails.’
He left me with that charming and achingly familiar image and, within a few seconds, Dad picked up the phone. He’s a big man, my father, tall and bulky, all of it topped off with a shiny bare head and a face that is usually smiling. He’s known – mainly by himself – as the Bald Eagle, but is actually called Phil. He’s a taxi driver, and has an endless supply of stories, which all start with the same words: ‘I had this bloke/girl/alpaca in the back of my cab the other night. . .’
‘All right, love?’ he said immediately, the roaring sound of cars pointlessly driving round a track floating over the line from the telly in the background. I was struck by an urge to just get on the train and go home. To sit with my dad, and listen to his stories, and feel like everything was right with the world. I’m lucky to have that kind of refuge, that kind of security – and to know that if I wanted to, I could give all of this up, get a job in the local McDonald’s, and go back to being their Jessy. They’d love me just as much.
‘Yeah, all good, Dad. Just wanted to hear your voice.’
‘Oh! Well, that usually means you’re trying to find your way out of a shit storm – what’s wrong? If it’s girl stuff and you want your mum, she’s round at our Becky’s, adoring Prince Ollie.’
‘How’s he doing?’ I asked, smiling at the thought of my chubby nephew.
‘Brilliant. I swear to God he’s put on about a stone in the last week. He’ll be nicking my tins of Guinness before I know it. How’s the world of show business treating you? Saw a picture of you in a copy of Hello! magazine that got left in the back of the cab the other night. Your mother was worried you weren’t wearing enough clothes to keep your circulation going.’
‘Ha! I never wore much more on nights out clubbing in Liverpool either, Dad – it’s just that you never saw a picture of it in Hello! magazine. I’m fine, honest. It’s. . .well, just work stuff. Busy, you know? And. . .well, I’ve had an offer to go and work in the States with someone and I’m not sure what to do about it.’
There was a pause and the sound of the racing cars died down as he used the remote control. I hadn’t intended to talk to him about the America thing – to be honest, I hadn’t had a clue what I wanted to talk to him about, but that was the first thing that came out of my mouth. It was better than whingeing on about Jack and Vogue and Daniel. Mum and Dad had a vague idea that something had gone wrong with Jack, but as they’d never known we were a couple – Jack insisted on keeping it a secret, for reasons that later became obvious – they’d also never known the full story.
That was fine by me. The last thing I needed was my dad turning up in his Army & Navy Stores camo trousers and trying to knock Jack’s block off – much as the idea felt appealing right now.
‘How long would you be gone for, then, love? It wouldn’t be permanent, would it?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know at this stage, I’ve only just been asked. Could be a weekend, could be a month. It’s a great opportunity, but, you know. . .’
‘I know. You’d have to leave Daniel, and us, and that’s scary.’
As ever, he’d hit the nail right on the head. He might not have any university degrees to his name, but the Bald Eagle is as sharp as they come.
It was scary – on all kinds of levels. But right then, feeling the way I was about people I’d trusted, it was sounding a bit less scary, and a bit more like an escape hatch.
‘Yeah. Scary. But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong, does it?’
‘No,’ he replied, quickly. ‘Sometimes it means it’s right. I was bloody terrified when your mother told me she was pregnant with Becky – and now I’m a doting grandad! I suppose you just have to trust your instincts, love. They’ve never let you down yet.’
He was, of course, wrong on that front. My instincts about Jack had definitely let me down. And, maybe, my instincts about Vogue. I couldn’t quite put Daniel in that category, but I couldn’t deny I was having a bit of a wobble about him either.
‘What does Daniel think about it all?’ he asked, when I didn’t answer him – I was too distracted pondering how crap my instincts were.
‘Well . . . I haven’t told him yet.’
‘That’s where you start, then, isn’t it? He knows you. He knows the business. He’s a sensible lad, and he’ll be honest with you.’
I knew my dad meant well, but it was possibly the worst thing to say right then. Because that was exactly the problem – this whole thing with Jack, with Daniel having his suspicions about it and keeping them to himself, was making me question exactly how honest our relationship was. Plus, on my side, I’d been hiding the Cooper Black thing from him.
I mean, what would our Billy goat Gandalf say about all of that? I think he’d have been disappointed in me for keeping secrets.
‘You’re right, Dad. I’ll speak to him, talk it over.’
‘Good girl. You do that. And whatever you decide, love, you know we’re 100 per cent on your side, don’t you? Always.’
‘Always – I know. Love you, Dad!’
‘Love you too, Jessy. And put more clothes on, all right? You’ll catch your death.’
Obviously, I felt better after that. But not better enough to talk to Daniel, not just yet. Instead, I went down to the basement to find Neale, my stylist and friend. Neale also knows me, and he knows the business, and more to the point, I knew he’d have a secret stash of chocolate, which I desperately needed. Nothing cheers a girl up quite like a KitKat.
I walked into his domain to find him plastered in make-up, listening to R. Kelly being played extremely loud through his speakers.
Now, Neale is gay, but he’s never tried this before – at least not so far as I know. I stared at his multicoloured cheeks and brightly painted eyelids and glitter-coated lips and was lost for words. It all looked very weird – especially as Neale is a short, slender man with close-cropped dark hair and trendy glasses. He looked like he was about to march in the Nerd Pride Parade.
‘Just trying out some new samples!’ he said quickly, turning the music lower and gesturing to all the cosmetics spread out on the dressing table. ‘They all get sent to me for free – honestly, Jess, it’s like a real-life fairy tale!’
OK, I thought, we all have our different versions of happiness, and this was clearly his. I flumped down onto one of the beanbags he had scattered around the still-not-renovated room, and looked at him imploringly.
‘I