TODAY, I’M ASISSTING my boss, Natalie Wood, on my first big job and I can’t afford to mess it up. After I’ve dropped Lyla off at Early Risers Club (an hour earlier drop-off for parents who work or who just want to have sixty minutes’ more reprieve in their lives, so no PSMs at all today), I have to race home to gather up my kit and make sure my face looks socially acceptable and not like a three-week-old potato. For some reason, I’m having a wobble about going to work today. I haven’t been on a job since just before Christmas, and insecurity is creeping in.That just leaves space for The Emptiness to rear its ugly head. Not today, please not today!
Natalie and I need to be at the studio by eleven to help set up. Simon is collecting Lyla from school today, so after a stern word with myself I decide I feel quite excited about get stuck in with some adult time and doing something I’m good at.
Natalie arrives at ten thirty sharp and waits on the drive for me to come out with my kit. I hate to make her wait, so I’m ready at the door with my shoes on as if I’m a cheeky little six-year-old waiting to be taken out for ice cream. Natalie’s silver Range Rover is spacious and dust-free, quite the opposite to my messy little Micra. I throw my case in the giant boot, jump in and we drive straight off. Even though we’ve known each other for four years, it would be weird if she came into my house. Our relationship isn’t like that. I’ve been to her trendy three-storey townhouse a couple of times to drop bits of kit off that have been mixed up in our cases, but never just to socialise. Natalie always says it’s important to have boundaries, and she’s so right. As she is about everything! We work together and respect each other, and it just works.
Honestly, Natalie astounds me. First, she’s absolutely gorgeous. Imagine Michelle Obama but even more gracious and kind. Dark brown skin and shoulder-length jet-black hair that I have seen in so many styles, each one perfectly suiting her; deep brown eyes that exude wisdom and lips so full she can wear any shade and look sensational. She always looks immaculate. Second, she has three perfect teenage sons, Nathan, Daniel and Maxwell, who are all doing amazingly at school and university; a phenomenal husband in Martin, who has happily let his career take a back seat and cared for the boys while she established and grew the agency; and she totally rocks her job. She started straight out of school on the make-up counters at Debenhams, then went freelance as a make-up artist and then, just before her first son, Nathan, was born, set up the agency, MADE IT. She’s calm and generous, and ambitious. Natalie is basically a goddess. I’ve no idea how she does it, but she’s the woman who has it all. I want to learn from her. Oh, fuck it, I want to be her!
I met her through Lacey. Martin used to work with Karl in the City (before he left to support Natalie and handle the childcare), and after my split with Simon, Lacey put in a good word so I could pick up a few agency jobs here and there. At first they were very sporadic, but that’s exactly what I needed. With a two-year-old at my feet almost every day, it was near impossible to work solidly and I could only ask Kath to do so much. The times I did take on jobs, though, were brilliant. I kept my foot in the door, had some time talking with adults and, most importantly, kept that creative outlet open. Three years later, here I am – assisting the agency director on some exciting shoots.
We arrive on set early, and while Natalie confidently walks over to talk to the photographer about his creative vision, I lay out all the kit: apparently the director now wants the models’ hair to embody the movement of the tea as it’s poured into the cups. I can see the hairstylists, Chloe and Jodi, at their station frantically searching through Instagram for ideas now that the pre-agreed tight, clean bun has been thrown out the window.
We decide that deep berry-coloured eyeliner and a lot of bronzer seems to be the look that says ‘fruit tea’ on a human face. Initially they wanted to go for a deep (sludgy) brown on the lips, but after an under-the-breath comment about ‘shit for lips’ from a runner (who won’t be invited back for the next shoot), the seed of doubt was sown in the directors’ minds and a nude gloss was applied instead.
The eight models (eight flavours of tea to be embodied, after all) glide in and we begin. We work together seamlessly, having danced this dance many a time before. I’m pumped that Natalie liked the ideas I put forward from my research yesterday. Today she askes me to prep each face with moisturiser, serum, primer and foundation, before she takes over to complete with eyeliners, shadows, brows, lashes and lips.
As the models are called on set, we stand back behind the soft box lights and gigantic tripods ready to be called on for any touch-ups. This is a lovely part of any working day. Less intense, time for a bit of conversation while watching photographers make their magic.
Natalie leans over and whispers. ‘How did Lyla get on with her horse riding?’
My heart sinks. In a move I now think Finola would approve of, I’d taken Lyla, before Christmas, to the local stables for her first ride only to find Lyla completely detests the sport (before the move to Hesgrove I’d never have considered putting Lyla on a horse, but I was so determined she’d fit in). I don’t know exactly what motivated her to shout very loudly as we arrived, ‘I bloody hate ponies! I want to go home!’ and then start to cry, but I was mortified. One, that we’d offended the stable owners, and two, that she’d sworn. I mumbled something about her hearing it from her dad (they’ll never know) and left at speed, red-faced and forty quid – forty quid! – down.
‘Oh … er … Really great, thank you! She loved it!’
‘Do you think you’ll keep it up?’
‘Yes, I think so. Lyla has such a lovely bond with animals,’ I lie. I probably won’t admit to my boss that my child couldn’t give a shit about the natural world and that I worry it’s because she’s been emotionally stunted by her father leaving me when she was a baby.
‘Well, you’ll do better than me, then. I used to try and take Nathan before Daniel came along, but no matter what I did, he didn’t care for it. He cried and cried. We quickly gave up and I realised I was far better off leaving him to play at his crèche while I got some work done than I was forcing him to develop an unwanted bond with a pony.’
Oh. Could have just told her the truth there. I keep forgetting she’s normal and not actually Superwoman – or a PSM.
‘How’s Nathan getting on at Oxford?’ Naturally Natalie’s eldest son is in his second year at a top university studying Engineering Science.
‘Really well, he still loves it! Daniel’s been looking into a rugby scholarship for next year, so it’s all go. Four more years and Maxwell will fly the nest, so it’ll just be me and Martin left. We’re thinking about doing some travelling together,’ she replies calmly and smoothly, and without a hint of arrogance or smugness.
‘Oh, how nice. That’ll be lovely. And well done to Daniel.’ God, she’s lucky. Three high-achieving boys and a fit husband to go travelling with! I can’t wait to grow up and be a Natalie.
Maybe sensing my silent wishes, she straightens up to prepare for the next touch-ups and says, kindly: ‘Just you wait till Lyla grows up and heads off. You’ll look back on these days of shoots and school runs and miss them. Come on, let’s tackle these touch-ups.’
As we pack up I feel good about my day. For the first time in a long while I think I’ve done well. The Emptiness didn’t come and claim me. It’s a refreshing change not to feel like I’m blundering through my life, but actually controlling it.
I don’t know how I’ll do it yet, but as we drive home I resolve I’m going to find a way to make better use of my skills.