not a performer. So if there had been no husband, if there had been less of an obligation to marry and settle down, if I had been free as a bird like you are now, you beautiful young girl, that is the first place I would go. That would be my love-stolen dream. And if I was there I would cross my fingers and all my toes and hope that love never showed up so I could stay there forever.
grandma’s villa | pepperpots life sanctuary
‘We will do everything possible to make sure you keep your job. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to the ghostwriting team at True Love. Your writing equals a young Barbara Cartland,’ and other such platitudes had spouted from the mouth of Federico as soon as we realised the trouble I was in. Then we’d jumped in my car and driven straight to see Grandma Josephine at Pepperpots Life Sanctuary, the most exclusive old people’s home in Western Europe2. There’d been no mention of Federico’s involvement in my current predicament. No, we’d skipped over that like Dorothy sprint-hurdling down the Yellow Brick Road. But within seconds of actually arriving at Grandma’s villa Team Kate had fractured, with Federico knocking me to the floor as he pelted down the hallway diving head first into Grandma’s impressive walk-in wardrobe. He re-emerged a few seconds later screaming, ‘Where’s the Chanel?’ before dragging most of the contents into the middle of Grandma’s enormous open-plan lounge. He spent the rest of the afternoon trying on an assortment of different furs, spinning backwards and forwards on the spot like one of those figurines in a music box.
‘Well, I told her to start small,’ Federico said, trying on his third fur. ‘Didn’t I, Kat-kins? I said, “Make Chad think it was his idea,” but she went ahead and did it anyway, yes she did, like a boisterous young bullock filled with his first flush of hormones.’ He took a sip from a large Margarita and threw on another fur. And just for the record he’d done no such thing. He’d said, ‘Go big, Kat-kins!’ high-fived me, poured an Appletini down my throat then substituted my diligently ghost-written True Love reader story for a two-page advert inviting the readers to get in touch and share their Love-Stolen Dreams. But apparently the truth held no place in Grandma’s colossal lakeside villa.
‘What we don’t understand,’ Grandma began, her best friend Beatrice nodding along, ‘is why Chad will just assume it was Kate.’ Beatrice and Grandma were dressed head-to-foot in black Lycra Parkour3 outfits and looked like Bond girls for the over-80s. ‘Federico, you must tell this Chad someone else submitted the advert. He’ll listen to you.’
‘I see your point, Josephine, yes, I do,’ Federico said, collapsing into a pile of dark brown furs, looking like the walnut on top of a giant Walnut Whip. ‘But if we are stood in Truth Town, Josephine, and it feels like we are, Chad doesn’t always listen to me in the work environment, no he does not. In fact sometimes that handsome mountain of a man doesn’t listen to me at all. But that is a totally different work drama of mine and today isn’t about me, it’s about Kat-kins, but let’s just say if we are touching on the subject, and it feels like we are, that I need to work on establishing better boundaries; emotionally, professionally and sexually.’ He whispered that last word before sipping on yet another Margarita. I was still dry as a pre-ignited bush fire. ‘And Chad thinks it’s Kat-kins because she presented the idea to him a few months ago.’ He passed Grandma a piece of paper that I recognised as my colourful and mostly felt-tip-based A3 presentation. Grandma unrolled the paper then shielded her eyes.
‘I know,’ Federico said as he scurried to the other side of the room to try on what looked like a man’s dark blue blazer. ‘It’s like she’s taken it to the local preschool and asked a group of mentally challenged under-5s to create her important business proposal for her. Did you do that, Kat-kins, did you?’
‘I thought I’d brought you up better than this, Kate.’ Grandma tutted, holding the presentation in my face. Personally I think it’s hard to quantify whether Grandma brought me up better than a colourful A3 presentation. Certainly she brought me up better than my parents, but they are really odd and thankfully almost constantly away. They call themselves Peaceful Extreme Non-Violent Dangerous Environmental Activists (PENDEAs) but I know that they are not non-violent and last week I saw images of them on Channel 4 News. They were wielding machetes on the deck of a recently impounded aid ship entering the Gaza Strip. Dad had face paint on, Rambo-style. I don’t know you well enough to tell you what my mother was doing, but let’s just say that occasionally she feels exposing her breasts is the best way to evoke peace. So my upbringing was better than hanging about with them, but better than a colourful A3 presentation? I wasn’t 100% sure.
‘Well, Kate, there is only one way you can save your job,’ Grandma said as she threw my presentation in the fireplace and lit a match, the felt-tip-covered page burning with a greeny-orange flame. ‘You must find something impressive to write about so that Chad doesn’t want you to leave.’
‘By tomorrow?’ I guffawed. ‘I’ve got more chance of inventing a time machine and catapulting myself back into the past.’
‘Well, she could write about that lovely Delaware,’ Beatrice suggested. ‘People always like to hear news about her.’
‘Delaware!’ Grandma nodded before punching the air victoriously. ‘You must speak to Delaware O’Hunt!’
‘Why would Kate be able to interview Delaware O’Hunt?’ Federico said, grabbing hold of Beatrice’s shoulders. ‘Why, I ask you? Why?’ He was trying to stay calm but he was shaking her quite violently.
‘Because she lives next door,’ Grandma said, walking out to her terrace and peering over the fence, ‘and normally she pops in for vino before her jazz fusion rock dance class.’
‘How did we not know about this, Kat-kins?’ Federico shout-whispered. ‘The most media-shy actress from the golden age of film living here, next door to Grandma, and you let me come here, drink Margaritas, eat lovely sushi wraps, of which there doesn’t appear to be any today,’ he said, looking about the place, ‘and we never knew about Delaware? This is slapdash, Kat-kins! Totally slapdash!’ He placed his forehead against the window overlooking the next-door villa. ‘I love her,’ he quietly wailed to himself as his breath created misty patches on the glass. ‘I completely love her.’
You see, Delaware O’Hunt wasn’t just an actress. She’s a screen idol of the 1950s. She made more movies than any other actress, starred with all the greats, made plays, musicals, films, won an Oscar, got married, then divorced. She had a tumultuous love life and wore the most incredible clothes. In fact there is nothing in Delaware O’Hunt’s current wardrobe that I wouldn’t run over hot coals to wear even now she is a proper pensioner. But I can’t for a second imagine how love negatively affected the gorgeous Delaware. Love was all around her; love chased her down the street; love made posters of her; documentaries about her; sang about her. She was a world-famous actress, one of the greatest of the greats. It didn’t look as if love stole anything at all.
‘Darling, she doesn’t seem to be in so why don’t you pop back at the weekend and I’ll arrange for you to have a chat? Federico, if you come early we can go rock climbing together.’
‘Thank you, Josephine, thank you.’ He was speaking like a 1940s actor. ‘I’ll be back at the weekend, first thing, first thing I tell you.’ He punched the air with Delaware-inspired enthusiasm. ‘Oh, and Josephine,’ he said, extracting himself from the dark blue blazer that looked in my opinion to be from Hugo Boss Menswear, ‘I L.O.V.E. the jacket. It’s so on point. Try it, Kat-kins, try it,’ he said, passing it to me. ‘Girl in Boy is black to last season’s pattern on print.’
‘Oh, that’s not Josephine’s jacket,’ giggled Beatrice. ‘He thinks it’s your jacket! No, that’s Peter’s jacket, isn’t it? He left
