‘You’ll be fine, honey. You’ll be an amazing model …’
‘It’s not a fait accompli, Liza,’ Will remarks.
‘Oh, Dad.’ Rosie rolls her eyes. ‘You did some modelling, didn’t you, Grandma? Weren’t you in pageants or something when you were young?’
Gloria purses her lips. ‘That’s the American term. We called them beauty contests and yes, I did take part in a few …’
‘You’re beautiful, Gloria,’ Liza says truthfully. ‘I can imagine you all glammed up.’
‘Wasn’t it fun?’ Rosie asks. Gloria pauses to tip the rest of her wine down her throat, seemingly without making any swallowing motion at all.
‘No,’ she says finally, ‘it certainly wasn’t.’
We all stare at her. ‘Why not?’ Ollie asks.
‘Was it horribly pressurised?’ Will enquires gently. ‘I can imagine it was a very competitive world.’
She emits a little cough, as if preparing to make an important announcement. ‘No, it wasn’t that. I was very successful actually. I was Miss Foil Wrap in 1972 …’ To avoid an attack of the giggles, I focus hard on the deliciousness of Will’s glazed carrots.
‘What’s foil wrap?’ Ollie wants to know.
‘You know, foil,’ I explain, ‘like you wrap a chicken in.’
Confused, Ollie peers at her. ‘Why did they have a “Miss Foil Wrap”?’
‘I was a brand ambassador,’ Gloria says grandly. ‘For the sashing ceremony I wore a dress entirely made of foil.’
‘Wow,’ Rosie breathes. ‘Bet that was amazing.’
‘Very futuristic,’ Will says with a grin, but Gloria’s face has clouded. Maybe she thinks he’s taking the piss. She has that effect: of making those around her feel intensely uncomfortable, without actually doing very much. I note that, while the rest of us have been tucking into Will’s delicious roast dinner, she has consumed a sliver of chicken roughly the size of a fingernail clipping.
‘Actually,’ she says, ‘it wasn’t. An unfortunate incident happened, but I don’t want to talk about it in front of the children.’ Now, of course, we’re all agog.
‘We’re not children,’ Rosie points out gently. ‘I’m sixteen, Grandma. I’m not shockable, honest …’
Gloria shakes her head and pushes away her plate.
‘Did the foil rip?’ Ollie asks. ‘Did everyone see your—’
‘Ollie,’ I say sharply, although I’m as keen as he is to hear the story. ‘Just leave it, love. I don’t think Grandma wants to—’
‘I mean,’ he goes on, mouth crammed with roast potato, ‘foil’s just thin aluminium. We did the properties of metals at school. I s’pose it’s good for a dress, though, ’cause it doesn’t rust …’
Will clears his throat. ‘I think we can move on from the foil now, Ollie.’
‘No,’ Gloria says tersely, ‘it’s quite all right. I will tell you what happened, but only because I hope it’ll serve as a warning to Rosie.’
A rapt silence descends, interrupted only by the rustle of Guinness shuffling about in his box. ‘Grandma …?’ Rosie prompts her.
Gloria twiddles her empty glass. ‘I was accosted.’
‘You mean during a contest?’ I gasp, wishing now that we’d never brought this up.
‘No, at a photo call,’ Gloria explains. ‘All the local papers were there. Everyone. It was a major event. All the reporters wanted to talk to me. And there was a nasty little man from the Sorrington Bugle …’
I glance at Will in alarm. Poor Gloria. She’s clearly harboured an unspeakable secret all these years. Maybe that’s what’s caused her to develop a rather critical edge.
‘Mum,’ Will says, ‘you needn’t talk about it. We don’t want to stir up horrible memories for you.’
She peers down at her lap. ‘It’s okay. If Rosie’s even considering modelling, then I think she should know about this …’
‘What did the man do?’ Ollie asks eagerly, tilting his head.
‘He … poked me.’
Oh, Christ. Does that mean what I think it means? Now I’m slugging my wine, Gloria-style.
‘Where?’ Rosie asks, aghast.
‘In the car park in front of everybody.’
‘With his Sorrington Bugle?’ Ollie blurts out, crumpling with laughter.
‘Ollie!’ I bark at him. ‘It’s not funny, you know, being poked—’
‘I mean where in the body, Grandma,’ Rosie explains as I top up the adults’ glasses with wine, except for Will’s, as he’s driving his mother home to East Finchley later. I catch him eyeing the wine bottle greedily.
‘In the bottom, darling,’ Gloria replies, mouthing the word bottom in the way that people say tumour.
‘Were you still wearing the aluminium dress?’ Ollie asks.
‘Yes, that’s right—’
‘Did he make a hole in it with his finger?’
‘Ollie, that’s enough, thank you,’ Will says firmly. ‘I think we’ve heard all we need to about the dress.’
‘So, um … is that why you gave up, Grandma?’ Rosie asks, clearly having difficulty keeping a straight face.
‘Well, no,’ Gloria replies. ‘I became a Mum. Will was my priority and of course, my figure was never the same after that …’
Will catches my eye. Sorry, he mouths, making me smile.
‘So now you know what can happen in the modelling world,’ Gloria adds. ‘It’s not safe, Rosie. There are people out there who’ll want to take advantage of a beautiful young girl like you.’
Rosie turns to me with a stricken face.
‘Of course, Gloria,’ Liza starts, ‘no one should think it’s acceptable to behave in that way …’
‘I agree,’ Will cuts in, ‘so, obviously, Rosie shouldn’t get involved.’
‘What?’ she gasps. ‘You mean we can’t even go to the agency?’
‘Well,’ he starts, ‘I don’t think it’s—’
‘Dad, that’s not fair!
