Page 5 of The Interview
“So, I appreciate you getting all zhuzhed up for the photographs today, and I get it for the actual interview. Believe me, I’m more than aware of how much these lights can wash you out, but when we’re filming the documentary, would you be happy to wear your makeup the way you would on an average day? If you have them. Average days, I mean.” He pauses for a moment, pulling his perfectly sculpted, dark brows down before he asks, “Do youhave average days?”
I give a small laugh before smiling across at him. “Firstly, absolutely a million percent, I’d love to wear less makeup, as long as you’re happy with a bareish face and my hair up in a bun, leggings and a tee, which is how you’ll find me most days. Secondly…” I pause and draw in a breath. “I’m a mum of four. No day is average around here. Well, it didn’t used to be. My lot have all moved out now, so it’s actually very quiet these days, but when they all descend it gets crazy and loud, but definitely not average.”
He’s quiet again as he studies me.
“Is everything okay?” I eventually ask, now feeling paranoid.
“Absolutely. I’m just having a bit of a moment. I know we’ve spoken extensively on the phone, but I just want you to know what an honour this is for me. That you even agreed to theinterview was enough, but then to let us come and film for a couple of weeks…” He trails off.
I shrug and shake my head. “I’m just a girl from Essex who fell in love with a boy who grew up to be a rock star—one of the greatest musicians and lyricists this country, the world, will ever know. Sean was the one with all the talent. There’s nothing special about me.”
“You don’t consider what you do now as talented? The foundation, your fashion line?”
I shrug again. “I have help from my brothers with the foundation, and the fashion lines aren’t really mine. I just collaborate with a few of the big designers and come up with the odd things we sell in our own shops. I design, they create, we sell the goods, and all of the profit goes to the foundation.”
“What about your own fashion line?”
“Most of those designs are by the students we’ve sponsored through fashion school. They’re all offered jobs at the design end of Posh Frocks. Some stay, but some of them don’t need a leg up from us and go on to work for the top fashion houses around the world.”
“But that’s all because ofyou. Kids who would never have had that opportunity are now working in London, Milan, and Paris doing a job they could only have dreamed about growing up on a council estate in Essex, Manchester, Liverpool. You’ve made that happen. Your vision has brought their hopes and dreams to reality.”
I feel pressure on my chest, and my nose tingles as I stare across at him, unsure how to answer. The room has become silent, and I realise that the cameras are rolling.
“I thought we weren’t filming today?” I question.
“Sorry,” Joe, the director I was introduced to earlier, calls out. “I didn’t want to miss your response. We can cut it if you like, your call?”
“All good,” I say, still not sure that I am.
While drawing in an even deeper breath, I compose myself before responding. “I’m fortunate Sean’s legacy provided me with the money that allows me to do that. I also have an amazing family, who are part of the team that make it happen.”
Daniel tilts his head to the side and traces the outline of his lips with his middle finger. “Are you not a part of that team?”
I pull my brows down into as much of a frown as I can muster, given the injectables I had two weeks ago which have kicked in. “Well, yeah, but…”
“No buts, Georgia,” he responds, managing to sound firm but gentle. I feel like I’m being corrected by my mum. “Yes, Sean’s legacy gave you the means, but it’s your acumen as a businesswoman that has made the Triple M Foundation the worldwide success it is.”
I have no control over the tear that escapes and rolls down my cheek. Tallulah is at my side with a box of tissues before I can raise my finger to swipe it away.
“You’re doing great, Mumma. Let’s not ruin your makeup so early in the day,” she orders while dabbing under my eye with a tissue.
“I’m sorry, Georgia. I never meant for that?—”
Lu cuts off whatever Daniel was about to say by giving him what I can only imagine is one of her death stares over her shoulder. “She’s fine. She just doesn’t take praise too well,” she states.
“It’s menopause,” I add, then wonder if that’s too much information. “Is Dad watching?” I ask Lu.
“Who’d you think sent me over here with the tissues? He’s ready to shut the whole thing down.”
“Fuck,” I say quietly.
“Why are you whispering? You’re wearing a mic,” she reminds me.
“Fuck,” I repeat.
“Now, pull your big girl knickers up over your skinny Essex arse and crack on with your usual Essex attitude before Dad kicks the lot of them out,” she orders as Chastity, the makeup artist who arrived with the rest of the crew, dabs under my eyes with powder or some other shit.
I instantly get the giggles. “I thought you were telling me to pull my knickers up over my skinny arse crack,” I explain, and because I’m mic’d up, the sound bloke, the girl touching up my makeup, and anyone else standing close by laugh out loud.
