Chapter 3
FREYA
‘Freya Cassidy. Writer of romance. Purveyor of happily-ever-afters.’ Maud’s heroine, Sonja, the national-treasure, longest-standing presenter of Wake Up Britain, smiles at me, and I dutifully return the smile, remembering to project my chin forward as I do so.
The chin projection is surprisingly difficult but – according to the make-up artist who dusted powder over my face just now – worth it as it’s the best way to ensure as flattering a camera angle as possible at all times.
‘What are your tips for finding a forever love? Your personal tips.’
Accept there’s no such thing and move on, I think.
‘Well,’ I say. ‘Everyone is different, and every love story is different.’ I look at Sonja.
She famously likes actual answers to her actual questions; clearly I’m not going to be able to leave it there.
‘And you’re asking how each person can find their own individual love story.
’ In my experience you can sometimes divert interviewers by repeating their question back at them.
‘Exactly.’ Sonja leans in towards me, her head tilted to one side, an interested, enquiring expression on her face.
She’s good; I now genuinely almost do want to answer her truthfully.
Except, also, I do not want to upset my readers, to whom I am very grateful, and about whom I care a lot; and no-one enjoys having illusions shattered, and they think that I very much believe in love and am waiting with bated breath for my own Prince Charming to come along.
So I’m going to continue to hide the truth behind platitudes.
‘I think you just have to let it happen,’ I say soulfully, still chin-projecting.
A discreet but definite snort comes from my left.
Jake. I freeze for a moment in slight shock – it’s one thing someone being rude to me one on one, behind the scenes, and quite another them snorting at me on national television – before realising that, frustratingly, my only option is to ignore him if I want to retain my dignity.
Sonja does not ignore it. ‘Jake Stone. Divorce lawyer to the stars. You look – and sound – sceptical. Are you suggesting that there’s no such thing as “just letting it happen”? I take it you don’t believe in love?’
Well, of course he doesn’t. Surely all divorce lawyers have seen so many warring couples that it would put them off love for life. Presumably that was why they asked him on the show in the first place, to provide a balance to the pro-finding-love comments they knew I would make.
However. ‘On the contrary,’ says snorty, over-smooth and over-handsome Jake.
‘I do believe in love. I believe that most of my clients have just been unlucky and there’s no reason they shouldn’t eventually find true love.
Or perhaps they were truly in love when they married, but they’ve genuinely grown apart due to circumstance or differing personal development. So, yes, I do believe in love.’
I find myself nodding in reluctant appreciation.
Despite how extremely annoying he is, I do have to give it to him: that was a very good marketing spiel.
And almost genuine-seeming. If someone’s hurting from the breakdown of their marriage and wants to go back for more romance, what better divorce lawyer to choose than someone who has a touchy-feely, you-will-love-again side to him.
As well as being reputedly the most ferocious in the business.
(I googled him when he rudely got his phone out to avoid talking to me while we were waiting.)
‘That’s so lovely,’ says Sonja. ‘Why, then, did you audibly snort in response to Freya’s beautiful answer?’
‘I felt that it was hollow.’ Jake speaks so affably that it takes a moment for the words to achieve their full impact.
When they do, Sonja gasps.
And I clench my jaw, purse my lips and narrow my eyes.
Until I remember that I don’t want to disappoint my readers, and plaster a big smile back onto my face.
The whole point of my job is to make people happy.
My readers do not want to witness me getting really irritated by this man.
They want to know that I’m a happy, nice, kind, unlucky-in-love-but-will-eventually-find-my-soulmate woman, just like my heroines.
Which I am, I hope, except for the eventually finding my soulmate bit. No soulmate exists for me.
I smile some more, going for chin and warmth projection.
It’s working. Sonja’s returning my smile like she can’t help herself. We’re going to forget about the hollow comment and move on.
I open my mouth to elaborate on believing in love, and then Jake leans towards me, and speaks quietly, so quietly that it almost certainly won’t be picked up by either Sonja or the microphones. ‘I saw that,’ he says. ‘The eye narrowing.’
I freeze for a second long moment, and then apply an enormous effort not to react to how incredibly rude and annoying he is, breathe deeply, and do not narrow my eyes again.
Instead, I carry on smiling and pretend that he said absolutely nothing.
‘Hollow?’ asks Sonja, raising an eyebrow in Jake’s direction. Dammit.
‘Ms Cassidy doesn’t seem particularly convincing about believing in love,’ Jake explains.
I turn to stare at him. What the actual? Is he trying to ruin my entire career? I have to appear to believe in love. And I do. For some people. Just not for myself. Well, not for a lot of people actually. Look at the British divorce statistics. Which Jake, of all people, should know about.
I decide to laugh, not too much and not too little, before saying, ‘Ha, that’s funny.
I’m not really sure how someone can seem convincing about believing in love.
Of course I believe in love. It’s all around us.
’ It actually is, insofar as the studio is decorated for Valentine’s Day with pinkness and fluffiness and hearts galore.
I adjust the cerise velvet cushion behind me.
‘The thing is.’ Jake leans forward again, the way he did before, except this time he isn’t lowering his voice, so everything he says is going to be broadcast live to the programme’s three million viewers, many of them my readers. ‘It’s dangerous to peddle false narratives around love.’
‘Dangerous?’ Sonja queries while I focus very hard on maintaining a quizzical smile and not re-narrowing my eyes at Jake.
Or just digging my kitten heel into his foot.
(For a fairly low heel, it’s very spiky, and would definitely hurt him, and right now that would give me great pleasure, even though I am at all other times extremely pacifist and non-violent.)
His response drags me back from a lovely fantasy about crushing his toes.
‘Writers of romance, like Ms Cassidy, peddle dangerous nonsense,’ he says, still with that affable air, as though he’s chatting about the weather or his views on the latest Italian restaurant, rather than being incredibly insulting and also possibly costing me a lot of sales.
‘They give people – often women – unreasonable expectations.’
‘You mean they expect their other halves to be like the heroes and heroines of romance books and are disappointed?’ Sonja checks.
‘Exactly,’ Jake confirms.
As Sonja, to my horror, begins to nod, I leap in with, ‘I think that it might be a bit of a stretch to suggest that someone reads about a lovely hero or heroine, looks at their spouse and thinks hmm, they don’t bear much of a resemblance to that hero, oh, I know, I’ll divorce him.’
‘Sadly,’ says Jake, ‘it happens all too often.’
‘What?’ I ask. I’m really annoyed now. ‘It can’t. It just can’t.’ I mean, really? How likely is that? Not at all. Surely.
‘You’d be surprised,’ Jake tells me.
‘Yes, I would,’ I agree. I suddenly think of something. ‘Especially since my protagonists are all people with flaws, not models of perfection.’ I smile, probably a little smugly, if I’m honest, because I feel that’s an excellent argument.
Jake shakes his head. ‘That’s like that clichéd interview question – what’s your biggest fault – isn’t it?
No-one ever says, “Well, I’m always late, I’m careless and I can’t write reports to save my life.
” They say things like: “I’m too much of a perfectionist because I’m sooo keen to do the job well.
” And your protagonists don’t have bad flaws, do they?
They don’t say nasty things about people; they aren’t huge, infestation-inducing slobs; they don’t torture insects. ’
As a divorce lawyer, he must hear about some very bad behaviour, I reflect, before I focus on the matter in hand, i.e. beating him in this argument.
‘Obviously,’ I say with dignity, ‘my characters don’t have those particular flaws. They actually have worse flaws.’
As I pause to gather my thoughts, Jake says sarcastically, ‘Oh, they’re murderers or thieves?’
‘Far worse,’ I say, ignoring his childish interjection, ‘I mean they have flaws that have often been developed by their life experiences. For example, if a person has had several disastrous romances, they might find it difficult to commit to a relationship.’
‘Bad argument,’ Jake replies triumphantly. ‘That person might be incredibly nice; they’ve just encountered some unpleasant partners.’ He is so annoying.
Because he is of course right, in that of course the protagonists in romances have to be people that most readers will like, because if the readers weren’t rooting for them they probably wouldn’t enjoy the books.
I need to regroup. I look at the studio audience – a sea of avid faces – and then at the cameras trained on us, which are sending live footage of this conversation directly into people’s houses all round the country.
(Hello Maud!) It does not matter what Jake Stone thinks of me.
It does matter what the viewers think of me.
I produce a pleasant smile and say, ‘I would suggest that someone finding their partner lacking when compared to a fictional romantic hero is a symptom rather than a cause of their relationship breakdown.’