Who Needs Vivienne Westwood? Chapter Four

Chapter 4

Jools took a seat at her balcony table, her small laptop in hand. The deadline for her monthly column for an online health publication was looming. An insider's guide to bipolar. She'd named it 'Through the Looking Glass'. It was a pretty solid gig. They'd been turned on to her writing when the first piece she ever wrote on living with bipolar had been published on a national website. And while the pay wasn't quite up to industry standards, it wss fair enough, and well, every little bit helped these days.

Suddenly the phone pinged. Taking a sip of her coffee she checked her cell. It was a whatsapp from a family friend to say that Food & Home magazine were looking for a freelance writer in her nick of the woods for restaurant reviews and features. The family friend had a niece who worked at the glossy. There was a link to the niece's Facebook account where she'd posted the position.

Immediately Jools followed up on the link and jotted down the email address listed, sending along some work of hers by way of a portfolio, fingers crossed.

Glossy magazines paid well.

Beyond that, she'd coveted Food & Home magazine all through her early twenties, being an avid cook and longing to open a place of her own, once upon a time... A rustic affair where a hearty roast was prepared on Sundays and a long table set up for all the patrons and especially those far away from home, to sit together and get to know each other. For as the Irish proverb she had pinned to her fridge resonated so true, laughter is brightest where the food is.

During her early varsity years, while she was a waitress and had a relatively stable income, she'd hosted a dinner party every Wednesday night, for her friends, treating them to a home-cooked meal, be it a spicy butternut curry or a succulent roast leg of lamb.

And not really one for bags and shoes, her ultimate indulgence was usually trying out the latest eateries or returning to time honoured and true favourites all around town, her best of all the sushi restaurant in Richmond hill equally famous for soothing broth of Asian noodles and dumplings. Her other, the local Portuguese joint where a table of grilled sardines and moelas with a side order of flame toasted portuguese rolls and a simple greek salad and, of course(!) a good dry Portuguese white with a minerality that just hit the spot... She was salivating just thinking about it!

Nowadays though, and tragically, she spoiled herself less and less, finding the budget a little restrained these last few months...

But if she scored the job with Food & Home, she could eat out and totally write off the expense. Bloody brilliant!

Enough daydreaming for now and wondering about 'what ifs'. It was time to get her teeth stuck into her next column for her editor, Laura, at the health publication. Her last piece on weight gain had gone down well with readers. She had ruminated on the side effects of the meds, being appetitie stimulants, and how she'd quickly gained almost 10kgs overnight, she who had always been a sprite of a tiny thing.

She'd begun to loathe the soft flesh of her belly and thighs, the wobble of her upper arms... That is, until she'd posed for an art class a couple of times, three in fact, for the local university. The pay promised was great, and she desperately needed it. So feck it.

A smidge self conscious at first in her clinging and merciless yoga gear, slowly but surely she found she had stopped fretting and focussing instead no more on the niggling bulges but rather on the contours of her body, the shapes, the composition it could create for the class. It had been a truly liberating experience and had made for great content.

This time, for her column, she was concerned with the anxieties and fears that could sometimes overwhelm after coming out of a long and serious depression. And how she was trying, bit by bit, to overcome them. She who had once been so fearless. All the same, it was important to her that her columns on mental health not make for misery memoirs, but instead instilled and inspired hope, even if only a glimmer. Hope was important to her and she felt she owed it to her readers.

The morning light began to fade as the afternoon arrived with the moving sun, Jools nearly done with her column for the day.

There.

Done.

Now for a meticulous combing over or two to check for any errors. Jools was fastidious with her work and something of a perfectionist, and even that an understatement. All those years she'd spent as a young un' and then some in the company of her maternal grandfather, she'd borne witness to the true power of dedicated craftsmanship. And she firmly believed that beyond talent, there had to be a doggedness to be ethical in all, and above all, a craftsman of impeccable decorum and dedication.

Ok... That should do it, she concluded merrily. And no sooner had she finished polishing her piece when her phone pinged again.

This time is was a Gmail notification. Seeing it was from her friend's niece, Hasmita, she opened it, nervously praying for the best. And wouldn't you know it?! They were only too thrilled to have her on board and wondered if she might be able to recommend any new hotspots for review for their next edition.... YES!!!

She couldn't remember when last she'd been this elated...

And as she had suspected, the pay per word was very, very good. She knew just the place too for her first review, a little Spanish tapas bar, Todos Locos.

It had recently opened in Richmond Hill, next door to the steak house, and she'd been dying to go there. She'd simply loved the culture and food in Spain when her and her grandparents had met up there with her mother and travelled the expanse of the Spanish coastline for a sun-soaked summer holiday. In fact, it was a secret fantasy of hers to one day move to a small coastal village in Spain and to write to her heart's content in an old Spanish ramshackle of a villa, rusty pipes and all... To shop daily at their bountiful markets, abundant as they were with such gorgeous fresh produce... Oh, maybe, maybe one day, she mused to herself.

Returning herself to the present moment, she emailed Hasmita about the local Spanish tapas bar, and within minutes she'd got the go ahead to review it. Next she emailed her mental health column to Laura. Quite the successful day, all in all. Perhaps she'd make something of this freelance writing after all, for all that she'd been feeling like an utter failure of late.

It was now late afternoon, and there was a chill to the breeze. She went to the bedroom to put on a cardigan, then made for the kitchen where she popped open a cold beer before returning to the balcony to kick back with her beloved sidekick, Poh. Or was she the sidekick?

She sent Matt a message from her phone.

Just booked a new gig with Food & Home. Dinner out tonight. My treat. See ya later. Xxx

She was barely able to contain her excitement. Usually she'd read after all her work for the day was done, those few sacred hours before sundown when Matt showed up with his overnight bag and she got started on supper. But she was too giddy with joy to read right now. No matter how much she'd been gripped of late by her latest find at Bookends, the second hand bookshop she frequented. The Wind-Up Bird Chronicles by Haruki Murakami.

She wished she could phone her mother to tell her the good news, but London was an hour behind and she'd still be on site with her latest interior design job, and for none other than Emma Watson. Not that her mother had met Hermione and the starlet in person. Still. To Jools, her mum was a total rockstar. An interior wizard!

Growing up in a cottage in Richmond Hill, back when the neighbourhood wasn't quite so swank, all the same they'd had the most beautiful home. From tiling their bathroom, art deco style, to making all their couch covers and curtains, in Jools' mind, there wasn't anything her mother couldn't do

Her mother had even sewed the dresses for Jools every time there was a school formal. And she'd always felt like the bell of the ball in her clever creations.

Thinking back now, hers had been a charmed childhood indeed. Her mother tinkling away on the piano most evenings. For all they'd not always had much money. And how she'd imitated her mother, starting with art at a very young age, always pausing the button on the VHS to draw or paint a cartoon character. She'd been desperate to work for Disney one day as a little girl. The first film she ever saw on the big screen with her mother, Fantasia, and she utterly spellbound.

But as the years had gone by, it was her fervour for reading that had surpassed any other fancies, longing eventually to be a writer instead.

In truth, what Jools most inwardly and ardently wished for one day was the opportunity to write and illustrate her own children's books. But paying the bills always seemed to get in the way of her most passionate inner dreams.

From manageressing to being a junior English lecturer to highschool teacher, to trying her luck at freelance writing these days for various online publications, and now a glossy, she simply settled for cash in hand and put her dreams on her hold 'cause, well, rent.

Wasn' t that just the trouble with growing up?

She took another swig of her beer. Hell! What was she fussing over? Children's books could wait. Who knew...? But for now she was about to be a bonafide writer for Food & Home... Food & blerry Home!!

She still had stacks and stacks of their magazines to this day. How often had she squealed with delight like a little girl every time a new edition arrived on the racks at the nearby grocers, even when she had to scrounge for every penny to purchase it and forego a loaf of bread or a pint of milk. And there would be her name in print. Julia Mackensie.

The more she thought on it, let it sink in, the more she felt pleased as punch. It felt like, in some small way, she'd finally made it. They'd loved her writing and they'd picked her. Her!!

After months and months of just scraping by and wondering if her writing was up to scratch, she'd found the validation she'd been seaking for all this time. Food reviewer was way up there with her top five all-time jobs, and she'd done it.

Good on ya, Jools! She congratulated, raising her beer all alone in a mock toast.

And with that she downed the final chug of Black Label, a little on the warm side now, and headed for the bedroom to make sure she looked the part of a reviewer incognito.

Donning a long sleeved vintage wrap dress in red with a cream silk ribbon tie, and with her peep toe heels from the local SPCA charity shop, Jools rifled through her jewellery box and finally settled on a pair of her great grandmother's costume clip on earrings. There. That would do.

Her phone pinged a third time. She checked it. It was a message from Matt.

Meeting ran late. Sorry, babe. See you in about an hour.

Jools resolved there was nothing for it but to crack another cold Label.

Back on her balcony, she sipped away contentedly. She took a long, lingering drag of her rollie. The sun was beginning to fade and this was, to her, the most magical time of day on her balcony. It looked out onto an old stone Methodist church and it was at this time that the stained glass windows began to light up in the deep purpling, punctuating that slowly descending darkness.

She lit a scented candle and let the happiness in that moment envelop her in a warm, vanilla haze, dreaming of a ruby Rioja she could almost taste.