Esther has always enjoyed being at her dad’s. She feels cared for here, with his squashy old sofa and bowls of spaghetti and a great mound of freshly grated parmesan to sprinkle on. And garlic bread! It’s funny that he still gets it in for her as if she’s a little kid. So yes, he does his best. But he’s also incredibly annoying as, whenever anything goes wrong in her life, he’s right there suggesting possible solutions.
Maybe it’s because of his work. After all, if someone brings in an Alsatian with a fractured leg he can hardly shrug and say, ‘Sorry, I don’t know what to do.’ He’s solutions-focused. That’s his job. But Esther isn’t his job; she’s his daughter – a fully grown woman capable of leading her own life.
Of course she can’t ask the agency for help over these terrible pictures. That’s not what they’re for, to minimise damage over stuff like this. It’s already being called ‘bucket-gate’ – she’s seen that all over – and ‘chickengate’ too. That’s not their area at all.
And now, on this bleary late December morning, Esther stretches out in her pyjamas on her dad’s sofa, elongating her body in the way Walter does. As he pads into the room she calls him to jump up and sit with her. But he slinks away under the armchair instead.
With a sigh, Esther reaches for her phone. As she checks her emails she notices one from the agency expressing ‘regret that we feel we have no alternative but to cease working with you’.
She stares at it, willing the words to rearrange themselves before her eyes. Everything she’s done, to reach a point where they’d represent her! The expensive facials and hair extensions; the lengths she went to in order to find a photographer who could translate her vision. Okay, it wasn’t that hard to find Lauren, as she happens to be dating her dad – but still! Esther has forged a creative relationship with her, and the pictures have been amazing; everyone’s said so.
She sits bolt upright and shivers in her PJs. She wears brushed cotton pyjamas now because Miles isn’t here to complain. Esther had started to feel happier about being single; about being able to do whatever she likes without being judged. But she isn’t happy now, because there’s another email, she realises, which the agency has forwarded to her.
Esther’s heart seems to clang as she reads it. Maybe it actually did, because nervous old Walter darts out from under the armchair and shoots out of the room.
Dear Esther, the email reads.
In light of recent media coverage we have made the difficult decision to end our relationship with you with immediate effect.
Wishing you the best for the future.
Love and light,
The Bethani team