THE EX FACTOR AND ME
The columnist and socialite has rich pickings when it comes to writing material – and, she tells HELLO! – for her latest book, she’s chosen an enthralling subject. If it’s good enough for J-Lo and Ben…
If there is anyone who knows the value of sinking into a great book, it’s Sophia Money-Coutts. The author is a voracious reader who has turned her writing talent and natural humour into a successful career, penning popular women’s fiction books including The Plus One and The Wish List and winning the label “queen of the rom-com” in the process. And she can think of nothing better than spending the summer getting stuck into novels by some of her favourite authors.
“I really love relaxing with a good book,” she tells hello! as we launch our summer reading special. “And I love that you can curl up on your sofa or get into bed at the end of a long, hideous day and be taken away somewhere. We might not be going to the beach or lying by the pool but if you can try to recreate that sunbed vibe with something which is feelgood and funny, then I think frankly you should go for those moments.
“Reading is one of the few pastimes left where you have to be fully concentrating on what you are doing instead of scrolling on social media or watching TV at the same time. I think that must be so good for us.”
Something that may not be so good for us, says the former Tatler journalist, is lamenting a lost love. She addresses the issue in her latest release, Did You Miss Me?, a book about a high-powered lawyer who questions her seemingly perfect life – and dull boyfriend – when she bumps into the man who broke her heart 15 years ago. As someone who often draws on her personal life for inspiration, she wanted to tackle the question of what happens when your first love comes back into your life?
“What if the one that got away came back? I think a lot of us entertain that fantasy, and I think in many cases it probably should remain just that but I wanted to explore what would happen when an ex comes back into your life.”
Reuniting with an old flame is currently back in vogue after Jennifer Lopez and Ben Affleck restarted their romance after nearly 20 years apart. “When we saw Ben and Jennifer get back together, I think it
‘In many cases it probably should remain just a fantasy but in this book I wanted to explore what would happen when an ex comes back into your life’
encouraged many of us – particularly if we are not happy with our current lives or our current partner – to think about what might have been.”
While Sophia’s career goes from strength-to-strength – a member of the Coutts banking family, she also writes about etiquette and modern-day issues for a national newspaper – she freely admits her love life could do with some improvement. The recent pandemic meant she put a pause on dating after it became clear that options were limited. “I had a couple of girlfriends who were doing the whole ‘park bench with a bottle of wine’ kind of thing. But I just didn’t want to... So I just took myself out of it. Now, I’m sort of vaguely thinking I should be more proactive. I’m a very romantic person and I can’t wait to fall in love again but I know it happens when you least expect it. I’ve just got to bide my time instead of desperately seeking on Hinge, I think…”
Honest and open about her personal life, the 36-year-old has also written about her decision to freeze her eggs – and created a podcast on the subject – until she decides it’s time to have a child. “I’m always thinking: ‘Do I want a baby, do I not want a baby, am I brave enough to have a baby by myself?’
“I’ve applied to do a creative writing Masters. And then if I’m still single after that I’m going to think harder about having a baby by myself. I still don’t have a massive sense of a biological clock. I’ve got friends who practically see babies in the street and burst into tears because they know they want it so much, but I don’t have such a clear sense of that.”
Sophia’s writing has been lovingly compared to a young Jilly Cooper or Helen Fielding. And she is happy with that. “I just try and create feelgood, funny stories around questions that I might have asked myself many times – like, what if I got pregnant on a first date, or something like that?
“The thing about my books is I aim to make people laugh.”
She is just about to publish her eighth book, having sold bestseller after bestseller during her 18-year career. But Lauren Weisberger doesn’t mind in the slightest that she will always be known as the woman who wrote The Devil Wears Prada.
“I truly, honestly, don’t get sick of talking about it,” she tells Hello! of the hugely successful book, which was turned into a hit movie starring Meryl Streep, Emily Blunt and Anne Hathaway in 2006. Lauren wrote the novel after working as an assistant to the US Vogue editor in chief. “I think it’s really awesome how it has evolved over the years. I used to get irritated by people asking me if it was based on Vogue and Anna Wintour, but that whole line of questioning has vanished now and it’s really cool that this has become part of pop culture. I never imagined it would have had this staying power.”
The story is now being turned into a stage production. With music written by Sir Elton John, the show is scheduled to debut next year in Chicago, having been delayed due to Covid-19. It’s almost too much for Lauren, 44, to imagine. “A musical – are you kidding me, is this happening?” she exclaims. “And it’s with Elton John. How is this possible? I wake up sometimes and I think: ‘This can’t be real.’ First the success of the book was incredible and then the movie and now the musical. I don’t know anything about the making of Broadway shows so it’s been such a cool learning process. There are several creative minds working on this now, and it’s fascinating to be able to see it all unfolding.”
Hopefully Lauren’s latest tome will resonate in the same way. Where the Grass is Green follows the fate of two sisters; high-flying news anchor Peyton and frustrated, stay-at-home mother Skye. When Peyton unwittingly becomes embroiled in a bribery scandal involving her daughter Max’s admission to a top university, their lives quickly become very complicated. But, Lauren says, as much as this book touches upon the recent college admissions scandal in the US, which saw actresses Felicity
‘It’s awesome how The Devil Wears Prada has evolved. It’s cool that it has become part of pop culture. I never imagined it would have this staying power’
Huffman and Lori Loughlin sentenced to prison, it’s more about the close and unique relationship between two sisters. Lauren looked to her relationship with her own sister, Dana, when it came to her inspiration. “It’s not that these characters have any likeness to my sister or me,” she explains, “but what I wanted to capture on the page was that special relationship that we have; the way we relate to each other and the way that we speak to each other; the brutal back-and-forth dialogue with no filter. It’s very unique in my life – how many people are there from childhood who are witnesses to everything that happened when you were growing up?”
She also explored the ways competitive parents push boundaries when it comes to getting their children what they want.
“I was inspired by what was in the news – I thought that whole thing was kind of fascinating. Parents often like to give their kids every possible advantage and, while the things they do might not outwardly be illegal, they might be on the immoral side.”
After finding immediate worldwide fame when The Devil Wears Prada was released in 2003, Lauren has turned her attention in her books to the worlds of competitive tennis, VIP nightclubs, socialites desperate to settle down and overnight stardom. She says she usually gets her story ideas from current events, as well as the wealthy Connecticut community where she lives with her husband and two children.
“They come from a combination of pop culture and my own experiences and relationships, as well as what I see and what I read. My neighbours and I are very close. But everyone in my neighbourhood is very aware of the type of place we live, and in these types of towns there are a lot of intense parents, which leads to intense situations. You look around and there’s good material everywhere.”
While helping out producers with the musical, Lauren is already working on her next book, which she began writing during the pandemic. “This one was a little more challenging,” she says. “Writing during a global pandemic was a first for me, as it was for everyone. This has the potential for a lot of naughty fun, though.” We can’t wait…
‘Writing during a global pandemic was a first for me, as it was for everyone. It has the potential for a lot of naughty fun, though’
It’s true she hasn’t been much fun to live with lately, since the unexpected death of her mother in April
Juliet spoons the white, glossy meringue onto the base she made earlier and pops it in the oven. Lemon meringue pie, Harry’s favourite. She stays in front of the oven, watching through the glass door. It won’t take long for the meringue to brown and she needs it to be perfect.
Eight minutes later, she removes it from the oven. It smells heavenly and she wishes she could eat a slice. But it’s for Harry, and Harry only. Putting the pie down on the worktop, she goes upstairs to Harry’s study, where there’s a sofa bed, with space underneath for storage. Lifting the seat, she reaches in and from under the blankets pulls out a small black suitcase. She carries it down to the kitchen and lifts it onto the worktop, then rolls the combination locks until they read 741. The click as they shoot open is satisfying. Harry is nothing if not a creature of habit.
She lifts the lid and pauses a moment, surveying the contents. Two cashmere jumpers lie side by side, one navy, one beige. Juliet already knows that under the navy cashmere jumper are two long-sleeved shirts and that under the beige cashmere jumper are two polo shirts. Underneath, at the very bottom of the case, are two pairs of neatly folded trousers and, tucked around the edges, four pairs of boxer shorts and four pairs of socks. Everything is brand new, even the underwear. Harry has also slipped in a pair of casual shoes, and a new washbag, complete with travel-size toiletries. He is all set, ready to go off for his three days in Venice with Sara.
Juliet is sure that it’s Sara. Ever since she joined Harry’s team at work, it’s been Sara this and Sara that. And then there are the phone calls. Harry says they are workrelated, but Juliet doubts they are, especially when he leaves the room to take them. Juliet has never been particularly close to Harry’s sister, Annie. But she loves her little nephew, so when Annie asked her, a few weeks ago, if she and Harry could look after Alfie for the bank holiday weekend, she was happy to accept. When she told Harry they’d be babysitting at Annie’s, he didn’t say anything at first. But she could see his mind whirring.
“I think that’s the weekend I’m meant to be working,” he said casually, after a moment. “Let me check.”
Juliet frowned as he took out his phone. He had never mentioned before that he might have to work that weekend. In fact, it was rare for him to have to work at weekends. When she pointed this out, he said that was exactly why he had to this time. It was his turn.
It’s true she hasn’t been much fun to live with lately. Since the unexpected death of her mother in April, she’s been struggling, putting on a brave face at work, but not at home. But it’s not a reason for him to have an affair.
Juliet runs her hand over the soft cashmere jumpers. Then, reaching for a knife, she cuts the still warm lemon meringue pie into eight equal slices. Sliding a hand under the top layers of clothes, she lifts them up and carefully places a slice of pie onto the trousers at the bottom of the case. She slips the second pair of trousers on top and adds another slice. Next come the shirts; a slice of pie between each one, until only the two cashmere jumpers remain untouched. To the naked eye, nothing is wrong, even when she presses down hard on each of them. The smell, as the lemon oozes through the clothes, is wonderful.
Juliet closes the case and puts it back under the sofa bed, then fetches Harry’s suit, still in its plastic cover from the cleaners. He has already told her he’ll be wearing it to work tomorrow because he has an important meeting. But she supposes he can’t wear his usual work attire of jeans and jacket to a five-star hotel in Venice. She knows Harry is going to Venice because she found the web page for the Palazzo Canova open on his computer.
Fortunately for Juliet, she’s a good seamstress. She has no trouble unpicking the hems at the bottom of the trousers, or the ones on the jacket sleeves. And once she has placed tiny prawns, already two days old, along the creases, she has no trouble sewing them back up again.
The next morning, Harry can hardly wait to leave. He waits until she is in the shower before taking the suitcase from the sofa bed and putting it into the car. But Juliet isn’t in the shower, she has left the water running and is watching from the window, making sure he hasn’t opened the case and discovered her surprise. But all is good and, when she goes down to say goodbye, he says he hopes her weekend with little Alfie won’t be too tiring. In reply, Juliet wishes him good luck with his meeting, adding that he looks very smart in his suit. She is not sure whether the prawns have already started to smell; it might just be her imagination.
When she arrives at her sister-in-law’s, she finds her in a terrible state. Her husband Jonathan has phoned; he has been held up at work and will have to go straight to the airport. Annie is to meet him there. But there are no taxis available. The only way for her to get there is for Juliet to take her.
They load Annie’s case and Alfie into the car and head for the airport. When they arrive, Alfie asks if they can go into
the airport to say goodbye. Juliet agrees; she’s not worried about bumping into Harry. She knows the chances of him being there with Sara, at exactly the same time, is so small as to be negligible. But as they turn a corner, she comes to a standstill. Standing by a pillar, his suitcase at his feet, is Harry.
“What’s the matter?” Annie asks.
Juliet points. “It’s Harry,” she hisses. Annie frowns. “What’s he doing here?” “I need to go,” Juliet says urgently, reaching for Alfie. “He can’t see me.”
But it’s too late, Alfie is running towards him, crying: “Uncle Harry, Uncle Harry!”
To his credit, Harry scoops Alfie into his arms, as if he’s delighted to see him. But his eyes dart nervously over his shoulder. And before Juliet can hide, he looks straight at her and Annie.
“He’s seen us!” Juliet’s voice is strangled. “Well, I suppose we’d better go and say hello,” Annie says, wheeling the suitcase forward with one hand and grabbing Juliet with the other.
“You managed, then,” Harry says, smiling at his sister as they approach.
Annie nods. “Yes, and she still hasn’t understood.” She pushes the suitcase towards Juliet. “This is for you, not me.” She looks at Harry. “Tell her, Harry.”
Harry reaches for Juliet’s hand. “I know how low you’ve been feeling since your mum died so I’m taking you to Venice for the weekend. Annie helped me plan it, right down to asking you to look after Alfie for the weekend so you wouldn’t guess anything.”
Annie laughs. “I was hoping Alfie wouldn’t give it away.” She smiles affectionately at her little son, who is holding his nose, then turns to Juliet. “I hope you like the clothes I chose for you. Harry gave me the money and told me to buy what I thought you’d need for a weekend at a five-star hotel in Venice.”
“I’ve bought new clothes too,” Harry says. “I didn’t want you to notice anything was missing from my wardrobe. And I thought it was time we treated ourselves.”
“I have to say, you look very smart,” Annie says, looking at him. “But Alfie’s right, you do smell a bit. I think it’s coming from your suit. In fact, it smells really unpleasant.”
Harry frowns. “I noticed that, too. A couple of people at work also mentioned it, which was a bit embarrassing. But I can’t do anything about it now, we need to go through security.”
He reaches for Juliet’s hand.
“Don’t look so worried, darling, as soon as we’re in the departure lounge, I’ll change into something from my case.”
She knows the chances of him being there with Sara, at exactly the same time, is so small as to be negligible
The drawing must have been bundled up with other, less interesting papers, or Jess wouldn’t have thrown it away. Mom had kept every piece of art Jess had ever made, her childhood scrawls treated with as much reverence as the pieces from her first – and last – photography exhibition in her junior year.
The paper was thin, yellow and curly with age. Jess smelled crayon wax as she brought the drawing up to her face, and was hit with an intense shot of nostalgia.
A spindly person stood outside a house, her head roughly level with the roof. Next to her was a smaller figure, its face etched with parallel lines of black tears. They were colored orange, because as a child Jess had struggled to find any crayons that were a precise match for Chinese people’s skin.
Both figures had their arms raised. In the sky, at the upper left-hand corner of the drawing, was the plane at which they were waving, flying away.
Jess didn’t remember drawing the picture, but she knew what it was about. “How old was I?”
“Four years old,” said Mom. Her eyes were misty with reminiscence. “That time Daddy still couldn’t get a job in America. Luckily his friend asked Daddy to help out with his company in Kuala Lumpur, but Daddy had to fly back and forth between here and KL. Each time went back for two, three months.
“Your kindergarten teacher asked me: ‘Is Jessamyn’s father overseas?’ Then she showed me this. I thought: ‘Alamak, cannot like this, Min will get a complex.’ I almost brought you back to Malaysia. Forget America, never mind our green cards. It’s more important for the family to be together.”
Jess touched the drawing, following the teardrops on the child’s face. When was the last time she’d cried? Not when she’d said goodbye to Sharanya, neither of them knowing when they’d see each other again. She’d told a dumb joke and made Sharanya laugh and call her an asshole, tears in her eyes.
Jess must have cried during Dad’s cancer scare. But she couldn’t remember doing it. Only the tearless hours in waiting rooms, stale with exhaustion, Jess staring over Mom’s head as she wept.
“Why didn’t we go back?” said Jess.
“In the end Daddy got a job,” said Mom. “He was going back and forth for a short time only. It’s not like you were an abandoned child. I was here. You turned out OK.”
The words sounded like an appeal for reassurance. But the tone was strangely perfunctory, as though she was rehearsing a defense she’d repeated many times before.
“You turned out OK,” Mom said again. She took the picture from Jess, smoothing it out and putting it on the pile of things to keep.
“Yeah,” said Jess. She wasn’t sure whom they were trying to convince.
After this, the ghost lay low for a while. It wasn’t like Jess had time to worry about stray voices in her head. Masterminding an intercontinental move crowded everything else out. Her mom, a person to whom all matters were equally important, could probably have gotten it done given three years. Since they had three weeks, it fell on Jess to move things along.
Her dad had gone ahead to Malaysia to start the new job his brother-in-law had arranged for him. He looked tired on their video calls. He’d stopped dyeing his hair after the cancer scare; his head was now almost completely gray. Watching him, Jess noticed for the first time that the skin on his throat hung a little loose, creased with wrinkles. It made him look old.
The sudden disturbing thought came to her: They’ve done it. They did it in the end. After years of insults, small and large – misunderstanding his accent, underrating his abilities, dangling opportunities in front of him only to snatch them away – America had finally beaten him.
Jess smothered the thought. Dad was only
As a child Jess had struggled to find any crayons that were a precise match for Chinese people’s skin
in his 50s. Asia was rising. This move to Malaysia wasn’t a failure, for Jess or her parents. It was a new beginning.
Her subconscious wasn’t convinced. In the manic run-up to the move, she started having vivid dreams about Malaysia.
At least, she assumed it was Malaysia. The dreams were permeated by overpowering sunshine, an intense glare she had never seen anywhere else. The perpetual sticky heat and vivid greenery were familiar from visits there. But nothing else was familiar.
She was almost always engaged in some mundane task – scrubbing plates, hanging up faded laundry on a clothesline, washing herself with a bucket of gaspingly cold water from a tank.
Sometimes there was a baby she was responsible for. It never seemed to stop crying. She found herself staring at its scrunched-up face with stony resentment, hating it but knowing there was nothing to be done.
In one dream she was outdoors, watching her own hands score lines in a tree trunk with a knife. Milky white fluid welled from the gash. Rows of trees stretched out around her.
She had started in the early morning, when it was dark, the air soft and cool on her skin. It grew warmer and brighter as she worked, the light turning silver, then gold. By the time she laid down her tools the heat was all-encompassing, the sun beating mercilessly down.
She carried her harvest to the river, where she paused to scoop water into the pails of white fluid – just enough so the agent wouldn’t be able to tell when he weighed her yield. He still underpaid her. Everyone knew the agent was a cheat, as he knew they sought to cheat him, so that they were all bound by duplicity.
Getting her pay meant she could go to the shop to buy meat so they’d have something more to eat than plain rice. By the time she got home she was bone-tired, but she put the rice on to cook and started chopping the vegetables. She had to get the meal ready before sunset, before night came, before…
But Jess didn’t find out what happened at night. She woke up in her sleeping bag, alone in a dark room.
For a moment she didn’t know where she was. They’d shipped or sold off everything in the apartment. Empty, her bedroom looked different, the angles and shadows altered. She might still have been dreaming.
“Mom,” she said later, “you know when you’ve got trees and you cut lines in it so the sap comes out – is that a thing? A Malaysian thing?”
She regretted the question at once. It had made sense in her head, but it sounded like gibberish once the words hit the air. But Mom only nodded, as though it was a perfectly normal thing to ask.
“Rubber tapping?” she said. “Malaysia still produce a lot, but not so much as before. Why?”
“I saw a video somewhere,” said Jess. She couldn’t recall ever having seen or heard anything about rubber tapping, but her mom must have told her about it some time. The rustling quiet between the trees, the red-faced baby, her own work-coarsened hands keeping strange rooms clean – they lost their reality in the light of day.
They were just dreams, Jess told herself, the result of her brain processing the move to Malaysia.
The rubber tapping must represent her anxiety about her employment prospects – her nostalgia for a time when life was simpler, if harder.
Probably the baby was her mom. A therapist would have a field day with her, Jess thought wryly, and forgot all about the dreams.
Everyone knew the agent was a cheat, as he knew they sought to cheat him, so that they were all bound by duplicity