Page 27 of Merrily Ever After
‘Isn’t it lovely?’ I said, picking up my cue. ‘It conjures up a feeling of warmth and cosiness. Our homes are our sanctuaries, a place to retreat and relax, a safe space. This is as close as I could get to creating a perfume which feels like a hug.’
‘Wow. Hugs are something we can never have too much of.’
‘At Merry and Bright, we think so.’ I smiled at my soon-to-be sister-in-law, who gave great hugs.
‘Oh, my goodness.’ Hester bent down to inhale the new candle again. ‘That really is a comforting smell.’
‘Thank you. Home is part of our new range for spring. So, it won’t be available anywhere else except on this show, today.’
‘You heard Merry!’ Hester beamed at the camera. ‘The number is on your screens now. Make sure you don’t miss out on this incredible exclusive deal. Can you tell us about how Home came about?’
Although the show was largely unscripted, I always practised what I was going to say, including little details which would appeal to the show’s audience. Way back in the spring, when I’d first been allocated the slot, the show’s producer, Conan, had spent the morning giving me some instructions on what to say and not to say. About finding the balance between selling the product and not boring viewers to tears. If I forgot anything important, Hester had a hot sheet on each product to hand and the voice of the producer in her ear too.
‘Of course,’ I began. ‘Next year at Merry and Bright we’re focusing on self-care. We want to encourage our customers to make time for themselves, to be as good to themselves as they would be to others. Kindness begins at home. Even if just for fifteen minutes a day.’
‘That is so true!’ Hester agreed. ‘We should be our own best friends! And you’ve picked vanilla and cocoa beans. Why is that?’
‘I think they evoke—’ My voice stopped suddenly as the strangest thing happened. From nowhere, a wave of emotion hit me so strongly that the words died on my tongue. I tried again. ‘They make me feel—’
‘Yes, Merry?’ Hester prompted, tilting her head to one side.
Suddenly, my carefully prepared bullet points about comfort and the sweet smells associated with childhood refused to come. Instead, all I could think about were the real reasons I’d chosen these oils, the real memories these aromas brought back to me. They did remind me of home, but more specifically of my mum and the few short years we spent together. I missed her. After all these years, there still wasn’t a day that passed by without me thinking about her.
I swallowed and looked at Hester, who gave a sign of encouragement.
‘The truth is,’ I began again in a faltering voice, ‘that for a long time after my mum died, I hankered after the home we’d shared. We used to have hot chocolate in bed on cold nights, and when she collected me from school, we’d bake fairy cakes and decorate them with vanilla buttercream. Those are the smells of home for me.’
‘That’s a wonderful memory,’ Hester enthused. ‘What could be more comforting than the smell of home baking! Now tell us about the woody aromas you’ve included. What says “home” to you about them?’
‘The notes of cedarwood and musk are in there because …’ The bright studio lights were hot on my face and, I felt thirsty, my mouth dry. The other half of the studio was in darkness and over by the scruffy sofa were a stack of bottles of water. It was all I could do not to dash off-set out of the brightness and grab a drink. ‘Because—’ I tried swallowing, hoping it would help appropriate words to emerge from my mouth.
Don’t go there, do not go there, Merry,chanted a voice inside my head. But I couldn’t help it. I knew what I wanted to say, what I had to say.
‘What do they evoke for you?’ Hester prompted.
‘My mum,’ I said simply. ‘Her name was Sam. Sammy to her friends. She represented home.’
Hester nodded sympathetically. She knew all about my childhood, that after Mum died, I’d been alone in the world, sent from foster parents to foster parents before moving to the children’s home where I spent my teenage years.
But Hester’s eyes were also wary. Her show was all about selling an aspirational lifestyle; becoming an orphan at eleven years old was not what her producer wanted.
‘Home can be a person just as much as a place,’ said Hester brightly. ‘I know I’d be happy to come home to a house smelling like this.’
‘She always wore the same perfume. Every day,’ I told her. ‘And that desire to feel at home for me comes from missing her, from missing the home we’d shared.’
‘What a lovely tribute to your mum,’ said Hester, her eyes shining. ‘My mum passed away a couple of years ago and I can never go through the perfume department without stopping at the Givenchy counter and spraying her favourite scent on my wrist.’
‘I can’t remember what my mum’s perfume was called, but it had cedarwood and musk in it, I’m sure of that.’
Hester’s eyes had the slightly glazed look which I recognised as having the voice of her producer gabbling instructions in her ear. I felt a stab of alarm; I’d veered too far off topic.
‘And that’s the lovely thing about scented candles,’ I said, rallying quickly. ‘You can use them to create any atmosphere you want. I always put one in the hallway, to make everyone feel at home when they arrive.’
‘That’s a fabulous idea!’ Hester gushed with relief. ‘I’ve got friends coming over this weekend. I think a trio ofHome candles will make a lovely centrepiece to decorate the table. OK, ladies and gentlemen, the number is on your screens. The calls are coming in thick and fast now, so don’t miss out on this exclusive handmade candle offer from Merry and Bright …’
Fifteen minutes later, our slot was over, and we were back in the green room.
Hester’s producer, Conan, stomped in to find me holding a cup of tea in shaky hands and Hester squashed beside me on the sofa.
