Tamara, 40
I didn’t even know I was pregnant when I was at Cheltenham Ladies’ College. I left to do my A-levels at a crammer in London and I was 100% in denial about what was going on in my body. I didn’t tell anybody, not one person. My parents were travelling in the Far East, my sister was at boarding school and whoever was running the house — the housekeeper or someone — was looking after me. I was doing my thing, going to school, having sleepovers. I just put my head in the sand. It’s an Aries quality and not a particular strength. If you can’t deal with it, you put it off till tomorrow.
It didn’t cross my mind that I’d keep the baby. The solution was to get it adopted. And it was a case of keeping each plate spinning until I had to deal with that bit. Then one morning, me and my mum had a conversation. And when Dad came back from his walk, the poor man had to face the idea that his daughter might be eight months pregnant. My mother doesn’t like me to talk about this. She says: “It’s done, Tamara.” Because obviously, as far as Anouska’s concerned, it wasn’t an ideal situation.
My parents weren’t thrilled, but neither of them blamed me. All I remember about the birth was my lovely mum saying: “I’m terribly sorry, I don’t know where she’s learnt all these awful words.” My girlfriends thought it was fantastic that we had a dolly to play with. My best friend ran away from school to visit me, and the midwife found us having a picnic on the floor with Nooshie propped up between us. She went absolutely tonto — she thought I hadn’t got a clue what I was doing. Which of course I hadn’t.
Until I was 26 I was quite revolting and obviously that tendency’s still there. I’ve had to learn that it’s not all about me I went back to school and Mum encouraged me to do everything for Nooshie when I was home. I can’t pretend I was brilliant. Part of Anouska’s reaction to me being pregnant again with Violet [now two, with her husband, the property heir Giorgio Veroni] was: “This isn’t fair, because this time you’re going to be a perfect mother.” But I’m not a big regretter. Nooshie had a fantastic life. If it had been reality, rather than my lucky life, we could have been in a council flat on our own. But there’s always a price. My father, who became her father figure, is funny and naughty and very brutal. If you’re sensitive like Nooshie it’s difficult, because he’s the boss. He’s the one who’s worked his arse off so we can all have a lovely life. So I say to Nooshie and my sister: “If you don’t like it, don’t take his money.”
When Nooshie was six or seven we moved into a flat together and everything slipped a bit. I had a nanny, so I suppose we must have had a proper regime, but I was so irresponsible. Everything was a big game and there was no real routine, which of course is what she wanted. She didn’t want Mummy turning up at school in a Jeep, painted gold because she’d been doing a modelling job. I don’t really remember all of it… she went to boarding school at 11. I just say to her: “Look, I know I wasn’t the most normal mum but we did have lots of fun.” I was like a naughty big sister. I lived in a nightclub. My parents did their best, but I was a very selfish girl. Until I was 26 I was quite revolting and obviously that tendency���s still there. I’ve had to learn that it’s not all about me.
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Anouska was always loved, she wasn’t neglected, so how bad could it be? But I don’t know what it feels like to be her. She says to me: “Mummy, don’t tell me I didn’t feel sad, because you don’t know.” The point is, she doesn’t feel she was No 1. She was never my priority. Now I’m married and living a normal-ish life, she thinks it’s her time. And I say: “I don’t want to be funny, Anouska, but you’re 24. Go and do your life. I’m here if you want me.” She’s a very needy girl and it’s exhausting, but I think she likes being stressed, it’s her personality. I find it easier to be self-reliant; I don’t depend on anyone, because if you do, you get let down.
None of the old mud sticks now. I’m not living in a nightclub. I travel a lot because I have a husband who wants his family with him at all times, but I’m conscious I also need to do things with Anouska and I’m much better at that. She comes for lunch and we go to the theatre. But I’m clear about the things that will rock the boat. If she cancels I won’t drop everything to rearrange. You have to have boundaries, otherwise they take advantage. And I am the queen of taking advantage.
Anouska, 24
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The first thing you need to know about my mum is that she sees life through rose-tinted glasses. When she says she doesn’t remember something it really means she doesn’t want to remember it. During my teens we had a lot of arguments, because I have an elephantine memory and my memories of my childhood are very different from hers. She thinks she was around a lot more than she was.
I remember seeing her picture in the paper when I was little and I guess she was having a lot of fun, but my strongest memories are of my grandparents putting me to bed and getting me up in the morning. I still speak to my grandmother every other day. She’s my touchstone. She says: “This is how it was, Anouska.” Most of my friends who are only-children are similar to me — they’re independent, very internal, very adult, and not necessarily in a good way, because their parents have separated and they’ve ended up being mum to their mums.
I didn’t have a terrible childhood, I was incredibly privileged. We just have a conflicting view of what happened. Her view is she wasn’t a great mum but she was around and she got better at it. My memories of her being there are like little paving stones. I remember her in flashes — me with her aged three, then aged five, then she moved to LA and I stayed with my grandparents. I’m so thankful I had them; they’re very old-fashioned, and to grow up secure you need that structure. But there were quite a few weird times.
When I was six or seven, I lived with mum in her flat in Kensington. She’d got engaged to Michael Stone [Sharon Stone’s brother]. I didn’t like him, he was a complete creep, and he didn’t like me. I just craved Mum’s attention and this guy was only interested in being a party animal. Mum had huge house parties which went on for days. Her friends would wake me and want to dress me up. It wasn’t the best environment.
I don’t think she thought through the consequences of her actions, and I can’t really blame her for that now Deep down, I think my mum is a very sensible person. You just think you know everything when you’re young, and as you get older you realise you know nothing at all.
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I don’t think she completely thought through the consequences of her actions, and I can’t really blame her for that now.
My mother is renowned for missing flights. She’d go out to LA and have fun and probably didn’t feel like getting on a plane. But for me, waiting in England, it was awful: I thought she didn’t want to be with me. Now I’m an adult I’ve accepted it.
It’s always been my mother and then me. Now it’s Giorgio, my mother, my sister Violet, then me.
None of my family talks about feelings or emotions. I feel blessed that I have very supportive friends, who are like a second family. My ex-boyfriend says: “Your mother did the best she could. Move on.” So instead of being angry with things I can’t change, I plan to give my own children the things I didn’t have. What I want in life is very different from what my mother wants. I’m happy with simple things, travelling with a backpack, not sure where I’m going. I meditate, I try to look outside of myself.
I don’t tune in to a lot of the stuff my mother does, because it’s embarrassing. In a dream world, I’d have liked her to be a writer or an artist. She has a good brain and I just don’t feel she’s harnessing her potential. My mother’s high-maintenance. She likes fast cars and private planes and I think it makes her happy. Money has never interested me; all it does is cause pain and conflict and complications.
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I had a realisation about three years ago about what I wanted from life. I crave friends who are loyal, trustworthy, have your best interests at heart and come from a place of love. None of her group of friends has those qualities. They’re terribly sociable, but cold. I’ve only ever seen my mother cry twice — she’s not an emotional person.
I don’t doubt she loves me, but I see our relationship as a work-in-progress. I need nothing from her other than what she can give me. We enjoy each other’s company. We’ll walk my dog in Hyde Park or see a play, but we’re not demanding of each other. I don’t need to have a picture-perfect relationship with my mother. I don’t think such a thing exists.
Tamara Beckwith co-owns The Little Black Gallery, 13A Park Walk, London SW10 OAJ. www.thelittleblackgallery.com