My Fight to the Top (24 page)

If you fail to plan, then plan to fail.

‘
W
e can’t find a model with 32E breasts.’ The girls in the marketing department needed someone to show off Ultimo’s new Fuller Bust bra range. Good models with big boobs are hard to come by. ‘What are we going to do?’ They were tearing their hair out. The range featured cups ranging from a DD to a G and we had just days to put on a show for buyers. As luck would have it, my daughter Rebecca walked into the office looking for me. One of the marketing girls piped up, ‘Rebecca, what bra size are you?’ she inquired.

Rebecca looked puzzled. ‘Er, 32E,’ she said as she blushed.

‘Oh, my god,’ the girls squealed with joy. Before I knew it, they were asking if Rebecca could model the new Fuller Bust for the buyers. I hadn’t said a word at this point. Rebecca looked to me for reassurance.

‘It’s just for the buyers. It’s fine if you want to do it,’ I said.

Rebecca said she would and went on to model for us at the Dorchester. She was a little star in the making. She looked beautiful, in a really natural way, with her long blonde hair and perfect figure. The buyers came up to me and told me how amazing my daughter looked. ‘The bras fit her perfectly,’ they gushed.

I was a very proud mum. However, that was the end of the modelling as far as I was concerned. I’ve always tried to shield my kids from the press. ‘Home time,’ I said to Rebecca, as the show came to an end. ‘We can pick up some food on the way.’ I was back in my mother role.

But the girls in the office couldn’t stop talking about it the next day. We had to find a 32E model to be the face of the new range. ‘Rebecca, Rebecca,’ they chorused.

I sighed deeply. ‘Look, she’s never modelled before,’ I reasoned.

‘But neither had you and look how your pictures turned out,’ they went on. Rebecca was the spitting image of me as I had been at her age. They wouldn’t let it drop. They asked Rebecca and eventually convinced her that she was the best model for the job. I didn’t want any involvement. I was worried that people would think I was using my daughter for PR and exposing her for my own interests. More importantly, I was worried that Rebecca’s life would change overnight and that she wouldn’t be ready for it. Rebecca is very quiet and sensitive and highly intelligent. Publicity isn’t her thing; she’s shunned the celebrity world all her life. She also backed away from previous opportunities to take the limelight through singing.

Rebecca has an amazing voice. Not long before the modelling came up I took her down to meet my friend Yvie Burnett who trains the singers for TV shows like
The Voice
and
The X-Factor
. Evie said that Rebecca was incredible and that she had a serious shot at getting a record deal. But Rebecca backed away from the idea of moving to London. So the modelling had to be her decision.

‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ I asked. Rebecca had a serious lack of confidence and it was something I worked on all the time. I’d suffered so much with a lack of self-confidence and she was the last person I wanted to see suffer in the same way.

‘Yes, Mum. I really want to do it,’ she said.

As the day of the shoot grew nearer, I became more anxious. I was more nervous about this than any other shoot. Rebecca was so dedicated to doing a good job. She was in the gym working out every single day. Her body was to die for. I chose Dan, the photographer I’d always used and the man who photographed me. Of course, there were a lot of ‘like mother like daughter’ comments going around.

We rented a plush house in London where there was a team of 20 waiting to transform my girl into a model. And then I got the phone call. Rebecca had missed her flight from Glasgow. Or rather, she had pulled out because Michael was annoyed at her for modeling for Ultimo. ‘You do this photo shoot if you want to do it. Don’t do it if you are feeling pressured,’ I said. I didn’t want to be piggy in the middle between Rebecca and her dad.

‘I want to do this, I do,’ she insisted.

We got her on the next flight to London but she missed that too. The pressure started to mount.

‘I told you, I didn’t want anything to do with this,’ I snapped. I could understand why Rebecca was stressed and I would have completely understood if she wanted to pull out, but the to-ing and fro-ing was doing my head in. Rebecca kept insisting she wanted to do it and, three flights later, she finally arrived in London with a smile on her face. I swear to god I could have killed her if I didn’t love her so much.

We were now running out of time and the pressure was even greater. Rebecca was nervous and she took way longer than she should with her hair and make-up. ‘Hurry up. Time is money and we have so much to do today,’ I said as my business brain took over. I think my team was too nervous to push Rebecca because she was my daughter. ‘If this was any other shoot, you’d be telling the model to move her arse. She needs to get moving.’ I told them. I’d never been in this position before, mixing business with personal stuff. I felt way out of my comfort zone.

Am I Michelle, the tough bra tycoon, or Michelle the mum?

‘Leave me alone, Mum,’ Rebecca told me. I think I was winding her up.

Rebecca finally came into the room in her dressing gown. To be honest, I thought we’d made a mistake. Rebecca was like a lump of wood. She spread her fingers apart like a fan. Her poses were something like you’d see in the 1970s.

Jesus Christ, she’s really bad
. I love my daughter to pieces, but we had at least £50,000 tied up in this shoot. I turned to one of my marketing girls and whispered in her ear, ‘Get on the phone right now to a modelling agency and get me a 32E model. Whatever it takes, I need her here, right away, on standby,’ I said. I was panicking, which in turn was making Rebecca panic even more. It was snowballing.

Dan turned to me and gave me what for. ‘Get out, Michelle.’ he pointed to the door. He’d been through the whole drama with me in 2010 and knew how to handle a Mone.

‘Dan, we have got to save this shoot,’ I said. I was flustered. ‘We’ve got deadlines, we’ve got this launch around the corner and we’ve got the magazines expecting the pictures. Give me a moment.’

I took Rebecca aside in the next room. ‘Rebecca, you know I love you so much, which is why I’m going to give you a few tips,’ I said. ‘Right, relax your hands… Do this,’ I said, shaking my hands. Rebecca copied me. ‘That’s it! We don’t want your fingers spread out like bloody octopus legs.’

‘Okay, Mum,’ Rebecca said, practising her moves in the mirror.

Dan crept up behind me. ‘That’s it, Michelle, out,’ he said firmly and ushered me to the door.

‘What do you mean?’ I protested.

‘Get out and leave it to me.’ Dan wasn’t taking ‘No’ for an answer.

An hour passed and I started pacing up and down the hallway. After another hour I wanted to pull my hair out with anxiety. I was just reaching for the door handle when Dan appeared. He had a big grin on his face. ‘Come here a minute,’ he said and showed me the preview images on his camera’s screen.

Oh, my god
. The pictures were breathtaking. And I’m not just saying that because I’m Rebecca’s mum. The images looked as if they’d been photoshopped – that’s how flawless she seemed. Tears started to collect in my eyes. I was so incredibly proud of her. How could she have gone from posing so badly to looking like this? I thought she must have had a glass of wine. ‘Well done,’ I said, grabbing her for a hug.

‘Thanks, Mum,’ she said and looked very relieved.

I chose about 40 of the best photos of Rebecca – I always make the picture selection because I know that just one bad photo can have a serious impact on the brand. I won’t allow legs open shots at Ultimo. We are not that kind of brand – quite frankly, it’s vulgar. We are sexy and sophisticated. I was more vigilant than I had ever been when it came to Rebecca. I didn’t want any of them looking sexual. I wasn’t having the public look at my daughter in that way.

I always knew the shots of Rebecca were going to provoke a massive response from the press. The marketing team weren’t sure. ‘Well, we don’t really know if it will go that big,’ they said.

‘Are you crazy? She’s the daughter I haven’t let model up until now. It will explode,’ I laughed. And the shoot did explode. Her pictures went right across the world. Rebecca’s phone was ringing off the hook as everyone approached her, from
Hello
magazine to the producers of
I’m a Celebrity... Get Me Out of Here
. Rebecca couldn’t believe it and it gave her an incredible confidence boost.

I was dealing with all Rebecca’s press when my life took a completely different turn. Seven months earlier I’d been invited alongside other Scottish people to 10 Downing Street to give my honest views about independence. Scotland’s referendum on whether or not to stay with the UK was due in the autumn of 2014 and it was no secret that I was a ‘No’. I thought it would be really bad for businesses and I believed that Scotland could not survive on its own. I love Scotland so much and fly the flag everywhere I go when travelling around the world, but this wasn’t a passionate vote. I had even said that I would move to England if it happened. Everyone in the room that day was telling the prime minister that he was doing an amazing job with the Better Together campaign. I was listening to them all thinking, You arse lickers. How can you be so fake? Tell him how it really is.

I tried to bite my tongue as David Cameron made his way around the room. He finally approached me and said, ‘Michelle, what’s your opinion?’

I looked at him, and then I looked at everyone else there.

Do I go along with all these people and play it safe? Or do I just go for it?

All my life, I’ve gone for it. ‘Do you know what the problem is, David?’ I blurted.

Did she really say that?
Everyone looked horrified because I hadn’t addressed him as ‘Prime Minister’. I’m not kidding, I heard cutlery fall to the plates. I suddenly felt bad but it was too late to turn back. ‘Your problem is that you’re not communicating with wee Mary from Govan.’ I went on. ‘She doesn’t understand what you are saying. She thinks you are this posh bloke in London. Wee Mary from Govan is looking for the answers and you need to come down to her level and explain to her what to do.’ The prime minister was gobsmacked. He was just staring at me as I rattled on. ‘And your Better Together campaign is rubbish and isn’t working. Whoever is running that campaign needs to understand what’s going on in the real world.’

Cameron didn’t let on if I had offended him. He politely smiled and nodded.

I was sure I had annoyed him so it was my turn to be speechless when Ramsay Jones, the prime minister’s special advisor for Scotland, contacted me to ask if I’d be interested in helping the Better Together campaign. There was just over a month to go before the vote on 18 September. David Cameron wanted me to be the focus for TV and press interviews.

Me, involved in politics? Michelle Mone, who left school with no qualifications?
I couldn’t believe it. At first I thought I wouldn’t risk my reputation. I didn’t just want to be a rent-a-gob. But as the campaign moved on I realised that the ‘No’ campaign were losing ground. The Scottish National Party’s independence drive was way ahead. I thought, It’s shocking that the people of Scotland are turning this into a question of passion rather than realism. I’m a realist, so I decided to step up. As soon as I said ‘Yes’, I was fully committed. I’m all or nothing.

I got to know the Better Together campaign members. I whipped them into shape a wee bit. Then numerous interviews started coming through for me – a total of 54 requests. The Better Together organisers tried to tell me which ones to do. I wasn’t having any of it. I questioned their reasoning on each point. ‘No, why would I do that?’ and ‘What impact will that have?’ In the end, I confidently selected my own interviews. I was on fire. I discovered a side to myself I never knew before. For the first time in my life I put Ultimo on the back burner. I was in full campaign mode.

Next, I had MPs coming to my house to prep me for the interviews. We had three weeks left before the referendum and I had days to get to grips with the SNP’s blueprint for independence, in the shape of a 649-page white paper. I was at politics boot camp – training all day, every day. They literally sat me down in a chair and read me the white paper. They made me memorise the parts I needed to raise in debates.

I was put through my paces by a team consisting of the shadow foreign secretary for Labour, Douglas Alexander, former defence secretary John Reid and the prime minister’s special advisor for Scotland, Ramsay Jones. ‘Michelle, we are going to interview you,’ Douglas said. ‘How much did SNP say in the white paper that oil is trading at per barrel?’

Think, Michelle, think
.

‘$113,’ I fired back. I felt like I was in the hot seat on a quiz show.

‘And how much is it worth now?

‘$96,’ I blurted.

‘Okay, pass.’ Douglas smiled.

Because I’m dyslexic I’m all about pictures rather than words, so I stuck drawings up all over my kitchen of the key points I needed to remember. I would open the cupboard to get a mug and there would be a statistic on the door. My work is all about making products look amazing through colour and design and I took that approach to my training. I also kept asking questions. By the end of the four-week boot camp, I’m not kidding, I was a full-blown politician. The MPs laughed that I had a new career after Ultimo. I barely had time to catch my breath before I was sent out into the battlefield.

‘Sky News is looking for someone to speak about why we need to keep our union together. We’ve nominated you,’ announced Douglas Alexander.

‘Me?’ I stuttered. I was going to be representing the MPs on live TV. Fear struck in my heart as it suddenly became real. Sky News Live had set up a base outside the Scottish parliament. As I was on my way I was told the producers were to feature another businesswoman representing the SNP viewpoint. I was also told she was well-educated. She had gone to university and knew loads about politics. I was caught off-guard – this was not what I thought I was going to be doing for my first live interview. I panicked as I suddenly felt out of my depth. I can put a bra together better than anyone but when you ask me about the economy... I was so out of my comfort zone. I told myself to pretend I was wee Mary from Govan who needed answers.