Lottie
My parents divorced when I was six and my brother,
Tom, was eight, after Mum fell in love with the
cartoonist Mel Calman. Dad was a travelling book rep
and away a lot; even when he was home he was
emotionally absent. So Mum did all the parenting.
Her take on the divorce is that she told us in the car,
we cried and then she bought us a packet of crisps and
we were fine. She alchemises messy realities into
stories, novelising life. But of course it was more
complicated than that. Mel seemed ancient to us and
he certainly didn’t appear to like children. He had a
cottage in the country that Mum would take us to at
the weekends although we didn’t want to go. As soon
as we were teenagers Tom and I stayed by ourselves
in our house in London when Mum was with Mel.
This made us very popular with our friends, although
I did sometimes wish Mum would be concerned
about what we got up to. Boundaries weren’t part of
our childhood.
Writing and her social life are key to her and she is
extremely glamorous, although most of her clothes are
from charity shops. I remember her sweeping into our
primary school and taking things from the dressing-up
box to wear for an evening out. Even in Camden Town
she was the most raffish of all parents. But I’ve never
been embarrassed by her; she carries everything off
with such confidence.
Mum’s pathologically ungrand and says things like
“Oh I don’t know how I did that!” as she finishes
another novel or screenplay. Going to the extravagant,
Indian-themed, Leicester Square film premiere of
The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel [in 2011, based on
Deborah’s novel These Foolish Things], I remember
being awed by everyone and the glamour. As we walked
down the red carpet the paparazzi started screaming
for Judi Dench and Dev Patel behind us. The film was
a huge international hit, yet it had all started with my
modest mum coming up with an idea, alone at her
desk with a roll-up.
I think the key to her success is her incredible work
ethic and her ability to slough off things that aren’t
helpful to her. She doesn’t carry guilt or angst around in
the way I do; I’m wildly oversensitive. She had to tread
carefully when reading my first book, Kiss Me First, and
be constructive without hurting me. When it once got
a bad review and I was in tears, her response was: “But
it’s half a page in the paper!” She’d never consider going
to therapy or have a massage — that would be terribly
self-indulgent. It’s other people that fascinate her.
In 2016 Chris [Atkins], my former partner, was
sentenced to five years in prison for tax fraud.
RELATIVE VALUES
Deborah & Lottie Moggach
The Best Marigold Hotel author and her daughter, also a writer, on life’s “messy realities”
We weren’t together but co-parented our son, Kit, who
was then four years old. I moved to a flat opposite Mum.
We were determined that Kit maintain a relationship
with Chris. She hadn’t been the sort of mother who
stood on the sidelines when I played lacrosse in the
freezing cold, but at that time, when it really mattered,
she was an incredible support. We took it in turns to
take Kit across London to Wandsworth Prison on
dispiriting Sunday visits, and I was so very grateful for
her jolly disposition and refusal to succumb to despair.
She’d had some experience with prison visits as her
mother [the writer Charlotte Hough] had served six
months for helping an elderly friend take her own life
back in 1984.
Age doesn’t mean anything to Mum. She has recently
divorced again [from the writer Mark Williams] and
now spends most of her time in her cottage in Kent,
near Tom and his family. She comes up to London to
see me and Kit, and then whizzes around on her bicycle
visiting galleries. I worry that she’s so young in her head
she won’t pay attention to things like visiting the doctor
when something is wrong. I used to aspire to be like her
but now I’ve accepted that I just can’t keep up.AϞßκĢöŽĢ¾ßκŊüãκÙüÿēßľãěκţÿŊüκĢŏľκÙü¾ÿěκ
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Main: Deborah, 73,
and Lottie, 44, at
Lottie’s home in
north London.
Inset: mother and
daughter c 19876 • The Sunday Times Magazine