Miss Wrong and Mr Right

by Robert Bryndza

  ‘She’s in shock,’ said Brendan. ‘Luckily her burlesque training kicked in and she managed to keep hold of the swing… We believe it was an act of corporate sabotage,’ he added.

  ‘Sabotage in Soho?’ intoned the reporter, with an edge of excitement to her voice.

  ‘Yes, the Raven Street Theatre opposite has blocked us at every turn, as we try to establish this new venue… At a crucial moment of her routine, several kilos of bread were thrown off the roof opposite, inciting the pigeons to violence. I’m just relieved no one died…’

  As the report concluded, there was a shot of a thin girl in burlesque gear with a cut on the side of her head. A lady from St John Ambulance was pressing a large bandage to it. It ended with the news reporter standing in Raven Street. Our giant billboard of Ryan Harrison was lit up behind her, and LIVE FROM SOHO was written across the bottom of the screen.

  ‘The St John’s Ambulance service is advising everyone who was pecked, or came into contact with pigeon faeces, to have a tetanus booster,’ she said. ‘As far as corporate sabotage is concerned, one can only speculate. The artistic director of the Raven Street Theatre, Nancy Love, was contacted, but declined to comment. This is Rita Cochrane, in Soho, for BBC London Tonight.’

  The report went back to the studio as I shouted at the screen.

  ‘What do you mean declined to comment? No one asked me, and Nancy Love?’

  I grabbed my phone and rang Nicky.

  ‘Have you seen the news?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes. You’re welcome honey,’ she replied.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Did you really want to be interviewed on London Tonight?’

  ‘Well, no…’ I said.

  ‘Good, because it could lead to more nonsense about corporate sabotage. I can see Brendan is using this as best he can, for publicity. We just don’t give him anymore, okay?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  Nicky hung up. I paced round the flat for a bit, then as a distraction, ordered a huge Chinese and a bottle of wine. It had just arrived when my phone rang. It was the operator asking if I would accept a reverse charge call. Was this a desperate attempt from Benjamin, another booty call? Intrigued, I said I would accept the charge. There were some beeps and then a voice.

  ‘Natalie my darlink!’

  ‘Gran? Hi!’ I said tucking the phone under my chin and paying the delivery guy. I closed the front door and went through to the kitchen. ‘Gran, what a surprise, how are you?’

  ‘Ayayay Natalie. I have had my heart broken again. Stefan ended our love affair…’

  I started to unpack my Chinese onto the table, racking my brains to try and remember Stefan… Was he the artist, or the sculptor?

  ‘I caught him vith another vooman…’ she said.

  ‘I’m sorry Gran. Are you okay?’

  ‘Yes, my darlink,’ she said wearily. ‘The sex vas tip top, but he didn’t make me laugh. I think that’s so important…’

  ‘I can agree with you on that,’ I said. ‘But what I meant was, are you okay? Why are you reversing the charges?’

  ‘Natalie. I call to say I am coming to this christening for Micky’s baby with the funny name. She vants me to bring sousa-gez!’

  ‘What’s sousa-gez?’ I asked.

  ‘You know the little rolled up tubes of meat, from a pig. Sousa-gez!’

  ‘You mean sausages,’ I laughed.

  ‘Ayayayy, my accent huh?’

  ‘I’ve been asked to bring ham in a bottle,’ I said spooning out Chinese onto a plate. Gran laughed.

  ‘Vat planet does Micky live on? I vasn’t going to fly to London today vith a suitcase full of sousa-gez. Vat am I? A refugee?’

  I paused with my hand hovering over the egg fried rice.

  ‘Fly to London. Today?’ I repeated.

  ‘Yes, Natalie. I am in London, at the Heathrow. Terrible place, no vonder it rhymes with death row…’

  On cue there was a bing bong in the background and an announcement.

  ‘So where are you staying tonight?’ I asked looking at my watch. It was almost eight.

  ‘Vith you!’ she laughed, as if I had made a joke. ‘Now Natalie, I am at the terminal five. Vat time will you be here?’

  My heart sank. Why does she always do this? She just shows up, what if I was out? What would she do? My brain started whirring, where were the clean sheets? Where would she sleep?

  ‘Terminal five is on the Piccadilly Line,’ I said. ‘If you go down to the tube, find the eastbound platform, it will take you all the way to Leicester Square where I can meet you…’

  ‘Natalie. Vill you be a darlink and come to get me? I hev many bags, and I am vearing all of my mother’s gold, the nice stuff she vore when she escaped the Nazis…’

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I’ll be there in, I don’t know, an hour?’

  ‘Thank you my darlink,’ she said and hung up. I crammed in a few mouthfuls of Chinese, then put the rest in the oven on a low heat. I grabbed my bag and went off to the tube.

  I arrived at terminal five an hour later, and found Gran, sat in an empty Starbucks. She was surrounded by suitcases piled high. She was dripping with gold jewellery and wearing her huge fur coat. There was a walking stick against her chair.

  ‘Natalie! My darlink!’ she cried standing awkwardly to give me a hug. ‘You look more beautiful as time goes by!’

  Despite her rocking up unannounced, I was pleased to see her. She looked the same, a little older, her long blonde hair was piled high on her head and fixed with several gold combs.

  ‘You’ve got so much luggage!’ I said surveying the pile of suitcases and her vanity case propped on top.

  ‘Yes. I never know what to vear, so I bring it all!’ she laughed. I went and found a trolley, then heaved all her suitcases on. We moved slowly down to the Piccadilly Line, as Gran was limping badly, leaning heavily on her stick.

  ‘What have you done to your foot?’ I asked.

  ‘I hev a terrible bunion,’ she said indicating her misshapen foot, which was crammed into a gold heel.

  ‘Should you be wearing heels?’ I asked. She just laughed and paused, leaning on her stick.

  ‘Even if I vas shot in the foot I would choose heels!’

  We made it down to the tube, and the guard opened the ticket barrier for Gran with her stick, and me with the trolley. A train had just arrived. Gran took a seat, and left me to pile in all the suitcases; several times the doors beeped and I had to keep stopping them closing to get it all in. Finally everything was in, and the train pulled away.

  She asked me all about work, and I started to tell her about Benjamin, and Jamie, and what was happening at the theatre. Then a ticket inspector boarded and I realised, Gran didn’t have a ticket.

  ‘I’m so sorry my darlink,’ she said as we travelled up in the lift at Leicester Square station. ‘I vill pay you back the thirty pounds fine… when I get some pounds,’ she added vaguely. We took a taxi back to the flat, and by the time I had all her suitcases indoors, it was gone ten o’clock. I put the leftover Chinese on two plates and came into the living room.

  ‘Thank you. I am famished,’ she said as I handed her a plate. ‘I love your place Natalie, it vill do nicely…’

  I was about to question what that meant when she handed me a duty-free bag. I took it, and inside was a bottle of Chanel No.5 and a litre of plum brandy.

  ‘Thank you, I thought you didn’t have any money?’ I asked.

  ‘I hev plastic money… Let’s have a toast,’ she said. I grabbed glasses and poured us each a measure. We clinked.

  ‘To my favourite granddaughter,’ she said.

  ‘So, where have you been living?’ I asked taking a big mouthful of chicken chow mein.

  ‘Spain. In Torremolinos, by the sea, with Stefan who is a film maker,’ she said cramming prawn crackers into her mouth; she crunched them and washed them down with brandy.

  ‘What kind of films does he make?’ I asked.

  ‘The k
ind that nobody understands,’ said Gran wryly. ‘I vas in his latest, The Song of the Floundering Mermaid.’

  ‘You did some acting?’

  ‘Yes! He cast me as the High Empress Mermaid.’

  ‘Sounds glamorous,’ I said.

  ‘It vasn’t. I spent three veeks sat topless on a rock in Benálmadena, buffeted by the freezing tide. I ended up with a vater infection.’

  ‘You were topless?’ I said.

  ‘Yes, all the ladies in Stefan’s films are topless… I caught him one night vith another mermaid, unzipping her flipper. We’re over now. Done. Kaput.’

  ‘I’m so sorry Gran,’ I said.

  ‘It vas my own fault. I thought I vas his muse, but in reality he vanted my money to pay his production costs…There’s nothing that parts a fool vith her money quicker than having a toy boy.’

  ‘How old is Stefan?’ I asked.

  ‘Fifty-three,’ said Gran, shoving more prawn crackers in her mouth. I took another forkful of Chinese and tried to process all that information.

  ‘I’ve had a similar experience, well, I wasn’t a topless mermaid or anything, but I started seeing my yoga instructor, Benjamin…’ I told her all about it, leaving out none of the details.

  ‘This is men,’ said Gran. ‘When they vant you, but you don’t vant them, they stay. But let them know you vant them, they no longer need you, and they go! It’s like that movie, Nanny McPhee.’

  I burst out laughing.

  ‘It’s nothing like Nanny McPhee!’

  ‘But you get the gist,’ she grinned leaning over and topping up my brandy. ‘I’ve missed you Natalie. I feel I can tell you about my life… All your mother vants to talk about on the phone is how to make hot vater crust pastry.’

  ‘Well, I have something else to tell you,’ I said. ‘Jamie is back on the scene. He’s decided to open a theatre opposite mine.’

  ‘Interesting… You think he vants you back?’

  ‘No. He’s got a gorgeous girlfriend, far prettier than me… No I think he wants to show off.’

  ‘First of all Natalie, you are the prettiest girl in the vorld, don’t forget that, and second you were right not to marry him. He would never have coped with you being more successful than him… Think of the life you’ve made for yourself. Vould you have done that back in Sowerton?’

  I shrugged.

  ‘Natalie. I do regret making you burn your vedding dress. In my own crazy way I did it so you wouldn’t change your mind, and marry him after all…’

  I grabbed her hand and smiled.

  ‘I’ve calmed down a lot since then,’ she said pouring us more brandy.

  ‘Have you? I can’t think of anyone else’s gran who would play a topless mermaid in a film!’

  She regaled me with more tales, and then I offered to run her a bath. I waited until I heard her get in the water and then I went into the kitchen and rang my mother.

  ‘She just showed up?’ said Mum. ‘I thought she wasn’t coming to the christening?’

  ‘Well, she is,’ I said.

  ‘I thought she was gallivanting around Spain with Stephen?’

  ‘Stefan… and that’s over,’ I said. Mum sighed.

  ‘How are you going to get her here?’

  ‘I’ll drive,’ I said.

  ‘Will there be room for you and her and Benjamin?’

  I was too exhausted to go into detail, so I just said yes.

  ‘It will be lovely to see you Natalie, and well, I’ll just have to deal with Mum I suppose…Did you find out if Benjamin likes trifle?’

  ‘No, he doesn’t,’ I lied, cringing.

  ‘What kind of a person doesn’t like trifle? Is he from a special religion?’

  I racked my brains to think of a religion which abstained from eating homemade trifle, but she went on.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m making a huge one. All from scratch. No boudoir biscuits, proper sponge. I bet you if Benjamin has a bowl he’ll be a convert! Looking forward to meeting him. Bye!’

  When Gran came out of the bath she was wearing a long nightgown. Her face was free of make-up and her hair was down. Without the make-up and jewellery she looked vulnerable. She refused to take my bed so I made up the sofa bed for her in the living room. When the sheets were on she got in, and I found myself tucking her in for the night.

  ‘This is great Natalie,’ she said snuggling down under the covers. ‘It’s lovely to see you, I am sorry I didn’t let you know sooner… I lost my phone and…’ her eyes welled up. ‘I am so tired.’

  ‘It’s fine. You’re always welcome here,’ I said. I leant down and gave her a kiss. ‘Sleep tight.’

  ‘God bless Natalie,’ she murmured and she was asleep. I watched her for a moment and then crept out and switched off the light.

  Aftermath

  When I woke the next morning I tiptoed about, so as not to wake Gran who was fast asleep on the sofa. She was still snoring as I left the flat, so I scribbled a quick note, leaving my work number. I realised bloody Benjamin still had my spare key, so I added that if she wanted to go anywhere, I would come back and drop off my key. Ugh, ex-boyfriends!

  Outside the sun was blazing, and it was promising to be another hot day. When I arrived at the theatre, Raven Street was bustling; bike couriers sped past, swearing at tourists who were too transfixed with the tacky glitz of Soho to look both ways before crossing; white vans were dotted along the road, unloading their deliveries for the shops, bars, and restaurants; and a huge refuse truck rumbled along, stopping every few metres to collect bins and hold up the traffic.

  The screens of The Big O opposite were still blank. A ladder was propped against the building, and one of the square screens making up the video wall had been removed to reveal a tangle of multi-coloured wires. A man in dungarees and a cap stood on the ladder, tinkering with a screwdriver. Outside the theatre, Val from the box office was trying to move a group of Ryan fans, who were blocking the entrance.

  ‘Are any of you lot listening to me? Move to one side, let this poor bloke do his job!’ she was shouting. A greying man was waiting with a trolley piled high with bottles he needed to deliver to the bar. The fans ignored her, using the opportunity of the open door to peer past her into the gloom of the box office. Some took pictures on their phones.

  ‘Ryan Harrison is not in there!’ she cried. One of our security chaps materialised and shooed the fans to one side.

  ‘Morning,’ I said to Val and the delivery man.

  ‘Gawd, haven’t they got anything better to do with their lives?’ muttered Val, and then followed the delivery man inside.

  I was about to go in after her, when a small figure in a pink tracksuit and baseball cap emerged from the doorway of The Big O. It was Tuppence Halfpenny; she pulled a box of cigarettes from the front pocket of her hoodie and lit up. Contrary to what Brendan had said on the news, she seemed fine.

  ‘Jamie, Jamie!’ she snapped. ‘How long are you gonna be up there? I want you to watch my rehearsal…’

  It was Jamie on the ladder with the screwdriver.

  ‘Give me ten more minutes,’ he said.

  ‘You shouldn’t be fiddling with that, let’s call in the engineer,’ she snapped, taking a drag of her fag.

  ‘I know what I’m doing, Tuppence,’ he said. I realised that if you took away the video screen and replaced it with an old car, they were just like any other couple. I went inside the theatre before they saw me.

  I was in the office first, and Nicky followed a few minutes later. She was clutching her iPad, and seemed to be in a better mood than last night on the phone.

  ‘Morning honey. It seems this pigeon thing is already fizzling out… I was real worried the national media would grab hold of it,’ she said.

  ‘And they haven’t?’ I asked nervously.

  ‘Not really, in fact there’s very little about their launch yesterday… Look, just a small piece in the Sun and Mail Online.’ She handed me her iPad. The Sun had an unflattering shot of T
uppence toppling off her swing, and a pigeon hovering above her head in the process of having a crap.

  ‘Going arse over Tuppence,’ I said, reading the headline.

  ‘And look at this,’ added Nicky swiping at the iPad. ‘Our delicious little golden goose Ryan Harrison is everywhere. The national newspapers took up Eva Castle’s interview with him. Doesn’t he look great!’

  ‘What about Brendan?’ I asked.

  ‘Who’d want to interview Brendan?’

  ‘No. I’m worried Brendan is out there, plotting against us,’ I explained.

  ‘Honey, there will always be someone out there plotting against us. What’s the worst that can happen? Ryan gets photographed picking his boogers? He’s a cool kid. Clean cut and media savvy, and more importantly so are we.’

  I looked back at the awful picture of Tuppence mid-fall, and remembered the vindictive look on Brendan’s face yesterday. I didn’t share Nicky’s sudden confidence.

  At lunchtime I had a call from Gran to say she wanted to go out shopping, so she could cook dinner tonight. I popped home and found her standing in the middle of the kitchen. She was still in her nightgown and looked confused.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I asked.

  ‘How do I make a bloody coffee?’ she grumbled. ‘All these shiny machines! I tried the hole in the front of your fridge, but it showered me in little pieces of ice, and that other thing vants me to insert a capsule?’

  ‘You sit, I’ll make us a nice strong coffee,’ I said. Gran perched on the chair. I made us coffee and cheese sandwiches, and gave her a twenty pound note, which she didn’t want to take.

  ‘I should be back about five,’ I said, when we’d finished our lunch. ‘You will be careful out there?’

  ‘My God Natalie, I am not a baby. I vas the one who first brought you to Soho!’ she said. I gave her a hug and left the flat. On the way back to the theatre I made a phone call to Benjamin. I was relieved when it went to answer phone, and I left a short message asking him to return my key.