by Gil McNeil
‘No thank you, darling, you eat it all up, I can have some next time.’
‘Yes. When are you coming home?’
‘Tomorrow night, darling.’
‘And will there be a surprise when you come home?’
I’m tempted to say yes, your mother will be in a light coma with strange marks on her back. But I know he actually means a toy, so long negotiations follow over what this might be. I’ve already bought some Lego, to save the trauma of trying to find something in a motorway service station. But of course he doesn’t know that so he runs through all possible options with prices ranging from about £10 to well over £1,000.
I manage to get some sleep, and then check in with Barney who says I am to meet him at eight tomorrow morning as it’s still pouring. He’s going to watch telly and sleep, and the crew are all in the bar doing the hokey cokey and drinking like fish. I’m allowed to go to sleep as well, but only after I have made it clear to Chris that the crew are to use their own money for booze from now on. I sort this out and collapse into bed, but manage to remember to book a wake-up call for seven am. The morning goes very well, although a few of the delegates from the hotel spot us and try to loiter in the exact part of the cobbled street where the actor is due to walk. But they soon get bored when Tom Cruise doesn’t show up. We also eventually manage to persuade the owners of the cottages adjacent to the one we’re using to stop looking out of their windows and waving.
I don’t get home until midnight, and after a brief chat with Mum and Dad fall straight into bed. Mum says a nice-sounding man phoned, and said he’ll call back tomorrow. I hope it was Mack and not the plumber, who was supposed to have fixed the outside tap but failed to turn up. The phone rings. It’s Mack.
‘Hi.’
‘Hi. Hang on, how did you get my home number?’
‘Well, I called Lawrence. God, he’s really wet, isn’t he? I told him I’d left a vital folder down at the hotel and wanted to know if you’d found it.’
‘Oh, very clever.’
‘Yesh, Moneypenny, and I thought of it all by myself. Is the kid asleep?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh good. Then we can have a nice long chat.’
‘No we cannot. I need to go to sleep.’
‘Oh. I do very good phone calls, you know.’
‘Yes, I’m sure you do. But I’ll be asleep any second now, so it’d be a bit of a waste.’
‘Oh alright. Look, if I offered to take you out to dinner would you start all that dreadful swearing again?’
‘I might.’
‘What, come out to dinner, or start swearing?’
‘Fuck off.’
‘Charming. Just what I was afraid of. A simple yes or no would do, actually.’
‘OK. Yes to both.’
‘Great. Friday night. I’ve got the kids for Easter, so it’ll have to be the week after next. Meet me at work at eight and I’ll take you to dinner at the Ivy. Have you got a little black dress? It’s pretty posh, you know.’
‘OK, OK, I get the message, Friday at eight. You want to take my little black dress out to dinner. I’ll bike it over to you. Do you want to borrow high heels as well?’
‘Oh yes, definitely high heels.’
‘OK. I’m writing this down. Black dress, high heels, bike them to you at the office for eight. Now go away and let me sleep.’
‘Sweet dreams.’
If this relationship is going to work I’ll have to teach him to end telephone conversations by saying goodbye rather than simply putting the phone down. Fall asleep feeling very chirpy, although I’m already debating exactly what to wear. The only little black dress I own is very old and is now two sizes too small, due to the combination of having Charlie and eating countless packets of chocolate Hobnobs. I can only wear it if I don’t sit down, so it might not be ideal for dinner unless I can arrange for us to go to a buffet somewhere. I’ll ring Leila and arrange an emergency shopping session.
Spend the next few days catching up with chores and having endless conversations with Barney, who is editing the Cornish film, which he says will be an award-winner if he can persuade the fucking client not to insert twenty fucking seconds of fucking pack-shot into a thirty-second film. I find myself standing in Safeway’s trying to calm Barney down, with call waiting bleeping on my mobile. I hadn’t actually realised I had a call-waiting facility, and don’t know how to use it. I manage somehow to press a secret button which means Mrs Jenkins from the PTA suddenly launches into a conversation with Barney. I end up having to offer to bake Easter fairy cakes for the cake stall on the last day of term, just to get her off the line. Barney is furious. ‘Who was that mad fucking woman going on about cakes? For fuck’s sake get a new phone.’
I have lots of talks with Leila and Kate about the potential pitfalls of embarking upon a passionate affair with Mack, should this turn out to be on offer. They both heartily recommend getting as much action as possible while it’s available, because you never know when you’ll get another chance. But I keep dwelling on the potential pitfalls if a brief affair turns into something more long-term. Apart from worrying about Charlie’s reaction, I know Mum will launch into mother-of-the-bride fantasy land at the merest whisper of a man. I find myself daydreaming about Mack in a variety of unlikely locations, and having panic attacks at the thought of seeing him again. I’d forgotten quite how tricky it all gets. Try very, very hard not to think about it, and fail.
Everyone comes to me for Easter lunch. Mum and Dad have bought Charlie the biggest Easter egg I’ve ever seen. In fact it’s the size Mum always refused to let us have when we were children. My helpful little sister Lizzie has done the same. She offered to do lunch this year but she and Matt, both being architects, live in minimalist heaven in a huge converted warehouse in Whitechapel. The entire place is done in shades of white, and I simply can’t stand the strain of taking Charlie there. I wish I’d agreed now, because getting chocolate stains off white sofas would serve her right for buying such a big egg. I tell Lizzie about Mack and she says it’s about time I had some fun, and when can she meet him? I’m not even sure if I’m going to meet him again if my current level of panic continues, so I beg her to change the subject before I start having palpitations, and we talk about her work. Her latest clients are very rich but totally mad, and keep changing their minds.
‘Honestly, they’re driving us nuts. If they alter the plans for the kitchen one more time, I’m going to get the builders to brick them up in the utility room.’
‘Good plan. That’s bound to have new clients flocking to your door.’
‘Yes, but it’d be worth it.’
Charlie eats so much chocolate he practically needs to be sedated after lunch. We go for a walk in the woods, and there are bluebells everywhere. The scent is marvellous, and Charlie insists on stopping to chat with the sheep in a nearby field, who all have lambs busy bouncing round like Zebedee from The Magic Roundabout. Mum starts telling us what she plans to pack for our holiday in Spain, which is only a few weeks away now.
‘Do you think it would be handy if I brought my toasted sandwich maker? It’s very light.’
Lizzie and I exchange glances, as we both know she’s not joking, and try to convince her not to bring any major items of kitchen equipment or the plane will never get off the ground. We get home and eat the special cakes Charlie has made for tea. They’re sort of chocolate nests, some more nest-like than others, but they taste delicious and we all have far too many and then feel sick. Everyone then beats a hasty retreat before the second sugar high of the day can kick in. I spend a hideous couple of hours trying to stop him from causing major structural damage. Finally he’s so exhausted he only registers a faint protest as I bundle him into bed.
‘Mummy, we had a lovely day, didn’t we?’
‘Yes, darling. Now go to sleep.’
‘Yes and the cakes I made were brilliant, weren’t they?’
‘Yes.’
‘I could make cakes and sell them l
ike you did at school, but I could keep all the money and buy a dog, couldn’t I, Mummy?’
‘No you couldn’t. Goodnight, Charlie.’
‘I hate you, Mummy. I really do. Goodnight.’
Chapter Five
Home Thoughts from Abroad
The day of my dinner date with Mack finally dawns, and I feel very nervous. Kate has offered to have Charlie to stay the night.
‘I’ve put pyjamas and everything in his bag, and also his special blanket. He’s almost given it up but he might want it tonight.’
‘OK. Although I doubt they’ll sleep at all.’
‘True. Thanks, Kate, he’s really excited. I’ll do the same for you, anytime.’
‘Chance would be a fine thing. Anyway James is thrilled. He was so excited this morning he even tidied up his room. Now look, off you go and have a fabulous time. Charlie will be fine. I promise I’ll ring you if he starts throwing up or anything.’
‘OK. Although it’s me that’s likely to be sick. I feel so nervous it’s ridiculous, but it’s so long since I’ve been on a date date, if you know what I mean.’
‘You’ll be fine. Oh, that reminds me, I thought you might like to wear these. They always brought me good luck – well, apart from Phil of course.’ With this she pushes a small black leather box towards me, looking very embarrassed. Inside is a pair of beautiful earrings, with green stones which I have a horrible feeling might be real emeralds.
‘God, they’re beautiful. But I’d be bound to lose one or something.’
‘Don’t be silly. I want you to wear them. At least my earrings will be having a hot date even if I’m not.’
I give her a hug, and promise to ring later, and race up to town to meet Leila. She drags me into countless shops and we finally find a little black dress which doesn’t make me look like I am six months pregnant with triplets. It’s black velvet, and costs a fortune. I also buy some fantastic black suede shoes, so high I can’t actually walk in them. But they are beautiful. Then Leila insists we get our nails done and starts lecturing me about underwear while the manicurists smirk. Eventually I agree to buy a new bra to shut her up. I feel like a trussed-up chicken. I also feel a burst of defiance coming on and ask Leila why I can’t just wear something ordinary and if he doesn’t like it he can bugger off.
‘Don’t be ridiculous: you’re going to the Ivy, not Burger King. Anyway, it’s about time you bought some nice clothes. Everyone needs a perfect black dress. If he doesn’t turn out to be Mr Right, you can still wear the dress.’
‘I suppose so, but the thing is I don’t really want a Mr Right, I want a Mr Friday Night.’
‘If a man said that you’d say he was a creep.’
‘If a man said that he’d be gay, so shut up. You know what I mean. I like my life the way it is, thank you very much. I can’t be bothered with all this sitting up straight and wearing uncomfortable bras. If it works out it will be complicated and tricky, and if it doesn’t it will be mortifying and tragic. I can’t win. I should have stayed at home.’
‘OK, Little Miss Optimistic, ring him up and say you’re cancelling because you don’t want to have to sit up straight. I’ll take you to dinner at the Ivy, and you can slouch and I’ll wear your vest. Now stop whining or I shall scream.’
We have lunch at Leila’s office because she needs to get back to her desk. She orders sushi, and almost as soon as she puts the phone down her secretary arrives bearing little trays and chopsticks. I can’t work out if she has trays of sushi ready at all times hidden in her desk, and if so is it safe to eat, or whether the delivery service is just very speedy round here. I demand a fork as I hate eating with chopsticks, which seem designed to make you look like a total berk or a smug bastard who has spend hours practising. Then I lounge about reading magazines while Leila runs about shouting at people and having countless phone calls where she’s charming and seems to be having a chat with an old friend, and then puts down the phone and says, ‘What a total prick.’
For some reason this reminds me of Lawrence, and I’m tempted to wander off to the office just to annoy him. But Barney’s away, so there really isn’t any point. I ring Charlie and discover he loves being at James’s house, and they are having sausages for tea, and Coke, so he’s in bliss, but can’t stop to chat because he is playing a marvellous game with James which seems to involve running round the house screaming. Lucky Kate. I get changed in Leila’s office and then totter round to the car park in my new shoes to stash the bags in the car. Walking turns out to be a bit of a challenge. I wish my new shoes had stabiliser wheels like Charlie’s bike. I manage to get back to Leila in one piece, but have had to hold on to one lamppost and two sets of railings.
Kate’s earrings look brilliant with my new frock, and Leila insists we go out for a quick drink to celebrate my transformation. I confess I can’t actually walk in my new shoes, and she marches me up and down the office giving me handy hints. Apparently you need to tip your head back, chest out, and hips forward, which I can just about do, but you also need to clench your bottom and pull your stomach in, which I cannot. We walk to a local bar, and I nearly fall over twice and have to have a vodka to try and calm down. Leila starts telling me all about James, and how brilliantly things are going.
‘He makes me laugh, and the sex is great. What more could a girl want?’
‘Can’t think of anything off-hand. So have you told him about the wedding yet?’
‘Not yet, and anyway I’ve gone off all that church stuff, it’s so obvious. But I think a blessing somewhere magical would be nice, somewhere remote like the Sahara.’
‘Leila, I am not trekking through the Sahara just to hold your flowers.’
‘Well, perhaps not the Sahara. But somewhere exotic, with great light so the photos look fantastic. Maybe Barney could do the snaps.’
‘Good idea. If you really want to do twenty-six takes of your wedding, I’m sure I could persuade him.’
As always, Leila meets people she knows, one of whom she slept with last year. I’m sure she could parachute into the middle of the Amazon rainforest and within five minutes she would bump into two old friends and a former lover. We get involved in a long riotous conversation. Suddenly I realise with horror that it’s five to eight and I’m going to be late. Leila helps me stand up and sends a waiter off to find a taxi. She gives me a huge hug, which nearly makes me fall over again, and wishes me luck, and then tells everyone that I am off on my first hot date for decades. The entire bar wishes me good luck. Could slap Leila sometimes but the taxi arrives before I have time to thank her for sharing my pathetic private life with a roomful of total strangers.
I arrive at Mack’s agency at eight twenty, which I suppose is slightly cool – not like me at all so I’m rather pleased. Mack is pacing up and down in reception, which is not cool at all, so I feel I have a slight advantage. Good thing too, because I practically fall out of the taxi on to the pavement, just as Mack looks round. I pretend I meant to get out this way, and pay the driver. The agency has revolving doors. Mack walks towards them smiling and begins to push the door from his side. I manage to push the door in totally the opposite direction so the whole thing judders to a halt. Mack then takes a step back, the doors revolve very quickly indeed and I am catapulted into reception at great speed. I’m able to slow down before I hit the reception desk, and mercifully do not fall over, but it’s not entirely how I’d planned to make my entrance.
Mack looks at me for what seems like hours, and says with a smirk, ‘Do you always launch yourself into buildings like that? Great dress, by the way.’
‘Thank you. I’m breaking in the shoes for a friend and they’re still a bit lively. I seem to remember you insisted on a black dress last time we spoke. I’ve got my jeans in the car, so I can always change.’
‘No, no, keep it on. Well, at least while we eat.’ He grins, and the security man sitting behind the reception desk coughs and drops his newspaper. Mack glares at him. ‘Look, my car’s downstairs so le
t’s go off to dinner unless you want a tour of the office.’
‘No, that’s fine. I’m not sure these shoes are up to touring. Food sounds good to me.’
The lift arrives, and Mack explains that he was lurking in reception because Bill, the security man, has the IQ of an ironing board and doesn’t like using the telephone. So he just tells everyone who turns up after six pm that the person they’ve come to meet has gone home. We descend to the basement car park. The atmosphere is electric, and I’m having difficulty breathing in anything approaching a normal fashion. Mack keeps looking at me, and then looking at his feet. The lift doors open and we walk to his car, which is a grey BMW, one of those special huge ones that looks like it’s been designed to carry the entire Bundesbank to lunch. Mack fumbles in his pockets for the keys and presses a button whereupon the car goes into a little disco routine complete with flashing lights before the door locks click open and the lights come on.
‘Oh I say, how very 007.’
‘Yes, but don’t touch any buttons or you’ll blow us all to kingdom come.’
‘OK. Can I drive?’
Mack hesitates for a second, goes a bit pale, and then says, ‘Sure, why, are you into cars or something?’
‘No, I just wanted to see your face.’
‘Oh very funny. Well, be my guest, but if you drive it into a wall I’ll refuse to speak to you for the entire evening.’
‘I thought these kind of cars usually come with little men in peaked caps to drive them.’
Mack looks embarrassed.
‘Don’t tell me you actually have a chauffeur. Where is he, in the boot?’
‘He’s not a chauffeur, he’s the company driver. I’ve told him I don’t need him tonight, since you’ll be driving. Actually it saves us a fortune on cabs.’
‘I bet it does. Economy drive, really.’
‘No, really it does. Anyway it was part of the set-up when I arrived. Give me some credit: I wouldn’t actually choose this car, or a driver, come to that. But our chairman is rather keen on all that kind of bollocks. And if he has one we all have to have one.’
