I Will Marry George Clooney (By Christmas)

by Tracy Bloom

  Michelle paused, confused.

  ‘It was all in French,’ Daz confirmed.

  ‘Does it really matter what they’re saying?’ she had to ask.

  ‘When you’re watching porn? Oh God, yeah. Makes all the difference.’

  For about the twentieth time that trip she gave thanks silently for the fact that she’d ended their relationship when they were nineteen.

  ‘So, I’ve got a visual now on where we’re going,’ said Daz spitting pastry fragments over the map. ‘Across the top of France via Strasbourg then Basel, straight down through Switzerland and then out the bottom into Italy before we hit Como. Eight hours’ driving should do it, so if we get cracking and do two shifts each we should be there by tonight.’

  As he sat there wiping spilt coffee off Austria, it struck Michelle that actually none of this would have been possible without him.

  ‘I’m so grateful, you know that, don’t you, Daz? I mean it when I say I couldn’t have done all this without you.’

  ‘Michelle,’ he said, struggling to swallow a mouthful of brioche. He seemed to have had his mouth full constantly since they’d arrived in France. ‘Look at me,’ he said. ‘I’m in France with two delightful ladies plotting our route across Europe to deliver Chaz to George Clooney. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would be able to say such a thing. You made all this possible. Not me, you.’

  ‘But if you hadn’t said I could do all this then I wouldn’t have. I know I wouldn’t. It’s down to you, seriously.’

  ‘No, it’s not. I’m just the local man with the disco gear, who rarely gets twenty miles away from the town in which he was born. Now I’m here, in France, because of you. And do you want to know something? I’m not going back to just being that. I’m going to make something happen in my life, just like you have. You just watch me,

  Michelle.’

  ‘Wow, that’s great, Daz,’ she said.

  ‘Right,’ he said, looking at his watch. ‘Speaking of making stuff happen, it’s time we were on the road and tracking down that George Clooney bloke.’

  ‘So your dad has been at the doctor’s again this morning, you know, with his hip.’ Kathleen’s voice rang out of the speakerphone as Michelle took her stint of the driving through Switzerland.

  ‘Are you listening to me?’ Kathleen almost shouted when she got no response.

  ‘Sorry, Mum,’ said Michelle. ‘I got distracted by the amazing mountains we’re passing.’

  ‘The doctor wants to refer him to the consultant.’

  ‘That’s brilliant,’ Michelle replied, still gobsmacked by the scenery.

  ‘It’s not brilliant at all,’ said Kathleen. ‘Arthur Winslow got referred to the consultant and six months later he was dead.’

  ‘Didn’t he have cancer?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Well, Dad hasn’t got cancer, has he?’

  ‘No, love, I’m just saying that being referred to the con sultant strikes me as the kiss of death in most situations.’

  ‘Consultants are there to make people better, Mum.’

  ‘You try telling Winnie Winslow that.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ squealed Josie, sitting up front with her mum.

  ‘Is that Josie?’ asked Kathleen. ‘What’s the matter with her? Is she alright? Are you looking after her?’

  ‘It’s a cow, Granny, a cow with a bell!’ shrieked Josie. ‘I so want a cow with a bell.’

  ‘Is she eating?’ asked Kathleen. ‘You never make her eat enough, Michelle. She’s skin and bone if you ask me.’

  ‘Granny, the food in France was disgusting. You have never seen anything like it. I couldn’t touch it.’

  ‘Never trust a nation who believe snails and frogs are the height of cuisine, Josie love. I hope your mother’s got you out of there by now?’

  ‘Mother,’ said Michelle. ‘We hardly needed to escape France.’

  ‘We’re in Switzerland now, Granny, it’s amazing.’

  ‘Switzerland!’ exclaimed Kathleen. ‘Switzerland! Are you out of your minds? Please tell me you still have your beetroot sandwiches with you?’

  ‘Josie ate them somewhere around Northampton,’ Michelle informed her.

  ‘My God, what will you do now?’ said Kathleen, sounding distressed.

  ‘About what?’ asked Michelle, starting to panic.

  ‘Sandwiches, Michelle, sandwiches,’ said Kathleen. ‘You can’t afford to eat in Switzerland. You’re going to starve. I knew I should have made you more sandwiches, I just knew it. Ray . . . Ray,’ they heard her shout. ‘They’re only stuck in Switzerland without any sandwiches.’

  ‘We’ll find something, Mum, don’t panic,’ said Michelle, taking deep breaths to calm herself down. ‘We will survive without your sandwiches. Oh look, Gina’s trying to call, must go. We’ll call you from Italy, bye.’ She pressed the button and switched to Gina for a saner conversation.

  ‘Hi, guys,’ Gina rang out. ‘Are you sunburnt yet?’

  ‘It’s cold, Gina,’ stated Josie. ‘It’s nearly Christmas.’

  ‘I know,’ said Gina. ‘But Michelle’s texted to say she saw a sign for Austria yesterday. They have hot Christmases in Austria, don’t they?’

  There was utter silence in the van.

  ‘Australia!’ Daz roared suddenly. ‘She means Australia!’

  ‘Oh, right,’ said Michelle and Josie in unison.

  ‘We were near Austria, not Australia,’ said Michelle to the phone. ‘Now we’re just driving through Switzerland.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Gina. ‘No wonder it’s cold. It’s always cold there, right? You seen any cows with bells yet?’

  ‘Oh Gina,’ said Josie. ‘They are the cutest things you have ever seen.’

  ‘Awwww, I want one,’ said Gina.

  ‘Me too,’ agreed Josie.

  ‘You and Gina are so on the same wavelength,’ said Michelle to her daughter. Josie stared at her mother, horrified.

  ‘So, guys, your fairy godmother has some good news,’ said Gina. ‘I only managed to get you an address for George in Lake Como.’

  ‘Gina!’ said Michelle. ‘You are a star. How’d you manage that?’

  ‘Well, you know. I made a few calls, pulled a few strings and that.’

  ‘Cousin Jack get it for you?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I daren’t ask this time. So I’ve emailed it to you along with a map, okay?’

  ‘You’re amazing, you know that, don’t you?’ said Michelle.

  ‘Well, we’re all rooting for you here, honey,’ said Gina. ‘Mike is sick of pasta already, seeing as I’ve insisted on Italian week in our house since I couldn’t come on the road trip with you. And me and Little Slaw have put a map up in the staffroom so we can track your progress.’

  ‘Did Marianne get my message?’ asked Michelle. ‘Did she manage to sort out my holiday entitlement with HR?’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said Gina. ‘I went to see her and she’s super excited to get George’s autograph. Quite frankly, you could ask her to do anything at the moment. Anyway, no-one’s noticed that you’re not here, so don’t worry.’

  ‘Oh great! So good to be missed.’

  ‘I’m missing you. Lunchtime is very dull without you and George Clooney. Look, I’ve got to go. Dead meat beckons. Give George one for me, eh?’

  ‘I will, Gina. See you soon.’

  ‘Bye.’

  The van fell silent except for the faint tinkling of cowbells in the distance.

  ‘Mum, you do know you’ll never get near him, don’t you?’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Michelle, feeling full of bravado now they had an address and after hearing Gina’s encouraging words.

  ‘There’ll be like a ten-foot-high fence all around his house and massive iron gates that you’ll need a secret code to get through and dogs, lots of dogs stopping you from getting anywhere near.’ Josie tucked her headphones into her ears before Michelle could respond.

&nb
sp; ‘But we have a secret weapon,’ she whispered to herself. ‘Chaz will get us past the scary dogs.’ Chaz could get them past anything, surely.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  ‘This is so embarrassing!’ Josie screamed. ‘Make it stop!’ she yelled, putting her hands over her ears.

  They’d been outside George Clooney’s villa for half an hour now, and there were dogs, just as Josie had predicted, barking and jumping up at the fence, making the most horrendous racket. But the dogs weren’t the reason for Josie’s distress. It was Daz, jumping up and down on top of his disco van and shouting at the top of his voice, waving poor Chaz above his head as ‘A little Less Conversation’ by Elvis Presley blared out of the speakers.

  ‘A little less conversation, a little more action, Mr Clooney!’ Daz shouted. ‘If you don’t come out now then Chaz gets it. Do you hear me? Chaz will be leaving the building!’

  Daz didn’t notice the taxi approaching but Michelle did. Could this be George? she thought. She waited for the taxi to swerve around the van and enter the enormous iron gates, but it didn’t. It stopped, and she saw a tall, dark, handsome man get out of the back seat. Odd for George to get dropped off at the gate, she thought, her heart starting to beat rapidly.

  He looked over to her and she saw his face for the first time. A face she had thought of a thousand times over the last few days. A face that made her stand frozen to the spot, her heart now thumping out of her chest. Not George Clooney. Him. What the hell was he doing here, and what the hell was she going to do now?

  The day had started so well – though maybe not for Daz. Having hit nightfall they had decided not to press on to Lake Como but to stop a dozen or so kilometres short so they could be up bright and early and head over there in daylight. A suitable roadside hostelry had been found and after a hasty pizza they had all retreated to their beds. Even though she’d been exhausted from the long day’s driving, Michelle had stayed awake for an hour listening to her daughter trying desperately to track down Sean. No answer on his mobile and no answer at his home had led to a flurry of calls to his mates, punctuated by increasingly frantic sounding text messages. Eventually Josie’s phone had rung, and to Michelle’s relief she’d heard Josie gasp, ‘Sean, where have you been?’ as she darted for the bathroom and locked herself in. Assuming that Josie would be quite some time, she’d decided to try and get some sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a massive day in more ways than one.

  At seven-thirty the following morning Michelle was battering on Daz’s door having showered, changed and even used dental floss. She was concerned that she hadn’t found him already down in the hotel restaurant stuffing his face with pastries, which seemed to be part of his daily continental routine. Having decided that the day you could potentially meet George Clooney was an occasion when carbohydrates should be avoided at all costs, she’d downed a coffee and gone to track Daz down in his room. To her relief, having for a moment pictured him murdered in some Alpine massacre, she heard a click from the other side of the door then Daz appeared, slowly opening the door.

  ‘You look horrendous!’ she blurted.

  Daz grunted back. His eyes were barely open, his hair was plastered down over a sweaty brow and the clothes he’d been wearing the night before were crumpled and marked with red stains.

  ‘Are you okay? What happened?’ she asked urgently.

  ‘Wah,’ he uttered, before staggering backwards and making a dash for the bathroom. Next thing she heard him noisily throwing up. She took a step into the room but immediately stepped back out again. It stank of booze and of a man who was existing on a gut-churning diet. Peering through the door, she spotted Gina’s gift for George Clooney, the red wine box, upended on the carpet next to a crushed plastic bathroom beaker which had clearly been broken whilst still containing red wine.

  ‘You are a disgrace, Daz!’ she shouted as he staggered out of the bathroom, clutching a towel to his face.

  ‘Downstairs in ten,’ she ordered, then turned on her heel.

  ‘What on earth were you thinking?’ she asked once they were all on the road again, her driving, Daz poised over a sick bag.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Daz groaned. ‘All I wanted to do was get a great playlist together for meeting George.’ He leant back against his seat and swallowed as if talking was really hard. ‘I’d left my iPad in the van so I went to get it and I spotted the box of wine. I thought George wouldn’t miss a glass. So I took it back to my room and I lay there doing my Come Clooney playlist, and one glass led to another, and another, and I had no idea how much I was drinking. Wine boxes are the stupidest invention ever.’

  ‘It was supposed to be for George.’

  ‘I know. I’ll buy him another one,’ said Daz miserably.

  ‘I wouldn’t bother,’ said Michelle. ‘I don’t think George drinks the type of wine that makes you feel like this.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Daz agreed. ‘There’s no way he’s ever been through this kind of hell. He’s never experienced pain like I’m experiencing now. He must only drink wine that never gives you a hangover, like magic wine us mere plebs are not allowed to know about.’

  ‘Yeah, I bet he eats magic sausages as well that don’t make you fat.’

  ‘Please don’t mention sausages,’ said Daz, winding down the window and taking huge gulps of fresh air.

  Michelle glanced back at Josie, who was staring out the window but didn’t appear to be seeing anything.

  ‘We should see Lake Como any minute, Josie.’

  A Sean-style grunt came from the back seat. It was all she’d got out of Josie since her conversation with Sean the night before.

  They rounded a bend and suddenly it felt as though the whole world had opened up. From their viewpoint high up in the mountains they caught their first glimpse of a glittering Lake Como, bouncing sunlight into their eyes until they were totally dazzled. The cloudless sky was reflected as a stunning blue in the water, framed by a shoreline decorated by clusters of quaint old houses. Pointed cypress trees stood proudly to attention beside stunning villas rising majestically over their reflections in the clear water. Sparkling white snowcapped mountains completed the picture, protecting this enchanting kingdom.

  ‘Wow!’ said Michelle, pulling into a layby so they could take it all in.

  ‘Wow,’ she breathed again.

  They all sat in silence, staring.

  Josie poked her head through the two front seats.

  ‘It looks like . . . it looks like . . .’

  ‘Something out of a fairytale,’ finished Michelle.

  ‘Yeah,’ breathed Josie.

  ‘Like in Shrek,’ said Daz. ‘You know, like Far Far Away Land. Like the three little pigs are going to come dancing around the corner any minute.’

  Josie and Michelle turned to stare at him.

  ‘I love that movie,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders.

  ‘I was thinking more Cinderella,’ sighed Michelle. ‘Like Prince Charming could appear at any minute on a white horse, cantering across the mountains.’

  ‘Oh perleeeease,’ said Josie, sitting back again.

  ‘Or George Clooney could be waiting for me with open arms and fall instantly in love with me and invite me to live here in this magical kingdom with him happily ever after,’ she added.

  ‘Your fairytale ending,’ nodded Daz.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ sighed Michelle.

  ‘Excuse me a minute,’ said Daz, suddenly flinging himself out of the van and throwing up at the side of the road.

  As they weaved their way along narrow roads, past countless picture-perfect views, Michelle could feel herself getting more and more nervous, as if she really was on her way to meet George Clooney. Think positive, she told herself. She was going to meet George Clooney; she had to believe that. They’d come so far, travelled so many miles. He would come out and meet them. He had to.

  After half an hour of getting totally lost trying to follow Gina’s instructions, Josie shouted for them to stop as
they drove around a quaint market square for the fourth time.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Michelle, but Josie had already jumped out of the van and was heading towards a life-size nativity scene in the centre of the square. Carved wooden figures stood motionless under a moss-covered roof, staring into a straw-filled crib. Animals, less enamoured with the arrival of the Messiah, were scattered around, including a goat on its back with its legs in the air.

  ‘What is she doing?’ said Daz as they watched Josie stride purposefully towards the virgin birth. ‘Do you think she’s got religion or something?’

  ‘Perhaps I should go after her,’ said Michelle.

  ‘I wouldn’t. Maybe she connects on some level, you know, with her also being born at Christmas.’

  ‘You think Josie connects with Jesus?’ asked Michelle, incredulous.

  ‘Yeah,’ Daz said slowly. ‘And the virgin birth thing – Jesus didn’t really know who his dad was either, did he?’

  ‘Wasn’t it God?’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said Daz. ‘Course it was. But when he was a kid he must have been confused with the whole Joseph thing. I can imagine Mary struggling to explain that one to a child. Bit like you, really.’

  ‘Josie wasn’t a virgin birth.’

  ‘I know that, stupid!’ Daz shook himself and sat up. ‘Just saying it might as well have been, as far as Josie’s concerned.’

  Michelle wondered if he was still drunk. She looked towards the nativity again to discover Josie engaged in conversation with a middle-aged woman sitting on a bench. The woman pointed at something and Josie nodded vigorously, then headed back towards them.

  ‘Half a kilometre back down this road then left at the crossroads. The entrance is on the right after about two kilometres,’ she said, climbing back into her seat.

  ‘Is that where George Clooney lives?’ said Michelle in awe. ‘You just asked her?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Josie nodded. ‘I said we were musicians from Jerusalem that he’d booked for a party and we’d got lost.’

  ‘Jerusalem!’ Michelle exclaimed.

  ‘No idea where that came from. It was the first place that leapt into my head.’