I Will Marry George Clooney (By Christmas)

by Tracy Bloom

  ‘I like it,’ said Daz. ‘Musicians from Jerusalem on a mission. Drive on, Mary,’ he told Michelle.

  ‘That must be it.’ Daz pointed at the high gates set in the middle of the very high brick wall they seemed to have been driving along for miles. ‘Pull in, let’s have a look.’

  They parked in the small area in front of the gates. They could see nothing past the heavy railings, since the driveway swerved sharply off to the left, a wall of trees hiding whatever beauty lay beyond. It was dark, gloomy and uninviting, the sunshine’s rays obliterated by the surrounding trees.

  ‘So,’ said Daz, stabbing at his iPad. ‘The soundtrack to this particular part of our journey just has to be Ocean’s Eleven. I think our strategic thinking in pulling off this particular stunt is actually on a par with robbing a casino.’

  ‘I think robbing a casino might have been easier,’ muttered Michelle. She got out of the van and walked up to the intercom to the left of the gates. There were two buttons. Two intercoms. She glanced back at Daz and Josie, who were both leaning out of their windows.

  ‘Which button do you think?’ she asked.

  ‘What does it say next to them?’ said Daz.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘It hasn’t even got his name there?’

  ‘No, nothing.’

  ‘Press the top one. No, hang on a minute, there’s something we have to do first.’ Daz jumped out of the van and lugged Chaz over to Michelle, then made her pose for a selfie with the well-travelled cheque.

  ‘Say, Clooney.’

  ‘Clooney,’ grinned Michelle.

  ‘Now I’m going to stand behind you with Chaz so that when they click on the intercom, Chaz is in full view. We don’t want him thinking we’re just some crazy stalkers, do we? He needs to see Chaz to know we’re legit.’

  ‘Okay,’ breathed Michelle, worried that Daz was actually making some sense, and when Daz made sense you knew you were in trouble. She waited whilst he got into position and gave it the thumbs up.

  ‘Let’s have a countdown, shall we?’ said Daz. ‘Five, four, three, two, one . . . we have lift-off.’ She pressed the buzzer.

  She felt herself breathe in and out several times. Daz maintained a manic grin, holding Chaz aloft. Josie checked her phone for texts.

  ‘Try it again,’ urged Daz. ‘He might be having his morning constitutional.’

  She tried again. Nothing.

  ‘Okay, now try the other one,’ said Daz, still grinning.

  She tried the other one. Nothing.

  ‘Again,’ urged Daz.

  She tried again. Nothing.

  And so it went on for what seemed like hours but was maybe twenty-five or thirty minutes. Manic grins had relaxed into reassuring smiles, which had evolved into desperate grimaces. Neither of them was willing to give up, because they knew exactly what would happen if they did. Precisely nothing. And that petrified the hell out of both of them.

  It didn’t petrify Josie, however, and having finished her textathon with Sean, who seemed to be communicating again, she took one look at her mother’s desperate face and decided it was time to speak her mind. She got out of the van.

  ‘This is so humiliating,’ she said. ‘You’ve got to stop making a fool of yourself now.’

  ‘Don’t talk to your mother like that,’ said Daz angrily. ‘You should be proud of her perseverance.’

  ‘But it’s pathetic!’ she yelled. ‘He’s clearly not here. It’s over. You tried, but it’s over. You were never going to meet George Clooney, never mind ask him to marry you. It was stupid to ever think you were. Now let’s forget this stupid pipe dream and go home.’

  It was then that the dogs appeared at the gate, barking and hurling themselves at the railings. Daz took one look at them and leapt onto the top of the truck, then shouted at the top of his voice, threatening to do terrible things to Chaz if George didn’t show his face.

  It was no wonder he didn’t notice the taxi pull up. He wasn’t aware someone had joined them until he noticed Josie and Michelle standing with their mouths open.

  ‘What’s this?’ Josie shouted to make herself heard above the din of Daz’s music and the dogs barking. ‘Some kind of pantomime? We’ll have Auntie Jane turning up as a ghost next. Are you stalking us or something, Rob? This is ridiculous!’

  Rob was making his way towards Josie with a purpose in his stride.

  ‘Josie!’ shouted Michelle, glancing terrified between her and Rob.

  Josie turned on her mum. ‘You’re ridiculous,’ she said scornfully. ‘What the hell’s going on? Take me home, now!’

  ‘Josie,’ said Rob, reaching out to her.

  ‘What’s he doing here?’ Josie was starting to look frightened.

  ‘It’s alright,’ said Michelle. ‘Calm down.’

  Rob took a moment to glance at Michelle before taking Josie’s hand.

  ‘I am your father,’ he shouted above Elvis, who was still giving it some from the van’s sound system.

  The next thing they knew there was a thud followed by a low moan. Daz had fallen off the top of the van.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  ‘Daz!’ shouted Michelle, cradling his head in her arms. ‘Daz, wake up! Are you okay?’

  ‘Mmmmmmmnnnnn,’ he moaned. He opened his eyes and was confronted with Michelle, Rob and Josie staring down at him.

  ‘You fell off the top of the disco van,’ said Michelle.

  ‘Fuck,’ he said, sitting up quickly. ‘Where’s Chaz?’

  ‘He’s fine. We’ve leant him against the railings.’

  Daz stared around him, looking lost and confused. He’d only been out of it for a moment but he was as white as a sheet and he looked as if he didn’t know where he was.

  ‘We’re in Italy!’ shouted Michelle as though he had turned deaf. ‘Outside George Clooney’s house. Do you remember?’

  But Daz didn’t appear to be listening. He was staring at Rob with his mouth open.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.

  Rob glanced quickly at Michelle, in distress, but didn’t reply.

  Daz scrambled to his feet.

  ‘Go steady, eh?’ said Rob, giving him a hand. ‘You had us worried there for a minute.

  ‘Don’t move,’ said Daz. He bent to pick up his iPad, which had also been a casualty of his dramatic fall. A few strokes across the screen appeared to satisfy him of its health before he furrowed his brow, clearly searching for something. Michelle, Rob and Josie all stood staring at him, as if frozen. The next moment ‘The Imperial March’ from Star Wars blasted out.

  ‘Turn it off, now!’ shouted Rob, suddenly looking very angry.

  ‘So it’s true,’ said Daz, his eyes narrowing, making no move to switch off the music.

  ‘No!’ shouted Rob above the clamour. ‘I am not Darth Vader, therefore I am not Luke Skywalker’s father, if that’s what you’re asking. I am Josie’s father. Now switch it off.’

  Silence immediately filled the air.

  Everyone stood stock-still. Daz’s potentially catastrophic fall had diverted them all for a moment from Rob’s momentous announcement, but hearing the Star Wars music had certainly brought the drama back to the party.

  Michelle was the first to move, approaching Josie tentatively. Josie backed off, casting her mother a look of absolute disbelief.

  ‘Hhhhhow?’ she finally uttered, sending terrified looks between Rob and Michelle.

  ‘You hadn’t told her yet!’ Rob exclaimed. ‘But . . . oh my God, what have I done?’

  Transfixed by the look of horror emerging on Josie’s face, Michelle ignored him.

  ‘Let me explain,’ she said, trying desperately to get closer to her daughter, as if contact would reduce the pain somehow.

  ‘How?’ demanded Josie.

  ‘We didn’t mean it to happen,’ said Michelle quickly. ‘It was only once. It was a mistake.’

  Josie continued to back away, shrinking from what she was hearing.

  ‘It was no
thing, so we agreed to forget about it,’ Michelle continued. ‘Rob loved Jane. I loved Jane,’ she said pleadingly.

  Josie bent down with her hands on her thighs, staring at the ground. Michelle edged closer and managed to touch her back gently.

  ‘I found out I was pregnant and I didn’t know what to do, Josie. It was such a mess.’

  Josie said nothing but didn’t push her mother away. ‘You slept with Auntie Jane’s boyfriend?’ she said to the ground. Michelle couldn’t tell if it was a question or a statement.

  ‘Yes,’ she murmured, looking over to Rob, who was motionless some feet away, clearly at a loss as to his role in this highly emotional mother–daughter exchange.

  ‘How could you do that?’ cried Josie, rearing up and glaring at her mother.

  ‘I don’t know!’ cried Michelle, letting out a sob. ‘It just happened. Then I discovered I was pregnant and I was just about to tell Jane and then . . . ’ she faltered.

  ‘Really? You were going to tell Jane?’ Josie interrupted. ‘You were actually going to face up to the truth? That so doesn’t sound like you, Mother.’

  Michelle felt as though she’d been slapped in the face.

  ‘I was at the pub waiting to tell her when she got hit by the car. I never got to tell her.’ She was convulsed by racking sobs. She’d give anything to have been able to tell Jane about the baby. If Jane had known about Josie it would mean she was alive. Not dead. Not gone. Right now she wanted her big sister so badly.

  ‘Oh, how convenient!’ shouted Josie, cutting through her grief. ‘Auntie Jane dying saves the day yet again.’ ‘No!’ Michelle wailed.

  ‘But that’s it, isn’t it?’ Josie clenched her fists in pure frustration and anger. ‘It’s your pathetic excuse for everything. Auntie Jane died. So fucking what! You didn’t die, did you? But it’s the perfect excuse, isn’t it? I won’t be a chef because Auntie Jane died. I’ll work in a shitty chicken factory because Auntie Jane died. I’ll barely leave the town I grew up in because Auntie Jane died. I’ll deny my daughter a father because fucking Auntie Jane died.’

  Michelle recoiled in horror. She deserved every word of Josie’s tirade but it didn’t make it any less shocking to hear.

  ‘Josie,’ said Rob, taking tentative steps towards the pair. ‘You’re bound to be upset . . .’

  ‘Upset!’ exploded Josie. ‘Epic understatement or what? My mum shagged her dead sister’s boyfriend! No, I’m over the fucking moon.’

  Rob visibly crumpled. Michelle stood with her head in her hands.

  ‘Josie,’ said Daz, taking his turn, holding his iPad in front of him as though it might deflect any outburst that Josie might choose to throw his way. ‘This is, like, super intense right now . . .’

  ‘Don’t say a word!’ spat Josie. ‘Not a word.’

  ‘Okay,’ Daz agreed, backing away quickly.

  They all fell silent for a moment, the three adults cowering in Josie’s presence. Finally Rob stepped forward again.

  ‘I’m so sorry that you found out like this,’ he said, talking very quickly as if to avoid Josie getting a word in edgeways. ‘I knew your mum was going to tell you on this trip and I just assumed she would have by now. I couldn’t wait to see you. I’ve already lost nearly sixteen years with you. I don’t want to lose any more time.’ He took another step towards her.

  ‘Go away!’ Josie screamed at him. ‘I don’t know you! Just leave me alone!’

  ‘But Josie . . .’

  ‘Leave!’

  ‘Okay,’ he said, backing away. ‘It’s alright. You must be in shock.’

  Josie turned her back on him to complete his dismissal. He cast Michelle a despairing look, then turned and walked dejectedly back to the waiting cab. Michelle watched him get in and speak to the driver, then they were driving away, Rob’s face staring miserably out of the window at Josie.

  ‘Wow,’ said Daz to no-one in particular when the sound of the cab’s engine had died away.

  ‘Take me home, Daz,’ Josie demanded suddenly, brushing past him and climbing into the passenger seat of the disco van. ‘But no talking to me. I repeat, do not talk to me.’ She slammed the door shut and looked down resolutely.

  Daz looked over to Michelle ,who had her head in her hands, gently sobbing.

  ‘So I’ll take Josie home then, shall I?’ asked Daz nervously, as if he were giving her a lift back from a party, not halfway across Europe. Michelle didn’t reply, incapable of taking any parental responsibility. Eventually she nodded.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll get a cab to an airport.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. The last thing she needs is to sit in a car with me for hours on end.’

  ‘It’s probably for the best,’ said Daz. ‘Let her cool down for a couple of days, get used to everything.’ ‘Thanks, Daz.’ She managed a weak smile.

  ‘I’ll drop you off in the town.’

  ‘No, you just go. She can’t stand the sight of me at the moment.’ Michelle fought back more tears as she looked over to the van where Josie was still staring at the floor.

  ‘I’ll get your bag,’ said Daz, moving to the back of the van and hauling a rucksack out. He put it on the ground beside her before wrapping her in his arms.

  ‘It’ll be okay,’ he said.

  Michelle tried to smile through the tears raining down her face.

  ‘Just take care of Josie.’

  ‘Like she’s my own,’ he said, squeezing her tightly, then he released her and climbed into the driver’s seat.

  Josie didn’t look at her mother as Daz drove her away. Michelle gave a pathetic wave to the back of her head.

  Michelle had no idea how long she sat slumped against the wall outside George’s house, clutching her rucksack. The dogs had stopped barking and appeared to have sloped off in search of drama elsewhere. Chaz stood resolutely on guard beside her. She must have relived the scene with Rob and Josie a thousand times in her head before she was roused from her daze by a voice nearby.

  ‘Are you alright?’

  She looked up quickly. She couldn’t see a soul.

  ‘Are you alright?’ the man’s voice repeated.

  Michelle stood up, dropping her rucksack to the ground. She was hearing voices in her head; she must be going mad.

  ‘Behind you,’ the man said.

  She spun around. There was absolutely no-one in sight.

  ‘Go away, leave me alone!’ she cried, clutching at her ears.

  ‘I’m here,’ came the voice. ‘The intercom!’

  Michelle stared at the buzzer.

  ‘Are you okay?’ asked the voice again. ‘Are you in trouble?’

  ‘Who . . . are you?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, I’m just a guy,’ said the voice. ‘I can see you on the CCTV.’

  ‘You’re . . . you’re . . . not George Clooney, are you?’

  The voice instantly dissolved into peals of laughter. Could it be . . .?

  ‘No,’ the voice said finally. ‘Well, I sort of am.’

  ‘Sort of?’

  ‘Tell you what. You tell me what you’re doing there, sobbing your heart out, and I’ll tell you why I’m sort of George Clooney.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Michelle, thinking it was slightly weird but certainly not the weirdest thing she’d been involved in lately. ‘Well,’ she said, not quite knowing where to begin. ‘You see, it all started when I had a bet with my daughter that I could marry George Clooney by Christmas.’

  She had no idea how long it took her to explain the epic journey which had landed her on George Clooney’s doorstep in floods of tears. She didn’t hold back, sharing everything from sleeping with Rob, to the death of her sister, to bringing up Josie on her own, to her wasted years in the chicken factory. By the time she’d finished she was totally drained.

  ‘So that’s it,’ she concluded. ‘I’ve screwed everything up.’

  There was no sound from the intercom.

  ‘Are you still there?’ she said
. No response. Whoever he was, he’d clearly got bored of her story.

  It was then that she heard a squeak, and she turned around sharply to see a man opening the enormous gates. He was looking down at the lock so she couldn’t see his face, but she could see his signature salt and pepper hair.

  ‘George?’ she uttered.

  The man looked up.

  ‘Sorry, no,’ he said. Michelle stared at him. He was possibly the ugliest man she had ever seen, with his tiny piggy eyes, enormous nose and thin lips. Perhaps he’d had a terrible accident and been disfigured. She tried hard not to recoil as he moved towards her and thrust out his hand.

  ‘Michael Lambert,’ he announced, shaking her hand vigorously. ‘I’m George’s body double. He’s letting me crash at his place a while.’

  Michelle stared at him, open-mouthed. She squinted so his face was out of focus then he obligingly moved so he was side on to her with his face turned away, hiding his features.

  ‘You see?’ he said.

  She could see. It was as if George was standing in front of her . . . until he turned his head and she was physically repulsed.

  ‘In case you’re wondering, I’m also his butt double,’ he said. ‘My butt is way better than his. Trust me.’

  ‘You’ve seen George Clooney’s butt?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh yeah. Saggy, wrinkled. He needs to work out more.’

  ‘Right,’ gasped Michelle.

  ‘George isn’t around, but will I do?’ Michael continued. ‘I can make sure your cheque, I mean Chaz, gets to him.’

  ‘Really?’ she said. ‘Would you?’ She found herself wishing he would angle himself away again so she could pretend he was actually George Clooney.

  ‘Sure. I don’t think he’d want Chaz to go all the way back to England.’

  ‘Well, thank you,’ she said. ‘That would be good.’ She picked up Chaz and solemnly handed him over to Ugly George. But as he took hold of the cheque she found she didn’t want to let go. Chaz was perhaps the only really good thing to come out of this whole sorry mess. All she’d have once Chaz was gone was a lonely trip back home to face up to the devastation of her life. She wrapped her arms around Chaz one last time before finally letting him go, fighting against the tears.