Never mind Jack – I was impressed. I gazed around in the dim light, taking in the peacock-blue velvet banquettes, the shelves groaning with hardback books, the paintings on the wall of mountain scenery, which I supposed must be Peru. Where Jack was, or was going to be soon. Maybe now he was seeing the world, he wouldn’t be so excited by a London cocktail bar. But I was – and then, when I looked at the prices on the menu, a bit horrified. Fifteen quid for a cocktail? That was more than Jack and I would have paid for a whole meal, when we were going out.
“What are you having, Gemma?” Charlie said. “I’m going for a pisco Old Fashioned.”
“I’ll try the ceviche Martini,” Gus said. “It would be rude not to, right?”
“Um… I think I’ll just have a glass of white wine,” I said.
“Really? Why?” Charlie said.
Gus looked at me, and I saw a flash of understanding. “Don’t be boring, Gemma, have a cocktail. Go on – it’s my treat, since you two saved me from sitting at home editing videos and being bored out of my skull.”
Gratefully, I let myself be persuaded, and picked something randomly off the menu, involving mezcal and champagne.
“And we’ll have some chipotle popcorn, and a bottle of sparkling water,” Charlie said.
The popcorn was delicious, almost burning the top of my mouth off, so I had to drink my cocktail really fast to put out the flames. Then Gus ordered another round, and I had something different, and then Charlie ordered a bottle of champagne and some food, and after that things all got a bit hazy.
Charlie and Gus kept up a constant flow of chatter, and I joined in, but I couldn’t help feeling that I was interrupting a well-rehearsed performance. They made each other laugh all the time, and their laughter was so infectious I found myself laughing too, even though I didn’t always understand their jokes. After the third or fourth round of drinks – like I said, things were a bit hazy by that point – the jokes became more obscure, and the conversation harder to follow. The food was gorgeous and I was very hungry, but Gus and Charlie kept ordering more and more things, until there was more on the table than we could possibly finish.
“Pudding?” Charlie said at last.
“I can’t, I’m so full,” I said, yawning hugely.
Gus looked at the plates scattered on the table, some half-finished, some barely touched. “This is all a bit last days of Rome, isn’t it? I think I’ll go out for a fag.”
He stood up, wobbled, steadied and headed for the door. The two boys had had even more to drink than I had, I realised. Charlie signalled for the bill. I tried not to yawn again, but failed.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “You’re not boring me, it’s just…”
“Poor Gemma, I keep forgetting you have to get up in the morning to do actual work,” Charlie said.
“I know, right? Poor me.”
“Can’t you throw a sickie and sleep in?” I felt his hand caressing my thigh. For a moment I let myself imagine what it would be like to have no job to go to – then I remembered how frightening and boring the reality of that had been. For me, having no proper job had meant having no money; for the Berry Boys, it was quite different.
“I wish,” I said. “I’d get sacked.”
“You could make videos with me all day then,” Charlie said. “Come on, let’s find my brother and get you home to bed.”
I don’t remember the taxi ride back to The Factory; I think I must have fallen asleep. I do remember going up to the flat in the lift, looking at my face in the mirror next to Charlie’s, and thinking how much I fancied him. I remember going to the bathroom and taking off my make-up and cleaning my teeth, and wondering which of the fluffy snow-white towels I was supposed to use. I remember putting on my satin camisole and knickers, and opening the door to Charlie’s dark bedroom, and seeing the back of his blonde head on the pillow, and getting under the duvet next to him and snuggling up to his bare back, stroking his chest gently with my fingernails.
And then his voice shouted: “Oi! What are you doing in bed with my brother?”
I sprang away as if the skin I’d touched was red hot. Charlie emerged from behind the curtain where he’d been hiding. Gus rolled over next to me, shaking with laughter.
Then I saw the camera on top of the bedside table, its glass eye trained on the bed, and I understood what they’d done.
“That’s tomorrow’s video sorted,” Gus said. “Thanks, Gemma.”
“I’m sorry, babe,” Charlie said. Then he started laughing again. “Oh my God, your face!”
I made myself laugh too, even though I didn’t think it was funny. Not really.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
On my way to work the next day, hungover and hollow-eyed with lack of sleep (because, of course, after Gus and Charlie had finished laughing and Gus had gone to bed, Charlie and I had resumed the sex I’d inadvertently initiated with his brother), I replayed over and over in my mind what had happened. And soon, checking my Twitter feed, I realised I was going to replay it online, too.
Pranking Charlie’s bae, the Berry Boys’ tweet read. Check out our new video – sorry @sparklygems and thanks for the LOLs.
Sorry, not sorry, I thought. And why should they be sorry? Pranking videos were what they did. By being Charlie’s girlfriend – Charlie’s bae – I’d signed up to be part of that. So why did I feel – I tried to get my feelings straight in my head – cheated, almost? Exposed. Humiliated.
I plugged my headphones in and pressed play on the video. I saw Gus and Charlie in Charlie’s bedroom, giggling as Charlie took his T-shirt off and Gus pulled it on. I saw Gus peering into the mirror, rearranging his hair to look more like his brother’s, before climbing into bed and pulling the duvet up to his chin. I heard Charlie say, “Shit, I think she’s coming,” and duck behind the curtain.
Then, before I could see myself coming into the room, see myself in the sexy lingerie I’d meant for Charlie’s eyes only, not for hundreds of thousands of YouTube viewers, the train pulled into the station and I had to press pause, stuff my phone back into my bag and join the shuffling throng of commuters emerging on to Oxford Street to begin their working day.
And, I reminded myself, my working day was beginning, too. What happened in front of a camera, in the evenings, alone in my bedroom or with Charlie – that wasn’t work. Work was brainstorming meetings with my colleagues, hoping my Clickfrenzy posts would get all the hits, making rounds of tea. Work was ‘Why The World Would Be A Better Place With Cats In Charge’. Sometimes I looked back and remembered how thrilled I’d been about my new job, back in June, and wondered whether I’d have felt the same if I’d known that it was going to be wall-to-wall cats, every day. I wondered if there was any hope of that ever changing, but I made myself not think about it, because the idea that it might not, that I’d be stuck trying to think of funny things to say about cats forever and ever, was too depressing to contemplate. And I reminded myself that I was lucky – I could be unemployed, barely making ends meet on benefits or on a zero-hours contract somewhere, or scraping by with one waitressing job after another, still living with Mum. This was real life – this was what paid the rent.
Maybe, I told myself, glancing longingly into the window of Liberty as I walked past, my channel would get big enough for me to quit Clickfrenzy and vlog full-time. People did – not many of them, but enough for new people to start vlogs all the time, hoping that they, too, would make it. And I’d been extraordinarily lucky – through a series of accidents, I’d already got bigger than I’d ever dreamed I would. I hadn’t had another payment from YouTube yet, but I knew it would be bigger than the last one. Maybe a lot bigger, even with Sloane’s commission taken off.
Then I thought of the hundreds of comments and tweets I still needed to read and respond to, and I remembered the jaded cynicism with which Gus talked about their channel and their fans, and I wondered whether I’d be able to sustain the real sense of connection I’d felt at first, with all the people who’d confided
in me and consoled me about Jack.
And then I realised I’d been so deep in thought I’d walked right past the glass front of Clickfrenzy HQ, and I had to turn and hurry back, and I was almost ten minutes late.
The weird thing was, once I was in the office, sitting at my computer, combing through Tumblr for pictures of kittens that bore a passing resemblance to Miley Cyrus (surprisingly easy, given the twerking), it was hard to even picture Charlie’s face. I couldn’t channel the personality of the other Gemma, the one who made vlogs about make-up and healthy breakfasts and had a boyfriend who, if you were a certain kind of teenage girl, was, like, the most famous person in the world.
When I was with Charlie – as I was more nights than not, over the next week or so – my normal life seemed equally remote. He never asked me about work. He’d never had a normal job, and nor had Gus. I don’t think he really understood what it was like to go to an office every day and sit behind a desk where you had to be by half past nine and weren’t expected to leave before six. For Charlie, work meant lying in bed editing a video, going to a meet and greet and signing autographs, rolling his eyes when his mobile rang and he saw that it was Sloane.
It was almost as if there were two Gemmas, living two different lives, and I wasn’t sure which one was really me.
I was mulling over this at my desk when, as if she’d been summoned from the ether by my thoughts in the manner of Lord Voldemort, I saw Sloane’s name flash up on my own phone. I glanced around the office. Emily had said she had a dentist appointment and would be in late; Tom and Hermione were in a meeting with an advertiser. Sarah’s office was empty.
I picked up my phone and slipped in, closing the door behind me.
“Gemma! How’s it going?”
“Okay, thanks,” I said. I wondered what she’d thought about the prank Charlie and Gus had played on me, and whether she cared how it had made me feel, then dismissed the idea straight away. It was still too raw, too intimate – and now, of course, too public for Sloane to do anything about it, even if she wanted to, which she wouldn’t.
“I have got the most exciting news for you,” Sloane said. “We have a new client, a young, fresh brand called Cantaloupe. You know them?”
“I think the name rings a bell,” I lied.
“Great! Then you’ll know that it’s the brainchild of Ivy Savage, the model, you must have heard of her, and Colin Colbert, the celebrity aromatherapist.”
What did that mean, I wondered? That Colin was famous for being an aromatherapist, or that celebrities smelled his… whatever things aromatherapists did.
“Cool,” I said.
“Yes! Cool describes the brand perfectly. Cool, a little quirky, luxurious but affordable. They’ve been very exclusive until recently, very boutique, promoting the brand mostly through word of mouth. But now they’re ready to take the next step in their marketing journey and reach out to a new, younger audience. And that’s where you come in.”
“Really?” I said. I often got the sense, when talking to Sloane, that I wasn’t required to respond to her at all. She’d got her script all worked out and she’d deliver it regardless of what I said or didn’t say.
“Yes! So here’s the plan. I’m going to courier round some product – you’re in the office, right? And maybe this evening you could have a little look, vlog about your first impressions of the brand – you know, all very informal and natural. And if you like what you see – and I know you will, Gemma, you and Cantaloupe are, like, the most totally natural fit ever – then we can organise some face time with them, and talk about how we can evolve you as a brand partnership.”
“That sounds amazing,” I said.
“It is! Totally amazing! The most rewarding thing about my work is finding opportunities like this, synergies that I know really have legs. But I won’t keep you any longer. Look out for our delivery later, and I’ll look out for your post in the morning.”
“Thanks, Sloane.”
“You’re welcome. And by the way, I just adore your pyjamas.”
She ended the call, leaving me flooded with fresh mortification.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Excuse me, please.” With difficulty, I manoeuvred myself and the enormous box containing the Cantaloupe delivery on to the packed Victoria line train, a barrage of tuts and glares following me. The box wasn’t heavy (okay, it was actually – my arms were trembling pathetically and I resolved for the millionth time to spend more time in the gym. Or any time in the gym) but its awkward bulk meant that I could hardly see where I was going, and I kept jabbing people with its rigid, high quality corners.
Maybe if I became their official brand ambassador, Ivy the model and whatshisname the aromatherapist would deliver my samples to my home. But then I’d have to fess up to Richard and Hannah about what I was doing in my bedroom at night, and while it wasn’t like I was growing weed or sending abortion pills to women in Northern Ireland or any other overtly dodgy activity, I was fairly sure they would not approve.
Maybe Cantaloupe would love me so much that they’d offer me a massive, lucrative contract and I could resign from my job at Clickfrenzy and spend all my time filming myself playing with beauty products and hanging out with Charlie. That idea should have appealed to me massively, but for some reason it didn’t.
I wrestled the box up the final escalator. Nearly home, I told myself. I was soaked in sweat and had scraped the skin off my knuckles and broken a fingernail. I should film myself, I thought – give my viewers an insight into the unglamorous side of being a vlogger. But I needed both hands for the box, so I couldn’t even do that.
I was considering putting the wretched thing down and giving my arms a rest – or even, the way I was feeling, abandoning it, Sloane, Cantaloupe and the whole vlogging thing entirely – when I heard a voice behind me.
“Hey Gemma! Need a hand?”
It was Raffy and Luke from the coffee shop.
“Hi,” I said. “My God, a hand would be amazing. That’s so kind of you. Are you sure…”
“We were just off to the pub,” Raffy said. “I’ll see you there in five, mate, I’ll just help Gemma get this home. You’re on your way home, right?” He took the box from me, lifting it easily. I stretched my aching biceps.
“Yes. I got this stuff for a video I need to film tonight. I was feeling quite excited about it, but I’m totally over it already. It’s this road here on the left,” I said, and then I remembered that of course he knew, having walked me home before.
“So where have you been recently? Luke says you haven’t come in for your coffee for a couple of days. You haven’t defected to Starbucks, have you?”
“Of course not. I’ve been… I haven’t been home the last couple of nights.”
“I see,” Raffy said. He was wearing sunglasses, so I couldn’t be sure, but I thought he raised one eyebrow just a tiny bit. I imagined his little niece watching the video Charlie had posted, maybe showing it to Raffy, and I died a bit inside.
I said, “But what about you? You haven’t been there either. If anyone could be accused of defecting to Starbucks…”
“Oh,” Raffy said. “I’ve moved on. The world of takeaway coffee is losing its brightest star. Luke’s going to have to find someone else to screw up orders and piss off his customers. I’m just moving my stuff out of the flat, that’s why I came today.”
“Oh,” I said. I wanted to ask him why he’d left, but I realised I didn’t know why he’d been working there in the first place. “I’m sorry. I’ll miss you. Where are you going? I mean, do you have another job, that’s not making coffee?”
“I expect something will come up,” Raffy said.
“Here we are,” I said, stopping outside Hannah and Richard’s front door, fumbling in my bag for my keys. “Thanks for helping me.”
“No problem,” Raffy said. “Want me to take this in for you?”
I imagined him following me up the stairs to my bedroom, putting the box down on the floor, closing the do
or – and shut the thought down before it could go any further. You’ve got a boyfriend, Gemma, I reminded myself.
“It’s cool, I can manage from here,” I said. “And, you know, thanks again.”
“We’ll be in the Prince George,” he said, “if you fancy a drink later.”
He took his sunglasses off and I saw again the extraordinary colour of his eyes – so pale a blue they were barely a colour at all against his tanned skin.
“I’d love to,” I said. “But this is going to take me a few hours. I won’t be done until midnight.”
“Pity,” he said lightly. “Take care, anyway.”
He touched my shoulder, leaned in and kissed me lightly on both cheeks.
“You too,” I said, but I don’t think he heard me, because he’d already turned away and was walking quickly and gracefully back up the road towards the station.
“Hi everyone. It’s been a few days since I’ve posted a video, so I really hope this one will be worth the wait. I think it will be, because I’m just so excited about what I’ve got to show you today. Now, first of all, in the interests of full disclosure, I’m going to tell you that I received these products from the company that makes them, as a gift. So they’re all new to me, and I think they’re probably new to you as well – this is a brand I’d never heard of until today, but I think we’re going to be seeing a lot of Cantaloupe in the future.”
Earlier in the evening, I would have been happy never to see anything of Cantaloupe ever again. But, once I’d manhandled the box up to my room, carefully slit open the tape securing its lid, and tipped the fragrant contents out on to my bed, I’d started to feel quite enthusiastic. I had a whole boxful of shiny, pretty things that smelled amazing – all for me.
The Truth About Gemma Grey: A feel-good, romantic comedy you won't be able to put down Page 18
