‘I do feel very responsible for you being hounded now. I really didn’t anticipate it getting this crazy. You know that when Esquire comes out it might get a bit crazier for a bit?’
‘Yep,’ Jayne replied in a matter-of-fact voice that did a good job of concealing her growing sense of unease. ‘When is that, exactly, so I can dust off my flak jacket?’
‘See? That’s the Jayne I know and love! Michaela’s getting advance copies on Thursday, it hits the shelves the following Tuesday. She’s got a load of PR lined up around it, so I’m going to be a bit busy over the next few weeks.’ His eyes flashed as he traded empathy for excitement. ‘She even told me this afternoon that she got hold of some of the low-res shots that the mag’s not using and sent them to some other bookers she knows and there’s some interest in using me for some ad campaigns as well. How mental is that?’
‘Ad campaigns? For what?’
‘Like fashion stuff. Designer clothes, poncey aftershave, that kind of thing, I guess.’
‘So you’d be, like, a model?’
‘I don’t know really. I’m meeting her on Thursday for her to show me the proofs and talk about the next steps.’
He paused and took a sip of his wine. ‘Um … I was thinking that maybe we should move.’ He tried to gauge her reaction, but Jayne deliberately put another forkful of food in her mouth to buy herself some time.
‘Jayne? What do you think?’
‘I don’t really know what that would solve,’ she ventured after swallowing. ‘The journalists will find us wherever we are, and we like it here.’
‘I know, but at least it will separate us from the deli, allow that to get back to normal, and we could move somewhere with a fence around it, at least! Or an apartment with a reception and security downstairs?’
‘I don’t think it’s come to that, us needing security.’ She suddenly looked horrified, ‘Why, do you?’
‘No, not at all, I just don’t want you to feel too bothered, you know, with people following you, or around us all the time. If we lived somewhere a bit more secluded we could regain a semblance of privacy again, rather than traipsing through the shop every time we wanted a pint of milk.’
‘The days of you just popping out for a pint of milk have long gone, Will. When was the last time you just popped anywhere?’
‘I pop.’
‘When? When do you pop?’
‘I posted some invoices last week.’
‘And in the 100 metres between our flat and the post office how many times were you stopped or shouted at?’
‘A few. Not many. It was fine. I liked it. People are nice to me. Anyway, that’s not the point. I just don’t want you to get too worked up about it, that’s all. We can afford to move to something bigger, better, if you want to. Just think about it.’
‘I’ve thought about it and I’m happy here. I like having the deli downstairs, chatting to Bernard and Sylvia when you’re not here, which is a lot. We don’t need something bigger, or better.’
‘Okay, then.’
‘Okay, then.’
They both fell silent as they finished off their meal. Jayne was anticipating the storm that was slowly edging ever-nearer, and Will was wondering if apple cider vinegar might have made a better dressing for the rocket than balsamic.
**
‘Can you hear me? It’s stupid loud here!’ Will shouted over the din of the station announcements, ‘I tried to call you on your mobile as soon as I got out but your phone was switched off, so I’ve been waiting for you to get home.’
‘Some arsehole got hold of my number and kept prank- calling me, so I turned it off until I got home safely. How did the meeting go?’
‘Really good, get this – I’m going to be fronting the Autumn/Winter Diesel ad campaign and I’m going to have my own column in The Sunday Telegraph’s magazine! How’s that for a day’s work! Yes, sure, have you got a pen? Of course you can have a picture, hang on a second, Jayne – are you still there? I’ll call you back when I’m on the train.’
Jayne hung up and turned to face Rachel, who was looking at her with inquisitive eyes. ‘Business owner, chef, internet sensation, chat-show guest, TV personality and now model and columnist. Puts teaching frickin’ Hamlet day in and day out into perspective.’
‘Do I detect a bit of the old green-eyed monster?’
‘No! You know I’m happy for him. He deserves this; he works so hard. I’m just feeling a bit sorry for myself, that’s all. This week has been beyond crap. Everywhere I turn people are whispering about me. Some aren’t even making the effort to whisper. This afternoon a few of the mums were smoking by the gates and when I walked past them, one of them called me a fat slag and they all laughed. It’s like being fifteen again.’
‘Don’t take any notice, that put-down is both unoriginal and untrue as you’re merely big-boned and have had very few sexual partners, considering your age.’
Jayne was sure that there was a compliment in there somewhere, but was too tired to search for it, so affected a mildly disgruntled air instead, replying sarcastically, ‘Thanks, sis, can always depend on you for support.’ Although it had only been five days since her picture, name and bra size (38E) had appeared in every tabloid going. Jayne barely remembered the life she had led before the weekend.
She was sure that at one point she used to walk to the tube by herself, blissfully anonymous, happily unknown by everyone she passed. Now surreptitious camera phones lurked under people’s coats, poised to snap her at her most vulnerable – mid-sneeze, mid-yawn, mid-blink. The stage whispers of scorn designed for her to hear; the barely concealed disdain that someone like her should dare to be with someone like him.
She sighed – at least she had Rachel to confide in. ‘Don’t tell him I said any of this, though, will you? I don’t want him to think that I’m not happy for him.’
‘Of course not. And you’re being the model girlfriend, sorry fiancée, about everything, the odd wobble is completely natural. Your world has just been turned upside down.’
‘We tried to go to Pizza Express last night, but before we’d even managed to eat a dough ball there were loads of people crowded around our table wanting pictures with him, so we left. What the hell is wrong with the world when a person can’t even be left alone to eat a dough ball?’
‘Indeed.’ Rachel nodded solemnly and then started to smile. ‘You know life’s bad when you can’t even eat a dough ball.’
Chapter 18
Bernard, my old chum, my old mucker!’
‘Good morning, Chef, glad to see you’re full of the joys of this glorious summer day.’
‘The sun is shining, the birds are tweeting, the hills are alive, we’re alive. It’s going to be a magical day.’ Will pumped Bernard’s hand up and down while patting him on the back before Bernard stowed his satchel under the counter and started tying his apron around his waist. ‘The delivery for the quails’ eggs came early, so I sorted that out, the first batch of pastries are almost baked and I also ordered some new Kitchen Aid mixers for the school, can you let Trudy and Karen know?’
‘Will do. Do I have the pleasure of your company today in the shop? That will be a treat for one and all.’ Out of anyone else’s mouth that would have sounded sarcastic, or at the very least vaguely ironic but, ever the gent, Bernard meant every word.
‘Sadly not,’ Will juggled a hot croissant between his hands, ‘I have a rare day off from filming anything, so Jayne and I are going to look around a few different wedding venues this morning and then I’m going to look at a couple of other premises for the third shop.’
‘Exciting times, Boss, exciting times.’
Jayne unsteadily appeared at the foot of the stairs. She was wearing a new pair of high wedges under her tailored linen trousers that were the same vibrant red as the Estée Lauder lipstick she’d impulse-bought the week before. She’d been wearing the same just-off nude shade for about fifteen years and had experienced an unexpected lip epiphany in Boots. Eve
r since she had started to be followed by photographers she’d begun to make a bit more of an effort with her whole appearance, not just her mouth. Her shapeless maxi skirts, which had been her beloved companions through most of the last decade had been somewhat unwillingly consigned to the back of the wardrobe, and in their place a more mature, quality collection of clothing items had set up home. Zips had replaced elasticated waists and her failsafe flip flops had been joined on the shoe rack by an ambitious collection of strappy sandals and heels.
‘Morning, Bernard!’ she shrilled as she tottered across the shop floor to pick up a smoothie bottle from the refrigerated cabinet.
‘Morning, Jayne. My, you look a picture.’
She raised an eyebrow, ‘A good picture?’
‘A masterpiece,’ he smiled.
‘Are you really sure a six-foot woman should be wearing three-inch heels?’ Will asked, suddenly feeling a little dwarfed.
‘Don’t you like them? Are you worried if we get photographed you’re going to look like a short-arse?’
‘It’s not that … I’m merely questioning the practicality of them – we’re going to be traipsing around places all day. I just want you to be comfortable.’
‘And shorter than you?’
‘That’s not what I’m saying. I’m thinking of your feet, that’s all. Wear your flats.’
‘I want to wear these.’
‘Okay, then. Wear those, but don’t moan when they start to hurt.’
‘I’m thirty-two, not two, Will. I’m perfectly capable of choosing appropriate footwear.’ He rolled his eyes behind her back as the last remnants of his good mood fully evaporated. ‘Okay, then. Bye, Bernard.’
By the third venue Jayne was wincing every time she took a step. Angry blisters had formed on the back of both feet, on the inside of her ankle where the strap rubbed and on her left little toe. It took every ounce of willpower and stubbornness not to fling the damn shoes in the nearest bin and walk barefoot for the rest of the day.
The old Jayne and Will would have had a hearty laugh at her expense, before performing a ritual sacrificial burning of the wedges in a dustbin out the back of the shop on their return home. However, the new Will was busy enquiring over the maximum numbers of guests, saying that a limit of 200 just wouldn’t work for them, while Jayne was concentrating on transferring her body weight from one foot to the other, to momentarily relieve the agony.
When he’d first suggested this trip to see different options for the wedding she’d been pleasantly surprised. Obviously a wedding usually does follow a proposal, but she’d been so consumed with keeping her head above the water while her legs frantically paddled underneath she hadn’t really considered the post-engagement phase.
They’d spent hours weighing up different options. She was keen to have a very intimate ceremony on a beach somewhere or on a remote Italian hillside. After all she only had a handful of people she’d want there, and thought it might be nice to revisit Will’s Italian heritage, but Will’s roll call of invitees seemed to expand every day. Duncan, Erica, his dad and Trish still topped the list, but hastily scrawled underneath them were the names of editors, producers, fellow presenters, make-up artists and his regular camera crew as well as all his staff in the delis and school, which now numbered twenty-four. And apparently everyone had to have a plus one as well. Her fantasies of standing in a semi circle with their nearest and dearest in some exotic paradise, barefoot of course, because after today she never wanted to wear shoes again, had well and truly disappeared.
‘What do you think of this one, baby?’ Will asked her as the heavily made-up wedding planner clutched her moleskin notepad to her non-existent bosom next to him. It hadn’t escaped Jayne’s attention that she’d barely received a glance from the woman since they met her at Café Nero in Covent Garden just after nine that morning. ‘It’s got a great terrace, where the jazz band can go when the guests are having canapés and we’re having photos.’
‘It’s … nice. A ballroom is a ballroom, though, isn’t it? They all seem to be the same.’
The wedding planner gave Will the briefest of sympathetic looks, as if to say ‘you poor thing, having to deal with such a heathen for the rest of your life. Pick me, pick me!’
‘How can you say they’re all the same?’ Will shook his head and pointed at the floor, ‘This one has the dance floor in the middle, but the other two had it at the end.’
‘I don’t know, really, can we sit down and talk about it?’ Jayne tried to remove the pleading from her voice.
‘No time. Onto the next one – we have three more today,’ breezed the planner, whose pencil-thin eyebrows matched the width of her skirt.
‘Are you okay?’ Will asked in the taxi on their way to the restaurant that evening. After a few aborted attempts at eating out, Will had decided to book a private room in the basement of a China Town restaurant for the meal with Duncan and Erica that they’d been talking about having ever since Christmas and hadn’t got round to actually doing yet.
‘I’m fine. It’s been a long day.’
‘You didn’t seem to like any of the hotels, though. What was wrong with them?’
Take your pick! she wanted to shout. You’re inviting hundreds of strangers to my wedding; it’s not in Tuscany; I’m not going to have either of my parents there; I have to wear shoes. But instead, she settled for, ‘No, they’re all, very luxurious. It’s just a bit overwhelming I guess. It would be nice to keep it small, but that’s a bit impossible, isn’t it?’
‘I just want the world to know how lucky I am marrying you, and so for me the more the merrier!’
‘How many is ‘more’ exactly?’
There was a discernible sheepishness in Will’s voice as he shifted in his seat, ‘er … around 250 …’
‘Two hundred and fifty people? We’d better not be doing the whole bride’s friends and family sit on the right and groom’s on the left because my lot will fill two rows, while yours will be stretching out to the car park!’
‘But you know I’ve been whittling down the list as much as I can – everyone coming are genuinely people I really want there. Don’t be angry.’
‘I’m not angry.’
‘But you’re not happy.’
‘I am happy. Look.’ Jayne forced her mouth into a wide toothy grin. ‘See? Happy.’ The London streets slowly flashed past their windows. Summer had pushed the darkness back to past ten pm, extending the long, hot days by hours. It seemed as though half of London had made the decision to abandon sweaty tube carriages and cycle back from work, so garishly helmeted novices wove their way through traffic that was now at a standstill. Even with the windows fully down, the cab had taken on an oppressive quality, heavy with July air and unvoiced agendas.
‘Um, I wanted to mention something, actually,’ Will began tentatively, ‘Michaela mentioned that she might be able to get the wedding paid for and a bit of extra cash that we could use as a hefty deposit for a house or something,’ Will casually volunteered.
Jayne swung round to face him, her mouth falling open in disbelief. ‘As in, barter our wedding off?’
‘No! As in sell a few of the pictures afterwards, or slip a few branded things in. No one would even notice, but it all helps, doesn’t it? A wedding for 250 people in a posh hotel isn’t exactly cheap.’ Jayne bit down hard on her lip to stop herself saying the obvious. ‘I just thought that maybe we should think about it rather than immediately saying no. I mean, the photographers are going to want some shots and if we actually arrange a magazine to cover it, at least then we’re in control of it and not the other way around …’ He tailed off, suddenly aware of the gaping silence coming from the other side of the back seat. ‘Baby, you’re freaking me out, what’s wrong?’
‘I’m fine, honestly,’ Jayne replied, ‘It’s just been a really strange couple of weeks. You’ve had months and months to get used to this, this–’ she wanted to say freak show, but instead settled for the less punchy ‘notoriety’. �
��It’s been less than a fortnight for me to get used to a flash going off in my face or someone stopping me in the street telling me how lucky I am.’
‘You should listen to them.’ Will grinned and elbowed Jayne in the ribs.
‘See? You’re not even taking this seriously!’ Jayne pouted.
He slid over to her side of the cab and pulled her head onto his shoulder. Jayne immediately felt her shoulders drop a notch as she allowed her head and worries to rest against his familiar frame. ‘I am. I promise. But this whole fame thing is ridiculous. It’s so bizarre and surreal, the only way to approach it is with bemusement. Like you said at the beginning, enjoy it before a dancing dog knocks you off the top spot, and that’s what you should do.’
‘But that’s so easy for you to say, Will, everyone just loves you! They literally think you’re God’s gift to mankind, and I’m some hairy heffalump that must have drugged you to fall in love with me.’
He raised an eyebrow, ‘hairy heffalump?’
‘Yes.’
‘I know I’m going to regret asking this, but what is a heffalump – hairy or otherwise?’
‘You know what a heffalump is.’
‘I promise you I don’t, otherwise I wouldn’t ask, I’d just go ‘oh yes’ and agree, or not. Depending on what it is.’
‘You must know. In Winnie the Pooh, the heffalump is an elephant that appears in Pooh and Piglet’s dreams. You know, with the woozles.’
Will stifled a smile at her earnest sincerity, ‘I know I’m going to regret asking this, but what, in the name of all that’s holy, is a woozle?’
‘They had a song.’
‘This just gets better and better. I think I need to hear the song to, you know, jog my memory.’
Jayne glanced at the sign on the window between them and the driver to check that the light indicating that he could hear them wasn’t illuminated before saying, ‘Don’t think that I don’t know that you’re mocking me, Scarlet, but I will humour you with a little snippet anyway. Purely in the name of memory-jogging, you understand.’ She took a deep breath and held out her two index fingers, as though conducting an invisible orchestra.
Me, You and Tiramisu Page 19
