When he’d finally rung off I got the wretched video script up on my screen. This was intended as a sales tool with which to persuade every DIY store and garden centre in the land they should be stocking large quantities of Paradise Gardens’ unique range of gnomes, and had been written by Martin, the Paradise Gardens’ Gnomes Sales Manager, who I’d met weeks back in Ashford.
A sales manager who, unfortunately, might be good at flogging diminutive outdoor figures with rods, on a face-to-face basis, but who couldn’t write for toffee. I would have expected Stanley to come up with more original phraseology and certainly better spelling.
As morning slipped into afternoon and I read of yet another gnome described as “unique and witty”’, just to ring the changes from “original and witty” or Martin’s ground-breaking “witty and original”, I began to realise it could be a long night.
My progress wasn’t helped by the way my brain would keep sliding away from the job in hand and back to Cal. I wondered if he was thinking about me too. He’d been so passionate on Saturday night – he’d really made me feel beautiful and sexy and even though I’d had a mega-hangover, the endorphins had still been surging through me the next morning. Even now, I felt a rush of pleasure every time I thought about it.
It was amazing, I thought, that a man like him could feel like that about a woman like me, and gratifying too. So Daniel wasn’t the only one who could pull a younger model, after all!
I wanted to text Cal but didn’t know whether I should or not. He was up against a deadline too and might not appreciate being interrupted. On the other hand, I’d left him alone all week and I wanted to be sure he was still on for Saturday. I’d have to go shopping tomorrow if I was going to cook dinner for him.
I wanted to show I was thinking of him without being pushy or needy. I tried out various word combinations before finally settling on Looking forward to cu Sat. What time you get here? Hope edit go well xx
That should do it – not too heavy, not demanding, but a question in there so he would answer at some point. Or should I demonstrate an appreciation of the time pressure he was under too – he’d said he might be up all night. Show that I knew how busy he was and that he couldn’t just drop everything to text me?
I vaguely remembered him making an impromptu speech in praise of older women when we were back in my hotel bedroom, devouring each other. Hadn’t he said that older women were easier company because they were more laid back, more accommodating? I inserted no rush to reply and pressed send before I could change my mind.
By the time Stanley got home from school I was beginning to see a glimmer of light at the end of the video script tunnel. ‘I can’t stop now, darling,’ I said as my son appeared in the doorway. ‘Let me just finish this.’
In the end, it took another two hours and we had to have a thrown-together supper of eggs, bacon, beans, and toast, which got Stanley’s seal of approval but left me fretting about his five portions.
‘Please eat an apple,’ I said, as I made my way back to the computer with a cup of coffee. ‘And perhaps you’d better bring me one too.’
Three a.m. when your eyes are gritty from lack of sleep and your limbs are twitching from caffeine overload, is not the best time to be creative with gnomes.
Some bright spark at the agency had come up with the brilliant idea of a series of magazine ads which would feature a full-colour photograph of gnome in amusing position, with amusing play on words beneath it. Mike, naturally, thought this was pure genius. Guess who had to come up with the words?
So far I’d managed Gnome Sweet Gnome (gnome standing outside chocolate-box style cottage with roses round door) and Gnome on the Range (gnome perched on top of bucking bronco; gnome in dust cloud behind herd of rampaging cattle) and was just considering Honey Gnome (gnome standing proudly by beehive) and wondering if that was a tad obscure, while questioning how much longer I could keep my eyes open.
Yawning, I went down to the kitchen for my 17th coffee of the evening and looked for the umpteenth time at my mobile phone. No word from Cal. Perhaps he was up against the clock too. ‘What else rhymes with bloody gnome?’ I asked Boris, who was yowling about my feet.
He didn’t know. Just yowled a bit more.
‘You are not hungry,’ I told him. ‘You are supposed to be asleep. Or out hunting or something.’ He looked at me appealingly. I gave him some fishy-shaped, vitamin-enhanced cat biscuits. At least someone in the family might be properly nourished.
It was 6.20 a.m. when I emailed off the final gnome witticism – When in Gnome? (gnome standing at the foot of the Spanish Steps). Mike phoned five minutes later, sounding as if were finally having that coronary.
‘What does number five mean?’ he shrieked. ‘London Gnome ?’
‘He’s standing outside the O2 Centre,’ I explained patiently. ‘It used to be called the London Dome, didn’t it?’
‘No, it didn’t,’ said Mike tetchily, ‘It was the Millennium Dome. You’re thinking of the London Eye.’
‘OK, well, we’ll call it Millennium Gnome then.
Mike’s hiss of exasperation reverberated around my left ear. ‘I don’t think so! That was over a decade ago. It’s got to be now – happening – this year’s must-have! Not something associated with the turn of the century.’
‘OK, I’ll think on.’
‘Yes, do that – I’ve had everyone up all night working on this presentation and they’ll be flat out till the client gets here.’
I forbore to say I hadn’t exactly had any sleep myself and if he didn’t promise everything yesterday, they wouldn’t have to. I knew it would only elicit the “this-is-what-puts-us-apart-from-the-crowd” speech, about fast turnarounds and lightning response being what clients wanted in our uncertain, credit-crunched world.
Instead I ran a bath, poured large quantities of invigorating foaming bath essence into it, and lay there struggling to stay awake. Gnome Bath ? I thought as the bubbles rose up around my neck.
That would work. A gnome’s hat appearing above a sea of bubbles in a sumptuous bathroom. Right up Mike’s street …
I was still thinking as I made Stanley’s toast in a trance, barely hearing what he was saying to me, and waved him off to the bus stop. Dome, Rome, foam, comb, tome … By this time, I was so bloody tired I was barely functioning.
Still, oddly, I didn’t feel like going to bed. I was in that strung-out, slightly manic state, on a curious, shivery high from lack of sleep, with my brain running in strange circles. Cal still hadn’t replied to my text – maybe he’d been up all night too – and, as I tried to get my head round what I needed to do today – apart from come up with some inspirational word play about gnomes in the next 10 minutes – I felt oddly in limbo.
I don’t know whether the words or the image came first but I grabbed the phone, feeling that rush of excitement I used to feel in my 20s when I was working with Mike in the office, and all-night sessions at the desk, propped up with thick, syrupy coffee and endless cigarettes, were regular events.
Mike answered immediately. ‘Gnome standing on desolate wasteland, with barbed wire behind him,’ I cried. ‘Gnome man’s land .’
‘Genius!’ shrieked Mike. ‘Provocative, controversial, edgy. I love it!’ He sighed happily. ‘Soldiers in the distance. Maybe some blood. This could be our Benetton ad – I’m thinking shock factor.’
I listened while he shouted the good news round the office – smiling as I imagined the sheer joy of those faced with producing more lightning artwork when they’d already been up all night – then said goodbye before he could think of anything else to pile on me.
The day passed in a bit of a haze. I drove carefully to the supermarket thinking I may as well assume Cal was coming tomorrow – he was too considerate not to have let me know if he wasn’t – and shop for that as well as find something for Stanley and me to eat tonight.
I then carried out a series of mundane and mindless tasks involving the washing machine and the iron, while
drinking lots of coffee and slapping myself regularly around the face so I would stay conscious long enough to greet and feed my son and then fall into bed the moment EastEnders was over. Which was pretty much what I did.
Waking in a fog 12 hours later, I staggered downstairs, fed Boris, drank several cups of tea while listening to the latest gloom and doom on the radio news and then, seeing the clock creeping its way round to 10 a.m., made my way back upstairs to see what my son was up to.
Stanley was sitting on the edge of his bed, still in pyjamas, his hair uncombed. ‘What are you doing?’ I asked unnecessarily.
Stanley did not look up. ‘Nothing.’
‘Have you packed your bag to go to your father’s?’
‘No.’
‘Well, you’d better get a move on – he’ll be here soon. You need to get your school uniform ready and your books for Monday if you’re staying with him on Sunday night as well.’
Daniel was taking Stanley to a football match and had suggested that as he hadn’t seen him on his birthday, they made a longer weekend of it than usual. Stanley had seemed pleased with this arrangement at the time.
‘Emily’s going away,’ he’d told me, ‘so Dad says it’s just him and me.’ He’d lowered his voice, ‘We’re going to have pizzas.’.
‘How lovely,’ I’d trilled, thinking it was all rather fortuitous too, what with the romantic weekend I had planned.
Now, though, Stanley stared miserably at the wallpaper and I felt a frisson of foreboding. ‘What’s the matter?’ I asked cautiously.
‘I don’t want to go to school.’
‘Well, darling, it’s only Saturday and you’re not going to school till Monday so don’t think about it now. Think about the lovely time you’re going to have with Dad.’
‘I’ve still got to go after.’
‘Well, yes,’ I conceded, ‘but we all have to go to school. It’s never that bad when you get there, is it?’
‘It is,’ said Stanley mutinously. ‘I hate it.’
I felt my phone vibrate against my thigh through my dressing gown pocket. Cal – it must be Cal. ‘Hold on, darling.’
I fished it out just as it burst into song, anxiously scanning the screen for the number calling.
It was Clara, talking about our gym challenge and wondering when she was next going to see me. I walked into my office and shut the door so I could whisper to her about Cal’s impending visit. She was suitably agog.
‘You lucky thing,’ she said. ‘That will burn off heaps of calories. I’ve got a week left and I still can’t do the bloody zip up. In fact I was so worried about it last night that I ate a whole packet of tortilla chips and then a tub of Ben and Jerry’s. And I’ve got to see Vicky tonight – I can’t put her off again.’ Her voice rose to a wail. ‘What am I going to do ?’
By the time I’d calmed her down by promising that I’d join her in a three-day starvation diet of hot water and lemon and would accompany her on the body wrap offer she’d found – buy one, take your fat friend for half price – on which she was pinning her final hopes, Stanley had at least got dressed and was throwing things into a bag.
‘Got everything?’ I asked cheerily.
‘What do you care?’
I looked at him, shocked. ‘Don’t be like that! Of course I care. What‘s the problem?’
‘I’ve told you. Except you never listen.’
‘I do listen, that’s not fair.’
‘No, you don’t – I tried to talk to you yesterday and you just went to bed.’
‘I’m sorry, but I’d been working all night, darling. You know that.’
Stanley glared. ‘You’re always working – and if you’re not, you’re off filming.’
‘Well, that’s all finished now.’ I glanced at his bedside clock. Daniel was due in five minutes ‘Talk to me now,’ I said firmly. ‘What’s the matter at school?’
Stanley continued to glower at me.
‘Has someone been teasing you again?’
‘No.’
‘Why are you upset then?’
‘I’ve still got a stupid name and I’m fat.’
I sighed. ‘Oh Stanley, not this again! It’s a lovely name and you’re lovely. You’re not fat at all and, anyway, weight really doesn’t matter.’
Stanley kicked at his overnight bag in sudden fury. ‘Why have you become completely obsessed with yours then?’
I stared at him, startled. ‘I haven’t,’ I said lamely. ‘I’ve just been getting fit for the TV programme.
‘You’ve gone really funny.’
My heart was beating harder. I thought of Becky saying the same thing. ‘I haven’t really. I’m just the same – I’ve just been busy.’
‘You keep going away.’
‘I’m sorry. It’s finished now. I’ll be here from now on.’ I put out of my head any thoughts of how I was going to deal with my relationship with Cal – presumably I’d have to go to London some of the time, but perhaps he could come here at weekends. I hoped Stanley would like him. But now was not the time to mention it …
‘And you still haven’t even been on TV,’ Stanley was saying. ‘And it’s ages since I told them at school that you would be and now nobody believes me and they’re being even more horrible.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked anxiously. ‘Even more? I thought it had all been fine …’
‘No, it hasn’t.’
‘But Mr Lazlett said everything was OK …’
‘They wouldn’t do it in front of him , would they?’ Stanley was shouting now.
I tried to keep my own voice calm. ‘Look, Stanley, darling, kids do tease each other, don’t they? Do you think you’re just a bit tired? Things always seem worse then – they do to me too. You’ll feel better after the weekend. And come Monday, the programme will have been on and they’ll know you were telling the truth and it’s not all the boys is it? You’ve got Connor there and didn’t you say Jamie was a nice boy?’
‘Yes,’ said Stanley grudgingly. ‘it’s not him.’
‘Who is it?’
There was no reply.
‘Is it one person in particular?’
Stanley gave a tiny nod.
‘Who is it, Stanley?’
He turned away from me and muttered something.
‘Who? Did you say Bobby?’
‘Robbie.’
‘I haven’t heard you mention him before.’
‘He’s new.’
I moved round so I could see Stanley’s face. ‘Ah, well, that’s probably why he’s being difficult – because he needs time to settle down. You know how hard it is when you first change schools.’
‘It isn’t that – he’s just horrible anyway.’
‘What’s he been saying?’
‘That I’m fat and ugly and stupid, said Stanley hotly. ‘And he said if you were really going to be on the TV you’d be on Google and he looked you up when we were in IT and you weren’t there so he told everyone I made it up because I’m sad.’
Stanley’s face had gone very red. He turned away from me again. I patted his arm. ‘And tomorrow night they’ll know you didn’t make it up. Look, try not to think about it today. You’re going to have a nice weekend with Dad, aren’t you? Seeing Chelsea play? Wow. You can take the programme in on Monday and show them all that too.’
‘I might as well go and live with Dad.’
A stab of alarm went through me. ‘You know you don’t mean that. You live here with me. How would you go to school if you lived with Dad?’
‘I hate my school. I could go to another one.’
We’d gone full circle. ‘Now, come on,’ I chivvied, conscious that Daniel was due to arrive any moment. ‘I’ll speak to Mr Lazlett again and ask him …’
‘No .’
‘Well you couldn’t live with Dad anyway, because I’d miss you too much.’
Stanley was silent.
I sat down next to him and wrapped him in a big hug. He didn’t protest. ‘I promise I’ll s
ort it.’ I said. ‘I love you, Stanley.’
I felt him mumble against my shoulder. ‘Love you too.’
While our son was searching for his second trainer, I managed to convey to Daniel that he was suffering some school-related angst and might need a bit of jollying along.
Daniel, for once, was quite nice, and didn’t blame me in any way but promised to look after Stanley and take the opportunity to have a fatherly chat. He didn’t comment on the fact that I was still in my dressing gown with my hair unwashed, but even wished me a good weekend.
Blimey, I thought, as I closed the door. Emily should go away more often – perhaps it was the thought of being able to eat pizza instead of steamed mung beans that had made him a bit more human.
I made a coffee and considered the best way to get everything done before Cal got here. I still wasn’t sure quite when that would be because he still hadn’t answered my text, but I’d said dinner so presumably he would be here by about seven. And I’d better get everything ready well before in case he left early and arrived at six.
On the other hand, he’d also said how he loved to walk along the beach when he got anywhere near the sea, so maybe he’d decide to get here while it was still light – like about three.
And I hadn’t even plucked my eyebrows.
Or would we walk on the beach in the morning? He hadn’t actually said he was staying the night but I’d sort of presumed well, hoped. I’d already stripped the bed and put on my best duvet cover.
I’d dithered for ages over what to cook, a decision not helped by the fact that I’d rarely seen Cal eat anything at all. I didn’t know whether to do a proper meal with two courses and set the table with linen and candles, which seemed a bit formal and might feel embarrassing, or just get lots of delicious nibbly bits we could have with chilled wine in front of the TV.
Or champagne. He’d said we’d be celebrating. In the end I’d decided on a halfway house and had bought half a crispy duck with pancakes and hoisin sauce and got lots of other Chinese-style starter things like spring rolls and prawns in batter which we could eat in our hands in a suggestive way with lots of finger-licking. They would stop me drinking on an empty stomach but wouldn’t fill me up so much that I fell asleep at the big moment. Presuming there was going to be one.
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