by Rhoda Baxter
How's the head today?
##
From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom Blackwood
See what I mean about the shoes? Makes her look like a whore.
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Olivia Gornall
Stop texting me. I'm trying to concentrate on Dierdre's presentation.
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From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom Blackwood
Tom. You do realise that you're drumming your fingers REALLY LOUDLY?
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From: Tom Blackwood
To: Olivia Gornall
Oops. Didn't realise. Ta.
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From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom Blackwood
What the hell was that all about?
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From: Tom Blackwood
To: Olivia Gornall
Bloody Dierdre. She didn't pass on the email about the change of remit. Made me look like a total idiot.
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From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom Blackwood
I got that, you idiot. I meant your reaction. Couldn't you have held it together better? You nearly put your fist through the desk.
While I'm all for letting Dierdre have it, I don't think you did any of us any favours in there. What the F*** Tom?
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Olivia Gornall
Yeah. Yeah. I know. My head feels like it's going to explode. I'm going to see Mathais and apologise.
##
From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom Blackwood
Just get back in here and sort it out already. The longer you leave it, the worse it's going to look.
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Olivia Gornall
Ok. OK.
* * * *
The more she thought about it, the more annoyed Stevie got with Jane for not letting her have Pete's contact details. Surely, it wasn't up to Jane to police how Pete conducted his publicity. It was almost as though Jane didn't want Stevie to succeed in her venture. She pulled up the Triphoppers website. There was, of course, another way to get in touch.
* * * *
From: Stevie Winfield
To:
Subject: From Jane Porter's sister in law
Hi Pete
Apologies for emailing you through the fan club site, but I didn't know how else to get hold of you. I met you at Marshall Winfield and Jane Porter's wedding. You said to contact you if you could help with anything.
I have a suggestion for you, it could generate some valuable publicity for a very good cause (specifically, Project Peds, which aims to raise money to equip a children's hospital in Sri Lanka. More details here: http://worldchildrensinitiative.org/projectpeds.php)
It would also be a nice way to improve your profile as a more thoughtful and caring person, rather than some airhead popstar (and, from having spoken to you at length at the wedding, I know you're not a shallow person!).
If you're interested, please get in touch with me as soon as possible. My contact details are attached.
Best Regards
Stevie Winfield
* * * *
It was a long shot to email Pete at the website. Chances were that some junior minion would read it and bung back a standard email reply. On the other hand, Jane's name would hold some clout. The whole saga of Cause Celeb magazine's campaign to get Jane and the Triphopper's lead singer Ashby back together had been instrumental in getting their second album catapulted up the charts. As an interested observer, Stevie had watched countless interviews of the band and the Cause Celeb/Jane issue got almost as much coverage as the music. Stevie leaned back in her chair and took a sip of wine. She'd set the ball rolling. All she could do now was wait and hope it would have the desired result.
* * * *
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Gavin Belham
Gavin
Furthe r to our conversation of a few minutes ago; I would like to take the next two weeks off as annual leave please. I believe I need to take a short break to regain my equilibrium after several weeks of demanding workload. Since the main project I was working on has been handed over, I don't anticipate there being anything urgent or requiring major input in the next couple of weeks. Of course, if there is, you can always call me.
Regards
Tom Blackwood.
##
From: Gavin Belham
To: Tom Blackwood
That's fine, Tom. I suggest you go and see a doctor regarding your anger management issues during your time off.
See you in a couple of weeks.
Gavin Belham
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From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom Blackwood
Are you okay? Dierdre's spreading rumours that you've had a nervous breakdown.
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Olivia Gornall
I got an emergency appointment at the doc's. He's signed me off for stress, but I can't use that. I may as well start wearing a big sticker staying 'unstable mental case' on my forehead as far as my job prospects are concerned.
So, I've taken two weeks off as holiday instead. Maybe a break will help sort things out. The timing couldn't be worse. The only silver lining is that at least the Doha interview was over before this happened.
Tom
##
From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom Blackwood
I shall spread counter rumours that you're building hospitals in Africa.
What are you going to do in your wonderful time off?
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Olivia Gornall
Not a lot I can do. It's been subtly suggested that I take this time off and maybe consider some sort of counselling, so I'll have to take it. I don't want to. I've just about come to the end of this project. After all that work, I have to hand it over to Deirdre--who will take all the credit if it goes smoothly (and blame me if it doesn't).
I'll go mad staying at the flat for two weeks. Especially as I STILL can't sleep.
##
From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom Blackwood
That sucks. I hate it when you do all the work and get no credit.
Why don't you take some of those hefty pills the doc gave you?
They can work miracles. Plus, you don't need to get up for anything anyway (apart from saving me from terminal boredom, obviously), so why not?
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Olivia Gornall
I do have to get up for something. I promised Mum I'd take a whole load of stuff up to Oxford in the car for her. Admittedly, I don't have to be there until 11, but I'm meeting the party planner girl there and giving her a lift too.
##
From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom Blackwood
Why don't you do down to Oxford in your time off and help your Mum with her ball thing?
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Olivia Gornall
I'm not sure that's a good idea.
##
From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom Blackwood
Why not? Whatever jobs they give you will probably involve you concentrating on them. It might be relaxing to do something totally different. You need a break. What better way to get that than to spend a week with some barmy old ladies who are organising a ball?
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Olivia Gornall
For a start that ghastly Beryl woman might turn up. She gives me a headache anyway, even without the stress and sleep deprivation.
Secondly, Stevie will be there and I don't want to see any more of her than I have to.
##
From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom Blackwood
Ah yes, Stevie. Sister to the delectable Marshall. I'd forgotten about her.
But you're going to the actual ball, aren't you?
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Olivia Gornall
Yes, but Vienna will be with me to keep me on the straight and narrow.
Chapter 8
On Sunday Stevie arrived at the shop early. A heavily pregnant young Sri Lankan woman was sitting at the counter, leafing through a baby clothes catalogue. "Ah yes, Priya's order. It's all here, in the back."
"Congratulations," said Stevie indicating the bump. Goodness, the girl was huge. Was Jane going to end up looking like that? What on earth would that do to her figure?
The woman gave her a tired smile. Stevie realised, with some surprise, that this young woman wasn't much older than she was.
"Come, come," the girl said. "You need to check that everything is as Priya wanted." She ushered Stevie into the back room of the shop where several boxes were on a table, with Priya's list on top of them.
It took a few minutes to go through the list. They removed everything from each box then counted it back in again, ticking it off the list. The smell of spices wafted from the various packets. Stevie wondered if there were any recipe books that told you how to cook with this sort of stuff. Her repertoire tended to be heavily pasta based.
She was about to ask about recipes when the shop bell rang. The girl waddled out. She returned a moment later. "There's a man here. He also says he's here to collect Priya's order..." She looked doubtfully at Stevie.
"That'll be Tom," said Stevie. "He's okay."
Tom entered, instantly making the room feel smaller. He nodded towards Stevie and gave the woman a warm smile. "Hi. I'm Tom."
She gave him a flustered smile. "Here are the boxes." She got out of the way, glancing sideways shyly at him. Stevie blinked. This must be Tom in charming mode. The woman moved to pick up a box.
"I'll do that. You shouldn't be lifting stuff, you're carrying enough weight already." Tom grabbed a box and closed it. The girl gave a little giggle and retreated back into the shop.
"Stevie," Tom said, not looking up. "Can you settle the bill, please?"
Stevie sighed and returned to the shop. Evelyn had given her money to pay for everything the night before. Not used to carrying that much cash around, Stevie had felt like she had a neon 'mug me' sign attached to her jeans pocket all morning. It was relief to hand the cash over.
After giving Stevie a receipt, the girl glanced at the door to the stock room. "Is that your boyfriend?" she whispered.
"No!" Stevie was taken aback. "Definitely not."
"Shame," said the girl. "You two would make a cute couple."
Before Stevie could reply, Tom emerged carrying a box. He rested it against the counter and freed one of his hands, which he used to dig out his car keys. "Here," he tossed them to Stevie. "Can you open the back door of the car? It's the black one parked outside."
The car turned out to be a black sports car. "I'm not sure I'll be able to fit it all into the boot," said Tom. Sure enough, the tiny boot only had enough room for about half the stuff. Tom sighed. "The rest will have to go in the back seat." He opened the door, put down the front seat and manoeuvred a box into the back seat, presenting Stevie with an admirable view of his jeans-clad behind.
She didn't even realise she was staring until he started backing out and asked her to pass him another box. She did so, blushing slightly. She looked up to see the shopkeeper raise her eyebrows and wink at her.
* * * *
As they drove out of London, she noticed how the car smelled of a disconcerting combination of leather and spices. She took a deep breath.
"It's going to take me forever to get the smell out," Tom grumbled. He overtook someone aggressively, weaving out at top speed.
Stevie clutched the edge of her seat and didn't reply.
Tom cast a glance at her. "What?" He pulled back in sharply, making Stevie gasp.
"I'm...a little nervous in cars," said Stevie. "My parents died in a car accident."
"Oh, shit. Sorry." He slowed down a fraction. "I forgot. I always drive like that. I'm very careful though. Never had an accident."
Stevie nodded. "Right," she said faintly.
After a while, she started to relax. Tom was making an effort to drive smoothly. Now that she'd stopped holding her breath, Stevie became more aware of her surroundings. The sports car was lower than most vehicles she was used to and the bucket seats made her lean back slightly. This stretched Tom's limbs out so that she was treated a good view of his long legs. A brief vision of him mowing the lawn crossed her mind. Tom, who had been concentrating on overtaking gently, gave her a quick glance. She turned away, flustered.
"So," said Tom. "What have you been doing since the bad old days?"
"Since I was thirteen, you mean?" said Stevie. "School, uni. The usual."
"Are you still living with Marsh?"
Stevie laughed. "God no! He's married now. I live by myself." Did she imagine it, or did Tom's shoulders just relax a tiny bit.
"Marsh got married?" said Tom. "I didn't know that. I guess we aren't really in touch after..."
"After I got stoned in your room?" Stevie grinned. She remembered it well. People kept telling her that one of the great advantages of having an older brother was the access to older boys. But when they were eight years older than you, they treated you like you were an irritating insect. Besides, her brother was Marsh and all his friends were... Well, a bit boring.
Tom had been different, even then. Even with the stupid hair and the gangly limbs, there had been something cool about him. A sort of fire in him that made him that little bit extra sexy. He hadn't bothered being super nice to her or treated her like she was made of glass, like everyone else did after her parents died. He had just acknowledged her existence and carried on treating her as though she was just another normal person.
Thirteen years old and vulnerable, Stevie immediately developed a huge crush on him. Marsh had guessed this, which went part way towards his incandescent outburst when he found her stoned out of her mind and semi-conscious in Tom's room.
Stevie risked another glance across at Tom. She had been right, even as a teenager. He was sexy. Even more so now that he'd grown into his body.
"Has Marsh got over that yet?" said Tom.
"What? The getting stoned thing? Yeah. I think so. He gave me hell about it at the time though." Stevie smiled to herself. "You should have heard him go on. We had a spectacular row about it."
Tom nodded. "And then you both moved out of the student house."
"Yeah."
There was silence as they both followed their trains of thought. After a while, the silence began to feel like it was settlin
g in for a long wait.
Stevie cleared her throat. "What happened to him--the guy with the space cake?"
"Jeremy the Spliff?" said Tom. "He's a surgeon now. Urology, I think."
Stevie contemplated the thought of spaced out Jeremy the Spliff being in charge of opening up people's private parts and stitching them back together. The thought was so horrifying it was almost funny. "Urology? I'd have thought you need a steady hand for that sort of thing." She giggled.
Tom grinned. "Well, I wouldn't trust him anywhere near mine."
Stevie laughed. "Mind you, I bet he needs a smoke after looking at that sort of thing all day."
They both started to laugh. Tom had a nice laugh, a deep chuckle that somehow managed to warm Stevie up from the inside. The atmosphere inside the car changed subtly. Tom turned the radio on. Stevie glanced at him as he hummed along to the music. He seemed to be slowly uncoiling from the tightly wound state he was normally in. Perhaps she had misjudged him. Perhaps he was just a nice guy who was a bit stressed out.
Outside, the traffic slowed down, forcing Tom to decelerate. He scowled and muttered under his breath. Okay, thought Stevie. Perhaps not then.
* * * *
Tom staggered in under yet another fragrant cardboard box. "That's the last of it," he said, plonking it down on the long table at the centre of the kitchen. "I'll just go lock the car and come back to help."
Priya had everyone organised from the minute the stuff arrived. She was unloading packets and jars, reading out labels and descriptions to Alice, who cross checked the list and sorted everything into piles.
The whole room smelled of cinnamon and coriander. It was making Stevie hungry. She had already been allocated the task of peeling several bags of onions that were going to be fed into the food processor. She decided to peel them all first and chop them later, not wanting to have sore eyes for any longer than she had to. She was sitting on one of the benches that lined the table with two piles of onions and a bucket for the peelings lined up in front of her. She snapped on the blue latex gloves that Priya insisted on everyone wearing.
