Double Dare

by Cathy Hopkins

  ‘Tom,’ he said as he closed the door behind us and shook my hand. ‘Sorry to have missed you last night and this morning. Busy time for the magazine. I trust that you were comfortable on the sofa bed.’

  ‘Yes, thanks. Very comfortable.’

  ‘And Roz looked after you?’ he said looking at me closely.

  I felt myself starting to blush and cursed myself. Nothing had gone on between us. Why was I acting like I’d just seduced his daughter?

  ‘Er . . . yes, thank you.’

  ‘And how’s your mother?’

  ‘Good. Fine.’

  ‘Still cooking?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Mr Williams sat behind his desk and glanced at his watch. ‘So. Roz tells me that you’re a brilliant cartoonist.’

  ‘Well . . . er . . .’

  ‘So let’s have a look. You’ve brought me some work, haven’t you?’

  I put my portfolio on his desk, opened it and took out the drawings I’d brought. He put on a pair of glasses, picked up the drawings and swung away slightly on his swivel chair to examine them.

  I sat down and watched him. His face gave nothing away as he sifted through the pile. When he’d reached the last one, he tidied the pile, placed them back on the desk and looked at me. Still his face was expressionless.

  Then he cracked a grin. ‘Actually . . . not bad. Not bad at all. When Roz talked me into this, I agreed to keep her happy but I’m glad she did. Yes. Glad she did. Of course, there will be a number of other cartoonists pitching and the final decision isn’t only down to me. I have to consult with my arts editor but . . . I’ll put them forward. I trust you can leave them with me for a week or so. You’ve got copies, haven’t you?’

  ‘Er . . . no . . . I . . .’

  Mr Williams shook his head. ‘Lesson number one. Always take copies. I shall take care of your drawings but in the future, always have back-ups if you’re submitting work anywhere. Anything can happen in an office like this. Coffee spilled, papers dumped by mistake, mixed up with others. I could give you a catalogue of disasters we’ve had with people’s work.’

  I nodded. ‘Right. Will do.’

  ‘Would you like to take a look at some of the other submissions I’ve had in? See what you’re up against?’

  I nodded again and he got up and went over to a desk at the side of his office.

  ‘Come here,’ he said and pulled out a couple of portfolios.

  The first one was immaculate, with each piece of work presented on laminated paper. Good drawings and, like me, the artist had submitted plenty of caricatures of famous people.

  The second wasn’t so neat but again, the drawing was good: showed an individual style. I could see that I had competition.

  ‘We’ve got a bit of time on this,’ said Mr Williams as he went back to his desk and glanced at my work again, ‘and so far, I’ve been very impressed with the standard of work. And we’ve got a couple more submissions to come in. You’ll be our youngest contender as the other lads are in sixth-form and one in his first year at art college but I’ll put yours in there with them. Yes. Not bad at all.’

  I wondered if he was being polite and going along with it to not hurt my feelings (or Roz’s). I could understand him agreeing to meet me to please Roz but I knew he wouldn’t commission anyone he felt wasn’t up to the job just to keep her happy.

  ‘Thank you. I really appreciate this,’ I said, hoping that I didn’t sound too much like a snivelling little sucker-upper.

  ‘OK. So, these are the teens who we’ll be featuring and you might be caricaturing,’ he said, pulling a file out of a drawer in his desk. He took four photos from the file and passed them over to me.

  ‘That’s Otis, the artist,’ he said as I looked at the top one. ‘Eighteen years old and the next Damien Hirst, I’m told.’ The photo was a moody black and white shot of a wiry looking boy with shoulder length curly hair, dressed in a leather jacket and jeans. He’d be great to draw, I thought. He had distinguishing features: dark bushy eyebrows, hooded sleepy eyes, a full Mick Jagger mouth and long Roman nose.

  ‘Next is Alistair, our actor. Also eighteen, I believe.’ His was a typical studio shot, in colour, this time. It showed a handsome boy with an even open face and short blond hair. He’d be hard to caricature, I thought. No outstanding features.

  ‘And those are the girls, Emily Wells and Amanda Miller,’ he continued as I got to the last two photos. ‘Amanda on top, she’s the singer-songwriter. Very good. Nice girl. Great voice, great future, I think. She’s seventeen at present.’

  I studied the photo trying to imagine how I’d draw her. She was a big black girl with a mass of wild curly hair, full mouth and big wide eyes. She had perfect features to exaggerate.

  And then I looked at the last photograph: very pretty with a short, dark bob framing a delicate face. She had the look of a China doll. She looked nervous, like she didn’t really want her picture to be taken.

  ‘And that’s Emily, the youngest at sixteen. Just had her first children’s book published to great acclaim.’

  ‘Right. Thanks,’ I said as I began to hand the pictures back to him.

  ‘Those are yours to keep,’ said Mr Williams. ‘Take them away. Do a few preliminary sketches to show how you’d depict them and let us have them back as soon as you’ve got something. In the next couple of weeks or so, if possible. When we’ve got the work in from all of you, then we’ll decide. So, you up for it?’

  I nodded. ‘Yes. Definitely.’

  ‘Any questions?’

  ‘Will I get to meet them? Get more of an idea of their characters. It would help . . .’

  Mr Williams nodded. ‘Good question. We have a meeting set up for all of the cartoonists to meet them next Friday night.’

  He must have seen my face fall. There was no way I could come back up again for the meeting.

  ‘Don’t worry, Tom. The others all live in London and I know you can’t make it. That’s why I asked Roz to get you in today. You’re in luck, because they’re in for some studio shots. Come with me . . .’

  The rest of the afternoon was a complete blast. Emily had already been in for her shots but I got to spend time with the other three ‘new faces’. They were in a photography studio on the first floor and it seemed that no expense had been spared in looking after them. Plates of sandwiches, cookies that melted in your mouth, freshly baked blueberry muffins, fruit and whatever we wanted to drink on tap. While one of them was being lit and shot, the other two hung around and chatted. It was such a shame Squidge wasn’t with me as he would have loved the buzz of being in a professional studio watching how it was done.

  Amanda was brilliant, a natural exhibitionist and posed for the camera with ease. I liked her; she was larger than life in every sense and she played me one of her CDs whilst Alistair was being photographed. As Mr Williams had said, she had a great voice, strong and soulful with an incredible range. I could understand why she had been chosen. Her songs blew me away.

  I liked Otis too. He was quieter than Amanda, unassuming, but he had something about him. Cool. Squidge would have liked him. He had brought some shots of his work along for the art editor. His work was a combination of painting and sculpture, all abstract. It was interesting.

  Alistair, on the other hand, seemed like an arrogant prat. Tall, athletic and full of himself. He was clear about what he wanted, how he wanted to be shot and kept giving the lighting man directions. And when he heard that I might be one of the cartoonists, he gave me a long lecture on how I ought to depict him.

  ‘Just do your own thing,’ said Otis when Alistair went off to talk to the lighting man. ‘Don’t let him tell you what to do.’

  I nodded. I wanted to get the job more than ever having been there and met the talent. There was an air of excitement around these guys and I wanted to be part of it.

  By about four o’clock, things were wrapping up and people were getting ready to go. It was then that the studio door opened and a girl walked in.


  I knew straight away that it was Emily. I recognised her from her picture but she looked way more fragile than in the photograph, like a waif in an ankle length flowery dress with a white flower pinned on her shoulder.

  She glanced over at me. Our eyes met.

  It was love at first sight.

  ‘I’M HEADING FOR THE TUBE,’ said Emily. ‘We could walk together.’

  Alistair, Amanda and Otis had gone off to see a movie in Leicester Square after everything had been wrapped up in the studio. They asked if I wanted to go along but I said no, as I knew that Roz was expecting me back. She’d already texted four times during the afternoon. Plus I didn’t want to leave without speaking to Emily. She’d only come back to the office as she’d realised that she had left her mobile phone behind. Fate, I thought. Destiny. She might think she’d come back to pick up her phone but actually she’d come back to meet me.

  As we left the magazine offices, my mobile beeped. I took a quick look. It was Roz again.

  ‘You meeting someone?’ asked Emily.

  I nodded. ‘People I’m staying with in Richmond.’

  ‘Oh. You not from London, then?’

  ‘Cornwall. I used to live up in London until just over a year ago. And I’d give anything to come back. I love it up here. It’s where it’s all happening.’

  ‘So why did you move?’

  ‘Parents split up.’

  ‘Oh, yours too?’

  ‘Why, have yours?’

  Emily nodded. ‘Two years ago. I live with my mum now. My dad’s up in Edinburgh. Hardly see him.’

  After that we were off. We found we had so much in common and, as we walked towards the Tube station, I found myself telling her stuff that I hadn’t told anyone except Squidge. How much I missed my mates. What I wanted to do in the future. All my plans. She told me all about her books and how she wanted to carry on writing and maybe move to New York and get a huge warehouse flat in Greenwich Village. We found we liked the same music. Liked going to art galleries. As we got close to the Tube station, I didn’t want to go.

  ‘It’s really easy talking to you,’ I said.

  ‘Ditto.’ She smiled. ‘I’m so glad I went back for my phone. In fact, I thought I knew you when I first saw you but I don’t think we have met before, have we?’

  ‘I’d have remembered, believe me,’ I said, and I swear she blushed.

  ‘So,’ she said, as we saw the sign for Tottenham Court Road, ‘here’s the Tube station. I guess this is it.’

  I checked my watch. I really, really didn’t want to go. ‘Which way are you going? Maybe we could go together.’

  ‘I was just going to go and hang out along Oxford Street. I’ve got an hour to kill as I’m going to the theatre later with Mum. I said I’d meet her down here. Shame you have to go, I’d like to talk to you for longer.’

  I looked at my watch again. Five o’clock. Roz had arranged for us to go for supper in Richmond later at one of her mates’. She could wait a while. I could say I got caught up with some of the people her dad introduced me to. Not a lie. She didn’t need all the details: like I fancied one of them like mad.

  ‘So what are you going to do?’ I asked.

  ‘Wander round a few bookshops. Dunno.’

  ‘I’ll stay with you. That is . . . if you’d like company?’

  Her face lit up. ‘I’d love it. But don’t you have to be somewhere?’

  ‘I don’t have to be back just yet. She can wait.’

  ‘A girl?’

  ‘Mr Williams’s daughter. I’m staying with them. I used to know her back in junior school. Haven’t seen her for years. Not my girlfriend or anything.’

  Emily laughed. ‘You don’t have to explain yourself to me.’

  Oh but I do, I do, I thought. I wanted her to know that I was single. Free. Available.

  We decided to walk up Oxford Street and window shop and as we headed that way, we got talking again.

  ‘What about you?’ I asked trying to sound as casual as I could. ‘You attached?’

  Emily sighed. ‘I was until last week. Michael. We were together for about a year and we’ve only just split up. Still a bit raw.’

  She looked so sad, I wanted to put my arm around her and make her feel better. Inside though, I was thinking, yahey, she’s free. Good riddance, Michael, whoever you are.

  ‘Oh, I am sorry. Not your decision then?’

  ‘Nope. Out of the blue.’

  ‘He must be mad.’

  ‘You’re sweet. I thought we had something really special. We did. He wants to be a writer too. In fact, we met at a creative writing class. It’s been hard this past week, I keep trying to work out what I did wrong.’

  ‘Nothing. You couldn’t have. This Michael is obviously clinically insane.’

  ‘Don’t think he thinks he is.’

  ‘I’ve just split up with my girlfriend too. It can hit you hard, all right.’ I didn’t tell her that it was just what I wanted and I wasn’t sad at all. I wanted to bond with Emily and thought that if she thought I was in the same situation, she might think we had lot in common and want to spend more time with me, hopefully helping me forget my broken heart.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh . . . we wanted different things. You know, same old same old.’

  ‘Yeah. I’ve been a right mess since it happened. Don’t know what to do with myself.’

  I sighed. ‘Yeah. Me too. It’s been good coming up to London. Took my mind off things.’ Then I had a moment of inspiration. ‘Change of scenery. That’s what you need. Come to Cornwall.’

  She laughed. ‘I’ve only just met you.’

  ‘So? We might be working together. And . . . I could show you the sights. It is beautiful down there.’

  ‘You’ve only just been telling me how you can’t wait to get back up here.’

  ‘Ah, yes but . . . it’s one thing visiting there. Another thing living there all your life. Oh come. It’d be great. How about next weekend? It’s a Bank holiday so you could stay a few days. Mum’s converted my Gran’s house into a B&B so we have room. At this time of year, we don’t have many guests. We can go for long walks. Take in the air. Get over our broken hearts together. Help each other.’

  She smiled. ‘It’s really kind of you to ask me but . . . I think I need some time on my own at the moment. You know, get my head round what’s happened with Michael. And . . .’ She looked deeply into my eyes causing my insides to melt. ‘And you probably need some time on your own too. It’s only too easy to get involved on the rebound, before you’re ready. You know what I’m saying?’

  Damn it, I thought. I know exactly what you’re saying. My ‘let’s bond over our broken hearts’ ploy hadn’t worked. But I wasn’t about to give up.

  ‘I guess you’re right, but sometimes . . . well, you have to move on. Make a fresh start.’

  ‘I will. I’m sure I will. I’m just not ready yet. And I’m sure you’re not, either.’

  I am, I thought. I am, I am, I am. And with you. I didn’t say any more though as I didn’t want to push her away. That was the last thing I wanted.

  ‘OK. But maybe sometime? I’d love to see you down there.’

  Emily stopped and looked at me again. ‘You’re so nice. It’s been good meeting you. And it has made me feel better but . . .’

  My phone bleeped again. I didn’t need to look. I knew it would be Roz. Bugger off, I thought.

  ‘Someone’s insistent,’ said Emily.

  And a half, I thought. Just my luck. The one I want doesn’t want to get involved. And the one I don’t want, does.

  I KNEW THE moment that I set foot in Dad’s flat on Sunday morning that something was wrong. He looked pale and unshaven, with bloodshot eyes, as if he hadn’t slept.

  ‘Looks like you had a rough night,’ I said as he let me in and I followed him through to his kitchen at the back.

  Dad smiled weakly and went to fill the kettle with water. ‘Tea or coffee?’


  ‘Coffee. Thanks. What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing. Why? No, I’m fine.’

  ‘So where’s Sonia and Tamara?’

  Dad switched the kettle on and sat down opposite me at the table. ‘Er . . . over at a friend of Sonia’s.’

  ‘For lunch?’

  Dad shook his head. ‘Bit of a row. Nothing we can’t sort out. Hungry?’ He got up and started rooting round in the fridge. ‘Oh. Haven’t got much in. The shopping kind of went out of the window yesterday.’

  Typical Dad. Not giving anything away. But he did look bad. Troubled. Still, if he didn’t want to talk about it, I wasn’t going to press him.

  ‘I’m all right, thanks. Had a late breakfast.’

  I didn’t know what else to say. This was my dad sitting here in front of me. Not a mate like Squidge. What do you say when your dad’s had a row with his girlfriend? Discussing our love lives wasn’t something we’d ever done much. We talked about art and school, his work. Not personal stuff.

  Dad sat back down again. ‘So, how’s your trip been? Sorry about not being able to give you somewhere to stay. Turns out you could have – Tamara’s sleepover got cancelled.’

  Must have been a bad row, I thought, as it sounds like Sonia took off yesterday if not before. I decided to give him an opening.

  ‘Women, huh? Sometimes I just don’t get them.’

  He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Tell me about it. They’re another species altogether. Talking of which, how’s your mother?’

  ‘OK. Busy as usual. Baking for Britain.’

  Dad smiled. ‘A force to be reckoned with. She always was.’

  We sat there in an awkward silence until the kettle was boiled.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ I said. ‘Coffee or tea?’

  ‘Er . . . tea. Thanks. So . . . how are the Williams family?’

  ‘Also a force to be reckoned with,’ I said. ‘At least Roz is. I don’t know if you remember her.’