by Lynda Renham
‘No one asked me to be his agent, and I never said I would be,’ I say firmly. ‘I’m not going to Cambodia. I quit.’
Saying ‘I quit’ sounds smugly American but saying ‘I’m handing in my notice’ just doesn’t have the same impact does it? I don’t really want to leave but what else can I do. I don’t want to go to Cambodia. I never wanted to go when it was peaceful so I certainly am not keen to go while there is an uprising. Especially considering Bryant has accused Colonel Pong of corruption. Honestly, fancy even asking me. Let him go alone. I’m sure if we arm him with a toothpick and a cheese grater, he will be able to take care of himself.
‘Don’t do that Libby. I realise it’s a crap thing to ask. But Alex knows of a safe house should there be any difficulties, but I’m sure there won’t be. I think you could also write some good stuff out there and…’
‘A safe house?’ I echo, ‘I’m an agent, not a bloody spy, and Toby is the writer not me.’
Why did I bring Toby into the conversation?
‘And, yes, it is a crap thing to ask,’ I say, feeling hurt that he even did. I pick up my handbag.
‘I’ve got Christmas shopping to do. Excuse me.’
‘The Political Times thinks your writing is very good as it happens. They are keen to publish anything you write while you are out there.’
I turn to Alex Bryant, who is reclining in his seat, his voice smooth and calm. It is quite hard to picture him as the action man, but I suppose if I ever do consider going to Cambodia, not that I ever would of course, but if I should, which I won’t, I imagine Bryant is the safest man to go with. Oh, the thought of being alone with Alex Bryant. I feel the need to fan myself. What is wrong with me?
‘How dare you both talk about me to The Political Times? Toby writes for them, and I would never upstage him even if I could, which I can’t.’
I fling the door open and march to the lift, the whole time wondering how I can possibly afford Christmas now that I have quit my job.
Chapter Seven
‘I’ve fired that bloody woman. I mean, just look at the place.’
Alex Bryant looks around and wonders what the bloody woman did to deserve to be fired. The flat seems tidy enough to him. Okay, there are several boxes lying around and a few things still wrapped but overall it looks tidy enough. Penelope flounces past him, swooping down on the flowers he is holding as she does so.
‘They’re lovely darling but you know Freesias make my mother sneeze terribly. I did tell you that.’
‘I bought them for you, not your mother.’
He walks into the kitchen, takes a bottle of water from the fridge and fills a glass. He is about to lift it to his lips when she sighs.
‘I do wish you would put things back,’ she snaps, picking up the bottle of water and returning it to the fridge.
‘We need to hire someone else. Can you phone that agency tomorrow?’ she says, busying herself putting the flowers into a vase.
He sighs and walks into his office where she follows him.
‘Alex, did you hear me?’
When did she become such a nag? he thinks irritably. Things were never like this when we lived in separate apartments.
‘You fired the help. You phone the agency and get someone else. I was quite happy with Trudy. I’ve got to prepare for my trip. You’re the one who wants a housekeeper.’
She sits tearfully on his desk and crosses her legs seductively.
‘I don’t have time now. I can’t believe you’re going to Cambodia with that silly ‘Lilly’ woman.’
The image of Libby standing at the door of Jamie’s office enters his mind and not for the first time that day.
‘Her name is Libby,’ he says absently, remembering her excited tra-la-la. She must have felt terrible he thinks, seeing us sitting there.
‘You’d think she would lose some weight. What on earth was that all about today?’
‘What do you mean?’ he asks, pulling his mind away from her image.
‘That sex change business, honestly.’
He laughs.
‘It was a bit of fun.’
‘Well, I don’t get it,’ she snaps, climbing off the desk. ‘She needs to lose some weight if you ask me.’
Alex didn’t like to say that nobody had asked her. He thought back to Libby’s entrance and realised that he hadn’t really noticed her weight. But now he thinks about it, she could lose a few pounds, but what she lacks in that area he feels she certainly makes up for in personality. He can’t help wondering what she is doing now. He tries to picture her having dinner with her boyfriend. God, that Toby is an idiot he thinks irritably. What does she see in him? She is obviously still with him. Surely she could do better than that. It annoys him to know that Toby certainly won’t change her mind about Cambodia, and in fact, he will probably be doing just the opposite. What a shame, he thinks. She would have been fun company. He hasn’t had much fun in the past few weeks. She’s got some pluck too. He likes that.
‘We need to go over the wedding guest list tonight. I had thought of doing it next week when I got back, but it looks like you’re going to be away now,’ she calls from the living room.
Ah, yes the wedding. He pulls his own list from his pocket. He has a few things himself to discuss.
‘We can discuss it over dinner,’ he calls back and feels a sense of dread at the thought.
Alex decides to phone Jamie, and see what they can come up with to convince Libby to come.
Chapter Eight
‘Don’t you think you overreacted?’ Issy asks.
I beat three eggs like a maniac, splattering yolk on everything in the vicinity.
‘Libby, calm down for Christ’s sake, you’re quite lethal when you’re like this,’ she says picking yolk out of her hair.
I beat in the sugar. I feel so angry. What was Jamie thinking of?
‘How can I go to Cambodia? It’s a ludicrous thing to ask.’
Issy looks thoughtful as she measures out flour. I’ve made a sponge cake and am now in the middle of a cheesecake and after that fairy cakes, and if I still feel angry I shall make another sponge. Someone will eat them over Christmas. Talking of which, how can I not be in England over the holiday period?
‘Well, your parents won’t be here over the holiday, and I’m going to my parents. Frankly, I wouldn’t mope about for that little weasel if that’s what you’re doing.’
‘Are you suggesting I go to Cambodia?’
I slap her hand as she goes to stick her finger in the bowl.
‘I’m just saying you should think about it. I know I wouldn’t have to think twice about going away with Alex Bryant.’
I point a floured finger at her.
‘Don’t mention penises.’
She shrugs.
‘I wasn’t going to but you can be sure with a man like him you would never need an Orlando Broom again.’
‘Issy, you said you weren’t going to.’
She mimics zipping her lips.
‘I can’t believe they discussed me with The Political Times. I would never upstage Toby. I don’t believe I could anyway.’
Issy’s finger hovers in mid-air before plunging into the mixing bowl.
‘What do you mean they discussed you with The Political Times? You didn’t mention anything about that.’
‘Didn’t I? I probably didn’t. Well, it isn’t that important is it?’
‘Bollocks Libby, of course it bloody is. This is the opportunity you have always wanted isn’t it?’
At that moment Toby walks by and my mind freezes as I find myself standing in front of the window with a wooden spoon in my hand instead of a mug. I make a half-hearted attempt to mime ‘coffee’ but it looks more like I am offering a lick of the spoon. It all comes across rather obscene actually. Oh, how I hate Alex-we-have-a-situation-Bryant. I watch as Toby hovers at the gate and feel my heart jump as he opens it. I drop the spoon and race to the door, patting my hair as I do so. After all, this is my one and
only chance to stand on my own front porch looking like a million dollars.
‘Oh Christ,’ moans Issy, ‘I thought we’d seen the back of that loser.’
I open the door to a slightly embarrassed Toby and attempt my best seductive smile.
‘Hi, Libs,’ he says quietly. ‘I was having a walk.’
In his Pierre Cardin suit, is he serious?
‘Hi, I thought I’d offer you a quickie,’ I say, adding hastily, ‘a quick cup of coffee that is.’
I hear Issy giggle.
‘Erm, well…’ He hesitates and then seems to do a double take. ‘I say, you look glamorous, are you going out?’
I fiddle with my top.
‘Oh no, I just had a shower,’ I lie. ‘I’ve just made some cake, that’s if you’ve got the time to stop.’
He inclines his head towards the kitchen.
‘Issy was just leaving, weren’t you Issy?’ I shout.
‘What, oh yes. I’ve got to go home and wash some egg out of my hair.’
‘Well, I suppose I could…’ says Toby hesitantly.
‘I made a sponge cake.’
His face lights up with the mention of cake. It’s just a pity that the mention of my sponge cake did it rather than the sight of me. He nods and I open the door wider. At that moment the top pocket of his jacket begins to vibrate. There is an awkward tension as Toby seems unable to move.
‘Aren’t you going to answer that?’ I ask sweetly.
Why am I getting that strange déjà vu feeling?
‘No, I don’t think so.’
Issy comes bounding towards us and from the coat rack I take her long shawl which she deliberately swings wide so it slaps Toby in the face.
‘I see you’ve gone for the casual look Toby,’ she says mockingly.
‘Aren’t you going to answer that?’ she echoes pointing to his vibrating pocket.
I push her towards the front door where the heat I can’t afford is drifting down the street and give her a little shove. She shrugs, pecks me on the cheek and pushes past Toby.
‘Ciao.’
I close the door and usher Toby and his vibrating phone into the kitchen. I try to ignore the continual vibration but it really is all I can do not to snatch the phone from his pocket and throw it down the loo. It finally stops and I feel the atmosphere relax only for the phone to start vibrating again. I click on the kettle, and as I am about to cut the cake I hear the gate squeak and look out of the window to see Jamie walking up the drive. Why do these things happen to me? Toby tenses further at the sight of him and raises his eyebrows when I reach for another mug.
‘You’re surely not letting him into the cottage,’ he says appalled, like I am about to let in Fred West.
‘I can’t make him stand on the doorstep. I am sure he won’t be here long.’
‘But he’s gay.’
Oh Toby you don’t say. It occurs to me that should Toby and I marry he may well say I cannot work for Jamie any more so maybe it is just as well that I have quit. I open the door before Jamie has time to knock.
‘Toby is here,’ I say immediately.
‘Oh God, I’m so scared. Homophobic creeps don’t bother me darling. I can’t stay long anyway.’ He looks over my shoulder and raises his voice. ‘I have left Philippe tied to the bedposts. I only popped out for strawberry flavoured condoms.’
‘Pervert,’ calls Toby.
‘I’m as queer as fuck, darling, live with it.’
I exhale and pull a face. Not the sort of conversation I want my lovely elderly neighbours to hear.
‘Look, sweetie, if you want to quit, that’s up to you. But this is not just about Randal and Hobson the publishers, it’s also about you. This opportunity to get some great stories may never happen again and to practically be commissioned to do it and with someone like Alex to show you around. It really is a God-given opportunity darling. Besides you’re a bloody good agent and to get Alex as a client is classic, so at least give it a bit of thought. Alex really wants you to go.’
Like I care what he thinks. I incline my head to remind him Toby is in the kitchen.
‘Yes, well you know our feelings on him. Issy has given you the best advice there. But, really darling, if he loves you, surely he will support you.’
I know Jamie is right but it really is not good for a relationship if a woman upstages her man. Anyway, why on earth would I want to go to Cambodia where the water is poisonous, not to mention the food, and where there is an uprising and everyone wants to kill you. Does he think I am mad? To suggest that Alex Bryant is a good person to go with confirms my worst fears that Jamie isn’t thinking clearly. I peck him on the cheek and tell him firmly that I will not change my mind. What I will do I have no clear idea but flying to Cambodia is definitely not it. Toby is busy talking on his mobile and doesn’t hear me return to the kitchen. I am quite grateful for as soon as I hear him say Serena’s name and call her ‘honey’ I burst into tears and dash to the bathroom. What a two-timing shagging prick. I was a fool to put my misplaced loyalty in Toby and sacrifice my career for him, and right now I want to be as far away from Toby as I can, and as the furthest place I can think of is Cambodia I guess I will be going after all.
Chapter Nine
‘Mother, what are you wearing?’ I gasp.
I had tried to phone my parents all day but with no luck. Issy suggested we drop in on them after we had finished making my travel arrangements. After struggling to find a parking space outside their house we trudged through the first sprinklings of snow and were accosted by an inflatable snowman that lurched at us as we approached the house. Fairy lights twinkled over the door, which was adorned with a note saying IT’S HAPPENING HERE.
Oh Lord, my heart sinks. Just what is happening at my parents?
I already have an acidic headache from too much wine the night before, so the music that now blares forth is a very unwelcome sound. Raucous laughter reaches my ears and after falling over numerous wellington boots and an assortment of coats, I come face to face with my mother. She is wearing what looks like a dead pig, or rather, several dead pigs. I never know what to expect from my parents and I am never too surprised with what I find but seeing my mother wearing what appears to be a dead animal is not something I had ever anticipated in my wildest dreams. Oh God, from the smell I am beginning to think that maybe it doesn’t look like a dead pig but actually is one. Issy taps my chin and I close my open mouth. My mother is wearing a dress made from pork and lamb chops. It is at this point that I begin to wonder if I could actually divorce my parents on the grounds of unreasonable behaviour.
‘It’s a meat dress. You know, like the one Madam Gaga wore. What do you think? I had it made especially.’
She twirls and I grimace. The overpowering smell of Madam Rochas perfume coupled with the sight of the chops makes me feel nauseous.
‘It looks… amazing,’ stammers Issy giving me a sidelong glance.
‘Are they real chops?’ I ask hesitantly, feeling an obsessive need to touch them.
‘Of course, that Madam Gaga is ingenious.’
‘You can’t wear dead animals, and it’s Lady Gaga, not Madam,’ I protest.
‘Why not, people do it all the time.’
‘No, they don’t. When did you last see someone popping to their local in their lamb chop dress?’
There is no point telling my mother that wearing leather shoes is slightly different to draping oneself in raw pork chop.
‘Are you having a party?’ I ask stupidly.
Issy, deciding to make the most of things, grabs a plate and heads for the buffet. Although the food smells tempting I decide not to follow. After the debacle with Toby the other night, I must have gained a few pounds. That night alone I consumed five cupcakes, half a sponge, a pizza, a packet of Bourbons, a bottle of wine and two bars of Cadbury’s Fruit and Nut. I was depressed. I know that’s no excuse and I am now fatter than ever. Of course, a second bottle of wine last night hasn’t helped. This weather makes th
ing worse, of course. Everyone knows you eat more in the winter. I console myself that there will be very little food to eat in Cambodia. I doubt you can get pizza there, right? Dieting in Cambodia will be a piece of cake, and I will start my diet as soon as I arrive in the country. The shock of seeing my mother looking like an advert for the local butchers has taken away my appetite for tonight. I dread to think what she has dressed my father as. I am about to ask when, as if on cue, he appears. I want to go home. He is wearing an abundance of bird feathers which drop off him as he comes laughing towards me. My father is a duck. I am speechless and mouth ‘help’ to Issy who duly ignores me and stuffs more cocktail sausages into her mouth. The room is full of people wearing a colourful array of outfits and a shocking amount of make-up.
‘What do you think of my Boy George outfit?’ he shouts above the music.
Boy George! I shake my head in disbelief and edge towards the drinks table. Of course, now that I notice the bowler hat and the colourful plaits that hang around his face, I suppose there is something of a resemblance.
‘I thought you were a duck,’ I say flatly.
‘Quack quack,’ guffaws someone behind me.
It’s a madhouse. I should sue them for emotional distress. I accept a glass of wine from Basil, their neighbour, who I assume is supposed to be a transvestite.
‘Who have you come as?’ he asks seriously.
I shrug.
‘I’m Libby in a track suit, actually.’
He nods earnestly.
‘Ah, yes, very good. Did you spot who I am?’
Oh dear.
‘Well, actually…’
Dare I say, Lily Savage?
‘Flash Gordon,’ he roars.
Yes of course. Beam me up Scottie before I see someone I actually know and have to admit that these people are my parent’s friends and that the most outrageous couple here are, in fact, my parents. I manage to manoeuvre mum to the loo and shove her inside.
‘Darling, what on earth is going on?’ she asks, tripping over the loo brush stand and landing on the toilet seat, sending several lamb chops flying off her.
