The Hopeless Romantic's Handbook

by Gemma Townley

  “You gave him your number?”

  “He asked for it.”

  Gareth shook his head in mild disbelief. “Just like that. You go up and he …” He lifted his head, then broke out in a bright smile. “Well, good for you. I’m impressed. I mean, okay, he’s just a barman, but still, he’s a piece of art, isn’t he?”

  “He’s an actor,” Kate said. “From LA.”

  Gareth looked at her sharply. “He’s not.”

  “He is!”

  Gareth shook his head and lifted up his drink. “Kate Hethering-ton, I take it all back about the odds being stacked against you. If you can find an Adonis like that in a dive like this, then there’s hope for us all. But I meant what I said.”

  “About what?” Kate asked with a frown.

  “About wanting to go out with his brother. And you tell him, I’ll be happy to fly to LA to do so.”

  6

  Spreading Joy

  Hopeless romantics see the world differently from other people. Hopeless romantics see beauty everywhere, see possibility in everything, and are eternally optimistic about the outcome of actions.

  Which is why it can be extremely worrying when others who do not share your sunny disposition choose to make sharp comments or suggest that your optimism is misplaced. These people are the cynics—although they would probably call themselves “realists”—who prefer not to see beauty because it asks too much of them. Seeing the world as a place full of joy places on our shoulders the responsibility to maintain its wonder, to add to its beauty with generosity and thoughtfulness. Hopeless romantics think of others all the time, whereas cynics think only of themselves.

  But it is not enough to avoid these people. That would be irresponsible and within many cynics is a hopeless romantic just waiting to escape. If we passed by all the cynics of this world, we would be lonely indeed, for they outnumber hopeless romantics by at least ten to one.

  Instead, embrace them. Confront them. Challenge them. Not with bitter words and arguments but with evidence of beauty, warmth, and joyful-ness. Look for the beauty in all things and point it out to others. Remind yourself of the wonder of nature and life, to ensure that you do not fall under the spell of the cynic. And if all your efforts fail, do not give up or allow yourself to become downhearted. Simply tell yourself that they are not yet ready, and then think kindly of them. For if we are shown kindness, we learn to be kind ourselves….

  Wednesday morning was filming day. Filming day was always the most manic of the week when everyone felt the pressure even if their bit was going okay and Magda strode around barking orders at anyone and everyone. But today Kate decided, things would be different. The painted brick wall was looking fabulous, there was no more plaster coming down anywhere, and, if anything, they were now ahead of schedule, which was pretty much unheard of. She and Phil spent the morning clearing the sitting room of all the decorating debris, and by lunchtime, Kate was reviewing their work with a big smile on her face. She was feeling the joy, she was enjoying the joy, and she fully intended to spread the joy, too. An intention that evaporated as soon as she saw Penny striding toward her.

  “Kate, hi! Nice that someone’s got time to stand around doing nothing! So look, it’s script time. And please do not attempt to piss me off because I am just not in the mood. Understand?”

  Kate nodded, doing her best to recapture her smile. She wanted to spread the joy, but showing Penny kindness just felt wrong, like being kind to a wasp that was trying to sting someone or helping a hunter harpoon a cute baby seal.

  “Come on, come on,” Penny said impatiently. “Let’s go to the kitchen, shall we? Get some peace and quiet?”

  Penny was dressed for filming, which meant tight leather jeans, a fluffy short-sleeved sweater that was the same color as her hair, and five-inch-high ankle boots. Her face was caked with makeup, and her trademark red lipstick was already beginning to creep into the lines around her mouth. On anyone else, Kate would have described them as laugh lines, but on Penny that seemed impossible.

  As Penny turfed Lysander and Gareth off the kitchen table and sat down, she turned and smiled at Kate. “So, Kate, love,” she said sweetly, and Kate’s heart sank. Penny only used the word love when she was in a really filthy mood. It was like the good cop/bad cop routine except Penny played both roles. And she was never very good at the good cop bit.

  Had Penny been on the show when Kate first applied for the job, Kate probably wouldn’t have accepted it. Back then, Kate had been a freelance interior designer who had done the house of a friend of a friend of the chief executive of the television production company. Future: Perfect had just been an idea at the time, something the company was throwing ideas around for, and she had been brought in to help them develop the concept of a makeover show that covered interiors but also clothes and fitness—a life makeover for people in a rut.

  It had been fun—and quite a nice change from designing for rich, difficult clients who changed their minds every five minutes and thought it was perfectly reasonable to ask her to sort out their dry cleaning when their housekeeper was off sick. Kate had been able to indulge all her romantic fantasies, making dreams come true and transforming the humdrum into the exotic and beautiful (or as exotic and beautiful as was possible for £750), and she and Gareth had both been known to cry on occasion when a makeover was particularly successful.

  Of course, that was before Magda and Penny arrived, and before there were so many makeover shows on television that you couldn’t switch channels without seeing someone being told what not to wear, what not to eat, or how much more exercise they should be doing. Initially Future: Perfect was presented by Bunny Rider, a former children’s presenter, who was round and cuddly; the producers thought housewives would relate to her. But then Magda joined the team, taking on the role of producer/director, and developed ambitions for the show. Within a month, Bunny was out, along with most of the other staff, and Penny and Lysander were in. Kate had been kept on—she suspected because Magda knew that the chief exec had been involved in her appointment—but she knew, as everyone else knew (mainly because Magda told them at regular intervals) that Penny was the celebrity. They were dispensable; Penny wasn’t.

  “Let’s just have a look at what we’ve got here, shall we?” Penny continued, pulling the script out of a counterfeit Birkin bag that she pretended was real even though the stitching was all wrong. The script, Kate couldn’t help noticing, was covered in red pen as usual. “The thing is, Kate, love,” she said in her patronizing tones, “I thought that with the Moreleys the idea was new beginnings. You know, putting the past behind them, that kind of thing?”

  Kate nodded calmly. “That’s right,” she said. Kindness, she thought to herself. Spread the joy.

  “Great!” said Penny with a relieved smile. “So I take it you’re going to be repainting the walls? I mean, I don’t mean to be funny, but they look like shit, don’t they? I mean, literally, like shit. The color. Why, Kate, love, would anyone paint a wall the color of feces?”

  Kate stared at her. Feces. Okay, she hadn’t expected that. “I’m sorry?” she asked, her voice quivering, to her intense irritation. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, love, that the walls are the color of shit, and I’m not very comfortable with that. To be honest, I’m surprised you are.” Penny’s eyes were cool as she shook her head to convey just how uncomfortable she was. Kate’s own eyes narrowed. Sod kindness. Didn’t The Hopeless Romantic’s Handbook say she should confront and challenge cynics, too? Now that she could do.

  “It’s not the color of shit,” Kate said, attempting to keep her tone reasonable. “It’s more of a latte color with a hint of rose. It’s an authentic color from the nineteenth century, but brought up to date—it’s very now, actually—a real color of the new millennium, and I’ve picked out the pinky tones in the throws on the furniture, which make the pink carpet less … well, less eighties.” As she spoke, the defensive edge to her voice began to soften as the sheer enth
usiasm she had for color, furnishings, and design awoke. “It’s modern, it’s restful. It moves the house on from the eighties chintz and fake Edwardian touches that were here before without losing the … the special feel of the place …” She faltered at Penny’s cold expression.

  “So let me get this straight,” Penny said. “I’m going to have to sit on a sofa covered in a shit-colored blanket, in front of shit-colored walls and talk to Mr. and Mrs. Moreley about the exciting life they’ve got ahead of them? I’m sorry, but I can’t see it. And what on earth is this? Tell me, what is it?”

  She was pointing at the name of the paint, highlighted in the script: Dead Salmon.

  “It’s Farrow and Ball,” Kate said in measured tones. “That’s the name they gave the paint.”

  “Dead Salmon. Of course it is,” Penny said, shaking her head. “Well, at least someone’s got a sense of humor, even if they are selling rotten paint!” She laughed at her own joke for a moment, then, seeing that Kate wasn’t laughing, stopped abruptly. “So, love, bottom line, what are the finishing touches you’re planning to do to jazz it up a bit? Because I’m telling you now, there is no way I can deliver this script. If I were the Moreleys, I’d be suing you like that other woman you seem to have upset, but luckily for me I’d never resort to a free television makeover—I can afford proper interior designers. Not that I need them, because I also have good taste, but the point is, I don’t think we’ve really done our best here. On the house front, I mean. You see what I’m saying?”

  “Not really, Penny,” Kate said, willing herself to sound strong but being betrayed by a slightly quivering voice, “The thing is, I am the interior design consultant. I do actually know my stuff. And I can assure you that Dead Salmon is a wonderful color that works very well in the Moreleys’ living room. And Magda approved the mood boards. So perhaps you should take this up with her?”

  Penny’s mouth twisted into a little smile. “Funny that,” she said, full of sweet poison, “I was going to suggest the same thing.”

  And with that, she walked off, her leather jeans swooshing as she went.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “Okay, five minutes people.”

  Magda appeared in the sitting room with two cameramen behind her. “You two in there—I want their faces close up when they come in. We’ll be using that mirror there for the unveiling of the noses and we can get a scan shot of the room now if there’s time. Where’s Gareth? We’re going to need him on standby in case touchups are needed.”

  “He’s with Penny” Nick, a runner, said quickly. “She said she needed more blusher. On account of the … brown background.”

  He hesitated before saying brown and Kate knew what descriptor Penny had actually used.

  “Well, get him down here now. Penny, too. Now, Kate … about this color …”

  Kate looked up defiantly. “It’s a good color,” she said. “And it’s too late anyway. …”

  Magda nodded. “Look, I don’t give a toss whether it’s called Dead Trout or Dead Elephant. But Penny’s got a bee in her bonnet and—”

  Before she could finish, Penny arrived in the room, a cloud of powder and hairspray arriving with her. She was clutching two pale blue fake fur cushions and walked to the sofa triumphantly.

  “There we are,” she said with a satisfied smile. “Make sure these are behind my face at all times,” she ordered the cameramen. “None of that shit… or, you know, dead fish color.”

  Kate’s blood started to boil. “You are not putting those cushions on that sofa,” she said in disbelief. “There is no way. …”

  “Okay, and ten, nine, eight, seven, six, they’re at the door. …”

  “But… those cushions. They’re awful. They ruin everything. …”

  “Shhh! Forget the fucking cushions,” Magda hissed. “Five, four …”

  She signaled a silent three, two, one and pulled Kate out of the way just before the door opened and the Moreleys came through.

  Kate forced herself to leave the room. She couldn’t bear to watch her painstakingly chosen color scheme being decimated by Penny bloody Pennington.

  She found Gareth and Lysander camped out in the kitchen. They waited for the dreaded call, when they would have to join Penny on the sofa for two minutes of inane conversation about why they’d chosen a particular shade of lipstick/wallpaper/shoe.

  “I hate her,” she muttered. “And one of these days …”

  “Hold that thought. It’s wrong to wish ill of the dead,” Gareth whispered with a sympathetic smile. “God knows, even half a tub of blusher couldn’t warm her face up today. Look, this’ll cheer you up.”

  He pushed a copy of Closer, a weekly gossip magazine, toward Kate. There was a very unflattering picture of Penny on the center spread along with other “celebrity beach disaster” pictures.

  “See? She looks like a mop. Like an upside-down mop with blond bristles!”

  Kate tried to smile, but she didn’t have the energy.

  “Come on, Kate,” Gareth said encouragingly. “You’ll get over it. And no one watches the show anyway.”

  “Don’t let Magda hear you say that,” Kate muttered. “It’s just… pale blue. With Dead Salmon. Of all the bloody colors she could have chosen. People will think I put them there. And they’re hideous.”

  Gareth nodded with understanding, and turned to the monitor where Penny was attempting, unsuccessfully, to get the Moreleys to discuss their feelings about the makeover, whilst Lysander picked up a copy of The Daily Telegraph and pretended to look at an article about the forthcoming EU Summit although everyone knew he was checking out his former colleague’s report on the latest runway shows at Paris Fashion Week.

  “So, let’s talk about this room, then,” she heard Penny say through the monitor. Then she looked up to see Nick waving frantically at her from the corridor.

  “Quick, you’re on!” He bundled her out of the kitchen.

  Kate walked into the living room, now filled with cameramen and hot from all the lighting.

  “Ah, and now joining us on the sofa is our own interior design expert, Kate Hetherington,” said Penny, fake smile flashing white teeth. “So, Kate, what were you thinking?”

  Kate sat down with a hesitant smile. Penny was meant to have said “So, Kate, what was the thinking behind today’s theme?” and she wasn’t convinced by Penny’s barbed little ad lib.

  She smiled as brightly as she could. “Well, Penny, I wanted to warm this room up with some lovely rich coffee and chocolate colors, which bring out the richness of the carpet, whilst updating the room to give a lovely modern yet classic feel.”

  Her cheeks were already beginning to ache from all the smiling. You’d think my cheek muscles would have adapted by now, she thought. I’ve been doing this for three whole years. Her first time on television had been a nightmare. She’d been unable to focus on what Bunny was asking her, unable to think of anything except that she was being filmed, she probably looked awful, and she had no right telling anyone about design because she was hardly an expert, and everyone would realize she was a fraud and that she’d only got this far through a bit of luck. Now, however, she barely blinked at being in front of the camera, although she still cringed every time she saw herself and regularly thanked her lucky stars that no one she knew had the time or inclination to watch daytime television.

  “You didn’t think that brown might be just a little bit depressing?” Penny asked, her mouth turned up at the corners, her pale eyes harsh and cold.

  Kate stared at her, and Penny’s eyes widened slightly. What? they seemed to say. Can’t take a few pertinent questions?

  Kate smiled back even more brightly, as if it was now a grinning competition.

  “Oh, Penny,” she chirped, “I don’t think anyone would find these lovely latte colors depressing. Soothing, perhaps, and that’s just what you want in a living space, isn’t it?”

  “Soothing? Well, that’s one way of putting it, I suppose,” Penny said with a hard little
laugh. “But I suppose the real question is what the stars of the show think. That’s Marcia and Derek Moreley” As she spoke, the camera panned across to the Moreleys, who both looked terrified, perched on the sofa next to Penny. “So, Marcia, tell me, what do you make of the new look? Drab or dandy, that’s the question,” Penny asked, and Kate seethed.

  The Moreleys looked around the room, apparently lost for words, and Kate’s heart sank. Sod quitting the show, she was probably going to be fired after this.

  “Bit much for you to take in?” Penny suggested. “Bit of a difficult color?”

  Marcia Moreley shook her head. “I love it,” she said softly. “Oh, I really truly love it. I can’t believe it’s the same room.”

  Penny, looking a bit put out, turned to Derek. “And what does the man of the house think? Are you happy with your new color scheme?”

  Derek nodded.

  “Nothing you’d like to change?” Penny persisted, her smile becoming rather forced.

  “I don’t like the cushions much,” Marcia said thoughtfully. “But we can always move those, can’t we?”

  “Of course you can,” Kate agreed. She tried to hide her triumphant grin, as she watched Penny’s eyes narrow. “In fact, why don’t we get rid of them right now? These weren’t part of the scheme—they’re Penny’s own cushions!” With a beatific smile for Penny, she whipped the hideous cushions out from behind her and tossed them behind the sofa.

  “Can I see my nose now?” Marcia asked. “And Derek’s? Can we take the bandages off now?”

  “Cut!” Magda rolled her eyes. “Okay, we’re going to have to do this again. Marcia, darling, remember what we talked about? Try to focus on the house first. After the house, we do the bandages. Got it?”

  Marcia Moreley nodded weakly. “And then we get to see our noses?”

  “That’s right, Marcia,” Magda said with a sigh. “Now what the hell is that buzzing noise?”