‘Bottle of champagne?’ he said, excited.
I so wanted to say yes. I so wanted to think, Sod it, it was a reunion. We deserved a treat. But I remembered my promise to myself, and what I had to do to keep on roaring.
‘Actually, I’ve given up booze.’
I expected him to laugh in my face, but he didn’t. He nodded, looked at the waitress and said, ‘I’ll have a glass of champagne and . . . Jodie?’
‘Diet Coke, please.’
One of the most disheartening things about giving up alcohol had been that no one batted an eyelid when I told them. Nobody seemed surprised or disappointed. No one said, ‘Oh come on, Jodie, one’s not going to hurt you!’ But I suppose, mixing in the circles he mixed in, Joey was probably surrounded by people in recovery.
‘And a Diet Coke for the lady.’ He winked at the waitress. My God, he was flirting with her! He was so confident, poised, everyone’s best friend no doubt. Even his confidence made me proud of him. As the waitress slunk away he did a little drum roll on the table and said, ‘So, what’s the goss? How’ve you been?’
Like it hadn’t been documented in the papers. As we talked I realized just how alike we looked. Snub nose, freckles, sparkling eyes. His green, mine mismatched. Eyes aside, he was the male equivalent of me. As someone had said when we were kids, ‘Jeez, yous two could swap heads.’ I’d hated it at the time – who wanted to look like their kid brother? – but today, today it felt so fabulous I wanted to explode.
Two months later
I phoned her. I always phoned her every Monday.
‘Hiya, Mum.’
‘Hiya, love. Hang on while I light up.’
Scritch scratch scratch and . . . inhale! And blow . . .
‘That’s better. How’s the weather?’
‘Lovely, thanks.’
‘Mrs B?’
‘Yeah, she’s good thanks.’
‘You had a drink?’
‘No, Mum.’
‘Oh good. You’re doing ever so well, love.’
‘Yeah, I’m not doing bad.’
I’d spent the summer at Mrs B’s, helping her with the B & B. Well, helping was a bit of an exaggeration, I mostly dusted the David Hockneys the night before new guests arrived. But I was living rent free and, even though I eschewed her beloved rosé, we were getting on like a house on fire.
‘Oh we don’t half miss you, you know, love. It’s not the same with you over there and your brother in Ibiza. Is it, Alan?’
I awaited a muffled response. None came.
‘Your father’s recorded Top Gear.’
Say no more.
‘Actually, Mum, that was part of the reason for ringing. I . . . I might be coming back.’
‘Oh, Jodie!’ She sounded elated. ‘That’s brilliant. When?’ She gasped, ‘Are you gonna do I’m a Celebrity?’
‘No.’
I’d been offered so many celebrity shows since leaving Acacia Avenue, but had turned them all down as I thought I’d be asking for trouble. I just knew I’d end up getting pissed and making a show of myself. And I just knew that’s what the producers who were approaching me wanted to happen. I couldn’t let it.
‘I had a phone call the other day.’
‘Oh aye? Who from?’
‘From the new producer on Acacia Avenue.’
‘Go’way! What did he want?’
Eva had left the show a month or so ago after having a nervous breakdown on set. She demanded to be in one of the scenes and wouldn’t budge till the director had to fireman’s lift her out of the building.
‘Well, he was saying what a shame it was that Eva got rid of me and so . . .’
‘But you can’t come back, Jodie. You’ve died.’
‘I know. So he wants to talk to me about’ – God it sounded so daft saying it – ‘coming back as my identical twin sister. They reckon they’ve got a great story for me, and he thinks the publicity they’d get from it would be immense.’
‘And would you do it?’
‘I don’t know. But I’ll go and have a meeting with him.’
‘Oh right.’ She sounded excited. ‘And would you come and live with us? For a bit, like, you know.’
‘Yeah I . . . I probably would.’
The silence that followed was a wave of contentment.
‘Hey,’ she said eventually, ‘I hear Stuart’s walked out of his job.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. Fed up of everyone calling him a wife batterer. Moved back to London by all accounts.’
‘Right.’
‘So, you know, you wouldn’t have to see him if you moved back here.’
‘No. Guess not.’
The police had been in touch in the days after my appearance on Brunch With Bronwen, asking if I wanted to press charges. I’d declined. I felt Stu had had all the humiliation he’d deserved. That, surely, was some kind of punishment.
‘Oh, and we got something through the post today.’
‘Oh aye, what’s that?’ I was beginning to sound like her.
‘Invitation to Greg’s wedding.’
‘Who’s he marrying?’
‘Someone called Keisha. I think that’s how you pronounce it anyway.’
‘Ah, that’s lovely.’
‘The name?’
‘No, the fact that he’s getting married.’
‘I know, God love him. He hasn’t got a mother, you know.’
‘I know, Mum. We went to her funeral.’
‘Oh yeah.’
I sighed. I didn’t feel jealous or bitter or hacked off or anything negative. I actually felt happy for him. I supposed that’s what you call progress.
‘Hey listen, Mum, I was talking to Our Joey last night.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘And he reckons if I do take this job, him and Paolo might move back to England.’
‘Oh right.’
She sounded unsure, but I think that was more because she wasn’t used to us not using her as a conduit through which to communicate.
‘Is he fed up with Ibiza?’
‘A bit, yeah. I think all the partying’s doing his head in.’
‘Well, let’s face it, Jode. Maybe he’s got something worth coming back for now, eh?’
‘Yeah.’
Mrs B floated past and deposited a glass of pink lemonade on the table where the phone was. She gave an illicit wink and scurried away.
‘Listen, Mum, I’d better get on. We’ve got a new couple arriving tomorrow and I need to get the room ready.’
‘Oh, OK.’ She always sounded disappointed when I said I had to go. ‘When are you coming back for your meeting?’
‘Next week. Tuesday. So I’ll come back Monday night, if that’s OK.’
‘Your Dad’ll pick you up from John Lennon Airport.’
They’d recently bought an Uno. No doubt Mum was dusting down her chauffeur’s cap in anticipation of my potential return to the Avenue.
‘Great.’
‘I’ll do a nice roast and get some of that fizzy water in. You like that, don’t you?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Personally, I think it tastes like Alka-Seltzer. Oh, I can’t wait to see you, Jode. Give our love to Mrs B.’
‘I will.’
‘Oh, and how’s your friend in the wheelchair?’
‘Matthew? Yeah, he’s fine.’
‘Any romance on the horizon?’
‘No. No we’re just mates. Neither of us is ready for any of that crap right now.’
‘Oh well. It’s always good to have mates.’
‘Yeah. Yeah it is.’
‘Right. Well, Top Gear’s finishing now, so I’d better get some food on. Take care of yourself, love.’
‘I will. And you.’
‘Thanks, love. Ta-ra then.’
‘Ta-ra, Mum.’
I hung up. I stood for a moment, feeling that little pang of sadness I always felt after speaking to her. Then I headed upstairs to dust the David Hockneys.
/> ALL SHE WANTS
Jonathan Harvey comes from Liverpool and is a multi-award winning writer of plays, films, sitcoms and Britain’s longest running drama serial.
Jonathan’s theatre work includes the award winning Beautiful Thing (Bush Theatre, Donmar Warehouse, Duke of York’s – winner: John Whiting Award. Nominated: Olivier Award for Best Comedy), Babies (Royal Court Theatre – winner: Evening Standard Award for Most Promising Playwright; winner: George Devine Award), Rupert Street Lonely Hearts Club (English Touring Theatre, Donmar Warehouse, Criterion Theatre – winner: Manchester Evening News Award for Best New Play; winner: Best New Play – City Life Magazine). Other plays include Corrie! (Lowry Theatre and National Tour – winner: Manchester Evening News Award for Best Special Entertainment), Canary (Liverpool Playhouse, Hampstead Theatre and English Touring Theatre), Hushabye Mountain (English Touring Theatre, Hampstead Theatre), Guiding Star (Everyman Theatre, Royal National Theatre), Boom Bang a Bang (Bush Theatre), Mohair (Royal Court Theatre Upstairs) and Wildfire (Royal Court Theatre Upstairs). Jonathan also co-wrote the musical Closer To Heaven with Pet Shop Boys.
For television Jonathan created and wrote three series of the BAFTA nominated Gimme Gimme Gimme for the BBC, two series of Beautiful People (winner: Best Comedy, Banff TV Festival), the double BAFTA nominated Best Friends, Von Trapped! and Birthday Girl.
Jonathan has also written for the shows Rev (winner: BAFTA, Best Sitcom) Shameless, The Catherine Tate Show, At Home With The Braithwaites, Lilies and Murder Most Horrid. To date he has written over a hundred episodes of Coronation Street.
Jonathans film work includes: Beautiful Thing for Film Four (Outstanding Film, GLAAD Awards, New York; Best Film: London Lesbian and Gay Film Festival; Best Screenplay, Fort Lauderdale Film Festival; Grand Prix, Paris Film Festival; San Paolo International Film Festival, Jury Award).
But perhaps most telling of all, he also won the Spacehopper Championships at Butlins Pwhelli in 1976.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thank you to all those who were so encouraging when I first said I wanted to write a book and offered invaluable, sage advice in the early stages: Marian Keyes, Paul Burston and David Nicholls, who didn’t even bat an eyelid but told me to go for it, and Kathy Burke for her continuing unconditional positive regard.
To my agent Gordon Wise and all at Curtis Brown for holding my hand through the experience and for explaining the whys and wherefores of this brave new world. Also to Michael McCoy and Alec Drysdale at Independent for everything they do with all my other writing. Thank you so much for never balking, no matter how demanding I might be!
Thank you to my editor Wayne Brookes for taking a punt, laughing at my jokes, the boozy lunches, and for being my literary sat nav And to Jeremy Trevathan and all the sales, marketing and publicity teams at my new home Pan Macmillan.
To all the cast and crew of Coronation Street, my day job, for making it such a special place to work. To my fellow writers there for always making me laugh and inspiring me with their talent. Special thanks also to Kieran Roberts and Phil Collinson for being so supportive when I said I wanted to write a novel set in the world of a soap opera.
Thank you to all the actors who took the time to discuss their experiences of drama school with me: Sarah Dorsett, Philip McGinley, Morgan Jones, Jordan Cluroe, Sue Vincent, Ken Christiansen, Ian Connop, Jane Slavin, Maria McErlane, Dan Crowder and Ruth Jarvis. Special thanks to Kate Kelly who let me bend her ear a bit more than was really necessary.
Thank you particularly to Jodie McNee for letting me, almost, steal her name.
To Richard Foord for some very special memories, good laughs and continuing support. Likewise to all my friends who have given me nothing but encouragement along the way, but particularly Angela Sinden, Steven Doherty, Damon Rochefort, Debbie Rodaway and Hayley Johnson. Thanks again to my old flatmate and long-term soulmate Julie Graham for reading and squealing and the laughs around the camp fire.
To Antony Cotton and Peter Eccleston for listening in times of trouble, never judging, and pouring copious amounts of alcohol down my neck. Likewise to Jennie, Geoff and Wendy for taking me in and looking after me when I most needed it.
To my Mum and Dad, Maureen and Brian Harvey, who as well as teaching me to read and write, taught me that it was always okay to be myself. They would never admit it, but they really are the best mum and dad in the world.
First published 2012 by Pan Books
This electronic edition published 2012 by Pan
an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited
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www.panmacmillan.com
ISBN 978-0-230-76543-6 EPUB
Copyright © Jonathan Harvey 2012
The right of Jonathan Harvey to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
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