For Once In My Life: An absolutely perfect laugh-out-loud romantic comedy

by Colleen Coleman

  I mouth ‘thank you’ to each of them one by one. We’re doing it. It’s happening. This paper is going to fight for its life.

  Christopher turns to Amy. ‘And it was Amy’s idea to let you know how much we appreciate you putting yourself out there yesterday. Think it sent a very strong message to each of us about how much this place means to you and how important it is we get it back on its feet.’

  I can see a shy half-smile of satisfaction cross Christopher’s lips as we guzzle down our fresh coffees. I break open my tub of lemon tartlets and we all dig in to a staff breakfast party.

  Once we’re sugared-up and caffeinated, everyone settles down to work. Christopher sidles in beside me, lowering his voice so as not to disturb the others. ‘Everyone’s so excited Lily, you’ve really made a great start and as they say, a great start is half the battle. So, once you get a chance to write up your feature, send it over to me and I’ll take care of the layout and photographs. If we aim for midday? Does that work for you?’

  I open my bag and slide out my blue Moleskine. ‘Draft already done. Once I started writing I couldn’t stop. I’ll trim, polish, type it up and have it over to you in the next hour.’

  He reaches out and runs a finger along my notebook. ‘You write longhand?’ he asks, his gaze settling on mine.

  ‘Yes, I guess it’s habit from interviews with people, trying to scribble notes and keep eye contact and stay personal at the same time. Funny how people don’t mind a pen and paper, but take out a Dictaphone or a laptop and they clam up altogether. So, I always carry a notebook.’

  ‘Me too.’ He smiles, and I blush.

  ‘Of course, in the pub, that’s what you were working on. I’m still really sorry about that…’

  He waves a hand in the air. ‘I’m really sorry for suggesting something that was so far out of your comfort zone. I mean it, Lily, if I knew how scared you were, I never would have suggested it. It really is over and above—’

  ‘No, I’m glad you did – I loved it,’ I tell him.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes! So, thank you for suggesting it, and helping me. I feel great, better than ever. You’re the expert on bucket lists and what McArthur wants, so whatever you have in mind next, I’ll do it, I promise. No meltdowns, no fuss.’

  Christopher reaches into his pocket for his notebook – a new one I notice, red Moleskine this time – and flicks through some pages, sliding the pencil from behind his ear. I must have soaked the old one beyond salvation, despite what he says. He stops on a page, scribbles down something that looks like a drunken geometric shape and then ticks it. ‘Okay, in that case, I’ve got a few ideas that will really strike a chord with our target audience. I’ll get back to you at the team meeting after lunch?’

  I nod as he takes a bite of his tartlet.

  ‘These are delicious by the way.’

  ‘They’re to say thanks for… you know.’ I take a strand of hair. ‘For all your support. With the paper.’

  He smiles. ‘Worth every bite. Now – go write! The future of the Newbridge Gazette is in your hands! Twenty-two per cent remember!’

  The future.

  Yep, I like the sound of that.

  And as soon as I sit down, I start to type.

  Buckley’s Bucket List

  No. 1 – The Skydive

  I am not a daredevil. I am not an adrenaline junkie. In fact, I wouldn’t even call myself mildly athletic, seeing as the last time I ran was for a taxi home on Friday night after a few too many at The Black Boar. I’ve generally been known to tuck away in my little cottage with a good book and go to the library and wander through the labyrinths of shelves or make a cup of tea and spend a lazy day gazing at a computer screen. Even on my days off.

  So, you can imagine my response when skydiving was suggested as the first item for Buckley’s Bucket List.

  I was horrified! Not only did I not want to do it, but I believed I couldn’t do it. That I was physically, psychologically and emotionally UNABLE to see this through. I wanted to bail.

  And that’s when I started to get my breakthrough, to realise what bucket lists are actually for. And why skydiving was the perfect choice for me.

  When it comes to skydiving, I believe there are three kinds of people.

  The first kind hears the word ‘skydiving’ and thinks: ‘The Best. Idea. Ever!’ These are people who enjoy rock climbing and ultra-marathons, snowboarding, bungee-jumping and push the limits of their bodies and minds for fun. For them, life is a relentless adventure, with all their experiences flickering by in jump cuts as they endlessly quest for the next big rush. Or so I imagine. I know these people exist, but they don’t know that I do. I am absolutely not one of these people.

  The second kind of person thinks skydiving sounds stupid and horrifying. This person is likely to say something like, ‘Why on earth would you jump out of a perfectly good airplane?’ The idea of falling from such a great height is entirely alien and goes against all instincts to stay alive. It’s a pointless and unnecessary risk. Why do that when you could have a great meal, watch a brilliant movie or spend time taking a leisurely stroll? On safe, solid ground! There is no force on earth that will make them change their mind and fling themselves out of a plane. I can relate to this person. I absolutely get it.

  And then there’s the third kind of person. This person has a profound instinctual fear of skydiving but also knows deep down that if they could find a way to break through that fear, they could really enjoy it. Or it will go some way to help them learn about themselves in a completely new light. Hopefully. That is, if they are alive at the end. If you’d asked me before this week which person I was, I would have answered the second kind, but it seems that when push comes to shove, quite literally, I am in fact the third kind of person.

  I showed up at the Skyfall open to the idea that I might not go through with it but as a reporter, news is my life. I’m always on the hunt for the next story, the next breakthrough. I keep moving. So, in work mode, I do the next thing I’m told to do, and the next, right up until I am in the door of the plane, looking over the most eye-watering sight: the bluest of skies and the arch of our planet. And then, heart pounding and shaking, I remember that fear doesn’t own me, I am more than the monkey voices in my head telling me I can’t, and I keep moving until I have leaped from the plane and I am flying through the clouds.

  And oh, the flying. I could jabber on for ages about the thrill of flying. It is nothing like falling, or roller coasters, or anything else I have ever done. In the moment you leave the airplane, not only does the monkey voice stop, it becomes meaningless. Free fall is the most perfect release and the most perfect form of ‘nowness’ I have ever encountered. My instructor tried to initiate some conversations with me, but after I could only murmur a breathy ‘Oh wow… oh, wow…’ he gave up and encouraged me to keep on looking at Mother Nature.

  We pierced through the cloud and emerged into a landscape that unrolled every which way around us. With gushes of wind pressing against me and such majestic sights below, I couldn’t speak, whoop, yell, think; I just soared towards the earth without a single thought. That may be the most exciting and extraordinary part of skydiving: all the BS fades away and you are overcome by beauty.

  We landed smoothly, lifting our legs to touch down on our butts. And then? I won’t deny it, I tied my jumpsuit around my waist and fist-pumped the air. Everything felt HD, everyone was my best friend, the world was new, beautiful, refreshed. Or maybe, just me.

  The prospect of being afraid and jumping anyway is something that may seem impossible but, when it is faced head-on, it is for many the purest form of joy and an incredible sense of achievement. And I’ve already found that it doesn’t wear off straight away. Right now, I feel like I can do anything, and I want to take on the world.

  I can’t wait to share more details of my new adventures each week on this Bucket List, and even more importantly, I can’t wait to hear from you. So what have you done that’s change
d your life or your perspective? Comment below and see you back here next Friday.

  I sit back from the screen and re-read what I’ve written. The first draft of my first feature. But now I’ve reached the end, I can’t help but doubt myself. Despite the progress I’ve made these last few days, there’s still that niggling fear that I can’t shake away as I prepare to show Christopher my writing. I hope it’s good enough. I hope Christopher likes it. I hope he doesn’t think I’m rambling and amateur and scatty compared to the standard of the London press. Maybe I should just ask one of the others to give it a once-over first? Jasmine is across the floor on a call. I could wait till she’s hung up, it’d be good to get a second opinion before I forward it to him—

  There’s a rap on the door and when I turn around to answer it, I see it’s Mary, duster in one hand and Post-it note of leads in the other.

  I wave her in and pass her a tartlet.

  ‘Lovely! Just like your gran used to make them, Lily,’ she tells me.

  This delights me. I love being compared to my grandmother.

  ‘You look like you’ve got news for me,’ I say, gesturing to Mary’s Post-it as she takes a seat.

  She leans in, lowering her voice and cupping her mouth as if sharing something top secret. ‘Word has it that if Johnson becomes mayor he’s going to close the library.’

  I gasp my disbelief. ‘But he can’t do that! People use it every day! What will they do instead?’ Newbridge is not a very wealthy town. The library has always been not only a main source of books for entertainment but also for education. I did all my study there, during school and afterwards when I tried to better myself with some online courses. That library is a lifeline; without it, we’d have even less chances than we do already.

  ‘Well not enough of them use it and he needs to be seen to be running a tight budget,’ she says.

  ‘That’s horrendous. We’ll have to stop him, let people know what he’s got planned!’

  ‘Not yet.’ Mary holds up her hand. ‘Too early to go to print till we’ve got the full story. Once I’ve gathered all the evidence we need, then I’ll be back and we’ll make our move. What do you say, Lily?’

  ‘I’m behind you all the way, Mary. You just tell me when.’ Mary may not be an investigative journalist in title but she is in every other way. Timing is of the essence with politicians, so once she tells me to make a move I’ll be ready to take action. What that action is yet, I’m not quite sure.

  She nods approvingly and takes a deep breath. ‘All quiet besides. Auditions went well at the theatre. Full cast for this new play. My granddaughter is involved – she’s a horse or something – so I said I’d lend a hand with costumes.’

  Mary sits up from her chair. ‘Right, I’d better get on my way. Oh yes, I hear you’ve got Mr Clark’s cat?’

  How the hell!

  ‘Well, you may be interested to know that he’s having brain surgery this morning. They discovered a tumour when they were examining his head after his fall. Lucky thing he got the fright he did or they’d never have found it and he could be dead by now.’

  ‘That’s unbelievable! I’ll go visit him tomorrow,’ I say.

  She shakes her head. ‘He’s been transferred to a specialist ward, won’t be back till next week. I’ll let you know when he’s up for visitors. Not that he’ll have many. Quiet sort he is. Good with animals; people not so much. I’ll see you soon.’

  I glance out as she leaves, and I see that Jasmine’s still on the phone. I look back at the draft feature on my screen. I’ve tried my best. If Christopher doesn’t like it, I can just redo it. Hardly the end of the world. The longer I leave it, overthinking and second-guessing, the less time I’ll have to rewrite it if it’s not what he’s after. As he’s been assigned as our consultant, McArthur trusts his judgement to turn this paper around, and so he has the final say as to whether this goes to print or gets fed through the shredder.

  I type in his email and hover over the send button. Too long? Too detailed? Too personal? Too emotional?

  Feel the fear and do it anyway. I press send.

  I refresh my inbox every twenty seconds thereafter, because I want to know what Christopher thinks of my draft ASAP; I can’t think of anything else until I know how it is received. I’m excited and slightly nervous at the same time, in that hell of waiting for his feedback – you know, that tiny I’m going to die of panic every time my email pings and then the disappointment when it’s just another depressing offer from a new dating website or a mailing list I’ve already unsubscribed from or someone wanting you to accept five million quid for free, just hand over your bank details and it’s a done deal!

  I am supposed to be doing so many other things. I am supposed to leave the office. I am supposed to leave this seat. But I don’t, because I am unable to do any other work, because I can’t think about anything else, because I’m WAITING.

  Soon an hour has passed and I am now one hundred per cent entirely and completely sure that he's trying to decide how to sack me. Or worse, how to tell me I can’t write.

  As I’ve already raided my secret chocolate stash, I turn to the final lemon tartlet, my third of the day, and move the tell-tale sweet wrappers around my desk in an effort to tidy up and distract myself. And then ping!

  I scramble back to my screen. It’s him. It’s in. Message from Christopher. I pause a moment. Please be okay. Please don’t hate it. Don’t think it’s crap. Because that’ll mean you think I’m crap and everything will then change around here. And I really don’t want it to because I’m loving every second. I’m hopeful. I’m excited. And I want to stay feeling this way. My phone starts to vibrate with messages, reminding me that I’m at work and I can’t afford the time to sit here and overthink this. I’m going to have to look now, to face the music one way or another, just in case I’ve got to dash out and pick up on something else and then I’ll be torturing myself about this all day long. I bite down on my lip and click it open –squinting through semi-closed eyes to read the first line.

  This is incredible, Lily – beyond my wildest expectations. Just want to make sure you’re okay sharing so much with the readers? Personally, I think it is wonderful. I only wish I had your bravery. I’ll definitely be reading every week with quality features like this. If you’re sure you’re happy with it, I’ll schedule publication time for bright and early Friday morning. And then we’ll go from there. I love it, really great job.

  Kindest regards,

  Chris

  I let out a little sigh. Yes, it is personal, but that’s how I want it to be. I didn’t want to it to read like another characterless column. And yes, I’m sharing my honest feelings with readers, but I want it that way too. Because at least I know it’s real, it’s the truth. Not some pretentious bravado or phoney facade. I can, hand on heart, say that everything I wrote in the feature is true.

  I re-read Christopher’s email one more time.

  Yep, it’s says it there in black and white. He likes it. He loves it. He’s got a really good degree and an MBA and he’s been nominated for all sorts of awards and I can’t help but feel proud that my little effort, home-grown from my Moleskine and the guidance of JJ Oakes, has managed to impress him. That I’ve done a decent job. It means a lot to me.

  Jasmine pops her head around the door. ‘You look like you’ve just got some good news! What’s happened?’

  I beam at her. ‘You know, nothing. And everything.’

  Which sums it up pretty well.

  Eleven

  We sit round the table in Christopher’s office for our 2 p.m. planning meeting. ‘Hell Raiser. Who’s heard of it, done it or wants to do it?’ he begins.

  Amy and I shrug our shoulders. Dylan and Jasmine high-five. Mark starts laughing and shakes his head.

  ‘Okay, that’s good. Three out of five of you know what I’m talking about and that matches general stats, meaning we’ll engage with those in the know and pique the interest of those who don’t.’

 
It is on the tip of my tongue to ask him what he is talking about when he hands me a glossy file of photographs of very muddy, sweaty, muscly, bedraggled-looking people, looking like they are screaming inside.

  ‘Lily, as you’re the one that’s going to be doing it, probably best you have a flick through and get a feel for what it’s all about. Basically, Hell Raiser is a hardcore adult obstacle course that pits brave souls against 5K of muddy terrain and five impossible-seeming obstacles. It’s not a race and it’s not a competition. It’s a challenge. Team members range in age from twenty-two to forty, with different levels of fitness and from all walks of life.’

  I open to the first glossy page where there is a list of events with names such as Halfpipe to Hell, Barbaric Barbwire Crawl, Devil’s Enema…

  ‘Devil’s Enema?’ I blurt out.

  Mark catches my eye. ‘Last time they held it in Newbridge, about two years ago, I volunteered to help out. Grown men on their knees, weeping in the mud.’ He raises an eyebrow at Christopher. ‘Are you actually trying to kill her? There’s no way I’d suggest this as suitable for someone like Lily. And before you say anything, I’m not being negative, just realistic.’

  I nod. Mark’s right; I don’t even like getting out of the bath without heating up my pyjamas and my slippers on the radiator. I glance back down at the brochure. ‘Hellfire’s Sniper Alley? You are trying to kill me.’ My finger races through the descriptions; swim through ice water, crawl in the dirt under a low canopy of barbed wire, wade through electrified cables and run at a near-vertical half-pipe slathered in mud. ‘Bloody hell, why would anyone want to do something so horrendous?’