I Am Ella, Buy Me

by Joan Ellis

‘You must’ve heard that one loads of times.’

  Tom was never one for compliments. It’s been a while since anyone has referred to me as attractive. When I don’t reply, Adam changes the subject.

  ‘Another biscuit?’ he asks.

  ‘Don’t be daft, we’re on the phone,’ I laugh wanting to get back to what we’ve just been talking about.

  For once, I’m not interested in food, preferring something much sweeter.

  ‘I’ll eat one here and you have one there.’

  ‘Like phone sex,’ I say and immediately wish I hadn’t. ‘Go on then. You go first. If it sounds good, I’ll join in.’

  ‘Okay. I’m eating a chocolate and caramel wafer,’ he says crunching through the layers. ‘It’s gorgeous.’

  With the receiver wedged under my chin, the flex uncoils just enough to allow me to reach the biscuit tin. I open the lid and select a plain chocolate ginger thin.

  ‘Here goes,’ I tell him, taking a bite. ‘Oh that’s good.’

  ‘Better than sex,’ says Adam. For once, I agree.

  Chapter thirty-four

  Avoid repetition

  ‘You’ve spent years being a cat, why is being a doctor so difficult?’ asks Adam.

  He will not let this one go. Every time we speak, he brings it up. I keep telling him it’s not my thing; I can’t do scientific stuff. My physics teacher made that very clear when he told me I was ‘stupid’ in front of the whole class.

  ‘At least look at it. It’s fund-raising, not for profit,’ Adam persists. This is a bit heavy. I would rather be having phone-biscuit-sex.

  ‘Can I call you back? David will be in any minute,’ I say looking at the door and willing it not to open.

  David never arrives before ten-thirty. He dislikes working with me as much as I do with him. We are both stuck here, in the holding bay, taking the money until something better turns up. We spend as little time as possible together and work separately, coming up with ideas on our own before the torture of sitting in the office together, deciding what to present to Peter. I take out a new felt tip pen, pull the top off with my teeth and start doodling.

  ‘Let’s do this later,’ I tell Adam. ‘They’ve moved my office; can’t talk now.’

  ‘I need to brief you. The client wants it yesterday,’ he replies.

  I can hear him eating something on the other end of the line. I wonder if it’s another caramel wafer.

  ‘Adam, being Marmalade was hard enough, let alone trying to get inside a doctor’s head. And the one you’ve asked me to work with is so smart she just happens to be a research scientist in her spare time,’ I whisper.

  I jerk my head, straining to hear if anyone is outside, listening,

  ‘You can help her save lives,’ persists Adam. ‘Gotta be better than selling bog-cleaner.’

  ‘You’re not wrong,’ I say.

  I lean back in my chair and open the drawer.

  ‘Come on, Ella, it’s easy,’ says Adam. ‘You write a fundraising letter from her and people will give money to help her find a cure for heart disease.’

  ‘It’s that simple?’ I ask wishing it really was that easy.

  The door opens. I jump. It’s only Jill seeing if I want my morning cappuccino from the Italian coffee bar. I nod enthusiastically. She gives me the thumbs-up, closes the door and leaves.

  ‘If they’d had the money to carry out ground-breaking research a few years ago, my Dad might still be here.’

  And Wally, I think. Dear Wally. What a senseless waste of a wonderful life.

  I remember Adam was still grieving for his father when he joined CBA. Peter was surprisingly sympathetic; he had lost his mother the previous year to a massive coronary. It’s strange to think he wasn’t always such a monster.

  ‘So, are you up for it?’ persists Adam.

  I know how much this means to him but I’m not convinced I can help with his quest, however worthy.

  ‘No, I don’t know anything about medical stuff. And this is far too important to mess up.’

  I can hear David talking to Jill in the corridor. I must get off the phone.

  ‘Don’t put yourself down,’ says Adam. ‘I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think you could do it.’

  ‘I’ve got to go. Dave the Rave is here.’ Adam takes no notice.

  ‘The doctor will explain everything and then you can write it in a way that people can understand. You’re good at that. Then just interview one of her patients to prove what she does can work.’

  The telephone flex will just reach far enough to allow me to reach out and ensure the door is shut.

  ‘It sounds too complicated,’ I say.

  I accidentally pull my phone onto the floor. It makes a terrible jangling noise, like all the workings have come loose.

  ‘What’s that?’ asks Adam.

  I hear him swallow whatever he was eating in one almighty gulp.

  ‘Nothing, just dropped the phone,’ I say.

  I haul the receiver up by its flex and step over the wire. ‘I know it’s for a good cause but if I did it and it’s a big ‘if’, will I get paid?’

  ‘Of course. I can pay you as a freelancer.’

  ‘Fine, let me speak to the doctor, if I can understand what she says, I’ll do it,’ I tell him. ‘Then you can give my fee to the charity.’

  I carefully set the phone back down on my desk.

  ‘That’s great. Thanks, Ella. You’ll love her. She’s very down to earth. I met her when Dad was ill.’

  I’ve never done anything vital in my life; unless I count keeping the patisserie at the bottom of the road in business.

  ‘Same skills, different product. It’s still about emotion and persuading people. But it’s persuading them to do some good for a change.’

  That sounds good to me.

  I hurriedly replace the receiver when David comes in. He regards me with suspicion, unzips his jacket, hangs it on the back of his chair and sits down. We don’t bother with pleasantries so I know a ‘Good morning, how are you?’ greeting is out of the question. True to form, he takes a handful of layouts from his bag and slaps them on the desk.

  ‘Here are my ideas. What have you got?’

  I look down at my pad. It’s covered in hearts.

  Over the next few evenings and lunch-breaks, I research heart disease, its causes and its cures. I read articles and talk to people who are living with the condition. Our cleaner’s husband has angina and she is more than happy to tell me all about it in the hope I might be able to help him. I leap on any piece of information that unlocks the new world I am about to enter. When I’ve gleaned as much knowledge as I can, I feel confident enough to talk to the doctor. She is every bit as approachable as Adam said she would be and explains what I need to know clearly and simply. I note down her every word and my hand aches by the time she’s finished speaking. Then I phone one of her patients, an elderly man who puts me to shame with his bravery. He answers my questions with dignity. He sounds just like Wally. I slap my hand over the mouthpiece so he can’t hear me cry. He is so calm and upbeat. It’s amazing; Peter can’t cope if he’s served the wrong brand of coffee.

  Thanks to both the doctor and the patient being so open, the copy writes itself. I fax it over to Adam in my lunch-break and he phones me minutes later.

  ‘Love it,’ he says. ‘It’s honest.’

  ‘I remember Peter telling me to be ‘honest’ about Marmalade’s emotions. Nice to know I’ve finally cracked it.’

  ‘You waited until it really mattered, using your talent to help people. Fancy dinner tonight at L’Escargot, my treat to say ‘thanks’? I took a client there last week. Great chocolate mousse – three types on the same plate, plain, milk and white.’

  ‘Sold. See you at the restaurant about seven. Sure Jan won’t mind?’

  ‘Why should she?’ he replies defensively. ‘She’s on nights this week.’

  ‘That must be hard.’

  ‘Not really. She does her thing. I do mine.’r />
  ‘You sound more like flat-mates.’

  ‘In more ways than one,’ he replies.

  ‘What d’you mean?’ He laughs.

  ‘Can’t remember when we last had sex. Oh yes, I can. She’d passed an exam and had had a couple of glasses of wine to celebrate. She couldn’t remember anything about it the next day. Very flattering.’

  ‘Oh,’ I mutter not knowing what else to say.

  Why am I delighted to think they don’t make love anymore? He ploughs on.

  ‘Whenever I looked at a piece of cake or a bar of chocolate, I’d get a lecture from her. ‘Don’t eat that. It’s bad for you. Full of fat. You’ll collapse.’ The more she moans at me, the more I want to eat everything in sight.’

  ‘And you do,’ I laugh.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I know you, Adam.’

  ‘Well, I bet you don’t know this. We’ve split up,’ he tells me matter-of- factly.‘ Lucky my flat didn’t sell. I’m back there now.’

  My stomach flips. Not once but twice. It feels good, like I’m smiling on the inside.

  ‘When?’ I ask trying to keep the excitement out of my voice.

  ‘Couple of days ago.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  My mind is racing. So is my pulse. What’s going on?

  ‘Felt stupid, I suppose. It’s been brewing for a while and by the end neither of us could be bothered to make the effort. And I didn’t like who she became when she was with her doctor mates. Gradually, that side just took over. She changed. We both did.’

  I think back to the dinner party and how she grated on me, the way she treated Adam like a cross between a servant and a child.

  ‘You okay?’ I ask still unable to believe what he’s telling me.

  ‘Fine. I’m not heart-broken or anything.’ Well, that’s promising, I think.

  ‘But you were together years,’ I say.

  I silently calculate the alarming speed relationships can end. One minute you’re in love, the next, you’re in therapy trying to figure out where it all went wrong.

  ‘We weren’t going anywhere. We were more like flat-mates by the end. It was too easy.’

  ‘An easy relationship? That sounds great.’

  I think about my split with Tom. I didn’t so much ignore the warning signs as refuse to see the flares Tom was sending up. Photo-Me-Booth? Shag- Me-Senseless, more like. What was I thinking?

  ‘Anyway, how are you, Ella? How’s work?’

  ‘Well, it’s not the same without Wally, obviously. I keep telling myself he’s on holiday, it’s the only way I can get through it.’

  ‘Bless him. He was a good bloke,’ says Adam. ‘They’ll never find another one like him.’

  ‘No, he was special. The funeral’s next week, just close family,’ I say and stay quiet for a moment. ‘His wife doesn’t want flowers just donations to a heart charity.’

  ‘Good idea,’ says Adam.

  We are both quiet for a moment. I break the silence. ‘Oh, Jill’s leaving. Going to be Marketing Director for her Mum’s holiday camp. She thinks retro is the next big thing.’

  Talking to Adam is the best I’ve felt since Wally taught me the Fandango. Well, it might’ve been the waltz; the way I danced it, no-one could tell.

  ‘Don’t you mean the last big thing?’

  ‘Very funny, Adam. She wants me to do their advertising.’

  ‘That’s two freelance jobs you’ve got now. You’ll be setting up your own shop next,’ he teases.

  ‘Don’t know about that,’ I say. ‘Oh yes, scandal, Peter’s teamed up with Chloe. In every sense.’

  ‘So you’ve been ousted?’

  ‘I don’t want to work for Peter anymore,’ I tell him. ‘Meet you at L’Escargot later.’

  I quickly replace the receiver. There’s something I must do.

  I think about the patient I spoke to, despite all he is facing, he has guts. His belief in the doctor is unshakable because she gives him hope. And we’re all entitled to that, no matter what.

  For the first time ever I am proud of what I do. For the first time, my work can make a difference. If writing copy raises funds for research into heart disease and helps save lives in the process, that’s wonderful. Mum will approve. I just wish Wally could have hung on long enough to benefit.

  I may have sold my soul to the devil the day I agreed to work for Peter, at least now I can buy it back.

  I sit down and write my finest work to date: my letter of resignation.

  I rap sharply on Peter’s door and walk in. Luckily Chloe is at a recording so I can confront him alone. He sees the sheet of paper in my hand and the look on my face. Before I can say anything he is on his feet applauding.

  ‘At last! You finally took the hint. This agency ain’t big enough for the both of us. You are definitely handing in your notice and not just getting my hopes up, aren’t you?’ he says.

  I want to tell him how sad he looks in those jeans with his middle aged bottom sagging sadly like two blue chickens in a sack.

  ‘I have found something better, Peter. Something worthwhile. I’ll soon be out of your hair. What’s left of it.’

  ‘Great, you can go today. I’ll give you three months money. Very generous all things considered,’ he tells me.

  ‘How do you sleep at night?’ I ask him.

  ‘It’s not ‘how’ I sleep but who I sleep with,’ he leers.

  ‘Give it a rest, Peter. Hopefully, other people will see you for what you are and follow me out of the door.’

  ‘Chloe and I are re-inventing the creative department and filling it with hungry lads fresh out of art school. They won’t be bursting into tears every five minutes or getting pregnant.’

  He glances at my stomach.

  ‘You’re not are you? Oh, no, I guess not, you would have had to have had sex to be up the duff.’

  He laughs so much at his own joke that he coughs uncontrollably. He decides the best remedy is to light up.

  ‘And I bet you’ll have them working for nothing?’ I ask.

  ‘They’re getting invaluable experience working for me, in a top London ad agency. I’m not paying them as well,’ he says.

  ‘Peter, times are changing. This place is set to implode. You’ll never find another job. How attractive will Chloe find you then?’

  ‘You keep telling yourself that, Ella.’

  He laughs in my face and I dodge the smoke he is blowing in my direction.

  ‘And surely she’ll want a baby one day? Your baby?’ I ask.

  ‘Not a maternal bone in her beautiful body, too busy with her career to want a brat throwing up everywhere,’ he says. ‘Anyway, what does she want a kid for when she’s got me to love?’

  ‘She’s got the killer instinct. Watch out for the knife in your back, Peter.’

  ‘She worships me.’

  ‘You think so? She shafted David.’

  ‘And now she’s with me. David’s history,’ he snips.

  ‘And you thought I could work with him?’ I ask.

  He grins.

  ‘Ella, darling, you can work with anyone.’

  ‘Too true, I put up with you for long enough. Anyway, I’m sure you and Chloe will be very happy together.’

  ‘Yes, she cuts the mustard in more ways than one.’

  He runs the flat of his hand over his head and sucks in his stomach, stubbing out his cigarette in the cut-glass ash-tray.

  ‘So I gather, Peter.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘You’re a dirty old man. How old is she? Twenty?’

  ‘Get out,’ he screams.

  ‘You can’t push me, I’m jumping!’ I tell him as I leave the room.

  ‘Did he just fire you?’ asks Jill. I shake my head.

  ‘No, I left.’

  ‘How will you manage? Sorry but you’ve got a very bad almond croissant habit to feed.’

  Good question. How will I cope?

  ‘I can get a lodger to help
pay the mortgage, if I need to,’ I say.

  I make a mental note to buy the Evening Standard on the way home. I can look through the flat-share section.

  ‘You’ll get by without the expense account lunches and your company car?’ she asks.