‘Oh. I wasn’t really looking, there,’ I said. Now I felt uncomfortable.
‘I think I’ve got, what’s the phrase? A big hedge?’
‘It’s bush.’
‘Yes, I think I’ve got a big bush. Now your bush is nicely trimmed, Coco.’ We were back in Chelsea Flower Show territory. ‘Is that what men like?’ she added.
‘Meryl. What do you like? That’s the most important thing. You. Don’t do anything to please a man. What does Tony like?’
‘The lights out,’ she said bitterly. ‘Although now he’s ordered in Chinese, I’m sure he likes the bedroom lit up like Pyongyang.’
I didn’t have the heart to tell her that Pyongyang was in North Korea.
‘Come on Meryl, you can’t mope; you need to pull yourself together, look forward not backwards. Put yourself out there.’
‘Should I plug in my Carmen rollers?’
‘That’s a start,’ I said.
‘Coco… Would you perhaps ask Adam what he thought? When he saw me in the altogether. Of course don’t let him know I asked you to ask, just find out casually and tell me the truth. Even if it’s not good. Promise?’
I nodded and promised. It was the weirdest promise I’ve ever made, but Meryl seemed happier when I left.
I came back downstairs. Adam had made me a fruit smoothie and was feeding Wilfred some chopped up banana and apple. I put my arms round him.
‘What?’ he asked.
‘Just thank you, for being you. Dependable, warm, sexy…’ Adam went to pick up another piece of banana and stopped.
‘Meryl hasn’t persuaded you into some threesome?’ he asked, cautiously.
‘No!’
‘Thank God, because you are a people pleaser Cokes.’
‘I’m not that much of a people pleaser. Anyway, she’s fine now, she’s settled, and we’re cool.’
There was a thunderous sound as Meryl roared down the stairs, holding her phone out in front of her.
‘According to Tony’s Facebook profile, he’s ‘in a relationship’ with Mai Ling Wong Fook!’
We were both rather shocked. This split must be serious. I had hoped it would all blow over. A horrible part of me is worried that we may be stuck with Meryl for a long time.
Monday 2nd April
Agent Fergie is number #63,445 on Amazon UK
I received an email from Chloe to say I am booked in for my appearance on ‘This Morning’ on Thursday. A car will come and collect me at eight that morning to take me to The London Studios in Waterloo! If that wasn’t exciting enough, she said I’ve been paid the last part of my advance.
I realised I had nothing to wear on ‘This Morning’, and didn’t think the Victorian evening/funeral outfit would cut it.
I phoned Rosencrantz and he offered to take me shopping. An hour later I met him and his other housemate Wayne at Bond Street tube station. Rosencrantz looked gorgeous, dressed casually in jeans and a jumper, every inch the personal shopper. Wayne was a bit more eclectic, wearing a purple three-piece suit with a white 18th-century style ruff at his neck.
‘Oh Mrs P,’ he purred clasping a pudgy hand dripping with gold rings to his ruff. ‘You’re blooming, elegant and enceinte… it’s the French word for pregnant.’
‘Hello boys,’ I said hugging them both.
‘Now, I’ve taken the liberty of pulling a few outfits for you,’ said Wayne.
‘What he means is, I had a look round the ladies’ department of Selfridges, whilst he was in Mc Donald’s filling up on hash browns,’ said Rosencrantz.
‘Handsome and funny yet can’t get any acting work?’ said Wayne.
‘I love the cut of your suit, Wayne. Where do the guy-ropes attach?’ asked Rosencrantz.
‘I’m big boned, you cocky streak of piss!’ shrieked Wayne.
‘Boys, boys, let’s be nice,’ I said. The boys took an arm each and we walked along Oxford Street. Wayne explained he now has a job as the Wig Master on the musical Chicago, which is still going strong at the Cambridge Theatre.
‘Would you like a wig for ‘This Morning’, Mrs P?’ he asked. ‘I know you can’t colour being enceinte,’ he stopped me outside Boots and started fingering my roots.
‘Hmmm. Roxie Hart and Velma Kelly might be a bit severe for you… Mama Morton would drown you, but at a push I could get you Mary Sunshine’s wig? She’s a strawberry blond, like you.’
‘I’m okay thanks love,’ I said. ‘I just want to look elegant and normal, and preferably not pregnant.’
We carried on walking.
‘The Duchess of Cornwall wore something very forgiving at her wedding to Prince Charles, we could couple it with a fan of leaves on your head?’ said Wayne.
We reached the entrance to Selfridges and Wayne made a big fuss of opening the door.
‘Don’t let him make me look like Camilla,’ I muttered to Rosencrantz as we passed.
‘Don’t worry. I’ve seen some good stuff,’ he whispered back with a grin.
I find most clothes shops intimidating, but Selfridges almost tipped me over. There was so much gorgeous stuff and so many gorgeous people swanning about.
‘What about hot pink to contrast with Philip Schofield’s lovely grey hair?’ suggested Wayne when we were surrounded by racks of clothes. ‘Holly Willoughby always goes for something bright and bold…’
‘She’s not wearing hot pink,’ said Rosencrantz. I ploughed through rack after rack of size tens.
‘There’s nothing!’ I said, beginning to panic. ‘It’s all for teenage girls!’
‘This is divine!’ said Wayne shoving a long A-line silk dress with no straps at me. ‘We could get you a tiara from Claire’s accessories?’
I looked at Rosencrantz.
‘Wayne would you be a dear and get Mum some orange juice? I think she’s got low blood sugar…’ said Rosencrantz.
‘Oh, Mrs P, of course!’ he said and rushed off.
‘Why did you bring Wayne?’ I asked.
‘He loves you Mum. He thinks you’re an inspiration… he’s thinking of being you next Halloween.’
I started to protest.
’Take it as a compliment, Mum.’
‘Ok, ok… But what am I going to wear?’ I asked.
‘Right I think you should wear tight black trousers or even a jean. Your legs are wonderfully thin, let’s maximise that. Then on top we’ll put you in this.’
He pulled out a royal blue blouse, with a lovely modern cut and mid-length sleeves.
‘It’s maternity, so it will accommodate your bump nicely, and you can have the neck open. We can mix it with some chunky jewellery and these.’
He crossed to a display, and held up some cool black leather boots with a towering spiked heel.
‘Those? I’m having balance issues in my trainers,’ I said.
‘Even if you put them on just before you sit on the sofa, they’ll make your legs look hot.’ he said.
I wasn’t convinced, but we found the changing rooms and I tried the lot on. I had to keep hold of the wall for balance, but dressed up and in the heels I looked great.
‘Let your hair down Mum, past your shoulders.’
I fluffed my hair down, and regarded myself in the mirror.
‘Oh my gosh, I look, I look…’
‘You look hot Mum, and young and cool,’ said Rosencrantz.
‘Thanks love,’ I said. I went to hug him but I had to grab hold of the curtain for balance. ‘Are you sure I’ll manage in these boots?’
‘You’ll be sitting down Mum, it’s fine.’
Wayne came back with some posh orange juice, and was reluctantly pleased to find I was sorted out. When we went through the till it came to nearly four hundred pounds! It’s okay, I thought, Adam has a job.
I took the boys for a drink afterwards in the bar. I love the rush of a good shopping session followed by a posh drink. We ordered cocktails; mine was a virgin, obviously.
‘So what else are you going to spend your book advance on?’
asked Rosencrantz.
‘We have to get a new car, which will probably take up the rest of it,’ I said.
‘Ooh, Mrs. P, I know someone who’s selling a car!’ said Wayne. He’s gorgeous, half-Greek, half-cockney. He delivers theatrical props to the theatre. He doesn’t want much, needs a quick sale.’
I asked what kind of car it was.
‘It’s a blue one,’ said Wayne.
‘Can you be more specific?’ I asked.
‘A lovely, small, blue one,’ said Wayne fiddling with the umbrella in his Sex on the Beach.
‘What kind of blue?’ asked Rosencrantz.
‘Sort of dark, warm, like those speedos Oscar wore when we went on holiday last year…’
‘Oh, that was a nice blue,’ said Rosencrantz. ‘Mum, you should totally get this car.’
God bless gay guys for helping with shopping, I thought. But as far as cars were concerned they are hopeless.
When I got home, I tried on the clothes for Adam.
‘You look gorgeous babe,’ he said. ‘I especially like these heels,’ he said. ‘I think you should take everything off, apart from these heels.’ He raised an eyebrow and flashed me a grin.
‘Later,’ I said. And I told him about the guy who was selling his car. I phoned the number Wayne had given me. A young guy answered and told me it’s a Ford Ka he’s selling with only 15,000 miles on the clock.
‘I’ll be at d’Cambridge Theatre tomorrow at free, innit,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a permit to park outside, innit.’
‘And can we give it a test drive?’ I said.
‘Yeah you can totally get in it, innit…’
‘He sounds like a bit of a wide boy,’ I said when I got off the phone.
Adam said we should check it out. Then my phone rang, it was a producer from ‘This Morning’. She asked a few questions about Agent Fergie and Adam.
‘We’re not going to dwell on his conviction and subsequent acquittal, but it makes a good interview,’ she said. ‘Phillip Schofield is a big fan, he’s reading both your books.’
I came off the phone buzzing with excitement. So many things were happening!
Tuesday 3rd April
Agent Fergie has gone up to #23,450 on Amazon! Who knows what it will be after ‘This Morning’. The show gets millions of viewers!
We went to see the car today. We were waiting outside the theatre with Wayne when the little Ford Ka pulled up. A huge muscular Greek guy got out of the driver’s side with some difficulty, and came to shake our hands. He was almost seven feet tall.
‘This is Atlas,’ said Wayne clasping his imaginary décolletage and gazing up approvingly.
‘Alright mate, love,’ said Atlas shaking our hands. He was so tall, he even towered above Adam. The Ka looked brand new, the blue paintwork shone, the tyres looked excellent, the interior was immaculate.
‘Why are you selling it?’ I asked, looking up at Atlas.
‘I’m too tall innit? I had like a growth spurt, you know what I mean?’
He opened the door for me, and Adam got in the driver’s side.
‘Atlas had a huge growth spurt,’ said Wayne. ‘Last year he was five foot four.’
‘Me legs are too long, innit,’ said Atlas. Wayne and Atlas piled into the back seat, and Adam took it for a test drive around theatreland.
‘It purrs nice innit? Just like me wife!’ laughed Atlas. He had a mouth of enormous crooked teeth. Wayne pursed his lips at the mention of Atlas’s wife.
‘Iss got a wicked sound system innit?’ said Atlas. He leaned between the seats and flicked on the radio. A deep bass beat boomed out, and a row of speakers against the back window lit up with coloured lights.
‘Sweet innit?’ he said. The bass vibrated through me right to my stomach, the kind that’s so annoying when it pulls up beside you at traffic lights. Atlas saw my face and turned it off.
‘Iss all included, I’m gonna get me an even sweeter sound in my new car, innit.’
We drove back round to the Cambridge Theatre and left Wayne and Atlas saying we needed a few minutes to talk it over. We walked down to the Starbucks on the Strand and perched on the chairs in the window with a latte each.
‘I think we should buy it,’ said Adam. ‘It’s in good condition, it’s a steal.’
‘And there’s room for a baby seat,’ I said. Our phones both beeped. Mine had a confirmation from ITV studios that my car would arrive at 8.15 on Thursday. Adam had a text to say he could start work Monday 16th April!
We both sat back and took in the view through the picture window, red buses rushing past, people scurrying in all directions. London felt so alive.
‘We sat here just over a year ago, remember?’ I asked.
‘God, yeah. I was facing a big court case,’ said Adam.
‘I told you it would all turn out okay.’ I grinned and Adam leant over and kissed me.
‘Come on miss know-it-all, let’s buy this car.’
We did the deal by the kerb. Adam sat in the car with Atlas, filled in the forms and wrote him a cheque.
‘Drive safe, innit,’ said Atlas handing over the paperwork and the keys. He strutted off towards Charing Cross station.
‘He’s happily married isn’t he?’ said Wayne staring after him wistfully.
‘I think so,’ I said kindly. I pecked him on the cheek, and we drove home in our new car.
When we got home Meryl was all dressed up in a glittery long dress with a matching clutch. She looked like she was off for dinner at the captain’s table on the QEII.
‘I’m taking you for a girls’ night out Coco,’ she said. I looked at Adam.
‘Just me?’ I asked.
‘Yes, you said I should get out there. I’d like to get out there with you…’
‘I can’t,’ I said.
‘Why not?’
‘I’m tired and…’
‘Come on Coco, you’re about to have a baby. Your next night out might not be for years. I’ve heard so many stories of the fun nights you had out with Marika and Chris. Come on, let’s paint the town red!’
I couldn’t imagine Meryl painting the town red. Ecru maybe, but not red.
‘Please Coco, I’m cooped up here, far from home… Let’s have some fun!’
‘I can look after Wilfred,’ said Adam grinning. I wanted to kill him, I really did.
‘Okay,’ I said. I figured a night out with Meryl would be done and dusted by half nine. Bearing Rosencrantz’s style tips in mind I pulled together an outfit (with flatter heels) had a shower, and got ready.
When I came back down, Meryl was just finishing a sweet sherry, and apologising to Adam. Wilfred had eaten three pages of his GQ magazine.
‘Oh Coco, we look a bit odd together,’ said Meryl. ‘Haven’t you got anything jazzier?’
‘None of my ball gowns fit,’ I said. I told Adam I wouldn’t be long and we set off for Marylebone High Street to flag down a taxi.
‘Do you fancy a pub in Covent Garden?’ I asked.
‘Ooh, yes!’ said Meryl. ‘I want to do exactly what you do when you go out with Chris and Marika.’
It was getting dark as the taxi dropped us outside the Royal Opera House.
‘Look at all those boring so and so’s,’ said Meryl pointing at the queue of men in tuxedos and women dressed just like she was.
We walked through the market and Meryl dived into the first pub we came to.
‘Come on, first round is my treat,’ she trilled. The pub wasn’t too busy as it was still early. Meryl put her clutch on the bar and a cute young bartender came over.
‘I’ll have an orange J20,’ I said.
‘She’s pregnant, but I’m up for it,’ said Meryl. ‘I’ll have a small Emva Cream.’
‘A what?’ said the young bartender. He was very cute, and sported a pierced lip and eyeliner.
‘Emva Cream sherry?’ said Meryl.
‘I’ve never heard of that,’ he said.
‘What about Bristol Cream? Woodpecker Cider
? Dubonnet?’ He shook his head at all of these. Meryl might as well have been reading him the shipping forecast.
‘I’m so unfashionable,’ whispered Meryl biting back tears.
‘Ok. Can we have a Cosmopolitan, and scrub the J20, I’ll have a virgin Cosmo,’ I said.
The young bartender sprang into action.
‘Can we have a Cosmopolitan, and scrub the J20 I’ll have a virgin Cosmo,’ repeated Meryl as if she were learning lines. ‘You’re so with-it,’ she said wistfully. She watched the young man shake our drinks and then pour them out. He had lovely muscled arms. He gave Meryl a wink when she paid. We made our way to a table by the window and sat down.
‘Do you think he’d have sexual intercourse with me?’ asked Meryl.
‘What?’ I spluttered choking into my drink.
‘The barman. He’s quite, sexy,’ she said and blushed.
‘Steady on with your Cosmo, you’ve only had a sip,’ I said. Meryl pulled her phone out of her little clutch and dialled a number.
‘Surprise surprise he’s not picking up!’ she said. She waited whilst the call went to voicemail. ‘Hello. Tony. It’s me. I’m out in London at a pub called Allbaroné,’ she said affecting an Italian accent. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that we were actually at All Bar One.
‘I’m drinking a Cosmopolitan served by a very handsome young barman, who winked at me… I might have sexual intercourse with him Tony, who knows?’ she ended the call triumphantly.
We people watched for a bit. Meryl seemed to be preoccupied with what ‘sexual intercourse’ would be like with various men. In the end I had to escape and go to the loo.
When I came back Meryl was standing at the bar. She had ordered me another virgin Cosmo, and a small tray of shots for herself.
‘You’ve lost the table,’ I said seeing a couple settling down by the window where we’d been sitting. The bar was now crowded.
‘This is Luke,’ said Meryl, indicating the cute barman. ‘He’s an Emu!’
‘Emo,’ said Luke.
Coco Pinchard, the Consequences of Love and Sex Page 14