by Tracy Bloom
‘Deal.’ Michelle thrust her hand forward, keen to seal the unlikely agreement.
‘Deal,’ muttered Josie, allowing her mother to take her limp hand and shake it vigorously. Michelle grinned back at Josie, feeling momentarily relieved.
‘You okay?’ asked Gina, slumping down in the seat next to Michelle on the edge of the dance floor. She’d sat there alone for the entire Take That medley. ‘Not like you to turn down a bit of “Relight my Fire”.’
‘Josie says she’s going to have sex.’
‘How do you know?’
‘She told me.’
‘Oh, Michelle, that’s fantastic. Well done you!’
‘Eh?’
‘No, really. It shows what a great bond you have if she’s prepared to share with you this key moment in her life. You see, you are a good mother. Haven’t I kept telling you?’
‘Gina, I can assure you it was not a tender mother–daughter moment. She’s doing it to get at me. She thinks she’s being really clever having sex with a boy she thinks she loves rather than “shagging a stranger” like I did, as she puts it, and denying her a father.’
‘Oh I see,’ said Gina. ‘Well, I guess she does have a point there.’
‘I didn’t shag a stranger, okay?’
‘Alright, keep your hair on.’
‘I’m not now and I never was a slapper,’ Michelle insisted. ‘It’s complicated, that’s all.’
‘Believe me, I know you’re no slapper. Quite frankly, you make Judi Dench look like a slut. But for the record, perhaps if you opened up a bit more to Josie about who her father is, she wouldn’t think you’re a slapper.’
‘For the record, you’ve said that a thousand times and I still don’t agree.’ Michelle slumped forward until her head touched her knees and her hands grazed the sticky brown carpet. ‘And she says she’s not going to uni so she can get a job and move in with Sean,’ she mumbled. She thrust herself back up quickly to avoid being sick and jumped as Little Slaw appeared in front of her, as if by magic.
‘Sorry,’ he said, pulling up a seat alongside her and Gina. ‘Carry on,’ he added with a wave of his hand as he took out his handkerchief to wipe his brow. ‘The Spice Girls, they make me sweaty. Don’t mind me. Just a little rest I need.’
Michelle turned back to Gina.
‘All I know is that I have a daughter who is heading down entirely the wrong track.’
‘Not a lot you can do to stop her wanting to shag Sean, I’m afraid.’
‘Can we not use shag and Sean in the same sentence; it makes me feel nauseous.’ ‘What is shag?’ asked Little Slaw.
‘Sex,’ replied Michelle.
‘Your daughter and sex?’ questioned Little Slaw. ‘Not good.’
‘Exactly,’ said Michelle.
‘You should stop her,’ said Little Slaw.
‘I know,’ cried Michelle.
‘You lead by example,’ said Little Slaw.
Gina started to laugh.
‘I don’t see what’s so funny,’ said Michelle.
Gina creased up even further.
‘Enough already,’ said Michelle.
‘Sorry, mate,’ Gina finally managed to splutter. ‘But when it comes to not having sex, you’re the finest example there is. When did you last have sex, exactly?
Have you managed to have any in the twenty-first century yet?’
‘My sex life is not up for discussion here, thank you very much.’
‘Last sex for me, 2005,’ announced Little Slaw.
There was a polite pause for Little Slaw’s revelation, followed by an open-mouth moment between Gina and Michelle. They all sat in silence for a while, thinking, staring at the sticky brown carpet and ignoring the Birdie Song, which Daz deemed a necessary part of any classy wedding.
‘So I’ve told her that I will marry George Clooney,’ Michelle declared eventually. ‘And if I do, she promises she’ll go to university and she won’t sleep with Sean.’ No laughter this time, just a moment’s silence.
‘What the hell did you do that for?’ exclaimed Gina.
‘Because I had to do something,’ said Michelle. ‘She’s throwing her life away when she should be following her dreams.’
Gina and Little Slaw stared back at her, incredulous.
‘I don’t know,’ she said, throwing her hands in the air. ‘It just came out. When I said I’d worked in the factory just to save money for her education she threw it back in my face, said she never asked me to. She only ever asked me to marry George Clooney, so I thought that if I did that, then she might drop Sean and do something with her life.’
‘You’re pissed,’ Gina declared.
‘Pissed and desperate,’ said Michelle, shaking her head. ‘How has my life got to this? Stuck here, trying to convince my daughter that under no circumstances should she get stuck here.’ Michelle lashed out and kicked her discarded stiletto across the dance floor.
‘You lead by example,’ said Little Slaw, slowly nodding.
‘You’ve already said that, Little Slaw,’ huffed Michelle. ‘And as you’ve heard from my great friend Gina, the not having sex bit is not a problem, but unfortunately my lack of sex life is not having the required influence on Josie.’
‘You lead by example,’ he repeated, turning to clasp her hands and stare deeply into her eyes. ‘You do something with your life then your daughter do something with her life.’ With a dramatic sweep of his left arm he continued. ‘You show her possibility, opportunity, potential, the pursuit of dreams.’
Confused, Michelle stared into his mesmerising, pale grey eyes.
‘You feel worthy, your daughter feel worthy,’ he continued.
‘Mmmm,’ she murmured, his words somehow starting to pour some sense over her desperation. ‘You get yourself out of this terrible rut you in.’ Something struck a chord.
‘That’s it!’ cried Michelle, her eyes suddenly lighting up as she seized Little Slaw’s shoulders. ‘I’ve got to get out of this rut.’
‘That’s right,’ agreed Little Slaw. ‘You are worthy of so much more.’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Lead by example. Show Josie that anything is possible if you try.’
‘Even marrying George Clooney?’ Gina chipped in.
‘Yes,’ Michelle shrieked manically.
‘How, exactly?’
‘Not a bloody clue,’ cried Michelle. She slumped back down in her chair and gazed up at the ceiling, hoping she might find the answer somewhere in the stained, cracked plaster.
Chapter Three
Dear Mr Clooney,
I’m writing to ask if you would consider marrying me. Now before you toss this letter in the ‘trash’, as you call it, I beg that you read on and consider my proposal.
You see, I can’t help but notice that, despite the fact that you can have any woman you desire, you have failed to meet a ‘keeper’. I think this is because you are looking in entirely the wrong place. You see, as any woman could tell you, the pretty ones aren’t always the nicest. Their good looks tend to instil in them a certain arrogance, which I’m certain, given your good nature, is the thing that is turning you off. If you would care to extend your horizons in the gene pool and look beyond the perfect bodies, I am sure you would find much to satisfy you. There’s an army of women out there, including myself, who lack any pretentions and self-importance, and who are just waiting for the right man to come along. I think for me that could be you, and I think I could have qualities that you have never experienced before in the bland, tight-skinned women you have previously courted.
I should also mention, before we take this any further, that I have a wonderful daughter who could really do with a father just like you to guide her into adulthood, a role I’m sure you would find extremely satisfying.
So I’ll leave it with you, then. I have attached numerous ways in which you can contact me and I look forward to speaking with you soon.
Kind regards,
Michelle Hidderley
; Chapter Four
‘And he never replied?’ shouted Gina over the din of the conveyer whizzing past them, delivering a freshly dead chicken every few seconds, ready to be de-gibletted.
‘No,’ Michelle shouted back.
‘Did you give him your mobile number?’
‘Of course I did. I even called it a cellphone number because that’s what they call it in America.’
‘Really? That’s just weird. Why can’t they call it a mobile?’
‘I don’t know, do I? They just don’t.’
‘And when did you send him the letter?’
‘Over two weeks ago now. The day you went on your honeymoon. I sent copies to his agent and to all the major Hollywood film studios, and I even addressed one to George Clooney, Italy because he has a house there somewhere, apparently. I thought there was half a chance the Italian post office would know where he lived.’
‘Well, I think that’s really rude that you’ve heard nothing back,’ shrieked Gina in Michelle’s ear just as the conveyer came to a halt and a near silent hum descended on their section.
‘Haven’t they fixed that lung vacuumer yet?’ Gina wiped her brow with the back of her blue-gloved hand. ‘Still, at least it gives us a break. So are you going to write to him again, then?’
‘Nah.’ Michelle wrapped her arms around her chest to protect her from the chill blasters suspended above their heads. ‘He must get a hundred letters like mine every day. I thought it might be worth a shot, but I suspect that something on a much more dramatic scale will be needed.’
‘So what you thinking?’ asked Gina as the conveyor spluttered into life again.
‘Well, that’s where I need your help,’ Michelle shouted. ‘I need your weird brain to come up with a truly cunning route to get to George.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘I’m saying that you don’t think like normal people. Your special talent, Gina, is to take a situation and see it in a way no-one has ever seen it before. You don’t apply any reason or previous knowledge, which occasionally makes you a genius. And that is what I’m relying on, for you to get me to George.’
‘You’re asking me to tell you how to marry George Clooney?’
‘You got it.’
‘I’d like to tell you, that is the biggest compliment you’ve ever paid me in the thirty-six years we’ve known each other.’
‘Well, stop getting all emotional and crack on with it.’
‘No problem, Michelle. You just leave it with me.’ Gina nodded. ‘I tell you, I still don’t really get why you’re doing this, but it sure beats the hell out of our usual Monday morning chat.’
‘You mean, what type of crisps we’ve brought for this week’s pack-up?’
‘Exactly.’
It wasn’t until lunchtime that Gina could reveal her thoughts regarding Michelle’s quest. They raced to the toilets as they usually did, to avoid getting stuck in the queue and wasting valuable moments of their break.
Gina was just getting her lunch out of its Tupperware box as Michelle slumped down beside her on one of the long communal tables in the staff canteen.
‘Monster Munch,’ Michelle observed. ‘So you’ve gone retro with your crisps selection this week.’
‘Pickled onion flavour,’ replied Gina. ‘Mike’s addicted to them. I’m not that keen, if I’m honest. Remind me too much of bloody school. But it’s all part of being married, isn’t it? Till death do us part, we shall take it in turns to choose which six pack of crisps we buy each week.’
‘Classic plain Walkers for me today,’ said Michelle, happy for once that she wasn’t married and having to take on someone else’s snack preferences. ‘The crisp that is yet to be beaten.’
‘Even by Pringles?’
‘Even by Pringles.’
They fell into silence. Crisps debate over for the week.
‘So I think I’ve sussed it,’ Gina said finally.
‘Sussed what?’
‘You know, the whole George Clooney thing.’
‘Great, hit me with it.’
‘Well, I think going direct to George is too hard. He’s, like, such a megastar. So why don’t you track down someone who knows George and see if you can get to him through them.’
‘Good, good. I like your thinking. Continue.’
‘So what about Brad Pitt?’
‘Not really much less of a megastar than George, is he?’
‘I know, but with Brad there’s a way that’s guaranteed to get you close to him.’
‘I’m listening, Gina. You’re getting me excited now.’
‘Well, you know how Brad and Angelina have got like a million kids and some are adopted?’
‘Yep. Carry on.’
‘Well, there’s your answer.’
‘What?’
‘Adoption.’
‘What, I put myself up for adoption in the hope that Brad will take me? I really don’t think you’ve thought that one through, have you?’
‘Don’t be stupid. You put Josie up for adoption.’
Michelle stared at Gina, speechless.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ said Gina.
‘Really?’
‘Yes. You’re thinking it’s a stupid idea, because there’s no way Brad and Angelina would adopt her because she’s English. Well, I think you’re wrong. They wouldn’t allow themselves to be accused of discriminating. All you need to do is to explain that Josie is very deprived and in need of their help. They couldn’t say no to that, surely?’
‘Josie is not deprived,’ Michelle retorted. ‘The only reason why I work in this dump is to make sure she’s not deprived.’
‘I know, I know,’ said Gina. ‘But think what Brad and Angelina could give her. A family. And think what they could give you. George Clooney.’
Michelle looked at Gina. She’d been hoping for some ridiculous plan from Gina that might contain a shred of something that might just work. Not just a ridiculous plan, full stop. She sighed and started to gather together empty crisp packets and aluminium cans.
‘I’m not feeling it, Gina. Besides, I don’t want Angelina Jolie being mum to my Josie. She’ll turn out all trout pout and get her backside branded by some freaked out religious sect.’
‘Ooh, you’re right. You don’t want Josie getting mixed up in religion. That would be bad.’
‘Yeah, those ten commandments are no way to live your life, are they, Gina?’
‘Well dodgy if you ask me,’ she replied. ‘Love thy neighbour? God clearly never had to live next door to Asbo Alan or else he’d never have put that one in.’
There was no time for chat that afternoon as they were stationed on a conveyor belt, weighing and packing chicken breasts into their polystyrene nests. The mood was subdued as it usually was on a Monday, the day furthest from the weekend. Big Slaw attempted to cheer everyone up by shoving two fillets down his top to create a cleavage, but no-one was in the mood to find it funny so early in the week.
By the time Little Slaw joined them to help get the last delivery out on time, Gina and Michelle had fallen into silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Michelle was feeling sorry for herself as she contemplated the futility of her quest now that the vodka-induced high, when she’d thought marrying George Clooney was the answer to everything, was over. Gina, on the other hand, was weighing up the pros and cons of suggesting to Michelle that they form their own religion, to which they could recruit celebrities such as . . . George Clooney.
‘So where we are?’ asked Little Slaw.
‘Where we are indeed,’ muttered Michelle.
‘No, where we are with Josie, with George Clooney?’ he pressed.
‘Funny you should ask that,’ Gina butted in. ‘Nowhere, that’s where, because she doesn’t like any of my ideas.’
Little Slaw didn’t say anything, just silently tucked three breasts into their blue bed.
‘I wonder if you are too grand, Gina. You must be simple,’ he said, brow furrowed.
> ‘Who are you calling simple?’
‘You mean her ideas, don’t you?’ said Michelle, trying not to smirk. ‘He wasn’t calling you simple, Gina.’
Little Slaw said nothing. More breasts were laid to rest.
‘How would you get a man?’ he said eventually, looking at Michelle.
Michelle looked back, confused.
‘You know, like normal, how would you get a man?’ Gina’s turn to smirk.
‘Alcohol, of course,’ said Gina before Michelle could answer.
‘Alcohol?’ questioned Little Slaw.
‘Er, let me see, just give me a moment,’ said Gina, holding up her fingers and ticking them off with her eyes closed, deep in thought.
‘Gary Crabtree?’ she fired at Michelle, her eyes flashing open.
‘First time I ever drank gin,’ Michelle muttered. ‘Never touched it since.’
‘And what about that Tony you pulled on holiday in Devon?’
‘I blame Scrumpy for that one. If I’d been sober I definitely would have noticed his wooden leg.’
‘True,’ Gina sympathised. ‘Well, by my reckoning then, every bloke you’ve ever pulled has been alcohol induced.’
Gina, Michelle and Little Slaw stared at each other, all slightly horrified by this fact. An empty nest sneaked by, bereft of occupants. Little Slaw spotted it and gave chase, sprinting alongside the conveyor, hurdling over a pallet before being brought down by a rogue cardboard box and sending packing foam flying in all directions.
‘What the hell?’ roared RB1, otherwise known as Rotten Bastard 1, as opposed to RB2, who was otherwise known as Rotten Bitch 2, the other factory floor supervisor.
‘Much apologies,’ said Little Slaw as RB1 bore down on him. ‘I was to rescue empty packet but it did not happen.’
‘One word,’ breathed RB1. ‘Retirement.’
‘You okay, Little Slaw?’ said Michelle, rushing over. ‘Had we better get you to first aid? Better get that in the accident book, eh? That’s dangerous, someone leaving a box lying there to be tripped over. It could lead to a possible injury claim,’ she continued, glaring at RB1.
‘I’m fine,’ said Little Slaw, getting up and brushing himself down.