A Funny Thing About Love

by Rebecca Farnworth

  ‘So have you had the sitcom commissioned?’ Didi asked. She was one of those twitchy, skinny, neurotic types who looked as if they never ate anything, and true to form she was shredding a piece of bread into tiny pellets on her side plate. ‘Just shovel it in!’ Carmen felt like saying as she slathered butter on her own bread – well, she was an impoverished writer, she had to eat!

  Carmen shook her head. ‘Nope, I haven’t finished it yet – just the first one and a half episodes.’

  ‘Wow! That’s so brave to give up your job before you’d actually got a deal in the bag!’ Didi exclaimed. ‘And it is so hard to get anything actually commissioned, especially in the current climate, where channels are even more cautious about new projects. I was talking to a producer only the other day who said he had never known things as tough as they are now. And he’s been around the block a few times, so he would know.’

  Didi was enjoying her role as the grim reaper a little bit too much. Carmen was surprised she hadn’t accessorised her navy Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress with a scythe and a cloak.

  ‘I do have a few contacts,’ Carmen replied, sounding more confident than she felt.

  ‘She certainly does,’ Will joined in. ‘And Carmen is very talented. I think she’s going to be a great success as a writer.’ He gave her a reassuring smile. She couldn’t help thinking that he was just saying it to be nice.

  ‘So how’s your work going, Will?’ Didi asked. Cue a long discussion about what was happening in the industry, who was changing agents, who was hot, who was not. Did you see so-and-so’s last show, disastrous, wasn’t it? Didi and Patrick seemed to revel in bad news; perhaps their second name was Schadenfreude. Carmen’s interest waned after ten minutes or so of insider gossip, and she moodily knocked back her Sauvignon Blanc, disregarding her earlier resolution not to drink. Hey, what else was there for it? She had thrown away her career and was about to be thrown out of her house.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Will asked her quietly when Didi and Patrick were caught up with comparing main courses. He looked so warmly at her that Carmen was almost tempted to confide in him; then Patrick commented, ‘Your job must be so much easier now Nicholson’s gone.’

  Carmen bristled at the dismissive way Patrick used Matthew’s surname and at the idea that Matthew’s departure had been for the best.

  ‘Yeah, things have been running more smoothly,’ Will conceded.

  Carmen was not going to sit there and listen to her dear friend being discussed like this. ‘What exactly do you mean, Will? Matthew was a brilliant boss. Infinitely better than Comedy Bypass.’

  ‘Where do I start?’ Will muttered. ‘Matthew’s a lovely guy but he had no idea about managing a company in the current climate. If he hadn’t accepted the buyout, Nicholson’s would have gone under ages ago. His world of a gentleman’s handshake is so long gone.’

  ‘It’s practically from the Jurassic era,’ Patrick quipped, smiling broadly at his comment.

  Wankers! Carmen thought as she sawed into her tuna steak. She wasn’t wild about tuna, it had to be said, but she had to keep her strength up. Maybe that was why she felt so on edge: she was suffering from a lack of protein, too many Hula Hoops and not enough omega-3.

  Didi clicked her fingers at the waiter. Carmen loathed people who did that. ‘I’d like a green salad, dressing on the side.’ She didn’t even look at the young male waiter, as if he was too insignificant for her even to bother acknowledging his existence.

  ‘No problem,’ he replied.

  ‘Thanks,’ Carmen added, when it was clear Didi wasn’t going to bother.

  He nodded and was halfway across the room before Patrick held up the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and called out, ‘And another bottle of this.’

  ‘Please,’ Carmen again felt obliged to add.

  Patrick looked at her blankly then carried on talking to Will and Didi. Now the conversation had turned to property prices. Apparently Didi and Patrick were having an absolutely horrendous time selling their house in Chiswick. Good, Carmen thought bitchily. Maybe her second name was Schadenfreude. They’d had to drop the asking price by a hundred and fifty.

  ‘Your house is massive, why do you want to move?’ Will put in.

  There was a pause as Mr and Mrs Schadenfreude looked at each other. ‘Shall we tell him?’ Didi asked.

  ‘Go on,’ Mr Schadenfreude urged her.

  Didi beamed at Will and Carmen, showing off her tiny, perfect white teeth, then she reached for Mr Schadenfreude’s hand and squeezed it. ‘We’re having a baby!’

  ‘Congratulations!’ Will exclaimed, and then stood up and raced round the table to kiss Didi and give Patrick a big manly hug.

  Well, wasn’t this just perfect? Carmen thought. ‘Congratulations,’ she managed, raising her glass. ‘Guess you’ll have to lay off the old vino.’

  ‘Surely you can have a glass of champagne?’ Will put in. ‘We’ve got to celebrate, guys!’

  And he summoned the waiter over to order a bottle. Carmen was only slightly pacified by the fact that Will actually thanked the waiter.

  ‘So now you see why we want a bigger house,’ Didi put in.

  Patrick turned to her. ‘Shall we tell them the best bit?’

  Didi nodded, and took a deep breath before she burst out, ‘It’s twins!’

  ‘Oh my God! I’ve got to do the hugging and kissing thing all over again!’ Will leaped out of his seat.

  Luckily he was putting in double the effort, which made up for Carmen sitting there like an ancient crone of misery. She suddenly felt she knew exactly how Maleficent the evil fairy felt at the christening of Sleeping Beauty. Everyone else is having a ball, and she is just a ball of bitterness.

  ‘It’s so incredible, isn’t it! Twins aren’t even in our family, so you can imagine how completely stunned we were at the scan.’

  ‘Gobsmacked.’ Patrick beamed.

  There then followed a ten-minute barrage of when were they due, were they identical, girls or boys, how was Didi feeling? Carmen’s face was hurting from the fixed grin she had on it, she most probably looked like the Joker in Batman. She made a few ‘that’s great’ noises, but inside she was reeling. This was too much. Way too much.

  ‘Carmen’s a twin,’ Will said.

  ‘Oh are you?’ Didi turned to her, her face radiant with pregnancy hormones and curiosity. ‘Brother or sister? How did you get on? Did your mother breastfeed you both at the same time, I think it’s called tandem feeding? It’s a bit scary, isn’t it? And Patrick is trying to be right-on about it but thinks it looks weird, as if you’ve got both babies in a rugby grip. But I want to breastfeed as I know that way you are absolutely giving your children the best possible start in life. I’m also wondering if the twins should sleep in the same cot, and for how long. Did you? You must be so close.’

  When Carmen could finally get a word in she replied, ‘Actually, we loathed each other for years. We were always bickering, drove my mum and dad to distraction – put her off having any other kids, though I think she would have liked more.’ She really was channelling Maleficent. She just needed to cackle and declare that the twins would prick their fingers on a spinning wheel on their sixteenth birthday and die and be done with it.

  That wiped the look of enraptured radiance right off Didi’s face. Carmen almost felt sorry for her, almost.

  ‘But you get on really well with your brother now, don’t you?’ Will the peacemaker put in.

  ‘Now he lives in Australia,’ Carmen said and laughed. ‘And we only see each other every other year.’ Didi’s chin gave a slight wobble. Oh God, what was she playing at being so mean? It wasn’t Didi’s fault that she was having twins; the poor woman was probably terrified. Carmen quickly softened. ‘We email each other all the time. And from the age of ten we got on great, we were best friends.’

  She had drained her glass of champagne quicker than anyone else. Will frowned slightly as he refilled it and when Didi and Patrick were talking he whispered, ‘Are you
sure you’re okay? Has something happened?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Carmen muttered back. Will did not look convinced.

  ‘Sorry we got a bit carried away on twin talk,’ Didi put in. ‘Just promise you’ll come round and see us lots, Will, when I’ve had them?’

  She looked at Carmen. ‘Will is absolutely fantastic with kids, they all love him. He’s amazing with all his nieces and nephews. A complete natural. He’s going to be a brilliant dad one day.’ Didi must have thought that this was something Carmen would love to hear – after all, so many men were terrified of commitment and being tied down with kids. How could Didi know that she was saying the one thing that would depress Carmen even further?

  ‘So you want kids then?’ Carmen turned to Will, asking so casually a question that was nearly killing her to voice.

  Will could of course have no idea why his answer to this question would be so significant to Carmen, and so it was that he bantered back, ‘Are you propositioning me, Miller? What kind of combination would that be? Your mutton tendencies, my egomania and ruthlessness according to you. But so long as they had your beautiful green eyes I wouldn’t mind.’

  Will was even looking at her flirtatiously. Oh God, not this, not now. She could have told the truth, she could have lied, she could have bantered back, but she was paralysed.

  She appealed to Patrick, ‘Please, someone change the subject! I think I’m baby-talked out!’

  Patrick politely obliged, with not the most original question of the night but at least it was safe: ‘So which part of London are you from, Carmen?’

  ‘A rather nondescript part of North London.’ She simply couldn’t be bothered to enter into her Crouch End borders repartee.

  ‘Which part?’ Didi asked.

  ‘Hornsey,’ Carmen replied.

  ‘I always thought you lived in Crouch End, Miller,’ Will teased her. ‘Have you been lying to me all this time?’

  Carmen simply looked at him. She had not been impressed by his dissing Matthew, she’d been sent on a journey into hell with the baby talk; the feelings of lust he usually aroused in her had been temporarily doused with cold water. She shrugged. ‘I was being economical with the truth. You know what I mean. It’s what you do at work most of the time, isn’t it?’ Oops, she sounded a little too passionate.

  Will frowned. ‘What are you getting at?’

  ‘You know, you talk the talk, give your clients that spiel – we’ll work our bollocks off for you, get you all the best gigs, you’re our number-one priority and our percentage is very fair, blah blah blah.’

  She had spoken sarcastically, but Will took her words at face value. ‘Well, we do work really hard for our clients and our percentage is very fair.’

  ‘You’ll need someone like Will when you’re struggling to sell your script!’ Patrick exclaimed.

  ‘I’d never give it to Will’s agency,’ Carmen shot back. ‘I hate what they stand for. It’s all about money and nothing about talent or integrity.’ A comment that stunned the three into silence. It was possible that Carmen had gone too far, but she felt there was no going back. She was having one of those off-at-the-deep-end moments again and she couldn’t stop. The revelation about the twins and Will wanting kids was the final straw. She had an overpowering urge to speak her mind. ‘I mean, I like Will, he’s a good kisser and I could probably shag him but I wouldn’t trust my work with him.’

  Didi and Patrick both stared at the tablecloth. Will looked at Carmen, an expression of utter disbelief on his face. ‘God, if this is what a week of unemployment does for you, I’d get a bloody job!’

  ‘I’m not unemployed, I’m a writer!’

  ‘Yeah, well, when you’ve actually produced something then you can say it. Until then I think you’re having an early midlife crisis, Carmen, and you need to take a fucking chill pill.’ Clearly any lustful thoughts Will had been harbouring towards Carmen had been similarly doused in cold water.

  Suddenly Carmen wanted very much not to be there. She had gone too far. She had behaved appallingly. She had been unforgivably rude to a pregnant woman and vile to the man she fancied. Really it was time to leave. She reached into her bag for her wallet, pulled out thirty quid and left it on the table. ‘This should cover my share, let me know if it doesn’t.’ And she got up to go.

  ‘Are you serious?’ Will said, looking and sounding severely pissed off.

  ‘Yep.’ Carmen slung her bag over her shoulder. ‘Enjoy the rest of your evening.’ She addressed Didi and Patrick, ‘And congratulations about the twins. I didn’t mean to be negative. Twins are a blessing. It’s wonderful news and I’m sure you’ll be wonderful parents. I love my brother and I’m really glad I’m a twin – there’s something really special about our relationship. And my mum didn’t get on with tandem feeding, but she breastfed us in rotation and got my dad to give us bottles at night. And we slept in the same cot until we were three months old. So good luck.’ With that she marched purposefully out of the restaurant, only pausing to thrust a fiver into the hand of their waiter. ‘Sorry that lot were so offhand.’

  The waiter smiled ruefully. ‘Oh, I’ve had way worse.’ He held the door open for her and Carmen exited with her head held high, trying to ignore the feeling of hot shame that was rushing through her. She really did like Will and she had just humiliated him in front of his friends. Way to go, Miller, she sighed, and headed down Oxford Street to her bus stop on the corner of Tottenham Court Road and desolation. She couldn’t face the Tube right now. At the number 134 bus stop I sat down and wept, she thought miserably as she reached her stop. Actually the pavement looked too icky and she would ruin her dress. Grand Central Station was altogether a more desirable location to break down and weep by.

  As she pulled out her mobile to text sorry to Will, she discovered a message from Marcus: ‘Had brilliant idea, the tenants have just moved out of my Brighton flat. It’s yours rent-free for three months. Just say yes x.’

  It was starting to rain now – not the dramatic fat raindrops hammering down that would have fitted Carmen’s mood, but a fine drizzle that seemed pointless but soaked you anyway. The traffic was swishing by, people were standing at the bus stop with those set Londoner faces that said, don’t talk to me, I am in my zone. The lad next to her was shoving a Big Mac into his mouth, a homeless woman of indeterminate age was talking to herself as she pushed a battered Tesco’s trolley full of newspapers. Carmen texted back ‘yes x’.

  The following two weeks were a fever of packing and putting furniture and books in storage, of getting the flat valued, and trying and failing not to think about Will. She had texted ‘sorry’ but heard nothing back. His silence was hardly surprising, given her behaviour. Every time she replayed her comments from the evening they seemed to take on a new, more toe-curlingly mortifying layer of horror. It was as if she’d had an outbreak of Tourette’s for the night. Why oh why had she made that cringey comment about shagging him? And talked about his work so negatively? Will was a great agent. The words kept going round and round in her head until she wanted to sit in the corner with her hands over her hot, shameful ears chanting ‘la la la la!’ until the feeling went away. Will must think so badly of her. On top of the shame was the even more painful realisation that she missed him, missed their chats, their banter, their flirtation that now never would blossom into anything else. Even though she was still coming to terms with Nick’s news, devastating as that was, some-how she actually felt worse about being so foul to Will. Thank God for Marcus and his Brighton offer. Perhaps a change of scene might bring some perspective.

  On the night before she was due to move Marcus and Sadie took her out for dinner at Carluccio’s, which turned into a grilling. She was starting to sympathise with the grilled sea bass the waiter had just put in front of her.

  ‘Why can’t you call him?’ Marcus, cutting into his steak with gusto.

  Carmen shook her head. ‘I’ve said sorry, what more can I say? The ball’s in his court.’

  ‘
Well, in fairness you were the one who was bloody rude to him. Poor bloke, takes you out to dinner, introduces you to his friends, and you turn on him like a demented Rottweiler with PMT.’ Marcus adjusted his latest toy – a Cartier Santos watch. He had a thing about watches, especially Cartier. He was always joking that it was just as well he’d made it as a comedian and could now afford them, otherwise he’d have to go on the game to fund his passion.

  ‘I did not have PMT!’ Carmen shot back. ‘God, I bet Gok wouldn’t drag a woman’s hormones into an argument! You’re such a sexist, Marcus!’

  Sadie, who was daintily arranging her gnocchi on her plate, said, ‘You were a bit of a mentalist. I mean, there was Will thinking he was going to get his end away after a pleasant dinner with friends, and there you were laying him to filth.’

  ‘Yes! All he wanted was a filthy lay!’ Marcus crowed. ‘Not for nothing do they call me the King of Comedy.’

  ‘Don’t you mean the Queen?’ Carmen scowled at him. ‘And anyway, Sadie fed you that line.’ But oh my God, if even Sadie thought she was in the wrong, Carmen really was in trouble. Sadie was usually outside any norms and existed in her own parallel universe of kookiness.

  ‘And you said he was a fantastic kisser.’ Marcus again. ‘He is bound to be dynamite in bed.’

  ‘I’ll send him a Christmas card or something,’ Carmen muttered into her glass of Pinot Grigio. Would they just give her a break!

  ‘I expect he will have moved on by then,’ Marcus continued. ‘He’s a bit of a catch from what I’ve seen. And I can tell you now, if he was gay and I was single I’d snap him up. He’s just so damn manly. In fact,’ he mused, ‘maybe I should try and turn him anyway, perhaps Leo wouldn’t mind.’ Before Marcus had got into a serious relationship with his current boyfriend Leo, he had made a point of seducing straight men. It was his opinion that all men could be turned. It was just a question of opportunity on his part and a feeling from the straight man that they wouldn’t be found out. He had been proved right on many an occasion. He caught sight of Carmen’s scowl. ‘You know I’m kidding, I don’t do that any more. He’s all yours.’