by Simon Brooke
“My ratatouille thing with pasta.” It’s my special, well just about the only thing I can knock up that’s edible. Peter might have his chicken thing but I’ve got my sautéed peppers, tomatoes, onions and garlic thing.
“Great,” she says, putting a plaster on my finger. “I’ll come and give you a hand when I’ve finished with PBC.”
“Who?”
“Peter—Peter Beaumont-Crowther. PBC. That’s what people call him.”
Yeah, amongst other things.
“Okay,” I mutter and go back to my chopping.
True to her word, Lauren comes in a few minutes later and takes over the cooking as I know she will. At the same time she prepares the dinner she manages to make a plate of little bruschetta, some with chopped tomatoes and basil and some with creamed artichoke. I pour us both a glass of Orvieto. Has anyone, anywhere in the world, been cooked for by someone as wonderful as Lauren? I ask myself as I sip my wine. And had a plaster put on by them?
“How did your drink go with that journalist?” she asks, stirring and chopping.
“Fine. We didn’t talk much about the site in the end…but…erm…” Oh, oh, wrong answer. I can’t decide whether I’m relieved or disappointed that Lauren makes no reaction to my confession. “We might be able to give her some more stories. We’re going to do a survey about shopping and they’ve already decided on the result, can you believe it? They’re going to find that thirty per cent of men spend more money on clothes than their wives or girlfriends.”
“That can’t be right,” says Lauren without looking up. “Never mind, I suppose if you’re going to do these surveys you’ve got to find something interesting to say, something newsworthy, haven’t you?”
“I’m sure Nora will be able get a piece out of it.”
“Nora? Was she that slightly weird woman at the launch party? The one in that bizarre Morticia Addams dress that you were having such a laugh with?”
“Nora, yes,” I say defensively.
“Was it her you were having a drink with last night then?”
“Yes. I told you.”
“No, you said a journalist.”
“I didn’t mention her name but so what?”
“This is almost ready.”
The adrenalin is flowing now. I’ve finally made Lauren jealous.
“What’s the matter? You can hardly complain after your conversation just now with Peter.”
Oh, what the fuck! Let’s go the whole hog.
“Charlie, what are you on about?” Lauren looks up from her cooking.
“You know—giggle, giggle!”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Peter is a friend and we’re just having a chat.”
“Sounded like a very cosy chat to me.”
“Don’t be absurd. I think this whole website thing is getting on top of you,” says Lauren.
“Perhaps it is, but I think this whole PBC/TV presenter thing is getting on top of you,” I snap back, but it’s the last word that pushes it too far: “Literally.”
She looks at me for a moment. “I’m going out,” she says quietly.
I watch her go. Then I put my glass down and go after her. She is in the bedroom putting on her coat.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. She ignores me and opens the cupboard to find her shoes. “I said I’m sorry.”
“I heard what you said.” I gently close the wardrobe door. “Excuse me. I’m trying to get my shoes.”
“Please don’t get your shoes. Please don’t go out.” She avoids my eyes. “I’m sorry I said that about you and Peter.” I know I’m making some progress now so I press on.
She looks up. “I don’t know why you’ve got such a thing about him. I’ve got to do this for my career. I told you.”
“Yeah, you said.”
“Why are you so jealous of him all the time?”
“Because…because he sees more of you than I do these days.”
She runs her hand through my hair. “Oh, Charlie.”
“I don’t want to lose you.”
“You’re not going to lose me.” She plays with my hair some more and begins to massage my ear gently. “But don’t expect me to give up this part of my life. It’s very important. Don’t make me choose between you and my career, it’s not fair.”
“I know.”
She takes off her coat again, along with the rest of her clothes and, deciding that dinner can wait, we end up having great “make-up” sex. I watch us momentarily in the mirror and think again how lucky I am.
Scarlett offers me a shot of some dark brown liquid when she gets into the office the next day.
“What’s this?” I say, eyeing it with disdain.
“It’s called maruca. It’s made of peat extract or something.”
“What does it do?”
“Gives you energy, detoxes and, erm, what else did they say? Oh, yes, boosts your melatonin levels. Makes you feel good.”
I shrug my shoulders and knock it back. It’s sort of earthy initially but then the aftertaste kicks in—like farts mixed with rotting rubbish.
“Aaargh!” I gasp, looking around for something to rescue my taste buds with.
“Hey, that’s my Dr Pepper!” says Zac.
I let the sweet, fizzy liquid rinse away the taste of shit and rotting vegetables and then hand the can back to him. Once I’ve got over the experience I look at Scarlett.
“Oh, my God. How can you drink that stuff?” I mutter, still swallowing hard.
“I don’t. I’ve never tasted it before. I thought I’d try it out on you first.”
“Oh, ta, Scarlett.”
She smiles sweetly and answers the phone.
“2cool2btrue, can I help you? Guy? No, he’s not in yet, I’m afraid. No, he’s not either. Can I take a message? Okay, all right, babe, I’ll get one of them to call you. Bye.”
“Where are they? It’s gone ten,” I ask when she’s put the phone down.
“I dunno, but I’ll get them to report to your study when they get in, shall I?” she says.
“All right, I’m just saying.”
“What’s this thing down here at the bottom of the screen?” I ask Zac a bit later.
With lightning speed in response to my question he mumbles, “What you talking about?”
“This thing, this little icon at the bottom right hand on the home page? ‘Digitally Enhanced Hyper Resolution Graphics System.’ What the hell does that mean?”
“It means shag-all, as you Brits would put it.”
“Nothing? You mean it doesn’t do anything? Why have you put it in there then?”
“Cos it looks cool, man. People think it’s a new bit of kit, something that no one else has.”
“You just made it up?”
“Yup.”
“I still think it should be ‘Enhanced Hyper Resolution Digital Graphics System,’” says Scarlett. “Rolls off the tongue better.”
“Well, you’re wrong, little lady,” says Zac, not bothering to look up at her. “I’ll do the hi-tech stuff and you stick to rolling things off your tongue.”
Scarlett gives him a sarcastic smile. “Oh, Zac, I’m sure you’ll be a much nicer, more relaxed person when you finally lose your virginity.”
Fortunately the phone rings and I get it. It’s someone asking for Guy or Piers again. They’re quite insistent but all I can do is take a message.
“Where are they? I’m going to ring their mobiles,” I tell the others.
“Give them a piece of your mind,” says Zac.
Just at that moment the door swings open and Piers sweeps in.
“Sorry I’m late everybody—bit of a night of it last night.”
“No problem,” I say. “Quite a few people have been calling for you, that’s all.”
“I bet they have. Well, we’ve done it!” he announces, looking around at us excitedly.
“What? You and Guy last night?” asks Scarlett, raising an eyebrow.
“No. What?” says Piers. “No, we’v
e done it—all of you! 2cool! We’ve reached our two months’ target of half a million hits in just three weeks.”
“Excellent,” I tell him. “That’s brilliant.”
“Cool,” says Scarlett. “Too cool, in fact.”
Zac says nothing, but since he wouldn’t have had anything pleasant or encouraging to say this is probably a good thing.
“That’s brilliant,” I say again.
“Isn’t it? Well done, team.” The team looks slightly embarrassed at his hearty praise. “Excellent. Yes, well done. Now I could do with something to bring me back to life after last night.”
“Yeah, you look terrible,” says Scarlett, obviously not just being rude on this occasion. “Have you slept at all?”
“No, to be honest I haven’t much,” says Piers with a slightly false, hearty laugh. “I’ll go to that place you’re always off to along the road, what’s it called?”
“Wild World,” I tell him.
“That’s right, I’ll get a juice or something.”
“No,” says Scarlett, “get a yourself a maruca—it’ll do you a world of good.”
“Hey, guess what? We’ve beaten our target at work,” I tell Lauren that evening as we snuggle up on the settee after supper. “We were supposed to take two months to get half a million hits but we’ve done it in just three weeks.”
“Nice going, babe,” she says, turning her face round in my lap to kiss me.
“It is pretty good, isn’t it. All down to the marketing of course.”
“Of course. You should make sure you keep all the press cuttings and file them.”
“That’s a good idea. I think Scarlett or the PRs do it.”
“No, I mean for your own file so you’ve got something to show future employers.”
“That’s a very good idea. You’re so sensible. Hey, let’s go out and celebrate tomorrow night. I’ll book a table somewhere.” Lauren doesn’t say anything. “What about that new place down by the river?”
“I’m actually seeing Peter tomorrow night.”
“Oh, okay,” I say in a small voice.
“Charlie, I’m sorry. He’s been in New York for the last few days and we’ve got a lot to catch up on.”
“Sure.”
“You know this thing means a lot to me, don’t you?” She sits up and looks at me. “I’m bored with modelling. You’ve made a successful career move. It’s not really fair, is it, to try and stop me?”
“No, ’course not babe.”
“Friday night, I promise. We’ll do something really cool.”
Chapter
15
By midday the next day neither Piers nor Guy is in, and I seem to be the only one vaguely bothered about it. Neither mobiles are answering this time either so I decide we’d better find them.
“Scarlett. Scarlett.” I try waving at her.
“Hang on, bud, I’ll send her an email,” says Zac, being helpful for once.
“Don’t worry,” I tell him, getting up.
I tap her on the shoulder and she jumps. “What, for goodness’ sake?” she says, taking off her headphones and switching off her Discman.
“I was just thinking it’s odd that we haven’t seen Piers yet this morning and we haven’t seen Guy for nearly two days.”
“No, that’s true,” says Scarlett. “Perhaps they’re at a meeting. Let me check their diaries.”
“I think we ought to have heard something though, don’t you?”
“Erm, let me just have a look at what they’ve got booked in at the moment,” murmurs Scarlett, tapping away and glancing at her screen.
“No, you’re right, there’s nothing here in their diaries, so they’ve obviously been murdered.”
“Thanks Scarlett, very helpful.”
“Oh, I’m just kidding, don’t worry, Charlie. They’ll ring in soon I’m sure.”
“I suppose so, but it just bugs me that they piss off like this. Someone must know where they are—haven’t they got friends or something?”
“You’ve met them,” says Zac.
“They must have some friends,” says Scarlett. “Let me ring their home numbers.”
A few moments later she reports that both answer machines are on.
“Like I said, they’ll be in later, I’m sure,” she says, putting back her headphones.
I look round at Zac who is, as usual, nearly horizontal with one leg crossed loosely over the other. He’s wearing a T-shirt that says “Lesbian in a man’s body.” He shrugs his shoulders and looks back to his screen.
I decide to go out and get a cappuccino.
By midafternoon, I’m quietly satisfied that I was right to worry, unlike the others, but at the same time I’m decidedly unnerved. We’ve all left more messages for them everywhere we can think of.
“Mind you, creative people are like that,” says Scarlett. “When I worked in the music business people would disappear for days and then just turn up again. They’re highly sensitive, highly strung.”
“Really? What they hell had they been doing?”
Scarlett thinks about it. “Drugs usually.”
I’m the last to leave the office. I ring my old mate Ben, and we decide to go for a pint. We were at college together but then he got a sensible job in the City. He’s read about the site.
“Saw that picture of you in the paper. You looked a total jerk, if you don’t mind me saying,” he tells me over a beer.
“No, you’re right, I did look like a jerk.”
“How’s it going then with this thing?”
“Really well,” I say, wondering whether to be honest. “We’ve hit our target for visitors.”
“What are your margins like?”
“Margins?”
“Profit margins.”
“Oh, yeah of course. Profit margins.”
He smiles. “Well, how are they?”
“Too early to tell…oh, all right, fuck off, smarty pants. I don’t know. I don’t really have a lot to do with that.”
The smile turns more patronising. “Let me get this straight: you’re the marketing director and you don’t know much about the profit margins.”
“It’s early days, we’ll have to wait and see.”
“What about the projections? I mean the profit projections—”
“I know what you mean. Look, Ben, all right, I don’t know but I’m sure they’re healthy.”
“What about the business plan?”
“Bugger the business plan, I don’t know.”
“Okay, just wondered. You should ask your fellow directors, though. What are their names? Piers and Guy?”
“Yeah, you’re right, perhaps I will.”
Except there’s one slight problem. I turn the conversation round to him and his new job at the bank.
By the time I get back to the flat it’s gone ten and Lauren still isn’t home from seeing Peter, so I make myself some baked beans on toast with extra butter and tomato ketchup.
I wake up feeling cold and uncomfortable on the settee. There is something I don’t recognise on the telly. The reason I’ve woken up is that Lauren has just come in.
“Oh, hi, hon, you still up?” she says, kicking off her shoes.
“Yeah,” I groan, “must have fallen asleep.”
“Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
“Sure.” I yawn and stretch. “What time is it?”
“Erm, just after three.”
“What?”
“Just after three. You fell asleep in front of the telly.”
“Never mind about me, where have you been all this time?”
In the cold, blue, flickering light of the telly Lauren looks surprised and irritated.
“What do you mean, ‘Where have I been?’”
“It’s bloody three o’clock in the morning, I thought you were just going for a drink or something.”
“Then we had something to eat and then we went to a club Peter’s a member of.”
“Till this time?”
/>
“Yes, Dad.”
“Sorry, it’s just a bit late, that’s all.” I pull myself up feeling groggy and dizzy.
“I’m getting a bit fed up with this, Charlie. I told you I was seeing Peter tonight and I don’t expect you to be holding a stopwatch against me.”
She walks out and I sit back down again with my head in my hands.
Next day there is still no sign of Piers and Guy.
“I’m going to their homes,” I tell Scarlett.
“Good idea. I can’t think of anything else to do,” she says seriously. Scarlett serious. Now I’m really worried.
“What about your friend Nora?” says Zac.
“What about her?”
“She knows Piers, doesn’t she?”
“Actually she does, doesn’t she? She might have some idea where he is or at least who might know.”
I ring her.
“Hey Charlie, thanks for the other night. It was nice.”
“Yeah, it was, wasn’t it? Nora, I was just wondering if you’d heard anything from Piers.”
“Piers? No, why?”
“He seems to have disappeared. And Guy. We haven’t heard from either of them for days.”
“Really? What, nothing?”
“No, they haven’t been into the office. We’ve tried to track them down on their mobiles but there’s no answer.”
“How bizarre.”
“It is a bit, isn’t it? Never mind, just wondered if you’d heard anything. You do know Piers anyway, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do. Look, I’ll try to get hold of some of his other friends.”
“Thanks Nora, let me know if you hear anything.”
She sounds distracted for a moment. “Yes, of course. Sorry, when did you last see them?”
“Piers came in on Thursday but we haven’t seen Guy at all since Wednesday.”
“Mmm. Almost all week. And no one’s heard anything from them?”
“No. Nothing.”
“Bit worrying isn’t it?”
“It is a bit. Anyway, as I say, if you hear anything just give me a ring.”