‘Will you two behave!’ Rachel interrupted, ‘he’s about twice her age!’
‘He’s eighteen years older than me, a mere drop in the age-gap ocean.’ Abi flicked an imaginary piece of fluff off her shoulder, ‘Anyway, keep your knickers on. I’m joking. I’m still hanging in there with Dirk, who, incidentally, gets a little bit more annoying by the day.’
‘He is a little bit of a, um,’ Jayne struggled to find the right adjective that meant loser, but didn’t sound so bad.
‘He’s a knob.’ Rachel stated with characteristic frankness.
‘Ouch.’ Abi pretended to be affronted, but then nodded in agreement. ‘Actually, no arguments here.’
‘Do you know what? Even though I thought the three-generation gap thing was a little gross at first, I can actually see you with Bernard.’
‘Oh Rachel, are you softening in your old age?’
‘Not a chance. But even though he’s fifty-odd, he’s hardly Stanley is he?’
‘Stanley?’ Abi asked.
‘Our mother’s husband. Don’t you remember, I told you about him?’ Jayne said. ‘He’s an octogenarian and wears cardigans.’
‘And smells of cupboards.’
‘Speaking of old people, I heard Mrs Stokes describe your man Will as a ‘bit of a fox’ earlier today.’ Abi said laughing. Mrs Stokes was something of an institution; they all had to attend a party for her last year as she celebrated forty years of teaching at the school. Jayne used the word ‘celebrate’ in its loosest term. Despite reaching a decade there herself, she thought forty years’ walking the same corridors, using the same parking space every day for 365 times forty (minus school holidays) was a lot, whatever it came to. The head even pushed the boat out and hired a windowless room above the Fox and Hounds, rather than handing round the usual supermarket-bought cake and cheap sweet wine in plastic tumblers in the staffroom whenever there was a staff celebration.
‘Who’s Mrs Stokes?’ Rachel questioned, taking a big slurp of her gin and slim.
‘Home economics teacher.’ Jayne answered. Her brow furrowed, ‘And how would she know who Will was anyway? She makes quotation marks in the air whenever she says the word ‘Internet’ so I can’t really imagine her spending her evenings surfing YouTube.’
‘Once you’re on The Globe everyone knows who you are.’
‘Honestly, it’s been a crazy couple of days, neither of us ever expected so many people to have read the article. Will popped down to post his Dad’s birthday card this morning and he was gone an hour and a half, with different people wanting to meet him and shake his hand – one woman even asked him to sign the back of a grocery receipt!’
‘It is really bizarre,’ agreed Rachel, ‘I mean, this time last week he was just an ordinary bloke who sells smelly cheese and smoked meats and now he’s signing his name for people in the street. It’s Will, for God’s sake, not David Beckham.’
‘How’s he taking it?’ Abi asked, while motioning for the barman to bring another round over. You normally had to order at the bar in this pub but Abi and Louis, the barman, had once enjoyed an episode a couple of years ago one night after closing time involving semi-nakedness. His gratitude for said episode had resulted in a lifetime of table service.
‘He’s being, well, Will about it all. Utterly bemused, a little bit pleased and rather intimidated by all the attention. Do you know, he’s been inundated with calls all day by publicists asking to represent him!’
‘Represent him doing what?’ Rachel said incredulously, ‘He makes food taste nice, and it seems like the deli has all the publicity it needs now.’
‘Well, they seem to think that he could branch out into TV and do some cooking spots as a guest chef, or something. He’s meeting one woman, Miranda, Michaela something now, actually.’
‘In the evening?’
‘Well she lives in Richmond too and said she wanted to meet him before the weekend, so they’re having a drink.’
‘Together. On a Thursday night.’ Abi shook her head, ‘well you’re a braver woman than me.’
‘What do you mean? This is Will we’re talking about.’
‘Exactly! Will with his dangerous eyes and long, talented fingers.’
‘Adept. The journalist called them long, adept fingers. As in adept at chopping stuff up.’
‘That’s not what most of the women reading the story interpreted it as, that’s all I’m saying.’
‘Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle all the way, La la la, I can’t hear you.’ Jayne was saved from her embarrassment by the literal bell of her phone chiming.
Hey Baby, home now, it went well – will tell all when you get back, Heart you Wxx
She smiled at his use of their longstanding in-joke. When they’d first got together, they’d both shuffled around the ‘L word’, despite both knowing that serendipity had decreed that they would never be single again. Saying ‘I love you’ out loud seemed too hackneyed, too clichéd. That was the stuff of greeting cards, the phrase that filled post-coital silences when the endorphins had put a stop to anything more original being thought of.
They had been sitting on the living-room floor in Duncan and Erica’s scruffy Victorian house in Putney. Oscar, their eldest child, was showing Jayne the mechanics of his WWI trench that he’d crafted out of papier mâché and she was making his day with her effusive encouragement. As Oscar had momentarily bent down to fasten a helmet made from a pistachio shell onto a little soldier, Will whispered I heart you into her ear. ‘It means the word we’re not saying, but it’s ours,’ he’d explained later after they’d indulged in some very unhackneyed and unclichéd lovemaking. ‘Heart you too,’ she’d murmured happily in reply.
After they’d all said goodbye and Abi had made Louis’ day by standing at the pub window and giving him a coy little wave with just her fingers, the twins started walking home with their arms linked together. ‘So how are you really feeling about all this?’ Rachel started.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, this is me now, and how are you really feeling about all this?’
‘I’m just so happy that he’s finally getting the recognition he deserves, he works so hard, doing these crazy hours and now he can get more people working in the deli and maybe another teacher for the classes and he can start building the business that he’s always wanted to.’
‘Very commendable answer. If there was a prize for supportive girlfriend of the year, you would get it. Now how are you really feeling about it?’
Jayne smiled and hugged Rachel’s arm closer to her, ‘Just what I said! Stop digging around for feelings I don’t have! Of course I’m a little amused by all these women commenting on my boyfriend’s face–’
‘And fingers, don’t forget the fingers,’ Rachel interjected.
‘Yes, and his fingers,’ Jayne rolled her eyes. ‘But, if anything, it makes me feel all smug and superior that I’m the one that gets to wake up next to that face every day. And his fingers,’ Jayne added cheekily, narrowly avoiding crashing into a shop window as her sister barged into her side.
‘We’re home! Where’s my international superstar?’ Jayne cried loudly as they tramped up the stairs to the flat.
‘He’s in here, disguised as a bloke that owns a deli,’ Will called back. The sisters fell into the living room and collapsed on the sofa opposite to where Will was lounging on a faux-fur beanbag – the latest addition to the home, courtesy of one of Rachel’s clients who had over-ordered on a hotel project. ‘Perks of the job,’ she’d shrugged when Jayne had enquired whether that could be classed as stealing.
‘So? How did it go? What was she like?’
‘Well, and efficient.’
‘Will!’
He smiled, ‘Sorry, yes, it was good. She was this uber city-type, with a power suit and monogrammed MacBook Air. You could tell that she’s the type to have a personal trainer at 5am and a personal shopper on speed dial.’
‘I hate her already,’ said Jayne.
‘Enough about Ms Shoulder Pads, what did she say about you?’ asked Rachel impatiently.
He started fiddling with the zip on the side of the beanbag, ‘She said that I should be on TV, and that if I sign with her she’ll start putting some feelers out for me to do guest cooking spots – she was even talking about book deals, ad campaigns, she had this whole strategy worked out.’
‘So what did you say? Did you agree to do it?
Will looked up at Jayne, ‘Of course I didn’t. I wanted to talk to you first to see what you think I should do.’
‘I think you should call her back and say yes.’
He sat up, or at least as much as you can when you’re on a beanbag. ‘Are you sure? It means that our lives might get a little crazier for a while. I mean, we could just stop this now and concentrate on expanding the business – all this extra attention has meant the sales have gone through the roof. I mean, you saw the queues in the shop today, I’ve already had to double most of the orders, and with all the people on the waiting list for classes now I could teach for twenty-four hours a day every day. Maybe we should just stick at that. What if I do a TV thing and completely dry up, or burn something, or set the kitchen on fire, and then I’m a complete laughing stock? Yes, I’ll just stick with the deli. Maybe I could even save up for some bigger premises or open another one nearby. What do you think?’
Jayne was smiling patiently during this impassioned monologue and waited for him to stop deliberating and procrastinating before she gently said, ‘Will, call this woman back and tell her to start putting her plan into action. You’re always going to have the deli and the classes, but how often do ordinary people like us get the chance to do something exciting like this?’ She picked the house phone out of its stand on the side table next to her and held it out to him, ‘Call her’.
**
Friday
‘We’ve got Gavin Walsh, and–’
‘Is he still alive?’
‘Of course he’s still alive. He does that game show The Firm or something.’
‘Okay, who else?’
‘Steve Hennessey – you know, the mechanic in Emmerdale?’
‘Okay, has he been in anything else recently?’
‘A few things … can’t remember the names now–’
‘Right. Who else?’
‘Um, that’s it at the moment.’
‘That’s crap.’
‘They’re household names.’
‘Simon, I thought one of them was dead and the other one looks as though he should be. Where’s the exciting new talent? Where’s the sexy young starlet who’s going to give me an erection as soon as their tight little ass bounds onto the stage?’
‘I’ll find one.’
‘Come and tell me who’s going to be the third guest by lunchtime. And I mean it. I want fresh blood. I want our show to be named as the one that shot this person into the big time. Lunchtime.’
‘Hackett and Finch, good morning, please hold. Hackett and Finch good morning, please hold. Hackett and Finch, good morning, please hold. Thanks for holding, how can I help? Putting you though. Thanks for holding, how can I help? Sorry no unscheduled appointments until March. I know it’s November. Please call back then. Hackett and Finch, good morning, please hold–’
Jayne and Will exchanged wide eyes as they listened to the receptionist earning every penny of her mediocre salary. ‘I’m exhausted now, and we’ve only been here five minutes,’ Will whispered.
‘I know! I’m never going to moan about teaching again.’ With the mention of teaching Jayne felt a fleeting pang of guilt at phoning in sick today. She knew what a nightmare it was organising cover for absent teachers at short notice. At least today wasn’t a heavy teaching day, and the classes she did have were quite good ones; they’d be only too happy to do a bit of quiet reading or a spot of creative writing. Some of her other classes might well have made a substitute teacher cry at best, or want to change career at worst, but she felt that the sub was on safe ground today. And Will had really wanted her to come along to this first proper meeting at the agency.
It was one of those trendy offices that you assumed only existed in films or Uptown Manhattan. A backlit frosted-glass panel took over the whole of the wall behind the receptionist with Think Big & Believe artily scrawled in pink-neon loops on it. They were sitting on two of four black-leather armchairs, which Jayne recognised from one of Rachel’s magazines – Moooi Smoke Chairs, she thought they were called, where no two were the same as they were set alight during manufacturing, so each one burned in an individual way. It’s astonishing what people pay good money for.
‘Will?’ A heavily gelled early-twenty-something boy-man scuttled into the reception area, extending his hand as he ran. ‘Darren, Ms Finch’s PA. She’s ready for you now.’
‘This is Jayne,’ said Will to the back of Darren’s suit jacket as he scurried away.
‘Good to meet you too,’ muttered Jayne, blissfully ignorant of the fact that this wouldn’t be the last time that no one cared what her name was.
‘Will, how are you this morning?’ Michaela rose out of her seat, her figure framed by an extraordinary backdrop over the Thames.
‘Good, good, this is Jayne, my partner.’
‘Please–’ she motioned to the hot-pink sofas at the other end of her office, ‘Have a seat. Darren, three green teas.’ Dutifully dismissed, Darren reverently backed out of the room.
‘So, Jayne, what do you think of your boyfriend’s sudden rise to prominence?’ At the word ‘boyfriend’ Jayne was sure she detected a hint of derision, but she couldn’t be sure. Leaving no pause for her reply, Michaela turned her upper body to squarely face Will and crossed her legs. Despite the fact the year had well and truly turned its back on autumn, her long legs were bare and tanned. Jayne self-consciously tugged at her maxi skirt, hoping it covered the thick woollen tights she’d opted to wear that morning – stupidly once again choosing function over form.
‘I had a very interesting call from the booker on Good Morning; they are interested in you doing a little segment on the show next week. I said yes. They suggested something topical, perhaps to do with a Christmas breakfast – I said you’d need ten minutes, they said six, we agreed on eight. I said Tuesday, they said yes.’ This time she did pause, obviously expecting a gushing retort, or perhaps even applause.
‘Wow, Good Morning?’ Will looked at Jayne with his mouth open, ‘That’s amazing! Thank you!’
Underneath her Botox, Michaela looked pleased. ‘Excellent. They said it’s only a one-off while you’re still hot property, but wow them and you’ll be invited back. Right, so that’s the first thing, second thing, we need to think about your image. I love the whole tongue-in-cheek geek chic meets Esquire thing that you’ve got going on: it’s very now, it’s very in. V-neck t-shirts rather than round neck, though, that’s crucial. God gave you that collarbone for a reason.’
As far as Jayne was aware, God gave him that collarbone to keep his shoulders joined to his chest, but what did she know, she wore woollen tights.
‘I’ve booked you into see Fernando at eleven today in Covent Garden to tidy up your hair and to give you a shave, so by Tuesday you’ll have just the right amount of stubble to look like you’ve just stumbled out of bed.’
‘And that’s a good thing?’ Jayne cut in.
‘I don’t really like stubble,’ Will admitted, ‘It’s itchy.’
Michaela gave them a look that straddled pity and contempt. ‘Eleven. Also, it’s good that you did that Globe interview, but any more impromptu reporters turning up at your door, send them my way, giving them nothing more than a smile. Thankfully you didn’t say anything too ridiculous, or if you did the journalist was too stupid to turn it into copy, but from now
on, keep schtum unless I tell you not to. We have to create your brand carefully, so no going off piste.’ She stood up, indicating that the meeting had reached its conclusion. ‘Any questions, Darren’s phone is always on, so don’t hesitate.’
A minute later and they were standing outside on the pavement a little shell-shocked.
‘She seemed – nice.’ Jayne eventually ventured.
‘By nice do you mean absolutely terrifying?’
‘Like the love child of a supermodel and a pit bull.’
‘Jesus,’ Will’s colour was starting to return, ‘What are we even doing here? We’re not in Kansas any more, Toto.’
‘Nope. We’re going to Fernando’s for a shave and a haircut. Maybe you can have a mani pedi as well while you’re there. Wax your eyebrows or something.’
‘Oh bugger off,’ Will playfully wrapped both his arms around her as they started walking down the street. ‘Anyway, what was that nerd comment about?’
‘Oh I don’t know, Mister-I-Often-Wear-Braces-Under-My-Blazer, I have no idea what she was talking about. And didn’t you just buy a cardigan?’
‘It’s a sports jacket and braces are underrated in their coolness.’
‘Of course they are. Right, we’ve got an hour before Fernando turns you into a metrosexual. Buy me a full-fat vanilla latte to get the taste of that God-awful green tea out of my mouth and I’ll love you forever.’
Chapter 11
She’d been tasting slivers of that, teaspoons of this and whole chunks of the other since 7am and while the majority of it had been a pleasure and not a chore, she had to call time on it before the top button pinged off her jeans. Will, meanwhile, hadn’t even raised his head from the worktop for over three hours, so was in danger of developing a hunchback rarely seen outside of Notre Dame. Every pinch of something new he added meant another taste test, followed by a hurried scrawl in the notebook next to him. The sink was piled high with pans, dishes and ramekins – Jayne didn’t even know they owned ramekins, but then, to be fair, she wasn’t a regular visitor to their crockery cupboard, more an erstwhile tourist, who only arrived there by accident while searching for the biscuits.
Me, You and Tiramisu Page 11