A Passionate Love Affair with a Total Stranger

by Lucy Robinson

  ‘Er, a power-crazy little seahorse. Oh, Lambert, don’t go all boring and politically correct on me now. The girl looks like a seahorse! You know it!’

  I couldn’t stop laughing. I laughed and laughed and laughed, eventually leaning back in my chair and closing my eyes. The pain and disappointment of the last twenty-four hours evaporated as John beamed at me, delighted.

  ‘Seahorse!’ I howled, tears now coming out of my eyes. ‘I call her that too!’

  ‘A seahorse with dwarf-dating proclivities,’ he chipped in.

  At that I lost it completely, and only really stopped when Margot arrived in my office forty minutes later in a thick black cloud of rage. ‘We need to talk,’ she said, striding in and slamming the door behind her. She looked as if someone had inserted an unsolicited NASA rocket up her bottom. ‘How dare you pull the interview just before –’

  ‘You’re quite right we need to talk,’ I said. ‘How dare you agree to a totally inappropriate and unauthorized interview at a time like this?’

  Margot looked almost crazed. ‘What do you expect me to do when you piss off to London to fanny around with John’s cronies?’ she spat back.

  ‘Margot,’ I said, sitting back in my chair, ‘John asked me to meet Arthur Holford because he’s talking about bringing us nearly a billion dollars in investment but he wants to know how strong our public profile is first. I wouldn’t call that fannying around, would you? How about we discuss the real issue at hand?’

  Margot’s face was a complicated mixture of rage, frustration and shock. She’d forgotten she works for Charley Lambert, Scottish Amazon, I thought bravely. I battened down the hatches and sharpened my spear. ‘Which is that you seem to be struggling to accept the hierarchy here. I really do appreciate what you did while I was away – it was brilliant work – but if you continue to operate behind my back, to conceal information from me and to attempt to control processes that are my direct responsibility, then I will have no option but to take formal action against you.’

  She stared at me with undisguised hatred. ‘You wouldn’t,’ she whispered.

  ‘You’re quite wrong, Margot. I absolutely would. So, you can cancel whichever of my projects you were planning to run yourself and spend this afternoon handing my job over to me – properly – or I can call Carly and get a formal warning under way. What’s it to be?’

  I took a deep breath. Go, Lambert! John walked through the office, grinning cheekily at me through the glass wall.

  Margot turned on her heel. ‘Very well. I’ll start now,’ she muttered, striding out in her microskirt. I was reasonably sure she added ‘slag’ as she slammed the door.

  As I collected myself, Cassie walked into my office with a pile of newspapers. ‘Er, press clippings for today, highlighted.’ She giggled. ‘And well done,’ she added, in a stage whisper.

  ‘Can you get me a superfood salad for lunch?’ I asked. ‘And don’t buy me any junk again, even if I ask for it. I need a sharp brain, Cassie. Starting this afternoon. We’re going to get this place sorted.’

  ‘No problem,’ she said. Her voice dropped to the stage whisper again: ‘Well done for putting Margot back into her box!’ she hissed. ‘She’s a witch! She told me yesterday that I looked really common in my trouser suit!’

  I gasped but Cassie waved me off. ‘From someone whose vagina is on display most days I didn’t feel too upset.’

  For the third time today I lost myself laughing. Things were on the up.

  Later on, as I sifted through paperwork, picking through a salad, my phone buzzed. ‘It’s a man looking for his piglet,’ Cassie said.

  I grinned. ‘Put him through!’

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘Hello, Piglet.’

  I knew immediately something was wrong. ‘Dad? Are you OK?’

  He sighed. ‘Yes, Charlotte my dear … but I fear my mother is not so well.’

  I sat up, worried. Granny Helen was never ill. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘She … she had a bit of a stroke, Charley. We’ve been at the hospital the last twenty-four hours and she’s much better now. But not …’ Dad’s voice caught. ‘Just not quite herself.’

  ‘Oh, Dad … Will she improve?’

  ‘She might. But at her age the outlook’s not great,’ he said sadly.

  I blanched, trying to imagine my spirited little matriarch of a grandmother being weak and ill. My earliest memories of Granny Helen were of her shouting orders from her throne and slamming the floor with her stick. Regardless of her age and physical strength, she had always been the head of our family.

  ‘Are you OK, Dad?’ I asked again gently. He sounded lost.

  ‘Well, I’m quite shocked. I don’t like seeing my mother in that state, Charlotte. But I have my fingers crossed that she’ll improve.’ He didn’t sound convinced at all. ‘Anyway, afternoon surgery’s starting shortly and I have patients to see. Could you call Vanessa and Katy, Charlotte? I … don’t have the heart to tell them.’

  ‘Of course. Would you like me to come home tonight? Cook you some dinner? Go and see her in hospital?’

  ‘No, no, we need to keep things as quiet as possible … I’ll call tomorrow. Au revoir,’ he said sadly.

  ‘Um, au revoir,’ I echoed.

  No! I thought, dismayed. Granny Helen wasn’t nearly old enough for this! And Dad loved his eccentric mother. However busy it was at the surgery, he’d still insist on having a full hour off at lunchtime so he could take her for her daily walk: in winter they had tea at the coffee house; in summer they sat by the fountain, chatting away while Malcolm padded around, sniffing out exciting things in the grass. They were proper friends.

  Come on, Granny Helen, I thought, swallowing.

  Ness was very upset, but in a typically undramatic, unselfish way. She made me promise to call her when I finished work, for an account of my night ruining William and Shelley’s date.

  ‘I won’t call you,’ I responded brusquely, ‘because there’s nothing to tell. A stupid waste of time. Best forgotten.’

  Ness sounded quite relieved, if a tad disappointed.

  Katy was still asleep from last night when I called. ‘Hiya, Chas,’ she mumbled. Then: ‘Oh, fuck. Are you downstairs? Do you need me to let you out?’

  I tried to interject but Katy started giggling, a rasping sound that soon subsided into chesty coughs. ‘Oh, cunticles, I got off with Sam, didn’t I? Gross! Sorry, Charley, bit of an error.’

  After the conversation with Katy – who had been touchingly devastated about Granny Helen – I got back to work, trying to keep a lid on my fears for our grandmother. Katy had written off the snog as a five-minute wonder that was the sole product of brain-frying drugs. She was not in a hurry to repeat it. I’d believed her but had felt a renewed sense of outrage that Sam had not so much as texted an apology yet. It was yet another reminder of the fact that he really, really was not William.

  I steeled myself and took work up another level.

  ‘We’re on fire!’ Cassie said, from a pile of Simitol brochures on my office floor. It was six forty-five p.m.

  ‘We bloody well are,’ I agreed. ‘High five!’

  We waved palms across a sea of papers.

  Swiping into the gym at five to nine I was assailed by the smell of chlorine, the synthetic pump of house music and the whir of machines. I knew it was probably a bit early to be back here but I was tired of having a thin, lanky peg-leg, and Caro, my trainer, specialized in ‘wonky folk’ like me. I’d been looking forward to tonight all week.

  ‘Hiya, Charley!’ yelled Heidi of the chunky bangles, the woman who ran the beauty parlour. ‘Long time no wax!’ She pointed at my crotch.

  I ran into the changing rooms before she revealed anything else about the state of my privates. Emerging a few minutes later, I looked around for Caro. Instead, to my utter amazement, my eyes found Hailey.

  ‘Er, what?’ I said, walking up to her cross-trainer. Her face was streaming with sweat, and she started to laugh.
<
br />   ‘Yo!’ she yelled merrily, removing her headphones.

  ‘Since when did you go the the gym? I won’t kiss you,’ I added.

  ‘No, don’t. I’m slimy.’

  There was an awkward silence as we remembered our curt exchange of words yesterday.

  ‘Look, about the –’

  ‘I’m sorry I –’

  I broke off, smiling. ‘Forget it,’ I said. ‘I’m out of Fantasy Land now. Back in the real world. And I feel much better.’

  ‘Good. You look great, actually. Much more like your old self. What happened?’

  ‘Where to start? Well, William was gorgeous, Shelley was like a corporate plank, they snogged. Sam turned up and took a pill and snogged Katy. And then I discovered that Sam is a ghost-writer. And, of all the men in the world, it turns out he was ghost-writing for William. So, yeah, quite a night, really.’

  Hailey gawped at me. ‘Bowes snogged your little sister?’ She whistled. ‘Fuck, Charley, did you punch him?’

  ‘No, but I should have.’

  Hailey looked nervous. ‘Did he … did they, er …’

  ‘No, don’t worry. He wouldn’t be alive if they had.’

  ‘Yeah, Katy’s totally his type,’ Hailey mused. ‘Little and pretty and cool. Yuk, what a nightmare. And the thing with the Internet doctor, I … Hang on, what?’ She stopped her cross-trainer. ‘Sam was sending the Internet doctor’s emails?’

  I nodded. ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘I … WHAT?’

  I smiled sadly. ‘It’s extraordinary, no? No one’s ever got me the way William did. I just can’t believe it was Sam.’

  ‘But Sam’s … Yuk! He’s a dog!’

  ‘Yup. It’s pretty embarrassing.’

  Hailey slumped over the cross-trainer controls, looking like she was about to faint. ‘Bowes,’ she said dazedly. ‘Bowes? And Charley?’

  I jumped in smartish. ‘No! No Bowes and Charley. Not now, not ever. It was just an incredible coincidence. As you said, anyone can be anyone when they can hide behind a computer.’

  Hailey whistled. ‘I’ll say. Right, Chas, I think we need to schedule in some cocktails. Tomorrow night? We could get dressed up and go to Tiger Lily’s.’

  ‘I’d like that. But, Hailey, are you sure everything’s cool between us? I was pretty upset about what you said to me yesterday.’

  Hailey’s face was suddenly thoughtful. ‘Yes, my love,’ she said. ‘I really am sorry. It’s just that … Well, Matty got back very late from a work party recently and I was so upset, thinking he’d been with another woman or something. I know he wouldn’t but how do I know there isn’t some girl out there trying to get her claws into him?’

  I was bemused. ‘What’s that got to do with William?’

  ‘Yeah, a bit tangential … I suppose I’ve just become a bit disapproving of any woman who goes after a man who’s spoken for. I felt sorry for Shelley. He was meant to be hers, not yours.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’

  ‘Sorry. I know I’m being annoying and judgemental. It’s just because I went and fell in love. It’s turned me into a paranoid knob.’

  I fiddled with the cord on my shorts, trying to decide if I was OK with this explanation.

  I was.

  ‘ ’S OK, Hails. It was all a big mess.’

  We smiled sheepishly at each other. ‘Anyway, what are you doing here?’ I asked.

  ‘Decided it’s time I lost some weight.’

  ‘But you might lose your breasts! That’d be a national disaster!’

  ‘The Boys aren’t going anywhere,’ she said, plumping them up. She started the cross-trainer moving again, her massive boobs bouncing enthusiastically as if to prove the point. I’d never expected to see Hailey at a gym.

  By the time I arrived home it was nearly eleven. My left leg was throbbing and I now felt incredibly guilty, unable to dodge how cruel it was to take myself off to the gym after thirty minutes’ sleep and a demanding twelve-hour work day.

  I wondered what William would say about my overdoing it yet again.

  And then groaned. Not William, Sam.

  Had Sam understood Shelley so well because he’d lived with me for years? Was he thinking about my work–life balance when he’d started unpicking Shelley’s? As far as I was aware, Sam was far too absorbed in his own schedule of television, Nutella and women to take any notice of my day-to-day activities, never mind judging them. But maybe he’d been watching all along. Maybe, when he wondered if Shelley was quite sweet and vulnerable behind her scary business exterior, he was taking his cue from me. I swelled indignantly. I would not have Samuel bloody Bowes thinking I was some freak who’d be quite sweet if she calmed the hell down. No way!

  After an angry pause I sighed, climbing reluctantly off my high horse. The fact of the matter was that I had no idea whether or not Sam had been thinking of me when he’d probed Shelley and, furthermore, I’d probably never find out. There was no way I was going to tell him I’d written Shelley’s emails.

  And, in fairness to Sam, he’d made himself vulnerable too. It certainly wasn’t just me who’d been exposed. Hadn’t he talked openly about how he felt life was passing him by? About how he was desperate for career success but trapped by fear?

  I felt an unprecedented moment of tenderness for him. The poor thing, stuck in a world of mindless promo work and occasional bar jobs. Why on earth had I assumed he was happy with that when he was a talented actor? Nothing about his lifestyle made sense, really, yet I hadn’t so much as bothered to question it.

  Sam and William, it occurred to me, were probably very different. William had been surprisingly manly and posturing in Polpo – and there was also the complaint he’d made to Sam’s boss that Sam’s emails were ‘too intense’. What a terrible irony if it turned out that William was just like Dr Nathan Gillies, i.e. an arrogant cock, and that Sam turned out to be the interesting, sensitive, intelligent man who had turned my world upside down.

  I lay back on my sofa and closed my eyes. It felt uncomfortable to have such thoughts about Sam, however innocent they might be. No matter how hard I’d worked today, thoughts of ‘William’s’ emails had popped up repeatedly and I couldn’t help but worry that it Meant Something.

  ‘Arrrgh. Stop it!’

  Work, my head reminded me feebly. Work gets you out of mad thinking!

  Wearily, I got up and turned the kettle on. I couldn’t deny that work worked for me. I needed to get the ball rolling for closing down First Date Aid and there was no harm in having another go at my Salutech press speech for next week.

  One of Sam’s mini features on First Date Aid had gone to print yesterday and my inbox was full. Looking at all the new business, I longed to keep it alive – but I remembered last night’s pact with myself and knew it had to go. Salutech came first. As long as Salutech was at number one I was sane. I sighed, wishing I’d had a little more time and energy to grow my rather brilliant little company.

  I started going through the emails one by one, moving them into different ‘Closing Business’ email folders. New clients would get a standard letter but my long-termers would get something a bit more personal, I thought.

  Hi there, I am far too busy to spend time Internet dating so I thought perhaps you could help me, began the first message. I moved it into a new-client folder and clicked on to the next. Hi Charlotte, It’s Ingrid here, remember me?!!!! Of course I remembered Ingrid. A hefty silicone chest and one of the busiest dating inboxes I’d managed. Ingrid was popular. But she had wanted ‘something a bit more intelligent, like maybe someone who works in middle management???’ and had asked for help ‘cos my messages are really stupid!!!!!’.

  She’d had four dates in a week with ‘middle-management’ types and by all accounts things were going well: ‘I’ve slept with three men this week!! All well clever too!!! Going to see two of them again, thanks Charlotte it was a real laugh working with u will definetly recomend you to my desperate mates!!!’

  I smiled. I’d rather like
d Ingrid and her silicone baps. I was sad to lose her and her ‘desperate mates’.

  And then my heart sank.

  Dear Charlotte,

  I just wanted to thank you for helping to organize my date last night. I met William in central London and it went well. I can’t pretend I wasn’t slightly shocked by the scope of the emails you sent on my behalf but as it turns out you represented me very well (how did you do it?) and, resultantly, the date was a great success.

  However, I need your help. Please call me as soon as you read this and don’t worry if you get a foreign ring tone.

  Thanks,

  Shelley Cartwright

  I looked at my watch. It was now twenty past eleven. It would be best if I jumped in straight away and told her I was closing the business, but did I really want to talk to her at this time of night? Indeed, ever?

  Shelley answered the question for me by ringing my First Date Aid mobile. The ring tone blasted angrily through my silent living room until I had no choice but to pick up. ‘Er, hi Shelley,’ I said nervously.

  ‘CHARLOTTE,’ she yelled, from what sounded like a hurricane. ‘DID YOU NOT GET MY EMAIL?’ I tried to respond but she interrupted, ‘I can’t hear you, bloody howling wind here. I’m in Battery Park. Hang on.’ I heard the click-click-click of her heels and then the buzz of café life as a door swung open. ‘Sorry. Can you hear me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. Battery Park, New York, too much bloody wind. Give me Central Park any day, lovely at this time of year,’ she barked.

  ‘Shelley, how can I help you?’ I asked wearily.

  ‘Right. Well, Charlotte, I need you to carry on emailing William for me.’

  I looked around as if she was speaking to someone else. ‘Excuse me?’

  Shelley ordered a flat white and a slice of shortbread. ‘My biggest client has suffered an emergency in the last twenty-four hours and I was flown over to their head offices early this morning. It’s – Oh, it doesn’t matter. Anyway, I’ll be here for the next week and my only contact with William therefore is by email.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Er, we exchanged a couple of emails today,’ she said, sounding embarrassed, ‘but it’s not going very well.’