by Andi Osho
‘Love it, really great. Wicked!’ she and Jemima chimed.
‘And you know what else is wicked?’ Meagan said. ‘You got availability-checked by Antonia De Silva today.’
Simi stopped rocking her horse. An availability-check was by no means an offer, merely an enquiry but it meant Antonia was still interested in her for the role of Dorothea. Since her fateful audition Simi had done some well-overdue research and discovered that the books Clash of the Crown had been adapted from had a huge following. The cast that had been announced so far were amazing and the blogosphere was already abuzz with show gossip. But as quickly as Simi’s excitement rose, it plummeted.
‘What about these scenes of a sexual nature?’ Simi mouthed.
‘Oh don’t be starting on this lesbian thing again,’ Meagan interrupted. ‘So you have to get your kit off. It’s awks but you could end up in three episodes!’
Meagan crossly pulled her horse back and began rocking so hard it looked as though she might flip over the front of it. Simi withered as she watched Meagan rock back and forth like a demented cowgirl.
‘You don’t have to go down on Cameron. It’s pretend. You know, acting,’ sulked Meagan.
Simi slid off her horse and slowed Meagan’s to a gentle canter.
‘I am grateful, Meag, you know I am.’
Simi sometimes wondered, of the two of them, who found it hardest to balance their friendship/work relationship. If this was any of her other clients, Meagan would have verbally pummelled them into submission. It was probably taking all Meagan’s will to keep that rage inside.
‘I’m just trying to give you what you want,’ said Meagan glaring down at Simi from her horse.
Jemima dismounted her steed too. ‘You’ve done your bit. The rest is up to Simi now, isn’t it?’
Meagan shifted her glare to Jemima.
‘It’s just, you’re so capable. Not everyone’s like you. You expect a lot,’ Jemima ventured.
Simi looked at her. Jemima was on rocky terrain. No one schooled Meagan.
‘Perhaps you need to be like an insurance company. You know, have some accident forgiveness. People make mistakes… In some ways, I wonder if your high standards played a part in what happened with Parker?’ Jemima said, her face tilted with innocent curiosity.
Simi whipped round to face her. What on EARTH was she doing and why was she bringing up Parker? It was like she’d seen a Don’t Poke the Bear sign and then shoved a broom into the cage. What did he have to do with anything? Simi watched as Meagan’s top lip curled. Jemima deserved whatever inferno was heading her way.
‘Loo,’ Simi said making a dash for it.
‘Oh no you don’t,’ said Meagan yanking her back.
Meagan rocked her horse, the reins resting in her hand as she glowered at Simi.
‘Do you want me to stop putting you up for auditions?’
‘I just…’ blurted Simi.
‘Yes or no?’
‘No.’
‘Right then.’
Meagan turned to Jemima. ‘You’re right. I do expect a lot and if people let me down, they’ll hear about it. My life is excellent because I have high standards. Take it as a compliment I choose you as my friend. And FYI, what happened with… what happened with him, affected my life for a nanosecond. I’m over it. End. Of. Convo.’
Jemima nodded, looking flushed with embarrassment.
‘Now, shall we get on with this game or what?’ Meagan said dismounting her horse.
‘Yeah, sure, of course,’ Simi flustered as Jemima nodded vigorously.
Meagan surveyed the room, eyeing a mark as Simi gawped on in awe. Having spotted her target, Meagan plumped her hair, straightened her top and glided over to him. Once out of earshot Simi exhaled. When Meagan’s wrath was singeing someone else’s eyebrows it was enthralling. However, when the flames burned closer to home, it was no fun at all.
‘You got off lightly. Be careful, Jem. Don’t do a Troy,’ said Simi pulling her gaze away from Meagan.
Jemima’s face froze.
‘Remember how she was always asking about Parker,’ said Simi.
Jemima exhaled. ‘Right, sure, of course. I thought you were talking about the other thing.’
‘No, I meant, you know, poking around. I know Troy regrets it… and the thing with the jokes. She just lost her way,’ Simi said.
‘You still talk to her?’ said Jemima, sipping her cocktail.
Simi drained the last splashes of her drink. ‘She was always nice to me. I couldn’t cut her off like Meag did. And anyway, what Troy did was crappy but not a hanging offence.’
Jemima nodded. ‘I agree and you know, that does make me think…’
Simi began rocking her horse again. Jemima obviously regretted casting Troy aside.
‘You know, Jem, it’s never too late to make amends,’ she said with a reassuring smile.
As they rocked their horses, a piercing whistle cut through the bar. They both looked across to see Meagan, standing with a nervous-looking guy, beckoning Simi over.
‘I’m in!’ Simi beamed as she slid off her horse.
She dashed over to Meagan, remembering, halfway, to act casual.
Five minutes later and Simi was back, brimming with excitement. She high-fived Meagan who had teed up the introduction brilliantly without a single mention of fake legs or Olympic medals. Simi had been charming and not intense at all. She’d let him take her number rather than asking for his, because you know, it was his loss if he didn’t call. And even when she’d blurted out a cheesy, ‘See you later, alligator!’ he’d just playfully replied, ‘In a while, crocodile.’
It was a slam dunk.
‘So what’s he like?’ asked Jemima.
‘His name’s Steve. He’s agnostic, has three Best of albums and works in transport.’
‘He’s a bus driver, Sim. Don’t gas it,’ said Meagan.
‘For now, but who knows where that could lead.’
‘Bethnal Green Bus Garage by the sounds of it,’ quipped Meagan. ‘But you know what, he’s a nice, solid guy and a great way to kick off your new boundary-based love life.’
Simi liked the sound of that. She wasn’t concerned with his career aspirations. She just wanted different so she could finally learn, grow and change!
‘Right then, Simi,’ said Meagan mounting her trusty steed, ‘Your turn. Go and nab someone for Mrs Frigidaire.’
Jemima’s smile flickered at the dig.
‘What should I look for?’ asked Simi.
Meagan stroked her chin. ‘Well someone a little bit uptight,’ she said winking at Jemima.
‘Ha, ha,’ Jemima said. ‘Just get someone like me. Someone I’ll get on with.’
‘Oh, no, you don’t get to choose personality,’ Meagan said.
‘Fine. Then get me a George Clooney lookalike.’
‘E.R. George Clooney or Ocean’s Eleven?’ enquired Simi.
‘Just get on with it,’ Meagan squawked, shooing her away.
Simi looked out into the throng of drinkers. She could do this. She would find an uptight George Clooney circa Ocean’s Eleven. She moved off with the determination of The Predator looking for a new skull to claim.
The moment Simi saw him, she knew he was the one. His greying Brylcreemed quiff was just visible above the tops of people’s heads. He was a good ten years older than everyone else. Instead of the usual Shoreditch uniform of a moth-bitten T-shirt and skinny jeans, he wore a fitted shirt and suit trousers. A city boy in search of a trendy drinking dungeon, Simi decided. She breezed past him for a quick reconnaissance. Initial impressions were good. He was alone, hopefully waiting for a friend not a date. No wedding ring, nice shoes, attractive and he looked like he could read the hell out of a book. Jemima would love this guy.
‘Hello,’ Simi said casually leaning on the rocking horse next to him. The horse lurched under her weight and she stumbled forward.
‘Hello.’ He smiled. ‘Ride here often?’
‘What…
Oh,’ she laughed, thrusting her hand at him. ‘Simisola. It means rest in wealth.’
‘Beautiful name. I’m Lance. Means lover of Arsenal.’
Simi laughed again looking into his sultry brown eyes. I should keep this one for myself, she conspired before remembering the rules and rubbing her crystal.
‘Look, I’ll cut to the chase. My friend fancies you,’ she said.
‘It’s like I’m 15 again. Tell her to meet me after double French,’ he chuckled.
A broad grin spread across Simi’s face and she decided to go for broke. She told Lance all about her fantastic but almost unattainable author friend, surprising herself with how easily the patter flowed.
‘Plus, she has excellent general knowledge, like Trivial Pursuit good and she volunteers at Christmas. Well she did once and that’s once more than me,’ Simi said.
‘She sounds too good to be true. Where is this dream woman?’ Lance smiled.
‘Wait there!’ said Simi almost in shock as she scurried back to the girls, eyes wide with delight.
‘I’ve got one!’ She beamed. ‘His name’s Lance. He loves books and he keeps making jokes. He’s exactly like you!’
Practically wrestling Jemima off her horse, Simi shoved her towards Lance, thrilled at her achievement. It had worked. She’d got herself out of the way and it had bloody worked.
‘Well done,’ said Meagan with an enigmatic smile.
‘Thanks!’ said Simi as she scanned the room, calculating how to modify her approach for the different types of men.
Maybe the suit having an animated debate would need his ego massaged. She’d descend upon those students like the party girl from heaven and as for that trio of hipsters, perhaps she’d parachute in with a strident opinion about fine art. I mean, what is art, really?
‘Listen, I’ve been thinking,’ Meagan said, rocking gently, ‘If you really want me to, I’ll tell Antonia’s office you’re not available. Simi?’
Simi watched Jemima and Lance chatting on the other side of the bar. Looking out at Shoreditch’s melting pot of punters, she realised that this was what being single but not heartbroken felt like. And even if it was fleeting and the sorrow returned, this felt good. She could always come back to this place, this feeling. Yes, the thought of Oscar could still bring her to her knees but those moments would get further and further apart the more she let life in.
‘It’s cool,’ said Simi, ‘and thank you.’
‘Right, I should hear back from her in a couple of days,’ said Meagan, raising a glass.
As Simi leaned in and clinked her drink against Meagan’s, Jemima returned, puffing out her cheeks.
‘Bloody hell. He can talk the hind legs off a rocking horse,’ she laughed, throwing him another wave.
Simi smiled again. What a win. She’d actually got Jemima to enjoy talking to a guy. That hadn’t happened for years. As Simi felt the quiet relief of a slowly healing heart she wondered if Jemima might begin to let go of her fears and allow someone in too. Maybe even Meagan could learn to trust again. She wouldn’t say it to the girls but she had a good feeling about how this was all going to turn out.
‘Happy days,’ cheered Meagan. ‘Right, Simster, get the drinks in. Jemima, don’t get too cosy. You’re up.’
Chapter 18
Jemima
There was no way she was getting off the hook and Jemima knew it. She had to find Meagan a date. The good thing was, at least their earlier schism had passed. Jemima scolded herself for those clumsy queries about Parker. In her eagerness to engineer the conversation she’d forgotten how sensitive a subject he was. Simi was right, she had got off lightly. And her heart had nearly stopped when Simi had mentioned Troy. She thought she’d been rumbled about the borrowed stories before she’d had a chance to confess.
‘Be nice,’ said Meagan shaking Jemima from her thoughts. ‘Play with your hair or something.’
‘Right,’ said Jemima, her face frozen in an unnecessarily grave expression.
Now wasn’t the time to think of Troy. It was time to get Meagan a date. But before she could even get to that, she had to somehow strike up a conversation with a guy in the first place. Even in platonic encounters, she hardened. Look how she’d treated poor Chance. A small smile broke at the thought of him and though she could only just admit it, she was looking forward to seeing him at the reading. Jemima wondered what the girls would make of that. Obviously it wasn’t a date and therefore she wasn’t breaking their rules. However, if they knew about him, they were bound to get overexcited and turn it into something it wasn’t. For simplicity’s sake, she would keep it to herself – even though it really wasn’t a date.
She pushed thoughts of Chance aside, bringing her attention back to the matter at hand. For this game to work and keep the girls sharing stories, she had to be nice to these guys. No more moodiness, snarky comments or treating them with a disdain usually reserved for the brassy cacophony of a Mariachi band serenading you in the street.
‘And make sure he’s over five foot ten,’ Meagan bellowed, as Jemima walked away. ‘I’m like Thorpe Park. I’ve got height restrictions!’
‘What happened to no picking for yourself?’ said Jemima with a stern look.
Meagan poked her tongue out by way of a reply.
A casually dressed guy precariously carrying four pints crossed in front of Jemima. Meagan shook her head and Jemima continued to scan the bar. What Meagan needed was someone dependable. She needed to learn that not all guys were a let-down. As Jemima hovered by a birthday party doing shots, she caught a flash of broad shoulders and shock of neatly cropped blond hair, and knew this was the guy. Here was someone Meagan could lean on. In fact this guy looked as solid as masonry. Jemima sidled over, her warmest grin firmly in place.
‘Helloooo,’ she said giving him the ten-thousand-watt smile of a market researcher.
He looked down at her suspiciously. His broad six-foot three frame blocking out the light like an eclipse. His sharp haircut, fitted shirt covering pecs that looked like pillows and his tailored suit would definitely get the thumbs-up from Meagan.
‘You must need the fire brigade to cut you out of that shirt,’ Jemima chuckled.
‘Hmmf,’ he sniffed before turning back to his friend.
Bugger. Be nice, be vulnerable, Jemima chanted to herself. She prodded him on the shoulder.
‘It’s just, you’re so toned. Are you a personal trainer?’ she asked sincerely.
‘Financial Analyst,’ he said, his German accent light but unmistakable.
Jemima panicked, wondering where ‘German’ sat on Meagan’s extensive list of deal breakers. Yes, she needed someone to lean on but the Berlin Wall wasn’t what Jemima had in mind. Well, it was too late now she resolved, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.
I’m Jemima,’ she continued and after an infinitely uncomfortable moment, she prompted, ‘And you are?’
‘Bruno.’
‘Bruno! Bruno the banker. So, what do you do at the bank, Banker Bruno?’ she asked, contorting at the sound of her voice.
Bruno huffed.
‘Operational Recovery Supervision,’ he said, clearly expecting his answer to bewilder her.
‘So, you reorganise companies to help them pay back loans to your bank!’ Jemima whooped.
Those hours watching Bloomberg TV instead of writing had finally paid off.
‘Wow, no one ever knows this,’ Bruno said, almost cracking a smile. Almost.
‘Triv queen,’ Jemima beamed, pointing at herself, ‘Anyway, listen, Bruno. Here’s the thing. I’ve got this friend. She’s pretty hot property but she really fancies you.’
She slowly reeled out the carrot and waited for Bruno to reach for a bite.
‘Hmmf,’ he sniffed.
‘No really, she thinks you’re incredibly, you know…’
‘No. I do not.’
She was losing him. Abort! Abort! her brain yelped and if she was doing this for herself, which would never happen, she
would have – ages ago. But now, it wasn’t just about her. She was doing this for the girls, all her girls, Meagan, Simi and Beverly. She couldn’t just walk away. Jemima leaned in further. ‘Over there. Gorgeous hair, black girl, navy top, just getting on the orange rocking horse.’
That was a phrase she never thought she’d hear herself say. Jemima watched Bruno as his expression transformed from indifference to that of a starving man who’d only just realised he was hungry. She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
‘It’s strange. She has these ridiculously high standards but for some reason…’ Jemima shrugged, now toying with him.
‘What’s her name?’ he drooled.
Incredible, thought Jemima. Meagan had predicted this. Even a hint of something being unobtainable suddenly made it irresistible.
‘Do you want me to bring her over?’ Jemima said.
Bruno shook his head and instead downed the dregs of his drink and made his way to Meagan so quickly Jemima could barely keep up. Once there, Jemima stood aside as Meagan and Bruno swapped numbers with the cool efficiency of good-looking, busy professionals. Sure, there was an attraction but they were both masters of the game and neither were giving anything away. Once Bruno had disappeared the girls huddled to debrief.
‘German?!’ shrieked Meagan.
‘You like him, I can tell,’ retorted Jemima.
‘Even I could see that!’ added Simi.
‘But German. It’s a bit beach-towels-at-dawn,’ Meagan said.
The girls laughed and as they dissected the evening, Jemima confessed to herself, she’d had fun. Her book was still her primary motivation but if this helped Simi and Meagan with their love lives too, surely it would all be worth it in the end?
And later, after Jemima and Simi had said their goodbyes to Meagan and were strolling arm-in-arm to the tube, Jemima wondered if dating, just literally, going out for dinner or to the cinema was something she could do. Maybe spending an evening with someone like Lance might be more than just useful but actually enjoyable. As a light drizzle fell, Jemima thought about Beverly. What, from tonight, would be useful for the reimagined version of her leading lady? She went back to the conversation about Meagan’s standards. Whilst the pushback had burned, Jemima was in awe of Meagan’s unashamed ownership of her ideals. What an amazing trait for Beverly to have – unachievably high standards, not just in terms of a partner but of herself and, indeed, her whole life. Imagine how uptight that would make you, how hard relationships would become, how angry you’d feel when people failed you… Jemima pulled Simi close as a shiver shot down her spine. She was scared and exhilarated by the character she was creating. But now, not only was Beverly’s history and awesomeness becoming intimidating, so too was the prospect of speaking to Simi and Meagan about using their stories. Her attempt to bring up the book this evening had been just as epic a fail as before. Was she that scared? Meagan had not minced her words regarding Troy. To her, she was persona non grata. Simi was slightly more sympathetic but even if she said yes, Meagan could still torpedo the whole thing. Jemima exhaled.