by Andi Osho
‘So…’ said Eve, ‘have only had a skimeroo but – love, love, loooove where this draft is going.’
‘Oh my god, that’s great,’ said Jemima as relief flooded her.
‘Yaaaaaah. It’s reeeaaally good. It’s pacy, sexy and Beverly is quite funny now,’ said Eve.
Jemima knew why. The part of Beverly that could magic up sarcastic clapbacks was pure Meagan.
‘That is great news,’ said Jemima, flushed at the thought of the finish line edging closer.
Completing was starting to feel doable. All she needed were a few more nuggets to round out Beverly’s backstory and the rest could come from previous drafts. She silently punched the air.
‘One thing though,’ said Eve, ‘I do feel like Beverly needs one last juicy, dark secret.’
‘How do you mean?’ asked Jemima as the finish line drew away from her.
‘Well, I love the traits you’ve given her. It’s reeeaaahlly well done coz it’s in keeping with the faaaahst two books but now I feel like we need to know why she’s like this. Where did it all begin? You know what it’s like. Once you break open a draft it begs more questions! I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Anyhoo, gotta fly. Great waaahhhk!’
Eve hung up leaving Jemima stunned. Every time she eked nearer to the end, it seemed like another mile was added to the race. A juicy, dark secret – like what?
‘Jemima?’
She turned.
‘Tim. Hi, sorry, miles away,’ she said pocketing her phone.
‘No worries,’ he said leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek.
Jemima tried not to stiffen but couldn’t help herself.
‘So, what’s the plan? Skydiving? Wing walking? A balloon ride?’ she rattled.
Tim’s face fell, ‘Oh. It’s a school night, I thought… pizza?’
‘I’m joking.’ Jemima smiled.
‘Phew.’ Tim sighed, relieved, ‘I figured it’s first date. Pizza’s safe, isn’t it? Unless you’re gluten and lactose intolerant – and vegan. Are you vegan?’
‘I’m actually a fruitarian,’ Jemima said. ‘We only eat what falls from the tree.’
She looked on as Tim’s mind scrambled before a grin spread across his face.
‘You’re joking. Excellent,’ he said as they both laughed.
‘I love pizza,’ Jemima said. ‘Let’s go.’
And with that, they headed off.
Pizza was a great choice, thought Jemima, as she walked alongside him. In the time it took to scoff one down, she would glean whatever might be useful for the book then head home.
‘Here we are – the best pizza in North London,’ said Tim.
Jemima took in the unassuming little pizzeria. Inside, the place was empty aside from the stripy-shirted staff prepping ingredients. After placing their order, Jemima and Tim planted themselves at a corner counter. Jemima edged her stool closer to Tim. They were only half an hour into the date but she could already see he was a much better fit than cynical Lance from last week. There was an openness to Tim that Jemima rather liked.
‘You’ve a lovely smile,’ he said tearing himself a slice of pizza.
Jemima looked away coyly instead surveying the quiet pizza parlour.
From the flickering fluorescent lights to the plastic tables and hand-scrawled menu boards, nothing about Nove di Nico said, ‘amazing pizza’ but she had to concede, it was yummy.
‘What I don’t get is, if this place is so good why is it so quiet?’ she said navigating a slice towards her mouth.
He smiled. ‘It’s early. You’ll see.’
Jemima nodded with pretend scepticism. On the wooden pizza paddle between them, there was only one slice left and she really, really wanted it. In reality, she could have demolished another whole pizza, they were so good.
‘Want that last piece?’ Jemima and Tim said in unison before laughing again.
‘Jinx,’ said Jemima.
‘Jinx, my claim,’ Tim shot back.
‘Jinx no return!’
‘What’s that?!’ chuckled Tim.
‘The secret ammo anyone who went to an East London girls’ school has in their back pocket for an unexpected game of Jinx,’ said Jemima as she took a pizza cutter from the utensils container on their table.
‘Fair enough,’ laughed Tim as Jemima cut the last slice in half.
She pushed a half-slice across the paddle towards him.
‘I think he does it as a conversation starter,’ he said, ‘cutting it into nine and not sixes or eights.’
‘Ah, Nico’s nines. Cute,’ said Jemima as she bit into her piece.
Though earlier, she’d decided the end of the meal would be her signal to make a quick exit, actually she was enjoying Tim’s company more as the evening progressed. She had discovered he was a keen chess player and manager of a bread factory, something more interesting than she’d anticipated. And what with the walk to the pizza place, ordering their food and chatting about everything from bread to books, they’d been together for nearly two hours. Jemima had shared the ups and downs of the literary world whilst Tim had explained the ins and outs of producing the nation’s favourite staple. Jemima had been fascinated.
‘So you make the same loaf and at one store they’ll sell it as a premium product while another will sell it in their budget range?’ Jemima asked.
‘Loads of manufacturers do it. Baked beans, cornflakes, sugar. It’s called private labelling. If you like you can come and see behind the wizard’s curtain sometime,’ Tim said wiping his hands and pushing away their empty pizza paddle.
Jemima squirmed. It was a nice offer but that meant meeting again, and meeting again sounded very much like a second date. Being on this date was already a landmark.
‘You know, the last factory I worked at burned down,’ said Tim breaking the silence.
‘Really?’ said Jemima, grateful he’d chosen to breeze over her lack of a response.
‘Yeah. The stock was toast.’
‘Oh my god, how long have you been waiting to say that?’ Jemima groaned.
‘Since the ice rink!’ Tim winked.
‘That was three days ago!’
‘Don’t I know it,’ said Tim as he placed his hand on Jemima’s.
She stared at it. The warmth was nice but alien. Perhaps she’d let it rest there for a minute before sliding her hand away, she calculated as her anxiety ascended.
‘What are you thinking about Jemima Abeson?’ Tim murmured.
Jemima could almost feel the blood coursing through her veins. Was holding hands first date behaviour? Pizza and a chat was fine. This was not. Just then he leaned over to kiss her. Jemima yanked her head back.
‘What are you doing?!’
Tim blinked in shock. ‘I thought…’
‘What?’ Jemima said tugging her hand away.
‘I’m sorry,’ Tim back-pedalled as Jemima stood. ‘I thought – Look, I live around the corner. Why don’t we have a coffee and just chat?’
Jemima’s cheeks grew hot. ‘Thanks but I have to go. Early start.’
She grabbed her bag and headed for the door, Tim darting between the tables behind her.
Outside in the street, Tim manoeuvred in front of Jemima.
‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m sorry. It’s not you,’ Jemima said, grimacing at her clichéd excuses.
She wished she could have given him more but even she wasn’t sure what was happening.
‘I know that,’ said Tim. ‘I thought we were having a nice night. What’s going on?’
Jemima tightened, her breath hard and heavy.
‘It’s too much. I’m sorry,’ she said, sensing the tingle of tears.
Tim rubbed his forehead. ‘The kiss?’
‘No, everything. It wasn’t supposed to be like this,’ Jemima blurted.
‘What was it supposed to be like?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not here to… date,’ Jemima gabbled.
‘You’re not on this date, to date?’ Tim said, shaking his h
ead in confusion.
‘You don’t understand. It’s for my book…’
Tim took a step back from Jemima, hurt etched across his face.
‘You mean this is research?’ he asked.
Jemima looked down at the pavement where a light dusting of winter snow had settled.
‘Oh wow, okay,’ Tim laughed bitterly. ‘Right well, nice to meet you – I think.’
He paced off in the opposite direction leaving Jemima standing in the cool, green glow of Nove di Nico’s florescent lights.
As her breathing gradually slowed she felt a flush of embarrassment. She had essentially told him he was an experiment – just as Lance had said to her on their date. And why, when she had genuinely enjoyed his company? If it hadn’t been for that kiss, everything would have been fine. But something about it had made her feel… weak, like she was collapsing from the inside, her strength draining away in that single moment of contact. Getting out was the only thing she could think to do. It was always the only thing she could think to do. But it wasn’t just the feelings of weakness that troubled Jemima. Another feeling had surfaced too. Was it pleasure? she wondered, half laughing, half crying. What a cruel joke life was, that with pleasure could come such pain. Yes there was one truth that kiss had unearthed. She did want more – yet the impulse to run was still so strong. In her mind, there were so many reasons why she was single, why disappearing was necessary, why she needed to keep her life so very small but ultimately did it come down to one thing: fear? Is that why giving Beverly a love life was so terrifying, because Jemima was scared for herself?
‘Wow,’ she murmured.
Not only was she getting in her own way, she’d been an obstacle to Beverly too.
She propped up her collar and turned in the direction of home. She had to walk, be on the move, do something to clear her mind. Five minutes from home Jemima rounded the corner, her head turned down, staring at footprints on the snow-covered streets. As she passed the familiar cobbled pavement opposite Nostromo, she willed herself not to look over because if she did, she would then look up. But try as she might, as always, her gaze was drawn to Chance’s practice where the lights were still on. Inside she could make out the shadow of a lone figure. It was the night of his fundraiser. She’d told herself she couldn’t go because of her date but the truth was, once again, she’d been gripped by her own fear. Was that going to be the story of her life? Before she could answer she felt her feet move and soon she had crossed the street. Her hand wavered over his intercom buzzer before pushing it.
‘Hello?’ came Chance’s crackly voice through the speaker.
‘It’s me. Jemima.’
‘Hey! Come on up!’
He buzzed the door open and she went inside.
Jemima ascended the stairs, noting how quiet it was – no other voices. She pushed open the reception door into his practice. Chance had already shut off some of the lights ready to lock up and was collecting plastic cups and paper plates of canapes. His practice was not what she expected. She assumed it would be clinical and blokey but instead was neat, uncluttered, warm and inviting.
‘Hi. Sorry I’m late, I—’ said Jemima.
‘Don’t be daft. I’m glad you made it at all.’
‘About five hours after everyone else,’ said Jemima. ‘Let me at least make a donation.’
She pulled her purse out but Chance put a hand on hers, stopping her.
‘It’s fine.’ He smiled, his hand lingering a moment.
Once again, Jemima was taken by his eyes. Even in this dim light they seemed to glow. Finally, Chance moved his hand.
‘Take a load off,’ he said, dusting off a couple of chairs and pulling them together.
‘Cheers and I’ll definitely donate… next time.’
‘Yeah. Next time. Let me get your coat,’ Chance said helping her out of her mac.
Jemima swayed as she picked up his soft, earthy scent.
‘Care for a plastic beaker of wine?’ he said holding up a screw-top bottle.
She grinned. ‘Thought you’d never ask.’
Jemima re-crossed her feet which were propped up on a chair in front of her. Chance had slipped his shoes off too and put his feet next to hers. Every now and then, their toes would touch sending a bolt of electricity through Jemima. How was it the briefest of contact could do that? she wondered as she watched him read from her phone, occasionally uttering a quiet, ‘hmm, mmm.’
She took a sip of wine dying to know what he was thinking but scared of what he might say.
‘You don’t have to read the whole thing,’ she said.
‘Nearly done…’ murmured Chance, his eyes wide as he read.
Jemima now regretted letting him see her book. Though it was only a couple of chapters it felt as though he were performing open heart surgery on her.
‘Wow,’ he said finally handing Jemima’s phone back.
As their fingers touched, crackle, another shot of electricity. Jemima shifted in her seat as thoughts of kissing him surfaced in her mind. She shook her head, burying them.
‘So…’ she said steering her meandering mind back.
Chance was the first civilian to read any of her new draft and she so wanted his seal of approval. He was her canary down the mine shaft but she couldn’t tell if he’d been poisoned by noxious gas or would live to read another day.
‘It’s, I mean… I effing love it, pardon my Greek but wow,’ said Chance, reaching over and patting Jemima’s ankles, resting his hand there.
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. I mean firstly, Beverly is – sexy.’ He laughed, his cheeks flushing.
Jemima exhaled quietly as he squirmed.
‘It’s like old school Beverly from book one and then some. You’ve added this awesome layer to her. How did you do it?’ Chance asked.
Jemima hesitated.
‘I borrowed the stories – from my friends’ lives. The friends-with-benefits thing, that’s Meagan and the absent father moment, that’s Simi,’ Jemima said, surprised at the relief of saying it out loud.
‘And the sass, that’s pure Meagan,’ she continued, ‘and so is the fixation with a life plan. There’s more of that in the next chapter but you get the idea.’
‘And they’re good with this?’ Chance said in wonder.
‘How do you mean?’ Jemima asked, her breathy excitement fading at the question.
Chance looked away thoughtfully.
‘What? What is it?’ Jemima said sitting up.
‘I dunno. Just seems a bit… harsh. I mean, the bit where you say she’s using the, you know, fuck buddy, doesn’t seem like you. And won’t your mate be pissed when she reads it?’ he said sitting back.
Jemima’s lips tightened. ‘If you knew Meagan, you’d know she’s not much of a reader. And anyway, it’s a character. I’m saying it about Beverly, not her. Meagan’ll understand that.’
Jemima felt a pain in her hand as her nails dug in hard. Even she knew, just because Meagan hadn’t picked up a book since the Yellow Pages went online, this wasn’t really a defence.
‘So you haven’t asked her?’ Chance said.
Jemima stared back at him, not in the mood for twenty questions. It was time to leave.
‘I am going to tell them. It just hasn’t come up,’ she said, rising to her feet.
‘Look, I know it’s Cheeseville but honesty’s the best policy, then everyone knows where they stand, but what do I know. Look at me telling you how to do your job,’ Chance laughed awkwardly jumping up and pushing the chairs back to their place against the wall.
‘I think I know my friends a little better than you,’ said Jemima tugging her coat from its hook.
Chance looked at Jemima, her words seeming to broadside him.
‘You’re right. It’s none of my business,’ he said opening the door with one hand, rubbing his temple with the other.
‘Listen, Meagan said the dating drama from our game would be good for my book,’ said Jemima, her throat tight
ening.
‘Her dating drama – or yours?’
‘Her drama is my drama,’ Jemima said, irritation growing.
He was right. This was none of his business. When the time came, Jemima would tell Meagan and Simi and they would understand.
‘It’s your call,’ said Chance holding the door open wider.
Jemima’s lips went taut. ‘That’s right. It is.’
The moment the words left her mouth she regretted them.
Chance pushed his hands into his pocket.
‘Cool. Well, thanks for stopping by,’ he said, primed to close the door as soon as he could.
‘Right, bye then,’ said Jemima as she made her way down the stairs.
‘Yep, bye,’ said Chance, his hard, clipped words dropping like pebbles as the door closed.
Jemima turned. Through the frosted glass she could see Chance running his hands through his hair. He was frustrated? What about her, having some smarty pants half-doctor critiquing her book? He gets a couple of mentions in his brother’s autobiography and thinks he’s A.A. Gill. Jemima clumped down the stairs. Everything felt heavy; her limbs, her head, the air. She stepped out into the street now aware of the incessant ringing of her phone. She yanked it from her pocket and peered at the screen. With no fight left, she answered.
‘Hi Miles,’ she said as she walked off towards her flat.
Chapter 30
Meagan
Meagan stepped back to survey her half-painted office wall. DIY wasn’t her ideal way of spending a Friday afternoon but at least since she’d turned it into a painting party, it felt less like accepting help and more like just a messy get-together. And now she’d accepted six hands were better than two, the overhaul was finally close to completion and she was here for that. After many raised voices with Glenn, the door was hung, the fittings would be installed on Monday and once the paint work was finished she could bring in her new furniture. Soon things would start to feel normal. The office would be done along with the dating game and, fingers crossed, Todd’s temporary madness. Meagan poured two whiskies, handing one to Jemima and passing Simi a can of pre-mixed gin and tonic.
‘Thanks,’ said Simi tugging at the ring pull. ‘Do you guys realise, we’ve only got a week left of the game?’