Greatest Love Story of All Time

by Lucy Robinson

  DRAFTS To Subject Saved Time David.Brennan@ ITNNews.com Don’t go! 19/05/2010 01:39:40

  It was Gin Thursday. Probably the most special Gin Thursday in the history of Gin Thursdays. I realized that there wasn’t a person there I didn’t care about. Even Hugh. He was swearing away at the bar with gay abandon, the epitome of news editor with beige cords and glasses hanging round his neck. It was a late-May scorcher and everyone was wearing summer clothes: London was awash with a sea of white arms and legs. I surveyed the blotched fake tan on my right ankle and shrugged. Stefania and Roland were talking, rather improbably, with Stella Sanderson who, to my surprise, was roaring with laughter and clutching Stefania’s arm, and even the Fit Blokes from the C4 news had somehow got invited and were standing in a group looking Fit while Chatting Manfully. Nellie was honking with posh laughter with Mona Carrington underneath the large TV screen, and Michael Denby, even posher and richer than I’d remembered, stood next to her, like an advert for Thomas Pink in crisp chinos and a light pink shirt with not so much as one wrinkle on it. His gold cufflinks kept being picked up by the rather inexplicable disco ball, which was revolving above us, in spite of the fact that it was seven fifteen on a Thursday evening in a disco-less London pub. Mum was sitting at a table near the door with an orange juice and a wide smile. She was talking animatedly with Leonie and Alex, Leonie relaxed and confident as ever and Alex all but hopping up and down in his desperation to please the mother-of-his-girlfriend’s-best-friend. A tiny little bead of perspiration kept forming between his brows, which Leonie would mop off every now and then with her long vintage Hermès scarf. I felt very fond of Alex, these days. What a turnaround to feel so indifferent to Michael and so maternal and affectionate towards Alex! And, I thought, as my eyes travelled across the table, what an incredible turnaround to see my mother – my mother – sitting in a pub looking relaxed, happy and, well, normal. No power shoulders. No bouffant. No pearlescent lipstick or pearls or smudged wine glass. Just Mum in a flowery dress I hadn’t seen since I was about ten. Her arms were freckled and slender. The change in her was incredible. She’d transformed from Drink Voice Woman to the Mum I remembered from my childhood. I loved her. My mum. I watched as her face lit up at the sight of someone arriving, someone I couldn’t quite see – largely because he was obscured by Mum’s enthusiastic hug. She kissed him on the cheek. Blimey! Mum wasn’t dating, was she? Then, to my astonishment, Leonie got up and hugged him too. What the … ? Slightly incredulous, I picked up my drink and began to pick my way through the crowd to investigate. Leonie said something to him and they both turned to me. ‘DAD! OH, MY GOD!’ I took out Eddie from Entertainment as I pummelled my way to their table. I threw my arms around him. It had been more than a year since I’d seen Dad. His Costa del Sol pot-belly had become a bit of a beery paunch and his skin was a bit Torremolinos for my liking but those were minor details – it was my DAD! ‘Hey, little Franny!’ He kissed and hugged me. ‘Couldn’t miss this! Eve called me on Tuesday, I’m bloody proud of you, my girl!’ It was too much. ‘RARRR!’ I yelled like a Hampstead Heath dad, completely beside myself. Everyone laughed. ‘This is the BEST!’ Well, nearly the best, I thought, as I checked the door again quickly. My heart sank a tiny bit. No Dave. I knew he wasn’t coming. It was completely impossible. But if he’d walked in it would have officially become the best night in my life, so much the best, in fact, that I would have submitted an announcement to that effect to The Times. I realized Leonie was watching me and turned my attention back to the group. ‘Let me go and get some drinks,’ I said. ‘Dad?’ ‘Tia Maria, please, darling.’ I giggled. ‘Dad, what’s happening to you?’ He winked. ‘Gloria got me on the Tia Maria,’ he said easily. Nothing embarrassed him. ‘The drink of kings!’ I rolled my eyes. ‘Whatever. Mum?’ ‘Just a soda water, thanks, Franny.’ Dad looked at her and winked. I felt a warm swell in my stomach. Dad and Mum were over and had been for a very long time, but to see them talking as friends again – well, it felt good. Something I’d been hoping for since I was an angry teenager with a rolled-up school skirt and a biro-crunching habit. I took everyone else’s orders and picked my way to the bar, with Leonie bringing up the rear. ‘I’ll get these,’ she said. ‘No! Everyone’s come to watch my film. It’s the least I can do to thank them.’ ‘Shut it,’ she replied briefly, and assumed position at the bar. I let her. For Leonie to be able to buy a round after all these years of poverty must have been quite something. And, of course, within seconds a slavering young man stood waiting eagerly for her order. Catching me looking wistfully at the door, Leonie touched my arm. ‘I know. It’s shit. Is there no chance of him coming?’ ‘No. His flight’s at ten thirty. He’ll be checking in any minute now.’ ‘You’re going to miss him, aren’t you?’ she said. I nodded glumly. ‘Yeah. A shit load. How many men do you meet who you can discuss things like nose-picking with? ITN’s going to be rubbish without him. Gin Thursday’s going to be rubbish without him. In fact, life is going to be rubbish without him.’ Frustration glimmered on Leonie’s face but disappeared as soon as it had arrived. ‘Anyway, sorry, I’m sure I’ll get over it. We need to have some serious fun tonight, Leonie. This is your night too! Long live Baking and Blowjobs!’ She handed me a glass of champagne, then snatched it away. ‘Oh, bollocks, sorry, Fran. What do you want instead?’ ‘Well, if I can’t drink champagne tonight, when can I?’ She looked suspicious and I smiled. ‘Seriously, I haven’t missed it. I was just going through a mentalist phase. I feel as indifferent towards a glass of champagne as I do your chapter seven on bum sex.’ She smiled and handed me the champagne. ‘Cheers,’ she said, and chinked hers against mine. ‘I’m so proud of you.’ I reached round and pinched her bottom. ‘And I’m so proud of you. This is a good night!’ I took a sip. It tasted nice. Nothing more. ‘Stay here,’ she said. ‘I’m just going to give these to your parents and Alex. I’ll be back. I need to talk to you, Frances O’Callaghan.’ I nodded obediently and leaned against the bar, surveying the scene. How very lucky I was! My Tourette’s boss, all of my friends, all of my family, all of my colleagues: all here to watch my humble little documentary! All of my friends, that was, except Dave. There was no denying it. I wanted desperately for Dave to be there. I wanted the warmth of his crinkly eyes smiling as I said the wrong thing to someone or fell over a bar stool. I wanted the safety of his rangy frame standing near me. I’d even have tolerated him smoking. Dave not being here was all wrong. ‘You OK?’ Leonie said, as she arrived back. I nodded. ‘Yep. So, what’s up?’ ‘Oh, not much. I just wondered if you were thinking of starting Internet dating again.’ ‘Oh, Leonie, fuck OFF! I went on eight dates! They were terrible! I am never doing that shit again!’ She looked sulky. ‘Stop it! No way! I’d rather have sexual relations with a stuffed animal.’ She sipped her champagne and thought about it. ‘As it happens, Fran, you only went on seven dates in the end.’ ‘Well, yes, but I cancelled the seventh because I thought I was about to get back into a long-term relationship with the eighth. It would hardly have been fair.’ She stuck her lip out a bit. ‘I think it’s a shame. That Freddy guy seemed like he was really wicked.’ ‘How do you even remember his name?’ ‘Because he seemed really wicked. And, correct me if I’m wrong, Stefania alleges you told her that it was like this guy could see into your soul. How often do you get that kind of feeling for some guy you’ve never even met?’ ‘I was just carried away. I’m sure he was a nice guy. But the matter is closed.’ Then Leonie did something extraordinary. She took my glass out of my hand and thumped me. Properly. On the side of my head. ‘FUCKING HELL, FRAN!’ she exploded. I was stunned. ‘Um, excuse me? What was that?’ Leonie was clutching her skirt as if she was about to erupt. ‘YOU ARE THE MOST FRUSTRATING FUCKING PERSON ON THE PLANET. WHY CAN’T YOU SEE IT? WHY CAN’T YOU SEE WHAT’S UNDER YOUR OWN BLOODY NOSE?’ I st
ared at her face and then at her champagne. ‘Leonie, has someone Rohypnoled you or something?’ ‘ARRRGH! FRAN! Wake up! Wake up, you fuckwit! Don’t you have any curiosity about Freddy at all?’ Leonie looked like she was about to give birth to a pumpkin. That had spikes. And was on fire. ‘Er, Leonie, do you need medical assistance? Why are you getting so angry about some bloke off the Internet?’ ‘Ladies and gentlemen! Quiet, please! We have one minute until transmission!’ Hugh roared across the pub. I glanced at him and then back at Leonie, who had turned into a charging bull. She let go of her skirt and handed me my champagne. ‘As I said, right under your nose.’ She pushed through the crowd, back to her table, and I watched her, astonished. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, could you –’ Hugh was losing a battle against the pub noise. ‘OH, JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP’ he roared a few seconds later. The pub shut the fuck up. Right under your nose. What was she on about? ‘We can have speeches afterwards but for now, I present Fran’s début documentary for ITN news!’ A roar went up, and the sound of lots of thighs being thumped by people too lazy to put their drinks down and clap properly. I worked my way over to the table where Mum and Dad were sitting and checked the door one last time. No Dave. As the music started and Esther’s face came into view, sliced across with cold morning light filtering through the kitchen blinds at No. 10 Downing Street, I felt a wave of deep, almost unbearable sadness. ‘Thank you, Dave,’ I whispered. ‘Thank you for making this possible for me.’ And then my heart went into a mild form of cardiac arrest. Oh, my God. Right under my nose. A spasm of panic crashed through me and I bombed under the table, grabbing my bag from somewhere alarmingly close to Alex’s crotch. Cursing, I scrabbled with the zip on my laptop sleeve and tore it out. Please, God, let there be Wi-Fi here. I looked up briefly for a Wi-Fi sign. There was one right next to me. I caught Leonie’s eye. She was watching me, smiling slightly. Fucking come on! I screamed silently, as my wireless roved leisurely through the available networks. It took no notice. Just as I began to wonder if I should call a pre-emptive ambulance for myself, lest I die of an aneurysm, it connected. I typed in the URL of my dating website and started praying that my login was still valid. It was. Eureka. ‘You have 34 new messages!’ FUCK OFF, ALL OF YOU, I thought frenziedly, scouring down to the oldest message. There it was. Freddy: 14 March 2010. I opened it. Dear Fran. I had a feeling you’d cancel our date. I can’t pretend I’m not gutted. Fran, I think I’m I love with you. In fact I know I am. I have been for years. My girlfriend left me two years ago because she realized I was in love with you. I’m sorry I never told you that we’d split up. I just didn’t know how to explain it. I can’t take another moment of being in London knowing that you don’t feel the same way. I’ve tried to do it for five years now and it’s not working. I’m putting the wheels in motion for a foreign transfer so I can try to sort my head out and get over you abroad. I should have told you how I felt a long time ago, but I thought it would be hopeless. So I’m telling you now, knowing you’ll probably never even read this. I love you, Frances O’Callaghan. I love everything about you. You’re the most ludicrous excuse for a woman I’ve ever known – seriously, how could you not have spotted that I used a photo of James fucking Dean in my profile? – but there isn’t a centimetre of you that I don’t think is perfect. I will miss you so much but I have to go. I have to get over you. Take care of yourself. Please. Love, Freddy Tears were beginning to pour down my face as I clicked on Freddy’s name to open his profile, so by the time it loaded I could barely see. But I could see enough. I could see his new photo. A mop of mad hair. A pair of blue crinkly, sparkly eyes. A careful, almost bashful smile. Dave. A thunderous round of applause and some frenzied whooping from Mum and Dad announced that the film had finished. I did my best to pull my hair over my face and raised my champagne glass over my head in acknowledgement. ‘Whoop!’ I yelled vaguely. Oh, God. Dave was in love with me? My stomach was engaged in complex gymnastics. Dave being in love with me felt like the best news in the history of the whole universe. ‘Dave is in love with me?’ I said to Leonie, who had appeared at my side with Stefania. Hugh was fighting his way noisily to a spot underneath the TV screen. ‘Vhat do you sink?’ Stefania shouted. ‘I don’t … I don’t believe it. Dave isn’t in love with me – is he?’ Leonie’s gasket blew again. ‘HE FUCKING WELL STOPPED DRINKING FOR YOU!’ she roared. ‘HE’S A SCOTSMAN! HE DRANK FUCKING TOMATO JUICE FOR YOU!’ I blanched. Dave had drunk tomato juice for me. Lovely manly Dave had spent weeks drinking Diet Coke and tomato juice and silly frilly virgin cocktails just for me. Further tears exploded from my eyes. ‘What’s going on?’ I heard Dad asking Mum. ‘Oh, I think Fran’s realized her best friend’s in love with her. We’ve all been wanting them to get together for years,’ Mum said matter-of-factly. ‘Oh, fuck,’ I said. Stefania nodded gravely. ‘Oh, fuck,’ she echoed. ‘WELL! I think you’ll all agree that this film was fucking eggzellent,’ Hugh yelled. Alex giggled. ‘He’s pissed,’ he whispered to Leonie, and then must have seen me. ‘Oh. She’s worked it out then,’ I heard him say. My hair was still curtained across my face. ‘AND I WOULD LIKE TO THANK FRAN, DAVE AND DANNY FOR THEIR EXCELLENT WORK!’ Further cheers. ‘Whoop!’ I shouted again. ‘Am I in love with Dave?’ I whispered to my friends. They nodded frenziedly. ‘And I can’t think of a bedder moment to announce that I am making Fran producer of special features across all news desks. As I’m sure you’ll agree, she’s got an excellent eye for this sort of thing and we don’t want to lose her to some fucking dogumennary company. So, ladies and gentlemen, please be upstanding for our new special features producer FRAN!’ This time complete pandemonium broke out. Dad, fresh off a plane from Málaga and completely overwhelmed by the situation, forgot that I was now a fully grown adult and picked me up off my stool, whooping. Mum burst into tears and even Nellie let out a few husky huzzahs. I found myself being propelled to the front of the crowd and started frenziedly scrubbing my face with my sleeve. And there I was, standing in front of everyone, mascara hieroglyphed across my cheeks and a little river of snot running calmly out of my left nostril. There was a sharp group intake of breath. ‘Er, sorry,’ I stammered. ‘Bit emotional. Y’know. Carried away.’ A gale of relieved laughter. Phew! She hasn’t lost it! ‘So, er, yes, it was a massive honour to be asked to do this, and an even greater one to hear about this new job – thanks, Hugh, I’ll accept – but I need to thank a few people …’ A loud primal noise escaped from my lungs. I pretended it hadn’t happened. Nellie and Michael were watching me with faces of absolute horror. ‘Bleugh … First I need to thank Michael Denby for bringing Esther to us. She was an absolute gift. Anyone could have made a great documentary about her.’ Nellie whooped again and shouted, ‘Michael Denby!’ Michael gave a curt nod. ‘And then, of course, there was the wonderful Danny who cut this thing in a matter of days.’ Further whooping. Danny flexed his biceps. ‘But most of all, I owe the success of this film …’ another loud noise, sort of like a baby bear cub trying to roar because its mother has left, escaped me ‘… to, er, Dave Brennan. Who is about to board a plane to Afghanistan.’ Silence. ‘And who …’ another mad sound ‘who … oh, God, I have to go.’ ‘Are you going to Heathrow?’ Hugh yelled, as I tore across the pub floor. ‘YES!’ The loudest cheers of all. I left the pub at a flat-out sprint to roars, stamping feet, clanging glasses and cries of ‘Go get him!’ and ‘At long fucking last!’ ‘TAXI!’ Stefania screamed. The cab driver approaching us saw her maroon riding breeches and Roland Rat T-shirt and swerved, visibly afraid. ‘Fuck,’ I said. My head was full of Dave. I felt his hand ruffling my hair and heard him laughing kindly at me. ‘Oh, no! I need to be there NOW. RIGHT NOW.’ Another taxi was approaching. Leonie kissed Alex briefly, said, ‘Sorry,’ and walked out into the middle of the road, lifting up her dress. She stood with her baps poking gaily out into the darkening evening until the taxi stopped. A milk float on the other side of t
he road kerbed it and stalled. ‘Heathrow. Now.’ ‘Which terminal?’ asked the driver, dazedly, as Stefania threw me into the back. After a moment’s hesitation, she threw Leonie in too and climbed in herself. She slammed the door. ‘ALEX! FIND OUT ZIS INFORMATION!’ she barked. ‘And you. Just drive! Ve vill tell you vhen ve know!’ ‘Roger that. I’m on it!’ Alex shouted, whipping out his iPhone. The taxi driver pulled away and, two seconds later, ground to a halt at traffic-lights. ‘No no no,’ Stefania said. ‘Zis is not ze kind of driving ve are looking for. Zis is a matter of life and death. My friend vill show her breasts to any policemen who stop us. Just drive, fast, and break ze law as much as you need to.’ The taxi driver floored it. Leonie put her arm round me and kissed me on the side of my head. ‘Sorry to punch you, old thing,’ she said conversationally, ‘but you really are a numb-nuts.’ Stefania nodded sagely. ‘Is true.’ She offered me a striped hanky that smelt of Parma violets. I blew my nose and Leonie rubbed off the remainder of my mascara. ‘Crack a smile, Fran!’ she said, and squeezed my boob. ‘Not until I know we’re going to get there on time. Why hasn’t Alex called you with the terminal yet?’ ‘Because we left him only two minutes ago, Franny. Don’t stress. He’ll be phoning in flight numbers, check-in desks, grid references and vegetarian meal options within the next fifteen minutes. Of that you can be sure.’ I smiled in spite of myself. ‘How did you know Dave was posing as Freddy? And why didn’t you tell me?’ Leonie raised an eyebrow at Stefania and they both started laughing. ‘Ze Eight Date Deal, you STUPEEED CABBAGE, was designed to get you and ze Dave togezzer before Michael had a chance to drag you back into his life,’ Stefania told me. ‘But zen you interfered and ruined it!’ I looked at them incredulously. ‘Seriously? You organized the whole Freddy thing?’ ‘Yes. I have been vorking on this plan for a long time, Frances. You remember ze night zat you were drunk and Dave brought you home and let you sleep it off on ze steps to stop you throwing up all over Michael?’ I nodded, colouring slightly. ‘Vell, I saw him before he saw me. He vas holding you like a child. Ze look on his face …’ Stefania paused. Dear God, her lip was trembling! Her eyes were filling! Although, come to think of it, mine were too. The idea of Dave watching me sleep was causing an out-and-out riot in my stomach. ‘Ze look on his face vas beautiful,’ she said simply. ‘He vas vatching you, all drunk and disgusting on his lap, as if you vere his first-born child. Michael had only just arrived in London and I knew zen zat you vere viz ze wrong man.’ I was bewildered. ‘But you kept this from me – why?’ ‘Because you vould not have listened!’ she hissed. ‘You vere in love viz ze Michael!’ I nodded. ‘Yep, fair enough. But he said something about Freya leaving him two years ago. That bit’s surely got to be bollocks? He would have said!’ ‘No,’ Leonie cut through. ‘He didn’t tell any of us until you and Michael split up. We had a Gin Thursday while you were holed up in your room and got quite drunk and Stefania just came out with all this stuff about how she thought he liked you’ – Stefania nodded proudly – ‘and after a few hours of interrogation he broke. He literally put his hands up and said, “Aye, fair enough, I’m in love with Fran, what of it?” I nearly shat myself, Franny!’ I imagined my great big lovely Dave putting his hands up and admitting he loved me. It made my heart stop. ‘But why? Why didn’t he say anything about Freya?’ I winced as we hurtled past a number 14 bus on the inside lane of Piccadilly. Leonie shrugged. ‘It was as he said in his email. He didn’t know how to explain it without telling us the truth about why she left. Remember that Gin Thursday when she found out he’d recommended you for promotion? That was the death warrant. She’d been on to him and you for years.’ I stared at her. ‘Freya left him because of me. Fuck.’ Leonie nodded. ‘He’d do anything for you, Franny. Remember that tape that turned up in Hugh’s office? The one from the shoot you faked to stalk Nellie?’ ‘I’m not likely to forget that in a hurry.’ ‘It was Dave who talked Hugh into keeping you on. He told Hugh and Alex that you were an outstanding producer and Hugh would be insane to let you go.’ Leonie paused, looking quite emotional herself. I sat back. ‘Fuck.’ Hyde Park Corner screamed past us. This taxi driver was full-on Scalextric. He was mega. Please, my lovely Dave, please still be there. ‘I – I guess I’m really surprised that Dave would have got involved with the Internet dating, though,’ I said eventually. ‘I mean, it’s hardly his thing.’ They laughed. ‘Oh, ze battles I had viz him!’ Stefania crowed. ‘Stefania basically didn’t give him a choice in the end.’ Leonie chuckled. ‘And how could he say no anyway? He was madly in love with you, that great big bloody Glaswegian heart of his bleeding all over the place, and there was Stefania in his ear twenty-four seven telling him that this was a foolproof plan. Of course he caved in!’ Stefania shot me a look of malevolence. ‘It vas foolproof until you started messing with it,’ she muttered darkly. ‘I could have cut your face off, Frances. If Leonie hadn’t stopped me I vould have decked you out.’ I giggled. ‘Sorry. But if I hadn’t put the whole Michael thing to rest, we wouldn’t be here now, would we?’ They looked at each other and then at me. ‘No,’ Leonie said doubtfully, ‘I suppose not. But you’d better bloody well hope we catch him, Fran.’ I bit my lip, suddenly afraid again. We were only at Harrods, its lights twinkling gaily as if nothing was happening. ‘Yep,’ I said. ‘Please God let me not have messed this up.’ They smiled sympathetically at me. ‘We’re not imagining it, are we, Franny?’ Leonie asked gently. ‘You do love Dave, don’t you?’ My stomach tightened again. I thought about Dave’s eyes sparkling the first time we talked in the Apple Tree. I remembered his affectionate laughter and reassuring hand on my arm as I bungled a red-carpet interview in 2007. I remembered his solid warmth in Kosovo; the apple pie he’d brought round to my house when I’d had flu last year. I thought about the way the afternoon light had shone on the side of his face last week on the roof of ITN when he’d told me I was bang on just as I was and my heart ached. I nodded. ‘Yes. I do love Dave. I really love Dave.’ Leonie glanced anxiously at her watch. Stefania, for once, said nothing. Then Alex’s call came through and it was all hands on deck again. Twenty minutes later we were heading down the M4 at 85 m.p.h. and Alex was phoning through departure status updates every other minute. The taxi driver was hunched over his wheel, Stefania was scribbling in her notebook and Leonie was studying floor plans of Heathrow that Alex had sent through on her iPhone. It was a military operation. I counted streetlights as they whizzed by and knew that Leonie was right. It had been under my nose. For a very long time. I imagined touching his face and my stomach exploded. Please, God, create some terrible delays at Heathrow. Make Dave get stuck in a toilet or something. Please, please, please, don’t let him leave the country without me. I love him, God. I love Dave. Chapter Forty-four