From London with Love

by Jemma Forte

  Jessica’s response to this was to give Edward a look he couldn’t quite decipher. Then, to his dismay, her eyes filled with tears. ‘Dad, don’t you get it? The only reason I was of any value on that committee was because of who I am. If I wasn’t Edward Granger the movie star’s daughter, I doubt your wealthy friends would have contributed so generously. And, besides, I can hardly bask in the glow of Jen Peterson’s praise. She’s been trying to get you into bed for the last twenty years.’

  ‘Has she?’ replied Edward, looking chuffed before swiftly realizing this was hardly the point. ‘OK, maybe not the best example,’ he said. ‘And I admit I never should have bought those paintings. I should have trusted you to deal with that horrid man on your own …’

  Exasperated, Jessica shook her head. ‘Just because he didn’t fall over himself to be nice to me doesn’t mean he’s “horrid”. He’s just a guy who hadn’t sold anything from his latest exhibition so was feeling stressed.’

  ‘I’d be stressed if I had to shift that lot of crap too,’ remarked Edward drily.

  Jessica cracked a despairing smile. ‘Er, the fact you hate the paintings doesn’t exactly make me feel better about the situation. Look, I know I’ve let myself be mollycoddled in the past but maybe that’s because … well, Mom not being around much … I don’t know …’ Sitting in the shade of the umbrella in her soggy underwear and vest, she was starting to feel chilly. She stood up, hair plastered to the side of her face, and moved into the sun. It was time to break the news.

  ‘I want to go back to England … on my own, and not just for a vacation. Nobody knows who I am there, so I may as well join them seeing as I don’t either, and when I arrive I want to live under a different name. That way I can try and get a normal job and see if I can achieve anything on my own merit. I have to do this and I want to do it with no financial help from you. I’ll take a couple of thousand dollars to get myself started and that’s it.’

  Edward abandoned his lounger and, in an attempt to reclaim the upper hand, stood up to his full six foot four inches. ‘Sweetheart, I see your point and maybe it is time you had more independence, but let’s not get carried away. England is out of the question,’ he added with a nervous laugh, placing his hands on her shoulders.

  Jessica wriggled out of his grasp, exasperated beyond belief. ‘You’re not listening. I’m not asking if I can go, I’m telling you.’ And with that she raced towards the house.

  Edward sank wearily back down on to his lounger. All the women in his house had gone mad. Was just a little bit of peace too much to ask? Reluctantly he got up to follow after Jessica, and as he did so he cursed his first wife, more out of habit than anything else. If only Angelica hadn’t abandoned him all those years ago, he wouldn’t be left to work everything out on his own as usual. Then something occurred to him. Hadn’t Jill mentioned that Angelica was supposed to be in England for much of the summer? Suddenly Edward felt a bit panicky and picked up the pace a little. Was there more to this trip than met the eye?

  5

  Paul Fletcher, chief comedy writer for The Bradley Mackintosh Show at the BBC, strolled into the packed production office. He scouted the room, looking for best mate Luke and the girls, namely Kerry, Natasha, Isy and Vanessa. They were gathered in the far corner, so in order to join them he had no choice but to circumnavigate the entire room, the rest of the team and their bags.

  ‘’Scuse me, sorry, thanks … sorry … Right, breathe in then, Kerry,’ he instructed until Kerry was the last thing left between him and a bit of empty floor space.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ she gasped as Paul squeezed himself past her enormous bosoms, wedging them both against the wall in the process. ‘Don’t mind me or anything.’

  ‘You love it,’ joked Luke. ‘That’s more action than you’ve had in ages, isn’t it?’

  ‘Paul should be so lucky,’ interjected Natasha, a pretty blonde who had once had a bit of a thing with Paul.

  ‘If it makes you feel any better, Kezza, I’m wearing a condom so you’re definitely not pregnant,’ said Paul, unabashed.

  Natasha, Isy and Vanessa giggled.

  ‘Oh, don’t you worry,’ said Kerry ruefully. ‘Pregnant is one thing I know I’m not. The way my love life’s going, I wouldn’t be surprised if I’d sealed up completely.’

  ‘Sealed up?’ asked dark-haired Isy, looking worried. The junior researcher was sitting on the floor near Kerry’s feet and was wearing more accessories than Mr T, even managing to carry off a strange, boater-style hat, which was no mean feat. ‘That can’t actually happen, can it?’

  ‘Christ,’ said Paul indulgently. ‘No, Isy, it can’t. Now, where’s that penis Mike? He’s even later than usual, isn’t he?’

  ‘I went to give him a nudge,’ replied Kerry, plaiting the front of her curly dark hair and going boss-eyed as she did so, ‘but he was busy on his computer.’

  ‘Oh, I forgot. Mike’s such a busy man,’ said Paul, deadpan. ‘He was probably ordering some slacks from the Next catalogue, rearranging his nostril hair or chatting on the phone to his pals, arranging a bit of buggering for the weekend.’

  ‘You’ve really got it in for him, haven’t you?’ said Vanessa, her strong Liverpool accent as pronounced as ever. ‘What’s he ever done to you?’

  ‘Bored me rigid. Kept me waiting when I could be writing links. Reminded me at least fifty times that he went to university and I didn’t. Been crap at his job but never been pulled up on it because he’s married to the boss’s daughter,’ fired back Paul rapidly.

  ‘You’re mean,’ said Natasha slyly. ‘Mike’s all right and at least he’s easy on the eye.’

  Paul glanced at Natasha as nonchalantly as possible, trying to glean if this comment was for his benefit or not. The two of them had been an item for a few months last winter until Natasha had dumped him cruelly, with no warning and by text (the part that had really stung). For a while (though he would rather have died than admit it), Paul had been fairly cut up.

  Now, Natasha’s heart-shaped face and big green eyes were the picture of innocence, and though Paul knew he’d appear jealous if he said anything, he felt compelled to do so anyway. ‘Well, I’ll never get what you girls see in Mike. He’s been driving me mad ever since he got back from paternity leave. I’ve never known so many pointless script changes and, frankly, I can’t wait for him to piss off on holiday so we can have a break from him again. The man’s an arse.’

  None of the group paid much attention. The way they saw it, as far as Paul was concerned, Mike had never been able to do right and it didn’t take a genius to work out why. Paul fancied Natasha, Natasha fancied Mike, Mike fancied himself.

  ‘Who’s on seven minutes?’ called out Luke suddenly.

  ‘I am,’ yelled Penny, the production assistant, her unmistakeable gin-soaked voice booming across from the other side of the office. ‘Who’s on seven and a half?’

  Robbie, head of make-up, perused the sheet he was clutching as he paced around, stepping over people’s legs and bags. ‘Oooh, that’s me! Right, come on, Mike, let’s be having you.’

  ‘Well, I think if you heard what Mike has to put up with at home, you might be a bit more understanding,’ said Kerry darkly, fishing a bottle of nail varnish out of her bag and giving it a good shake. ‘Honestly, his wife’s always moaning at him. In fact, I’d say she phones pretty much daily to check he’s not going to the pub and the other day –’

  But she never got to finish what she was saying because just at that moment Mike himself finally walked into the room. Twenty heads immediately turned to look at the clock on the wall, which said eight minutes past two. Robbie stopped pacing, glanced from the clock back to his notes and up again to be met by a sea of expectant faces, at which point he mouthed for all to see, ‘Congratulations, Hassan.’ Hassan puffed up with pleasure, but everyone else looked pretty fed up. The production accountant always seemed to win the sweepstake.

  ‘Hi, guys,’ said Mike, trying to sound as flustered as possible
. ‘Sorry I’m late. It’s been so bloody frantic this week that at one point I thought I wasn’t going to get away. But somehow I’ve managed it, so let’s crack on.’

  Paul rolled his eyes so witheringly, it made Isy giggle out loud.

  ‘Right, first on the agenda,’ Mike began. ‘Tomorrow I’ve got a meeting with David Bridlington to talk about our ratings. So, Kerry, remind me who we’ve got booked for the next few weeks, please?’

  ‘Oh, right,’ she said dolefully, starting to look through her notes. The subject of ratings never boded well for her. ‘OK, so this week we’ve got Jamie Oliver …’

  ‘Great,’ said Mike.

  ‘Jane McDonald.’

  ‘Mmmnah,’ said Mike.

  ‘And Juliette Binoche. However, I am having a bit of a mare with the week after. Hopefully I’ve got Michael Sheen, but the other guests I had booked have pulled out.’

  ‘Well, that’s a major worry,’ said Mike, looking furious. ‘I hope you’ve got a back-up plan.’

  Kerry wondered if maybe she shouldn’t have bothered trying to defend Mike earlier. She stared back at him defiantly. His rumpled white shirt was rolled up at the sleeves displaying tanned forearms and, with one button too many undone, it was easy for her to tell that his chest must be brown and smooth with just a suggestion of hair. She’d probably fancy him if it weren’t for the fact that A/ he was married and B/ would never be interested in her in a million years. Still, his attractiveness was diluted somewhat by his rather ‘Boden’ dress sense and his front teeth, which had an unfortunate tendency to rest on his bottom lip whenever he was deep in thought or cross. Like now.

  ‘My “back-up plan” is to book the best guests I can get,’ she answered. ‘I’ve put feelers out everywhere so I’m hoping that –’

  ‘So you’re telling me I have to convince David that ratings aren’t going to be a problem, and yet in a fortnight’s time we haven’t got anyone confirmed,’ stated Mike.

  ‘Sure “Daddyo” will understand,’ muttered Paul to Luke, earning himself a frown from Mike, who could tell he was being talked about.

  ‘Well, yes, but only because of unforeseen cancellations. It’s not easy finding people week in week out, you know,’ said Kerry. Sometimes her job felt like a thankless task. ‘I may have one of the best sets of contacts in the business, but I don’t have a magic wand, plus I do all the booking myself, which is practically unheard of on a show this size.’

  ‘Woooooh,’ crowed Luke.

  ‘Oh, don’t be such a tit, Luke,’ Kerry snapped.

  ‘All right, all right,’ said Mike. ‘Look, I get where you’re coming from, Kerry, but at the same time we have to have big names every single week or we’re doomed. So if you really think you need help in order to make that happen, well then, let’s have a meeting and talk about getting you an assistant. Although I can tell you now, there won’t be much in the budget for it.’

  ‘There definitely won’t,’ piped up Hassan. ‘There are bigger priorities that need paying for at the moment.’

  Something inside Kerry snapped. She’d been busting her gut for this show for a year and a half now and when ratings were sky high and the guests were amazing, no one seemed to thank her or give her any credit. Yet when things weren’t going so well, it always seemed to be her who was hauled over the coals and she was sick of it. To her horror she realized she was about to burst into tears, not a nice feeling when you’re at work, so she grabbed her bag and bolted from the meeting. The team gazed open-mouthed at her departure.

  ‘I was only saying,’ said Hassan, shrugging defensively.

  ‘Mm, that’s not like her, is it?’ said Mike, gathering his wits. ‘Maybe it’s the time of the month?’ he suggested, pausing to give everybody the opportunity to laugh out loud at his hilarious gag. ‘You know, perhaps she’s got the painters in?’

  An eerie silence greeted him, however, and slowly the grin slipped off Mike’s face as he realized no one was laughing. Maybe he’d got that one a bit wrong.

  ‘Shall I go after her?’ offered Isy.

  ‘Er, yes please, Isabel, if you wouldn’t mind,’ said Mike, clearing his throat. ‘Right … moving on.’

  In the ladies’ loos, Isy hugged a tear-stained Kerry.

  ‘Are you all right now, babe?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ said Kerry, who did feel like a cry had got a lot out of her system. ‘And if Mike’s serious about me getting an assistant then I’m going to bloody well take him up on the offer. I’ve been asking him for one for the last year.’

  ‘Yeah,’ mused Isy, idly examining her split ends. ‘Hey, when you legged it, Mike made a joke about you having your period. How out of order is that?’

  ‘Sexist idiot,’ sniffed Kerry.

  ‘I know,’ said Isy indignantly. ‘Have you though?’

  ‘Er … obviously. Now, let’s get out of here. I need to find Hassan and once I’ve forced him to stop being such a tight bastard I shall be telling Mike that I am having an assistant, whether he likes it or not.’

  6

  Deep in thought, Edward Granger plodded up his grand staircase. Upon reaching the top, he paused for a moment. Then suddenly, just for the hell of it, he flattened himself against the wall and with one arm out to the side, the other brandishing an imaginary gun, staked out his spacious landing. At the end of the corridor the door to his luxurious bedroom was open, tempting him to forget about everything and go for a nap. Still, Betsey would probably view this as an invitation to jump his bones. Exhaling loudly, he lowered his weapon. Right, he’d just have to do what he’d always done when delicate parenting skills were called for, suck it and see.

  He knocked gently on Jessica’s door, but she was playing music so he knocked again harder. ‘Jess, let me in, will you? I know I can be a bit overbearing sometimes, but only because I care and, darling, I can’t apologize enough about the paintings. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but I was wrong and … I’m sorry.’

  Jessica opened the door. She’d changed into a cotton sundress and had a towel wrapped round her head like a turban. She gave him a small, slightly wobbly smile of encouragement. ‘Right,’ she muttered. ‘Well, in case you were thinking of doing your “breaking down the door” joke, you’d better come in.’

  ‘You used to love that when you were little,’ said Edward, following her into the room where he could see she’d been rummaging through her things and had even got a suitcase out. For an odd moment he realized the scariest thing about Jessica going away was the fact that he’d be left on his own with Betsey. As he plonked himself down on the small white sofa at the foot of her bed, Jessica grinned. ‘What?’ said Edward, glad to see her smiling.

  ‘Nothing, it’s just the song,’ she said, motioning to her iPod before pulling the towel off her head and rubbing her hair with it. ‘It’s the Pet Shop Boys, “What Have I Done to Deserve This?” ’

  ‘Ha bloody ha,’ replied Edward. A comfortable but ponderous silence ensued while they both figured out what to say next. In the end it was Jessica who found the right words first. Discarding her damp towel on the bed, she began to talk.

  ‘Dad, I know I’m incredibly lucky and you are the most amazing father a girl could ever have. You do know that, right?’

  Edward nodded and tried not to get emotional.

  ‘But I’m twenty-six now, so I have to spread my wings a bit. I mean, when you were twenty-six you’d left home and were working two jobs while struggling to get your big break. And by the time Mom was twenty-six she’d starred as Heavenly Melons, got married, had me and was about to file for divorce, and yet here I am, and so far my lack of achievement is a bit pathetic really.’

  ‘That’s a bit strong,’ countered Edward. ‘Most people don’t have everything figured out by the age of twenty-six, for goodness’ sake, and you can hardly hold your mother’s example up as a beacon of success. Is she still seeing that hairy idiot Graydon Matthews by the way?’

  ‘Not that it has anything to do with
anything, but yes, she is. Anyway, the point is,’ she said in frustration, ‘is that, good or bad, at least Mom was doing stuff, whereas unlike most people I don’t have to do anything. I’m in this amazingly privileged position that would let me get away with turning into a total airhead who did nothing but shop and party, which isn’t who I want to be.’

  Edward tried to remain diplomatic. ‘Take it from me, struggling is hugely overrated.’

  ‘I’m sure it is, but isn’t that something I deserve to find out for myself?’

  To this Edward really had no answer, so he changed tactics.

  ‘Has this got anything to do with Dulcie? Vincent mentioned she’s been very taken up with the planning for her wedding and I’ve noticed she’s not been around much lately.’

  Jessica flopped on to the bed. ‘This has got nothing to do with Dulcie …’ she said, pausing just long enough for Edward to suspect maybe this wasn’t entirely true. ‘It hasn’t,’ she insisted. ‘Admittedly, Dulcie has gone a bit … crazy about the wedding, and at times I do wonder why she’s leaping into getting married so quickly, but me wanting to go away has nothing to do with her.’

  Jessica’s best friend, Dulcie Malone, was the daughter of celebrated recording artist Vincent Malone, the twenty-first-century’s answer to Barry White, only slimmer, who also happened to be Edward’s best and oldest friend. Having grown up together, the two girls were more like sisters, and yet there were certain things they felt very differently about, having a famous father being one of them. This contrast in attitude had first been highlighted a while back when they were asked to star in a reality show called Daddy’s Girls. Jessica had flatly refused to even consider it, which Dulcie had felt deeply resentful about, viewing it as a missed opportunity. Since then, what neither of them had said out loud, thus making it real, was that disagreements that had once seemed like easy hurdles to get over were beginning to feel insurmountable.