From London with Love

by Jemma Forte

  Luke half choked on a mouthful of lager. ‘You’re bloody priceless, Bender. You’re going to run home? To Hampstead?’

  ‘Um, well, actually just into town to … meet my aunt,’ Jessica improvised, not that she saw what was so funny about her running anywhere. She just didn’t want them to find out that home, until tomorrow, was still a hotel. She looked down at her trainers, suddenly feeling very tired. It was exhausting having to have your wits about you the whole while. It was time to go. She needed to pack up her stuff to take to Pam’s tomorrow and she wanted to phone Dulcie too, who seemed to have disappeared off the radar the last couple of days.

  ‘Well, if you’re still here in the winter, let’s see if you’re quite so keen to get your running shoes on then, shall we?’ said Vanessa.

  ‘Do you think you will be?’ asked Paul, suddenly curious to know.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Jessica, who was still trying to work out what Vanessa had just said.

  ‘Here in the winter.’

  ‘I hope so,’ replied Jessica politely. ‘I like London, it’s a nice break from –’

  ‘Sunshine?’ said Luke.

  ‘Beaches?’ suggested Julian from the next table.

  ‘Beautiful people?’ offered Vanessa.

  ‘What do you actually do in LA anyway?’ asked Natasha, who was still busy sun-worshipping, though the sun was just about to disappear behind a cloud. ‘Who do you live with?’

  ‘My dad and my stepmom,’ Jessica replied, gathering up her backpack and wriggling into it. Definitely time to go.

  ‘So where’s your mum?’

  ‘She left when I was three.’

  Natasha didn’t react but it was obviously an uncomfortable moment and everyone knew she’d be feeling bad for asking one question too many.

  Paul felt a sudden rush of sympathy for Jessica and empathy too. Maybe they weren’t so different after all. He watched her now as she bent down to make sure her laces were tied properly on her trainers. Then she took a hair band from the pocket of her denim shorts and tied her fine blonde hair back.

  ‘What are you up to this weekend? Are you going to be all right?’ Kerry asked, genuinely concerned. She got the sense that Jessica didn’t do much with her spare time, apart from hang out with her aunt.

  ‘Not sure yet,’ replied Jessica, who was actually looking forward to a couple of peaceful days to digest everything. ‘I’ll probably water Mike’s garden at some point and, you know, bits and pieces.’

  Kerry, who couldn’t comprehend anybody having anything less than a hectic social life, felt a pang of something approaching pity. ‘OK, well, I’m off to a spa this weekend but next week some of us are going clubbing so you should come. Don’t feel you have to or anything, it’s just that seeing as you said you liked music so much …’

  ‘Do you?’ said Paul, who was a music nut.

  ‘That sounds great,’ said Jessica, deliberately pretending not to hear Paul. The last thing she felt like right now was being grilled on her musical tastes. ‘It would be great to check out an English club.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’ve only just mentioned that you’re going to a spa,’ interrupted Vanessa enviously. ‘You’re such a cow, Kerry, I’d bloody love to go to one of those.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Isy, draining the last of her Bacardi Breezer. ‘I’d have my claws cut and my paws rubbed.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I am looking forward to a bit of pampering,’ said Kerry, who having worked with Isy so long was oblivious to her strange turn of phrase, ‘but I’m going for a family friend’s hen night. To be honest, I’m slightly dreading all the wedding chatter,’ she finished rather tellingly. Kerry was only thirty-four, but Jessica could sense she felt ready to meet Mr Right.

  ‘What’s everybody else up to?’

  ‘Sleeping,’ said Isy.

  ‘Clubbing,’ said Luke.

  ‘This and that,’ said Natasha, stealing a glance at Paul in a way that made Jessica feel inappropriately bothered. ‘What about you, Pauly? You going home to see Mummy?’

  Paul didn’t rise to the bait. He had his reasons for going home to his mum’s house in Staines as often as he did, but they weren’t ones he felt particularly comfortable talking about. Even when he’d been going out with Natasha he hadn’t opened up to her much about his life. Luke was the only person at work he trusted completely, and trust was something Paul valued greatly.

  Kerry looked at Jessica, who was hovering, backpack firmly on, clearly waiting for a gap in the conversation to say goodbye. ‘OK, hon – well, have a good one and don’t worry too much about Mike’s bloody garden, will you? I’ll see you on Monday at ten and thank you so much for all your hard work. It’s been brilliant having you here this week.’

  Jessica swelled with pride. ‘See you then,’ she said before giving a little wave and setting off at a fairly energetic pace down the path.

  Everybody stared after her, fascinated by what was largely considered to be fairly dubious behaviour. Why would anybody in their right mind want to run anywhere on a day like this, especially when there was cold lager to be drunk?

  ‘Run, Forrest!’ yelled Luke suddenly at the top of his voice, ‘Run!’, which made everyone giggle like mad, including Jessica. Now a large speck in the distance, she turned round briefly to wave over her shoulder again.

  As they all watched her disappear down the path, Natasha was the first to speak. ‘Do you think she’ll go round the corner and get the bus? I bet she does.’

  ‘I bet she doesn’t’ said Isy, who was still looking completely awestruck. ‘She’s amazing. If she was an animal, she’d be a gazelle.’

  ‘A gazelle with slightly thick ankles,’ retorted Natasha nastily, and at that moment Paul wondered if he really did still want to take Natasha out.

  18

  On Saturday Jessica moved into her aunt’s house in Hampstead, having long since realized how misjudged her original decision to reside at the Dorchester had been. How much more normal to stay in an ordinary house that was comfortable, yet basic and tiny compared to what she was used to. Pam told her it had been built in Victorian times, over one hundred years ago, a fact that astounded Jessica, though also explained why the house felt so quintessentially English and quaint. The decor clearly hadn’t had a facelift since the eighties, which only added to the house’s charm as far as Jessica was concerned; although she’d been baffled beyond belief to discover there was no laundry room in the house. Just a solitary machine in the kitchen, which Pam claimed both washed and dried clothes. Incredible.

  On Sunday Jessica woke up glad not to have any real plans for the day. Her workmates’ brand of humour took no prisoners and constantly trying to decipher who was and wasn’t being sarcastic made her brain ache. At least she was starting to remember people’s names though and she also felt like she was making headway with a couple of the girls. Kerry, in particular, and Isy.

  ‘Je-ess,’ her aunt hollered up the stairs, interrupting her thoughts.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘There’s someone here for you, love.’

  ‘Pardon?’ cried Jessica, not sure she’d heard right.

  ‘There’s someone here for you.’

  Jessica sat up. Who could possibly be here? Angelica was in LA; not that they’d spoken since Graydon had dragged her from their breakfast. No one from work would turn up unannounced on a Sunday morning, so it had better not be Edward. She’d be furious if it was. Suddenly she could hear feet thudding noisily up the stairs in her direction so she quickly hopped out of bed, feeling horribly nervous. What the hell?

  ‘Surprise!’

  The door to her room was flung open and there, standing in her doorway, was none other than Dulcie.

  ‘Dulcie!’ exclaimed Jessica. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Same as you, sweetie, ripping it up in London town. How are you, baby?’

  ‘I’m … I’m totally in shock. Oh my God, it’s so good to see you but I –’

  ‘Oh, shut up
and give me a hug, will you,’ ordered Dulcie and Jessica, who didn’t have a better plan, did as she was told.

  ‘But when did you get here?’ asked a still-staggered Jessica. She wished she could get more excited, but her overriding emotion at this precise moment was a nagging annoyance that Dulcie should have told her she was coming.

  ‘Last night. I flew in, went straight to the Berkeley where I’ve been sleeping like a baby ever since. Soon as I woke up I got my driver to bring me here.’

  ‘But I thought you were going to give me some warning about when you were coming,’ said Jessica, through faintly gritted teeth. ‘How long are you here for anyway?’

  ‘Just a week,’ said Dulcie.

  ‘But you know I have a job now, right?’ said Jessica, feeling panicky. ‘So I won’t be able to hang out with you every day.’

  ‘Hey, quit stressing, will you? I’m sure we can come up with some great excuse for your boring old job. Anyway, who cares about that? We’re here to have some fun.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘No buts, now come on, get dressed, my driver’s waiting and I have an appointment at the bridal section of Harrods in forty-five minutes.’

  ‘OK,’ Jessica whimpered, already missing the sense of independence she’d experienced for such a brief time. ‘I’ll come, but seriously, Dulcie, we need to talk. I’m so happy to see you, but I also want to spend some time with Pam today and I am telling you now that I can’t miss work on Monday, or any other day. I’ve only been there a week for crissakes and, anyway, this is the first time in my –’

  ‘Chill out, will you?’ admonished Dulcie. ‘Pam’s fine and I’m not going to make you miss work if you don’t want to. I know you’re on some mission to wear a hair shirt and be really poor and miserable and bored like everyone else, so who am I to stop you?’

  ‘Idiot,’ said Jessica, but she was laughing.

  ‘Though I hope you’ve sorted out coming home for your dad’s party. Mr G’s pining for you and he’d never forgive you if you weren’t there.’

  ‘Of course I have,’ Jessica lied, making a mental note to sort that out as soon as possible … somehow. ‘OK, give me five minutes to get dressed and washed properly, will you?’

  Dulcie nodded happily and went to sit on Jessica’s bed, pulling her iPhone out of her Vuitton bag so that she could text someone, looking ridiculously glamorous in her Pucci dress and Prada wedge heels.

  ‘What is this job you’re doing anyway?’ she asked idly.

  ‘It’s pretty cool actually,’ replied Jessica, wriggling out of her pyjamas and wrapping herself in a towel. ‘I mean, it’s not what I want to do for the rest of my life, but Kerry, who I work for, is awesome. Then there’s a girl called Isy who’s kinda crazy but very sweet. Vanessa, who I think is lovely, though I can’t understand a word she says. Then there’s Mike, who’s away at the moment, but who’s really good-looking and friendly. In fact, there’s only one person I’m not sure about and that’s this guy Paul, who can be so nice at times and then, at others, really confrontational and opinionated.’

  ‘Sounds like someone’s got a crush,’ said Dulcie, still texting busily.

  ‘Who, Mike? No way,’ protested Jessica. ‘He’s married and not my type at all.’

  ‘Not Mike, Paul.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Jessica, frowning. ‘You obviously weren’t listening.’

  ‘Whatever,’ grinned Dulcie, not convinced. ‘So you haven’t said what it is you actually do in this office of yours.’

  ‘I assist the celeb booker on The Bradley Mackintosh Show at the BBC,’ said Jessica, halfway out the door by now and headed for the bathroom.

  Dulcie immediately stopped fiddling with her phone.

  ‘You what? You’re kidding me? Why didn’t you say that before? I love that show. I watch it on BBC World all the time. Oh my God, Jess, you’ve got to get me on. My dad went on it years ago and his album sales practically doubled the next day. This is just the exposure I need.’

  Jessica’s heart sank. Damn it. Dulcie could be like a dog with a bone when she got an idea in her head, and this was one of the most terrible she’d ever had.

  Later that evening a rather subdued Jessica and a faintly hostile Dulcie got the tube over to Mike’s house. The appointment at Harrods had been surprisingly fun, but what hadn’t been so enjoyable was Dulcie’s incessant nagging to get her on the show.

  By now her bottom lip was wobbling dangerously, as for the life of her she couldn’t see what harm it would do to simply ask the question. However, for Jessica, the words ‘Can my friend who’s ever so slightly famous in LA, only not in her own right and not for anything in particular, come on the show for no reason other than she’s marrying a guy who was runner-up on American Idol?’ weren’t ones she ever wanted to utter.

  ‘But why can’t I just phone your boss directly?’ whined Dulcie in a last-ditch attempt. ‘That way you don’t even have to get involved.’

  Jessica sighed heavily with frustration. ‘Because the answer will still be no, and if it wasn’t, which it would be, she’d probably end up finding out we know each other and the game will be up.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Dulcie, knowing that when Jessica had really made up her mind about something there would be no budging.

  ‘Fine,’ repeated Jessica grumpily, staring out of the window as they approached leafy Chiswick and Turnham Green station. ‘We’re here.’

  They got off the train and by the time they were at the ticket barriers Dulcie had clearly decided to try and make amends. In fact, she’d changed her tune completely and for once seemed content to admit defeat.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jess,’ she said. ‘I promise not to bring it up again, OK? I can tell this job is important to you so I won’t ask again, all right?’

  ‘OK,’ said Jessica, feeling relieved, though not entirely convinced that this would be the end of the matter.

  ‘And thanks for forcing me to take the subway,’ added Dulcie. ‘It was quite fun, actually. A little unhygienic but OK,’ she said, pulling out some antiseptic hand gel from her Vuitton bag and smothering her hands in it. When she started to pat it on her face, as if she were a man putting on aftershave, Jessica’s sense of humour finally returned.

  With the aid of Jessica’s A to Z the two girls managed to find Mike’s house fairly easily, though when they did they were surprised by how normal it looked. In LA successful producers lived in enormous, palatial homes, whereas Mike’s house was a similar size to Pam’s.

  ‘This is it?’ said Dulcie incredulously, voicing exactly what Jessica herself was thinking, only in such a way that made her feel ashamed for doing so.

  ‘Of course,’ said Jessica firmly. ‘What were you expecting? Not everyone can live in a palace like the execs we know.’

  Dulcie rolled her eyes behind her friend’s back and waited patiently while Jessica carefully let herself in with the keys that Mike had given her. The second the door opened the alarm started to beep ominously and the two girls squealed and shrieked with panic until Jessica had keyed the correct numbers into the pad. Once it was off and it was clear that they were safely in, they both giggled with relief before making their way through to the back of the house.

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Dulcie, her nose wrinkling. ‘It’s so tiny, it’s like a freaking doll’s house.’

  ‘Shut up,’ said Jessica, slapping her friend on the arm affectionately. ‘You sound like such a snob. Anyway, it’s not that tiny – it’s only a bit smaller than Pam’s place.’

  ‘I am not a snob,’ retorted Dulcie. ‘I’m just saying.’

  Jessica unlocked the French windows in the open-plan kitchen then went outside. She found the hose at the side of the house and switched the tap on.

  ‘Can I have a go?’ asked Dulcie.

  ‘Sure,’ replied Jessica. ‘But in a minute, it’s my turn first.’

  Taking it in turns, the two of them gave the thirsty, lawned, forty-foot garden a satisfying soak, both enjoyi
ng the simplicity of a task that neither of them had ever done before. The grass revived before their very eyes, the dry soil lapping up the water gratefully.

  Job done, they made their way back through the house, Jessica having made sure she’d locked everything behind her. As she did so, a framed picture in the kitchen caught her eye. She went over to get a closer look and Dulcie followed, curious to see what she was looking at.

  ‘Is that Mike?’ asked Dulcie.

  ‘Yeah,’ replied Jessica. It was Mike and an attractive-looking lady who Jessica presumed must be Diane, his wife, and a cute little girl with curly but scraggly ringlets framing her cheeky face. The three of them looked incredibly happy and Mike’s wife looked lovely. She had long, dark-brown hair and a beaming smile. She was wearing a pretty floral dress and was tanned, so they were probably on holiday.

  ‘His wife’s kind of fat, isn’t she?’ said Dulcie cheerfully.

  Jessica frowned.

  ‘Oh my God, look at your boss’s dick,’ exclaimed Dulcie and Jessica’s eyes travelled downwards to see that the T-shirt Mike was wearing only just covered what looked like … oh my word … small, almost indecently tight trunks that left nothing to the imagination. Embarrassed to have seen the outline of her boss’s testicles, Jessica averted her eyes.

  The two girls travelled back to Hampstead in comfortable silence, only this time in Dulcie’s chauffeur-driven car, which Dulcie had summoned to meet them. (As far as she was concerned, the tube was an experience not worth repeating.) Jessica’s mind kept returning to the picture they’d seen in Mike’s kitchen and not just because of Mike’s tight trunks.

  ‘They looked so happy,’ she said suddenly.

  Dulcie answered straight away, without even needing to ask what she was referring to. ‘She’s a lucky little girl. They sure do look like the perfect family.’

  Later that night the weather became oppressively hot and muggy so Jessica was not surprised to wake up on Monday to the sound of thunder roaring across the sky. As she snuggled back under her sheets, she realized how pointless their watering expedition had been, given that right now Mike’s garden was getting a complete drenching. For a fraction of a second she felt rather envious of Dulcie who, in her luxurious suite, with no responsibilities, could wake up any time she liked with the day spread before her to do with as she pleased.