What's the Drama, Malibu Bennet?

by Michelle Gayle

  Phoned Dad to confirm the meeting with him and Uncle Pete. We’re going to our “office”, the King’s Head, at eight-thirty tonight.

  Just before I ended the call, Dad said, “Stephen’s all over the back pages this morning. Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Dad – I’m positive.”

  It’s unusual for me to snap at Dad, but I just want a little bit of support.

  Meanwhile, just when I thought I’d done a great job of fobbing off the reporters, Mum called and said, “I think it’s time to tell Malibu about Scotland. It’ll be terrible if she’s the last one to find out.”

  “I’m still only seventy per cent sure. It’s not actually confirmed,” I told her.

  “That’s not what the reporter said.”

  “What reporter?!”

  “The guy from the Evening Standard… I forget his name now. Very nice – so well spoken.”

  “Mum, what did he say?”

  “That I must be devastated about you leaving home. So I said that I was but I understood because Celtic are a great team.”

  “No–ooooo!”

  “What? They are, aren’t they?”

  “It’s supposed to be A SECRET!” I screamed.

  “How was I supposed to know?”

  8 p.m.

  Uh-oh. Mum’s slip-up meant that Stephen’s move to Celtic was now all over the back pages of the Evening Standard’s late edition. They also decided to print my tweet about the Highlands from the other week. Only they made it seem like I’d tweeted it today:

  His girlfriend, controversial WAG Remy Bennet, tweeted about Stephen’s move: The Scottish Highlands are beautiful!

  Aa–aaaargh! How do these journos sleep at night?!

  Harry and Stephen have both phoned and given me a right rollicking. WTF?! I can’t be expected to control a blooming grown woman. Got home in a proper bad mood.

  “Let’s prepare for the ITV meeting,” Malibu said as soon as I got in. Gary Junior was peeping through her legs.

  “Erm… Can’t. Got to meet Dad.”

  “What for?”

  “For, um … boring salon talk. And…” I took a deep breath and decided to man up. “I think we need to have a quick talk too.”

  “Sure. Do you want to do it in my room?”

  My heart began to race. Please don’t have another panic attack, I thought as I followed Malibu into her bedroom. Gary Junior spotted his Lego tower and promptly ran off to destroy it: a symbol of what I’m doing to her dreams.

  “Mal, I think you should know… Stephen’s been offered a job in Scotland.”

  “I heard! Are you all right? I feel so bad for you.”

  “Huh?”

  “Once Stephen goes back to Scotland, it’s obvious what’s going to happen next – long-distance relationships never work. But I want you to know I’m here for you, OK?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So, shall we talk ITV when you get back then?”

  “Yeah… Sure.”

  And hopefully by then, I will have grown a great big pair of men’s bits.

  11 p.m.

  Aargh, this has been a lo–oong day. Rushed to the King’s Head to meet Dad and Uncle Pete. They both ordered pasta carbonara (my fave), but thanks to Mimi, I had to go for grilled chicken. #boring

  “Hmm. This Lara girl – can she be trusted?” asked Uncle Pete, once I told them the plan.“Remy?”

  I’d been hypnotized by the sight of his plateful of pasta, ham and lovely, creamy, creamy sauce… “Huh?”

  “This Lara. Can she be trusted?”

  “I think so. She’s blooming worked miracles with the salon. Makes running it seem easy. How’s the, erm … pasta tonight?”

  “Great. Best it’s ever been.”

  “But we didn’t invest in Lara, Remy,” Dad ploughed in. “We invested in you.”

  “I know. Look, Dad, I can fly back and forth but it might be difficult if…”

  “If what?”

  “If I get this spa job.”

  Dad couldn’t believe it – “You’ve already applied for a job? What about our investment? Where’s your sense of responsibility?”

  “I’m not happy about this,” said Uncle Pete, laying down his fork.

  “You going to finish all that?” I asked him.

  “Stick to the bloody subject!” snapped Dad.

  Anyways, they’ve refused to OK Lara being a part of the business until I confirm how I intend to oversee things. And, if they do accept her, Pete said that any percentage she gets in the business has to come from my share.

  I hate RESPONSIBILITIES!

  Definitely wasn’t in the mood for Malibu and her ridiculous plans when I got home.

  “So, the good cop, bad cop tactic worked before,” she said, “and you know what they say – if it ain’t broke…”

  My head was too full after trying to find ways to convince Dad and Uncle Pete, so I just said, “OK–aay.”

  She’s gone to bed now and I can’t wait for this TV crap to end tomorrow with a big fat ITV executive NO.

  Just want to get on with MY life.

  Dear God, please let the leisure manager of the Highland Manor say, “You’re hired!”

  Wednesday 14 August – 7.30 a.m.

  Big, big day today!

  Already had my protein-heavy breakfast: two hard-boiled eggs. Gross. Their smell made Gary Junior run away from the kitchen. I texted Mimi: Are all carbs evil?

  Mimi: Yes.

  Me: Even Crunchy Nut Corn Flakes?

  Mimi: ESPECIALLY Crunchy Nut Corn Flakes.

  Humph!

  8 a.m.

  Mal meditates! Burst into her room to borrow her straighteners and she was sitting on the floor CHANTING.

  “Oops! Sorry, I should’ve knocked.”

  She didn’t even flinch. “Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, Nam-myoho-renge-kyo…”

  Dr Sharma must have given her something STRONG.

  When I was unplugging the straighteners, I noticed she’d pinned a v. small list to her bedroom wall, right above her dressing table. It said: Make a million. Marry Gary.

  “I’ll, um … see you soon?”

  11.05 a.m.

  On the way to the ITV Studios, Mal confessed that even she’d had enough of her mood swings.

  “So you went to Dr Sharma?”

  “No. I read a book. OK, I didn’t read it but Evan Richards did and I went on his YouTube channel – that’s why I was a bit late to meet you, Dad and Elizabeth the other day. He explains it so well, Rem. You write down the things you really, really want and then focus on them every day while you chant. It’s worked for loads of famous people. It’s a mix of Hinduism, Buddhism and The Secret.”

  The first two were probably the longest words I’ve ever heard her say. “Right. And d’you think it’s working then?”

  “Well, instead of moaning about what I want, I’m focusing on it instead. And I feel much happier.” She smiled.

  Wow. Been paying Dr Clein a fortune and all I needed was Evan Richards on YouTube. Anyhoo, it would have been stupid not to take advantage of Mal’s good mood: “And is Lance going to be your fail-safe plan?” I asked. I’d been dying to know what had been said at the pub the other day.

  “Hmm?”

  “Your back-up plan.” Mal always used to bang on about having a back-up plan. “You know, in case it doesn’t work out with Gary.”

  “He wants to be my main plan. He said he realizes that I’m the girl for him.”

  “Wow! What did you say?”

  “Jog on. But only after I let him know how inferior he was to Gary in every way. You don’t go back to Turkey Twizzlers after you’ve had steak, do you?”

  I couldn’t think of a more perfect time to be rejected by ITV. What a relief!

  The ITV building is a major contrast to Robert Fitzgerald’s poky little office in Soho. It’s a tall block on the South Bank of the Thames, near the London Eye. It’s a big deal. I knew it. Malibu knew i
t. Unfortunately, my heart rate knew it too – it jumped a few hundred metres. Yikes! Breathe. In … out … in … out.

  Malibu must have been able to tell. “Don’t be nervous,” she said kindly. Perfect, I thought. If I begin to panic, remember Mal is now Buddha. It’s all good.

  We announced ourselves at reception and then a woman with bobbed hair came and escorted us up to the boardroom. It was at the top of the building, with a view of London that tourists would pay a fortune for. You could see everything: the Shard, the Gherkin, Big Ben. Robert was already sitting at the meeting table, immaculately representing the silver foxes of this world. Beside him was a thirty-something male also in a suit.

  “Malibu and Remy, please meet Peter Lonsdale.”

  We shook Peter’s hand and he told us to take a seat.

  “We’re just waiting for the head of department,” he explained.

  There were eight empty chairs to choose from, so I looked at Malibu. Where should we sit? Away from them? Next to them? Was this some kind of test?

  Malibu decided to sit facing them, and I slid into the chair next to her.

  “Why don’t you tell Peter a bit about yourselves, girls?”

  Malibu began her patter… The British Kardashians… Footballer boyfriends… I stared at Peter, willing him to get on with it and tell her it wasn’t going to work out. But he didn’t. “Well, I’m sure Robert won’t mind me revealing that we are very, very interested.”

  “Really?” Malibu chirped.

  “Very. We’re thinking ITV2. That’s why the head of department wants to come across to meet you.”

  “He’s a legend,” put in Robert and then named five programmes that the supposed legend was responsible for. All of them are in my top ten best shows ever, including: I’m a Celeb. But that wasn’t the point. This can’t go any further, I thought, and I’m going to have to end it. NOW.

  “We love those shows, don’t we Rem.”

  “Yes. But, um—”

  “Ah! Here he is,” said Peter.

  An older man in a blue suit came into the room. He had the whitest hair I’d ever seen. Peter stood up to introduce him.

  “Remy and Malibu, please meet Tobias Berkley.”

  “Sorry for the delay, ladies. Lovely to meet you both.”

  When Tobias sat down, Robert asked Mal to talk about us, and how she saw the show working.

  “I see what you mean,” Tobias said to Robert when she’d finished, then turned to Mal. “You are an incredibly dynamic, young lady, Malibu.”

  Mal blushed. “Thank you.”

  “Now, let’s back up for a moment. Your son – sorry, what did you say his name was?”

  “Gary.”

  “Oh. But his father’s called Gary as well, is that right?” Mal nodded. “Hmm. That could make things a bit tricky.”

  “Well, we just say Gary Junior for the baby.”

  “Yes, but that’s far too complicated for our audience, who will be watching while they’re tweeting, Facebooking, texting, Snapchatting – that’s the latest thing, isn’t it?”

  “Got your finger on the pulse as always, Tobias,” said Peter.

  “I try,” Tobias replied. “Anyway, I digress. Back to the baby problem. Does he have a nickname?”

  “No.”

  “Not to worry, we can make one up. I’m supposing he has curly hair?”

  “Quite curly, yes.”

  “Um… Curly Locks?” suggested Peter. And that sparked a nickname tennis match between the two of them as Malibu looked on in stone cold silence.

  “Curly Wurly – that’s it!” Tobias exclaimed.

  “Fantastic,” said Peter.

  “Spot on,” agreed Robert.

  “But I’ve already thought of one that’s much better,” Malibu said.

  Tobias raised his eyebrows. “What’s that then?”

  “Gary Junior. And if you don’t want Gary Junior, quite frankly you can piss off.”

  She got up and stormed out.

  “Erm… Well… I… Suppose that’s it then?” I said to wrap it up.

  It was. And Tobias ensured that we were escorted out by security!

  When we got outside I turned to Malibu, majorly confused. “What happened? I thought you really wanted that show?”

  “As Evan Richards says: ‘Never compromise the things that are important to you and the right opportunity will come your way.’ Once they started going on about Gary Junior I realized…”

  “Wow. Yeah. You’re right,” I agreed. “And Mal, I need to be honest with you… I’ve been struggling for a long time. Fame doesn’t suit me. That’s why I’ve decided to move to Scotland.”

  “Move to Scotland? Why?”

  “To be with Stephen.”

  She looked hurt at first. “When did you decide that?”

  “A while ago,” I admitted guiltily.

  “You should have said something.”

  “I didn’t want to let you down.”

  “I’ve been pushing hard, I admit. Must’ve been a nightmare to live with.”

  “Erm…” Was that a trick question?

  “It’s OK, you can admit it.”

  “A … little bit, yeah.”

  She smiled. “Rem… I’m so happy for you.” And we were suddenly hugging in the middle of the pavement. “Told ya he’d ask you to live with him if you made out you were buying a flat.”

  “You were right – as always.”

  Evan Richards – I LOVE YOU!

  10.30 p.m.

  Just back from my interview at the Highland Manor. It went like a dream. I happily answered all the questions that the hotel’s leisure manager threw at me. I even told her a few ideas of my own, like a Tanarama booth.

  “Would there be much competition?” I checked.

  “Naw, not near to us, anyway.”

  “Oh, I suppose Glasgow’s inundated with spray-tan booths.”

  “Not nearly as much as you’d think.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  On the taxi ride back to the airport, I had a chat with Camilla. She said she needed something to keep me in the mind of the celebrity booker for Life Stories. “I’m thinking that we set up a paparazzi photograph of you and Stephen looking at engagement rings.”

  “No thanks.”

  “Why not?”

  “Stephen hasn’t proposed.”

  “So?”

  “So I’m not doing it! In fact, to quote my sister, I’m not doing anything that compromises the things that are important to me.”

  “But this would cement Life Stories.”

  “I don’t care! Don’t call me ever again, Camilla.”

  Thought it was the perfect day until I joined the queue to board the plane home and saw Angus bounding towards me. I’d forgotten he was going to Glasgow to see his new flat.

  “We must be on the same flight,” he boomed.

  “Great.”

  The man standing behind me huffed at Angus for pushing in. So Angus glared at him, bodyguard style. “She’s held the space for me, pal, all right?”

  He wasn’t about to argue with the man-mountain.

  “Between you and me, the deal’s done,” Angus whispered in my ear.

  “What deal?”

  “You know. The deal.”

  “Oh, you mean with—”

  “Shush.” He leant back in to whisper, “He’s still got ter have a medical.”

  “Well, then it’s not actually done, is it?” I said, a bit narked that Stephen had told him first.

  The plane was full but Angus “negotiated” to swap seats with the man sitting beside me.

  Gr–rrreat, I thought again.

  “I never liked Rosie but I like yer, Remy,” he said as he bounced into his seat.

  “Erm … thanks.”

  “Yer know she used him, don’t yer?”

  “Angus, I don’t really want to talk about—”

  “So, yer need to understand what a big thing it was for Stevie when he said he’d look after yer.�
��

  Oh. Stephen must have been talking to him about us.

  “Now, he knows yer can look after yerself. The point is he wants to look after yer. That’s a big commitment. Especially after Rosie. Awkay?”

  I nodded.

  “And I’m happy fer yer both. Just…”

  “Just what?”

  “Well, we were a team, me and him. Yer know, Batman and Robin, Sherlock and Watson, Jazzy Jeff and The Fresh Prince. But he needs to get on with his new life now so … look after him for me.”

  That was it – Angus handing his job over to me.

  “I will. And thanks, Angus.”

  When we hit the London tarmac, I switched on my phone and had a text from a brand new Celtic player: Deal agreed. Only medical left!

  I texted back: Woo-hoo! Love you, baby. I’m on the way. xxx

  I assumed I’d share a cab ride with Angus but he explained he was besotted with a girl who’d served him at the airport’s Costa Coffee this morning, and he was going back to try his luck.

  Stephen was making dinner when I got to his place. Risotto, which to be honest looked like sick.

  “What do yer think?”

  I had the perfect excuse. “Um… I’m not allowed to eat carbs, babe.”

  He took one spoonful and spat it out. “I can’t eat that shite.”

  I said I’d make him some pasta. But there’s a TV in the kitchen and I was distracted by Friends and boiled it to mush.

  “The Big Man might have to come and live with us after all,” he said.

  Thursday 15 August – 10 a.m.

  When we got into bed I said, “Baby, I’ve been thinking.”

  “Aw, that could be dangerous.”

  “I’m serious.”

  He started to stroke my hair. “Go on then.”

  “I’m sorry if I sounded ungrateful the other day. I just wanted you to know that I’m nothing like Rosie, so I don’t want our relationship to be based on you looking after me. It should be based on both of us looking after each other.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “That’s why I think we should go into business together.”

  He looked surprised.

  “Open a salon, in Glasgow. You invest your money. I invest my skill and expertise. We split the profit fifty–fifty. What d’you think?”