Don't Stop Me Now: The perfect laugh out loud romantic comedy

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Don't Stop Me Now: The perfect laugh out loud romantic comedy Page 17

by Colleen Coleman

‘Poppy, you’re going to have to trust me here. I know it might seem scary, but you have nothing to worry about, I promise you. I wouldn’t have asked you to do this if I didn’t have absolute faith in you. That last caller on Friday – the one about the late-blooming daughter – that was perfect. I thought to myself when I heard you, if my daughter had a problem, what would I want for her? I’d like her to be able to access a professional, to get some sound advice. But if she contacted the station, she’d have got Hilary.’

  I look up at him, and he raises an eyebrow and shakes his head.

  ‘No way. She was judgemental, she didn’t listen and she made people feel like shit about themselves. I would like my daughter to call someone like you, Poppy. Someone who is real and relevant and positive and who can actually help. You have a chance today to help so many people; ordinary people, going about their everyday business, trying to do their best but in need of a little support, some encouragement, a nudge towards a decisive course of action. You can do that. You can give anybody feeling alone this morning access to free, professional support right from this studio. Right now.’

  I’d love to think that this is true. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do. It was what I was trying to achieve with my thesis. Is this the best way for me to do it? Is this exactly where I need to be?

  Astral raps on the glass and holds ten fingers in the air. The panel above the clock turns amber.

  ‘You can do this, Poppy,’ Jake says. ‘I know you can. I’ll be right here. Take your cue from me. I won’t drop you. Just trust me.’

  I think of the last time I heard that: ‘I won’t drop you.’ It was what Tom said to me just before I climbed on his shoulders. And you know what. He kept his word. He didn’t drop me.

  I look directly into Jake’s eyes. I trust him too. ‘Okay. We can do this. Let’s do this.’

  He dips his head to meet my eyes and places his hand on mine. ‘Good luck.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say as I fit my headphones and try to concentrate on the lights and the buttons and the levers and Astral’s flashing fingers as the ON AIR sign changes to green and we go live across London’s airwaves.

  Astral taps the glass partition and counts me down from three. I hand Jake the letter, and he rustles the tissue-thin paper and raises a quizzical eyebrow at the decorative flower in the corner.

  ‘Welcome back, folks. Hope your morning is going well so far … because of course, some things don’t quite go as planned. That’s live radio for you, live and unpredictable, as we’ve seen this morning.

  ‘On a completely different note, we’ve got something just a little bit special for you … I’m holding in my hands a letter; yes, a real, proper, old-school, handwritten letter that one of our listeners took the trouble to write and stamp and post in a letter box; a rare effort in today’s technological world. So, let’s have it. It’s from Benny, aka the Reclusive Gardener, who writes: “Dear Jake, I listen to your show every day without fail. I have done so for many years. I enjoy it immensely. However, I have never felt moved to write in before as Hilary’s manner never sat well with me. But I’m in a terrible quandary and I need to seek some help. So much so that I am now sitting at my desk penning this letter, which I hope will find its way to you.

  ‘“You see, I’m rather a hermit. I live alone in a lorry container, which I have refurbished to make my home. I am a gardener by trade, so I make a meagre living with odd jobs and maintenance work from the kind village folk, who accept me as I am despite my dullness and uninteresting ways. So where lies the problem? you may ask.

  ‘“Well, I have hit a kink in terms of my routine and my emotions. A very well-to-do lady from the city, a retired florist, has relocated to the village. I was referred to her to carry out some weeding and plant beds of English lavender – her favourite. And what can I say? I am quite struck by her. She is a most charming, beautiful and warm-hearted soul and quite the socialite. To lose her friendship would leave me at sea; however, I understand that she could never accept me as I am presently. This social inadequacy of mine needs knocking on the head, ironing out, giving notice and showing the door. My wish is to become the man she deserves so that we may flourish and grow together. Is there anything that can be done for one such as me?”

  ‘I have Poppy with me here. What do you think, Poppy?’ says Jake.

  I feel the adrenalin pumping in my ears. I take my cue and lean in to the microphone to begin my response. ‘Yes …’ I say. It comes out as a growl.

  Sweet Jesus. I clear my throat and swallow hard. Then I try again.

  ‘Yes, well, firstly, Benny … um, thank you so much for your very eloquent letter.’ Jake gives me a wink and slides over a glass of water. I take a sip. And a deep breath. ‘If you are half as charming as your turn of phrase, I understand entirely why the village folk and your lady friend care for you as they do. I am so glad that you wrote in, mainly because I think we can help you with some practical advice, but also because this is a huge issue. There are plenty of people at home or at work listening in this morning who have found themselves suffering from social anxiety at varying levels and as a result maybe withdrawing bit by bit from situations that make them feel nervous, uncomfortable, panicky or overwhelmed. To be honest, Benny, I’ve done this in my own life as well. In my own way, I tried to hide away from facing people or problems that I thought I couldn’t handle. But you know, bit by bit I’m finding out that I can handle more than I ever thought I could. And it feels good. Really good.

  ‘So let’s see where we can make the most difference to you, Benny. You’ve described yourself as “reclusive” and “a hermit”. I think there is a general assumption that somebody who lives in a remote or socially isolated way does so because they want to turn their back on society or be by themselves and away from other people. However, if you don’t mind, Benny, I’m going to zone in on a few things I’ve spotted in your letter that tell me that actually this may not be the case with you.’

  I’m studying the letter in my hand – so delicate, so heartfelt. I really hope Benny’s listening somewhere out there. Jake turns towards me, listening intently, his index finger playing on his lips. I think it’s going well. In fact I know it’s going well. I can feel it.

  ‘I believe that something else is going on here. Of course it was your choice to move into the lorry and create a distance between yourself and others; however, the way you describe yourself as “dull” and “uninteresting” and write that the village folk are “kind” to include you in any way tells me that you’ve created this distance not because you rejected your community but because you felt you were not worthy of being part of it. This is an easy trap to fall into, Benny. Believe me, I’ve done it myself. For a long time I labelled myself shy and quiet, until I started to realise that I’d outgrown that label. I wasn’t that person any more. And my label was keeping me from things I wanted do, people I wanted to get closer to.’

  I think of Tom. To think that I nearly went home rather than meet him by himself. I shudder at the thought.

  Jake leans towards me. ‘But if you believe that about yourself, Poppy, what can you do about it? How do you convince yourself otherwise?’

  Astral is nodding in her booth. We are back on track.

  ‘Great question, Jake. Really great question. We all have beliefs about ourselves that we can identify as core beliefs – they may have come from our childhood, our parents, our peer group. They can be entrenched very deeply and they can be positive or negative. For example, if I believe I’m rubbish at singing, then my musical skills will more than likely deteriorate because I’m not practising, so it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. But if I believe that I am a gifted singer, then I will have more confidence to sing, therefore I will sing more often and exercising my voice will lead to continued progress so …’

  ‘So that becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy too,’ finishes Jake.

  ‘Exactly! Once we acknowledge that core beliefs can work for us or against us, we are on the road to
better things. So, Benny, in your case I think you have a negative core belief that you are dull and that if you approach or interact with people they will find you uninteresting. Because of this you have kept your voice and your ideas to yourself and you may be out of practice in the art of conversation. You need to get back in the game!’

  ‘Poppy, do you think it would be fair to say that Benny might be being a bit hard on himself here; I mean, how does he know that he is dull or uninteresting? Might this only be his perception? For example, I could walk into his village pub right now and ask the drinkers in there, “What’s Benny like?” And they might describe him as the life and soul of the party!’

  ‘That is so true! So, so true. And when we hold personal beliefs about ourselves that are highly subjective, we have to make ourselves study the evidence carefully. So let’s look at Benny’s letter. He is clearly liked, even loved by his village peers, as they invite him to work for them and recommend him to others; and a brand-new beautiful woman has come to town and is very keen on him also. So I think Jake is onto something. Benny, we know you believe that you’re dull; why you believe this or whose fault it is that this belief came about really doesn’t matter now – it’s gone, done, in the past. It is time to start afresh. I’m convinced that you actually want to connect, engage and get closer to people, particularly your new lady friend.’

  Jake claps his hands together. ‘A-ha! Now we’re getting somewhere! I can see this; I can totally see how this makes sense. So now that we’ve got to the heart of the matter, what can Benny do to go about solving this “kink” as he puts it?’

  I shuffle up in my seat. This is classic! I can definitely help Benny. One hundred per cent this is going to work. And his life will be transformed.

  ‘Benny, I’m going to suggest a practical step that I want you to take. Nothing scary or dramatic; it’s just to build your confidence and get you back into the swing of things. Over the next week, I want you to ask your lady friend to help you buy a pot for her garden.’

  Jake gives me a confused look. Astral juts out her top lip as if to say ‘Wtf?’

  ‘Trust me. She is a florist; she will delight in the task of shopping for something that will enhance the beauty of the flowers. You will delight in spending time with her and sharing your mutual interest in the natural world. An adventure awaits you, Benny, and I promise it will be joyous if you can just be brave enough to open up and take that first step.’

  I know it sounds mad, but I can tell from Benny’s handwriting and his language and the picture he paints of his life that this is the right course for him. Now I just hope he can find the courage to follow it through.

  Astral motions a wrap-up through the glass and points to the wall clock. Four minutes to ten.

  ‘Aw, guys, we’re out of time!’ says Jake. ‘Where did that last twenty minutes go? I was totally immersed in Benny’s world! Right, Benny mate, we are wishing you the best here, sending you all the good vibes, all the luck and all the love we can muster. Give Poppy’s advice a go. And once you’ve followed through with it, get back in touch! Please send us an update. We want to know how this little love story between the reclusive gardener and the socialite florist blossoms! This last song is for you, Benny, and it’s a classic; who couldn’t use some Dionne Warwick to get them in the right frame of mind? Here we go with “What the World Needs Now” …’

  Is that it? Is it over? Already? I was just getting started!

  Jake throws off his headphones, Astral runs in through the double doors and both of them wrap their arms around me for a group hug. Astral grabs my shoulders. ‘Our switchboards have gone ballistic! Social media has blown up! #Lovebenny is trending right this second. I told you I had a good feeling about this week! What did I tell you! I am always right when I get that feeling! Welcome to the morning show, Dr Poppy Bloom – you’re exactly what we need right now.’

  Jake spins around on his chair. ‘So you’re ready to become our next big thing?’

  ‘Yeah, why not. I’m ready for anything.’

  As I walk home from work, I make a decision. I decide to practise what I preach. To take my own medicine. If I encourage someone do something I genuinely think will enhance their lives, then I need to be prepared to do it too. I can’t tell Benny to step up and ask someone out if I can’t muster the courage myself, can I?

  So I’m going to find Tom and ask him out on a date. Now that I’m sticking around in Brixton and I’ve secured a job, there’s really nothing left to stop me. So, Benny, I’m with you on this one. We’re both going to have to brave it. Our future happiness depends on it!

  I have a good feeling about this, Benny, like we’re just getting to the best bit.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The next morning, I show up for work at the same ungodly hour, but this time I’m bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and cannot wait to get stuck in. Astral whacks a contract down in front of me. It looks so good, I’m tempted to lick it on the dotted line. No hanging about; I start on Monday.

  Omfg! I’ve got my dream job. And until last week, I never even knew it existed. The next time I walk through these office doors it will be as Freelance Presenter and Guest Psychologist Dr Poppy Bloom.

  I sign it. I take a selfie with it.

  Astral makes me a copy and I read it and read it and read it again on the bus journey home later that day.

  I have a job. A job that pays money. A job that pays REALLY good money. And that I love so much it doesn’t even feel like I’m working.

  I call Markus to thank him for all his help and to let him know that I can now be taken off his register. I feel incredible. Strong and ready to take on anything.

  My mum is absolutely thrilled. She loves the station. It’s been playing in her salon for years and years, so she’s my number one fan. Poor Frank wasn’t as ecstatic when I had to break the news that we are now disqualified from ‘You Do the Maps’.

  ‘Sorry, Frank. Employees and relatives are not allowed to play. Just in case they cheat,’ I say, and hand him a box of chocolates to ease the blow.

  He shrugs. ‘Never mind, small price to pay for a glitzy new job on the radio.’ And then he takes the box up to the bath and eats it all by himself.

  I go to bed for a nap. It’s the only way I can manage to be bright and breezy with these early-morning starts and have a life as well. I set the alarm for 5 p.m. and then I’ll head to netball training. I cannot wait to tell them about my new job.

  When I get to netball, I find that the girls have already heard the news and are in discussion about this brave new direction that 105 FM is taking. Employing a listener and enlisting a real doctor who can assist with mental health rather than just aggravate and entertain. Apparently some people are saying it’s a publicity stunt. A few even think it spells the end for 105 FM altogether. That it is a last-ditch attempt to revive flagging ratings.

  Whatever it is, I’ve signed up to it. And I am so excited and so are all the girls.

  ‘I’ll tell everyone at work to tune in,’ says Shanice. ‘We’ve got you covered, okay?’ I give her a massive hug and we all decide that we need to celebrate. So straight after training, we hit the town and I buy EVERYBODY drinks at a cocktail bar. Credit card all the way; as the barman says, doesn’t matter now that I’m earning, that’s what it’s there for, right? Work to live, not live to work …

  I need to scope out the Tom situation with Leanne. How would she take it if she found out that I was interested in her twin brother? Would it bother her deeply or would she even care? Would she encourage me to go for it or warn me off altogether? Maybe I have misread the whole thing and Tom is just a really friendly guy and I shouldn’t get carried away?

  ‘How’s Tom doing?’ I ask, trying to sound casual. She raises a quizzical eyebrow. Busted. She takes a deep breath and tilts her head.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I say.

  ‘It’s just that if you get together, it means you could break up. And if you break up, I will have to lose one of you
. So basically, get with Tom by all means, but remember, unless you end up marrying each other, this whole thing could get very messy.’ She drains her margarita and holds up her glass to the barman for another. ‘I’m not against it. I just don’t want to see anybody get hurt,’ she adds.

  I tell him to make it two margaritas. Actually, four. They take so long to make but are so quick to sink.

  And then I tell Leanne that I’ll be careful. That I’d never hurt him. Or her.

  ‘Okay,’ she says. We clink our glasses and make our way over to the dancefloor. It’s Friday night after all and I feel on top of the world.

  I try to convince everyone to stay out with me, but they’ve all got work and kids and early starts, and so I go to the off licence and buy three bottles of champagne. One for me, one for mum and one for Frank.

  ‘Celebrating?’ says the grinning server behind the counter.

  ‘You bet!’ I tell him. ‘New job! First job! I’m earning, that’s what it’s there for, right? Work to live, not live to work …’

  He promises to tune in to 105 FM tomorrow so I buy him a bottle of champagne as well. Just because it seems the right thing to do at the time.

  I am finally ready to go to bed. I have let the adrenalin course through my system, and now I’m ready to lie down and succumb to an eight-hour coma. Frank is upstairs trying to figure out how to play Sudoku, and I clink the three empty bottles of champagne that my mother and I shared between us into the recycling bin. I push a cushion under my sleeping mother’s head and pull the blanket over her.

  I head to my bed, but before I go to sleep, I’ve got one last idea to make this the most amazing day in the history of my life … NO, Poppy! I try to warn myself. There are no such things as good drunk ideas! Wait until the morning. Don’t do it now! You’re so going to regret this …

  All my coherent thoughts float out of my ear and burst like soapy bubbles. There was just so much heat, so much electricity in Tom’s touch. His hand sent a bolt through me. And it’s getting worse. I’m thinking about him all the time. I thought about him yesterday when I saw a couple kissing against a wall like teenagers. And again last night as I tried to get to sleep. It’s becoming my default feel-good habit. Quite an addictive habit. I did it again this morning in the shower. As I stood under the water, I imagined him standing the same way, at the same time, in his own shower, at home or at the gym. Without clothes, running his lathered fingers through his hair and stretching out his strong tanned arms, soap bubbles sliding across his taut stomach …

 

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