by Isabel Wolff
‘Oh dear,’ said Belinda. She looked distraught.
‘Yes. Exactly,’ I said. ‘Oh dear. And I’m not going to tell you why I shouted at Joe, except to say that it was because he’d made me confront something that I’d suppressed for a very long time. And I didn’t like it, because I knew he was right. It was as though he’d held up one of those magnifying mirrors. The kind that show you all your defects in unpalatable close-up – all your imperfections, and lines and open pores. There’s no escaping them with a mirror like that. And that’s what it was like with Joe. And I didn’t like the view, so I lost my temper. And if there was one person I shouldn’t have lost my temper with, it was him. So I regretted it. In fact, I regretted it very, very much. Anyway,’ I went on with a sigh, ‘eventually, I phoned him to apologise, but he’d left. He’d gone to LA, to work. And I felt terrible because he’d come to mean so much. I’d assumed we’d be together, because by now I couldn’t imagine being apart. I felt just so, so bad. Then a friend of mine suggested that I go and look for him, and so that’s what I did.’
‘You went to Los Angeles?’ said Belinda.
‘Yes, I went to Los Angeles and I searched for him. I looked everywhere. I looked in all the bars and cafés, and I phoned loads of agents and film producers. I asked all the actors and scriptwriters I met – anyone who might possibly have a lead. I told them about Joe’s film, and how wonderful it is, but they didn’t know who he was. I think they do now, though. Eventually I found out where he lived, and I went there. But he wasn’t in. I hung around all day, but he didn’t come back. And the reason why he didn’t come back was because I was standing outside the wrong house. Because I’d been given the wrong address. But I didn’t know that until afterwards, by which time it was too late.’
‘So you never found him, then?’
‘Oh yes, I did find him. On my way to the airport I suddenly saw him, outside a theatre with this woman. And they were being photographed. And they looked very happy together. And then they kissed. And later, I saw their photo in a magazine, and it said they were a “pair”. So I did find Joe. But at the same time I missed him. And I miss him now. In fact, I really miss him, because I think he was The One.’ I exhaled painfully, paused for a second, then looked up at the computer screen again. ‘OK, just time for a few more calls,’ I said. ‘And on Line 4 we have Ella from Crouch End. Hi, Ella, welcome to the show. What’s your story?’
‘I don’t have a story,’ she said quietly. ‘I want to talk about your story. I think it’s very sad and you shouldn’t leave it there.’
‘I agree,’ said Belinda roundly.
‘I mean, that girl might not mean much to him,’ Ella went on.
‘I thought of that,’ I said. ‘But then, Joe isn’t shallow. In fact, he’s very cautious with women, so I don’t think he’d kiss someone like that unless he felt very attached.’
‘What sort of kiss was it?’
‘Well, you know, a proper one.’
‘How long did it go on?’
‘Look, I don’t know. I was driving slowly by in a cab, so I got a pretty good view, but I can only tell you that it was …’ I heaved another painful sigh ‘ …a proper, lingering kiss.’
‘Mmm,’ she said, thoughtfully, ‘but he can’t have known her that long.’
‘Maybe not, but he’s obviously clicked with her very quickly, which means he’s keen.’
‘Well, I think you should write to him and tell him what happened,’ Ella persisted.
‘There’s no point,’ I replied. ‘In any case, I’m not sure he’d want to know. He’s six thousand miles away. He has a new life now. He’s moving on. And so must I.’ I picked another caller. ‘And now we have Nicola on Line 5, calling from Wandsworth. What’s your point, Nicola?’
‘Look, Minty,’ said Nicola, ‘I agree with the previous caller. I think you should try again.’
‘Oh, do you?’
‘Yes, Joe’s new relationship may not last very long,’ she went on. ‘Have you thought of that?’
‘Well, yes, I have,’ I conceded wearily. ‘But I can’t hang around for him on spec. I’d be consumed with jealousy and the frustration would probably kill me. So, thanks for the suggestion, but no thanks. And on Line 3, we have Mike. What do you want to talk about, Mike?’
‘You!’ he said forthrightly, his voice echoing slightly on his mobile phone. ‘I want to talk about you and Joe.’ Oh God. Not another one. ‘I’m a cab driver, right,’ he explained. ‘I listen to you quite a lot, girl, and I feel like I’ve got to know you a bit. And I agree with the previous callers: you’re making a big mistake. If I was Joe, I’d be well gutted to know that you’d tried so hard to find me.’
‘Well, Joe isn’t going to know, because he has a new life now and that’s that.’
‘That’s no bleedin’ good,’ said Mike. ‘I can’t believe you’re being such a wimp. What, mate? – Sorry, just got to talk to my fare.’
‘I agree with Mike,’ said Nicola on Line 5. ‘You’re being a wimp.’
‘No I’m not,’ I shot back.
‘Yes you are,’ said Ella on Line 2. ‘And you can’t be as fond of him as you say you are otherwise you wouldn’t give up so easily.’
‘Look,’ I said – I was getting slightly irritated now – ‘not only was I very fond of him, I was in love with him. In fact,’ I added, ‘I still am, OK? And I didn’t just give up “so easily”. I went to enormous trouble to find him, and it didn’t work. But I did try.’
‘Not hard enough, girl,’ said Mike on Line 3.
‘Look,’ I said, ‘didn’t you hear me say that he’s got someone else?’
‘Yeah, but relationships don’t last five minutes in Hollywood, everyone knows that,’ he said over the diesel chug of his engine. ‘They change partners there like they change their bleedin’ shirts.’
‘Yes,’ said Nicola on Line 5. ‘What makes you think Joe’s going to stick with this woman?’
‘Look, I know all this logically,’ I conceded. ‘But I can only say that it’s profoundly discouraging seeing the object of your affection passionately kissing someone else. Though I was at least grateful that it wasn’t Cameron Diaz.’
‘What have you got against Cameron Diaz?’ said Ella.
‘Nothing really, I …’
‘She was great in There’s Something About Mary.’
‘Yes, she was,’ I said. ‘She was very good in that.’
‘No, I preferred her in My Best Friend’s Wedding,’ said Nicola.
‘Oh yes,’ said Ella, ‘that karaoke scene was hilarious.’
‘I think her best performance was in A Life Less Ordinary,’ said Belinda judiciously.
‘Yes. Yes, she was excellent in that,’ I agreed wearily.
‘Look, can we stop talking about Cameron Diaz!’ said Mike. ‘We’re talking about Minty and Joe here.’
‘Oh yes,’ they all said.
‘Now look, Minty,’ Mike went on, ‘have you got the right address for Joe now?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I have. It’s 19 Harbor Street, Venice Beach.’
‘Then write to him. Write to him tonight, girl.’
‘No, I’m not going to do that.’
‘Why not?’ Why not? Why not?
‘Because a) he lives in Los Angeles, and b) he’s got a girlfriend.’
‘And c) you’re in love with him,’ said Ella, ‘and d) he’s The One.’
‘That’s right,’ said Mike. ‘You’ve got to try to get ‘im back because life ain’t a bleedin’ dress rehearsal! Where to now, mate?’
‘That’s true,’ said Nicola on Line 5. ‘We only get one chance.’
‘There’s nothing worse than futile regrets,’ said Belinda. ‘Imagine looking back, when you’re ninety and saying, “if only”.’
‘OK, OK,’ I said, ‘I hear what you all say. But I really would like to change the subject. And on Line 1 now is Lizzie from Hampstead. Hopefully, Lizzie’s going to talk about something else.’
; ‘No I’m not!’ said Lizzie, in a tone of voice which took me aback. ‘Now, you listen to me,’ she went on, fiercely, audibly drawing on a cigarette. ‘You’re being bloody ridiculous! Joe’s obviously a wonderful man. You clearly had a very real connection with him, and you’re a complete coward not to go that extra mile.’
‘Yes, don’t be such a coward, Minty!’ said Nicola, crossly. ‘I’m disappointed in you.’
‘So am I!’ said Ella vehemently.
‘And me,’ said Mike.
My God! This was getting nasty. I glanced through the glass for moral support, but they all seemed to find my discomfiture amusing. I looked at the clock: only two minutes of air-time to go. Thank God for that. I’d had enough of this phone-in. I’d start to wind the programme up, right now, before they wound me up any more.
‘Do try and put it right,’ said Belinda. ‘Write to Joe.’
‘I can’t,’ I said, simply. ‘Life isn’t like A Midsummer’s Night Dream,’ I went on. ‘Jack doesn’t always have Jill. Sometimes Jack opts for someone else. Kelly-Ann, for example. There aren’t always happy endings. You admitted as much yourself.’
‘But we can make our own happy endings!’ said Mike.
‘No, we can’t. Not if it’s just not meant to be. It’s destiny,’ I added. ‘It’s Fate.’
‘No it isn’t!’ exclaimed Lizzie. ‘The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in our selves,’ she declaimed. ‘Julius Caesar, Act One,’ she added crisply.
I’d had enough of this. There was still a minute to go, but I was going to come out early. Tough.
‘Well, I’m afraid there we must bring the programme to an end,’ I said.
‘Just get off your arse, Minty!’ said Mike.
‘I’d like to thank you all for joining me today …’
‘Don’t be such a sap!’ said Ella.
‘ …for this special edition of the programme.’
‘You’re being a bloody fool!’ said Lizzie.
‘Do join us again …’
‘A total idiot!’ said Nicola.
‘tomorrow …’
‘In fact, Minty,’ said a familiar voice, ‘you’re being a complete MORON!’
‘Don’t call me a moron, Joe. I’ve told you that before …’
‘Well, you are!’
‘In the meantime …’ Joe? ‘ …from all of us on Capitalise …’ Joe!’ …goodbye.’
‘Joe!’ I was so shocked I stood up without taking off my headphones and nearly garrotted myself on the lead. ‘That was Joe,’ I said, as I pushed through the studio doors. ‘That was Joe!’ I said again.
‘Yes,’ said Wesley, ‘it was.’
‘Where was he phoning from?’
‘That cab.’
‘The cab?’
‘Yes, the cab.’
‘Where is he now?’ I said.
‘He’s in reception,’ said Wesley.
‘Reception?’ I said, as I feverishly groped in my bag for a comb.
‘That’s what he said. He said he was just being dropped off at reception.’
‘Christ, where’s my lipstick?’ I said.
‘By the way,’ Jack went on as I found my hand mirror, ‘I really liked your cousin’s contribution. Isn’t she the girl who read at your wedding?’
‘Yes. Yes, she is,’ I said as I applied mascara with my right hand, and squished on scent with my left.
‘Lovely voice,’ he said thoughtfully.
‘Yes. In fact …look, there’s something I want to talk to you about, Jack.’
‘Tell me later, Minty,’ he said with a smile.
I rushed out of the studio towards the lift. Oh Christ – there was an ‘Out of Order’ notice on it. I flew to the emergency stairs, and began to take them three at a time. Suddenly I saw Monica coming up them towards me.
‘Minty!’ she called. ‘Have you heard what’s happened?’
‘Yes, I have, I’m just going to meet him.’
‘What do you mean, you’re going to meet him? He’s run off!’
‘He’s run off?’
‘Yes – run off.’
‘What are you talking about?’ I said. This was too much in one day.
‘He’s run off,’ she repeated. ‘It’s a scandal.’
‘But he’s only just got here.’
‘Mr Happy Bot has run off,’ she announced.
‘What?’
‘Citronella’s husband’s run off with someone!’
‘Citronella?’
‘Yes, Citronella. Her husband’s done a bunk! I’ve just heard.’
‘Citronella? Oh. Wow! Well …’ I said as I resumed my downward flight.
‘Can you believe it?’ shouted Monica incredulously.
‘Yes,’ I called up the stairs, ‘I can. I mean, she’s absolutely frightful and that nanny of theirs is very pretty.’
‘Oh, it’s not the nanny!’ I heard Monica shout as I hurtled down the steps and flung my arms round Joe. ‘It’s not the nanny,’ she added gaily. ‘It’s a man!’
July
Pop! Fizzzzzzzz. Chink. ‘Everything clicks with Veuve Clicquot,’ intoned Rupert Everett urbanely. ‘Veuve Clicquot,’ he went on smoothly, ‘Make your clique click with Veuve.’
‘And now a look at London’s weather,’ said Barry, ‘brought to you by Ralph Lauren, the label which looks good in all seasons. It’s going to be another warm, sunny day …’
I reached out a hand and groped for the ‘off’ button on my radio alarm. I wanted to concentrate on the papers. ‘PRATT FALL!’ announced the centre pages of the Mail on Sunday. ‘Un-nappy Ever After as Happy Bot Gives Chairman the Boot!’ Andrew Pratt’s predilections were hardly of public concern, but lacking other news, the Mail on Sunday had decided to go to town. It described him as a ‘pervert’, a man whose company extolled the virtues of family life, while his own marriage had been a hollow sham. There was a photo of the Pratts in happier times, smirking outside their country home, and an aerial shot of the copse on Hampstead Heath where Andrew Pratt had been found, in flagrante, with ‘a friend’. ‘We are what we are,’ was Mr Pratt’s mysterious comment, beneath a shot of him leaving his shuttered house. He had been cautioned by the police, summarily sacked by his board, and thrown out by his wife. He had now gone to France with his lover, who he described, rather grandly, as an ‘international hairdresser’. London FM, anxious to avoid adverse publicity, had swiftly found a new sponsor for the weather.
I imagined that this combination of events, not least the loss of her influence with us, would have cast a pall over Citronella. I turned to the back of the Sunday Semaphore, expecting to see that she had not filed. But, greatly to my surprise, there she was. In fact, she seemed in unusually combative form, proudly displaying her emotional distress as though it were a wound sustained in war.
‘I will triumph over this,’ she thundered defiantly in quasi-Churchillian mode. I could almost visualise her giving herself a victory sign whilst chewing on a cigar. ‘I will not be bowed,’ she vowed. ‘I am suffering, yes, as my sex have always suffered, but I will hold my head high and come through. These experiences are a forge,’ she went on melodramatically, ‘in which the female heart is tempered like steel. I am determined to prove that women can not only survive, but even flourish, without men.’
‘Amazing,’ I murmured. ‘Absolutely amazing.’
‘Yes, Minty,’ said Joe sleepily. ‘It is.’ He threw a naked arm across me and pulled me back down into the bed and the papers slithered to the floor in a whisper of newsprint.
‘Oh, Minty,’ he said.
‘Oh, Joe,’ I replied.
‘Oh, Minty,’ he murmured as his lips found mine. ‘You’re just so …repellent.’
‘Thanks,’ I whispered.
‘You’re so disgusting to look at,’ he added as our limbs entwined.
‘Really?’
‘Mmmm. I find you so utterly …gruesome,’ he went on as his hands roamed over my naked back and our breathing increased. ‘In
fact,’ he went on, as his eyes gazed down into mine, so close now that I could count his lashes, ‘you’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.
‘I hate you,’ he added happily.
‘I hate you too,’ I sighed.
Afterwards, we sat in the garden in the sunshine, in our pyjamas, with a tray of coffee and toast. Amber and Laurie had gone flat-hunting, or perhaps they were tactfully keeping out of our way.
‘It really is amazing,’ said Joe wonderingly. We were side by side on the bench, our arms entwined like the tendrils of my clematis. ‘Amazing,’ he said again, his head shaking in disbelief.
‘And would you have phoned me anyway?’ I asked him, for the fourth or fifth time. I needed to be absolutely sure.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I would. I was longing to see you again, Minty. I was really sorry about what happened in Café Kick.’
‘I was very sorry too.’
‘I was very, very sorry.’
‘I bet you weren’t as sorry as me.’
‘It’s very nice of you to say so, Minty, but I think you’ll find I was.’
‘No, I believe I was sorrier than you were, because, after all, it was my fault.’
‘But I was particularly sorry because I’d provoked you, by implying that you were a moron, which, of course, you’re not.’
‘Oh, thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘But I was terribly, terribly sorry,’ I persisted, ‘because the torrent of abuse I unleashed on you was, I feel with hindsight, excessive.’
‘No, no, no, I fully deserved it, Minty.’
‘With respect, Joe, I disagree. It was quite gratuitous, and I’d just like …’ and here I kissed him ‘ …to apologise wholeheartedly and unreservedly again.’
We smiled at each other smugly. It’s so nice knowing that you’re, well, nice.