by Isabel Wolff
‘Right, that’s enough niceness,’ said Joe. ‘Let’s go out. Let’s go …’
‘Where?’
‘To the Tate.’
And why not? So we did. And as we walked to Chalk Farm Tube in the sunshine, Joe was still expressing abundant wonderment at how we’d found each other again.
‘I was thinking about you when I got in that cab at the airport,’ he said, as we walked over the railway bridge, ‘and the radio was on and suddenly there you were. As if by magic. As if someone had said, “Abracadabra”. And hearing you say those things about me, it just –’ he squeezed my hand – ‘it got to me. As I sat there, listening to you, jet-lagged, and in total shock, everything fell into place. I just had to see you – right away. So I asked the driver to take me straight to London FM. It was you, Minty,’ he said again, wonderingly, as we stood on the southbound platform. (Amber’s abuse, you will be glad to know, had long since been erased.) ‘It was all because of you,’ Joe said again. ‘I mean, one minute I’m a complete nobody, just another hopeful scriptwriter. The next thing I know, the phone starts to ring and it doesn’t stop. And agents are sending stretch limos to collect me, and producers and directors are requesting meetings. But what amazed me was that everyone seemed to know all about my script without having read it. And then ICM sign me up, and they tell me that Nicholas Cage, Kevin Spacey and Leonardo DiCaprio have all been asking to read it. And by now I’m getting invitations to galas and premieres.’
‘Which is how you met Kelly-Ann Jones, who you kissed.’
‘No,’ he said, vehemently, as the train arrived, with a roar, and we stepped on.
‘Yes you did.’
‘I did not.’
‘Joe, you know I hate to disagree with you. But you did.’
‘I did not kiss Kelly-Ann Jones.’
‘Sorry, that is simply not true.’
‘It is true.’
‘Joe, don’t lie to me.’
‘I did not kiss Kelly-Ann Jones,’ he said emphatically. ‘She kissed me. I was gobsmacked,’ he added. ‘Literally. I was so taken aback – I’d only met her once before. But one of the photographers asked for a shot, and before I knew what had happened, her arms were round my neck and her collagenenhanced lips were pressed to mine! It was all for the cameras, of course. Her star’s been waning of late and mine was rising, fast. Anyway,’ he went on as we rattled southwards, ‘I was getting all these invitations here there and everywhere, and everyone seemed to know who I was. It was as though some deus ex machina had suddenly pressed the big green button marked “Go”. I couldn’t work out how this had happened. Why it was all so effortless when I’d expected to have to sweat and convince and cajole. It was only when I heard you on the radio, explaining what you’d done, that I finally understood. Minty, do you realise, you whipped the Hollywood rumour mill into complete hysteria on my behalf?’
‘I had no idea,’ I said, again. I laughed and shrugged – it had dumbfounded me as much as it had Joe. ‘I wasn’t consciously trying to talk you up,’ I explained. ‘I was just trying to find you. So, in order to identify you, I had to tell everyone about your film, and they all thought it sounded great.’
‘You did the most amazing PR campaign for me,’ he said, shaking his head again, in disbelief. ‘It took off like a firestorm. I was the talk of the town.’
‘Did you really not know I was there?’ I asked as we got out at Embankment.
‘Absolutely not,’ he replied. ‘If I had, of course, I’d have got in touch. I did hear that a British woman had been asking after me,’ he added thoughtfully as we walked along the Thames. ‘But I was told she was called Emily. And I don’t know anyone called Emily. And in any case, there are loads of British women working in LA.’
‘Emily?’ I said wonderingly. ‘How did I become Emily?’ And then it clicked. ‘Minty …Mindy …Minnie …Millie …Em-i-ly. That’s what happens with Chinese Whispers.’
‘Chinese Whispers,’ said Joe. ‘That’s exactly what it was. And the whispers grew into a whirlwind, and then suddenly there was a bidding war.’
‘A bidding war?’
‘Columbia were really keen,’ he said as we passed the House of Commons and entered Victoria Gardens. ‘They bid first. Then Miramax came in, and Warner, and Paramount, and they were all vying for the script. In the end, it went to Paramount.
‘Paramount?’ I said, as we strolled beneath an avenue of plane trees, then stood for a moment, watching the sun glinting off the silty water.
‘Yes,’ he said, above the hum of the traffic and the lazy slap of the river against the wall. ‘This guy called Michael Kravitz was desperate to get it,’
‘Michael Kravitz?’
‘Yes, Michael Kravitz.’
‘We met him at Barney’s,’ I explained as we stood up again, and walked on. ‘He was terribly nice. We told him all about you. He said he worked for Paramount.’
‘He certainly does. He’s their Senior Vice-President.’
‘And he’s the one who bought your film?’
‘Yes.’ And don’t think I’d be so vulgar as to ask Joe what Paramount had paid, but he told me anyway and, look, I’m sorry, I really can’t tell you, but believe me, it’s a colossal amount. Anyway, that’s why Joe’s come back to the UK, to sort out his affairs. And, yes, he will be going back to LA again, but I don’t want to think about that now.
‘So, is Kelly-Ann Jones going to be in your film?’ I asked as we strolled towards Lambeth Bridge. I hoped my casual demeanour would mask my hissing jealousy.
‘She wants to be,’ he replied. ‘She’s after the role of the boy’s teacher – the part I told you about, remember? – but, to be honest, she’s too old.’
‘She looks about twenty-five.’
‘Minty – she’s forty-three.’
‘Forty-three?’ I was astounded. ‘Well, she’s obviously drinking the right brand of coffee, that’s all I can say.’
‘No, Minty. This is Hollywood. Her face has been skilfully superannuated – twice.’
‘Ah.’
‘Close up, she’s about as natural as canned laughter. No, I need someone young and fresh-looking for that role,’ he added thoughtfully. ‘I’ve got my mental short list.’
‘And what about your phone?’ I said, as we walked up the steps of the Tate through the milling crowds.
‘Phone?’
‘I rang you several times on your mobile phone, but you never called me back.’
‘Ah – that’s because I had it stolen on day one,’ he exclaimed. ‘My hire car was broken into and it was nicked. That’s why you didn’t get a reply.’ We walked through the echoing marble corridors with their rainbow-shaped arches to the special exhibition at the back. ‘ABRACADABRA!’ we read in huge black letters.
‘Abracadabra!’ said Joe, with a smile. Inside, weird and wonderful objects met our eyes. A robotic replica of a Japanese man, a portrait, in chocolate, of Jackson Pollock; red plastic water lilies, ten feet high; and a huge sunburst made of yellow glass. And then we turned a corner and gasped, for ahead of us, on a platform, was a table football like no other. It was over twenty feet long. It had forty rods at least. It was a triple stretch limo version of a pub football game. What was more, it worked.
‘Vous voulez jouer?’ said Joe, and I was suddenly transported back a year, to Paris. He held out his hand.
‘Do you want to play?’ he said again. I looked at him, and laughed.
‘Yes,’ I said happily. ‘Let’s play.’
‘It’s a wonderful play,’ said Mum enthusiastically at supper the following Saturday. She and Dad had come round ‘to see the kittens’, before they leave with Amber. At least, that was their excuse. Their real reason for coming was because they wanted to check out Joe.
‘I love the theatre, don’t you, Joe?’ said Mum warmly, as she passed him the salad.
‘Oh yes,’ he said, ‘I do.’
‘Super, darling!’ squawked Pedro.
‘And the Winter’s T
ale is such a marvellous play.’
‘It’s a wonderful play,’ Joe agreed.
‘It’s about resurrection, and redemption,’ said Amber with a dreamy smile. ‘It’s about being given a second chance when you thought that all was lost.’
‘And what part are you playing, Mrs Malone?’ Joe enquired politely as he poured her some wine.
‘Oh, I’m not acting, dear,’ she exclaimed. ‘No, I’m just helping out behind the scenes. I’m doing wardrobe. We’ve hired the costumes from the RSC – they’re very elaborate, you know. Some of them have thirty-five loop fastenings!’
‘Really?’ I said with a wry smile.
‘Don’t you want to act in any of the plays?’ Laurie asked her as I drained the new potatoes. ‘I’m sure you’d be very good.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t mind, actually,’ said Mum, blushing slightly. ‘In fact, they’re holding auditions next week and I might just have a bash. It’s Priestley,’ she explained: ‘When We Are Married.’
‘When are we married?’ Amber said to Laurie with a smile. She twisted the square emerald on her left hand.
‘Whenever you want,’ he said. ‘Name the day. I’m yours.’
‘No! Really?’ squawked Pedro, shaking his wings.
‘Laurie starts full time as a vet on Monday,’ said Amber proudly. ‘He’s going to help all those poor little darling animals.’
‘And the first thing I’m going to do,’ he said, as Perdita walked in from the garden, followed by her wobbling offspring, ‘is to take my scalpel to your cat.’
‘Poor Perdita,’ said Amber, bending down to stroke her. ‘Couldn’t she have just one more lot?’
‘There are too many unwanted kittens,’ he said wearily. ‘I feel we should set an example.’
‘Any takers for them yet?’ Dad asked. He had picked up Tinky-Winky, the fattest, and plonked it, mewing, on to his lap. They were seven weeks old now, and almost weaned. It was time to find them homes.
‘Would you like one, Uncle David?’ said Amber.
‘What?’
‘Would you like a kitten?’
‘Would I like a kitten?’ he repeated.
‘Yes. You and Auntie Dympna can have one, if you’d like. You can have Tinky-Winky.’
‘Well …’ Dad looked at Mum uncertainly. ‘Yes, I would rather,’ he said. ‘I like cats, and we’ve got time to look after one now.’
‘And I’d like Minty to have Jesus,’ Amber announced, ‘as a memento of my year-long stay in Primrose Hill.’
‘I’d love to have Jesus,’ I said, happily, as I picked him up. ‘As long as you don’t mind if I change his name. I really don’t think it’s right.’
‘But in Spain, it’s a very common name,’ she said. ‘It’s like Felipe or José.’
‘I just don’t feel comfortable about it,’ I said.
‘I don’t think Jesus feels too great about it either,’ said Laurie as he took the kitten from me and held it up with both hands. ‘Because the fact is, everyone, that Jesus is a girl.’
‘Oh,’ said Amber. ‘OK, we’ll call him Mary instead.’
‘Yes, Mary,’ said Joe. ‘There’s something about Mary,’ he added with a funny sort of smile.
‘Perdita’s been such a good mother,’ I said. ‘She’s hardly left her box the whole time. Just dashing out through the cat-flap twice a day, and then rushing straight back to her babies as though the kitchen’s on fire. She’s taken her responsibilities very seriously.’
‘Well, she obviously enjoyed motherhood,’ said Amber. ‘I do think we ought to let her have just one more lot, now that I know what to do. The birthing process is so fascinating,’ she said expansively. ‘Both feline and human. I’ve been reading about it. Do you know that during pregnancy a woman’s lower ribs flare out to make room for the growing baby?’
‘Really?’ I said, glancing at Amber’s tub of folic acid by the spice-rack.
‘And a baby’s brain doubles in volume in the first twelve months, reaching 60 per cent of adult size by the end of its first year.’
‘Incredible!’
‘Incredible!’ Pedro screeched.
‘Incredible?’ said Amber incredulously, staring at him.
‘What a funny thing!’ we all said.
‘Anyway, Joe, when do you go back to Los Angeles?’ Dad enquired.
‘Mid September, but just for a month,’ he explained, ‘to do some more work on the script. And then shooting starts in February, so I’ll go out again for that.’
‘And do you think you’ll stay out there?’ said Dad, asking the question he knew I dared not ask myself.
I started clearing away the plates, aware that my face was on fire.
‘I’m not making any plans yet,’ I heard Joe say quietly. ‘I’m just taking everything as it comes.’
‘Quite right too,’ said Mum, as I filled the kettle.
‘Minty,’ whispered Dad later, as we washed up. Everyone else had taken their coffee into the garden. ‘Minty,’ he said again.
‘Yes?’
‘There’s something I wanted to tell you …’
‘What?’ He was looking uncharacteristically shifty.
‘There’s something I wanted to explain.’
‘Oh?’
‘About that time …’
‘What time?’
‘That time you and Joe saw me, outside, er, Sadler’s Wells.’
‘Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I lied, glancing into the garden. ‘The clematis is lovely this year, isn’t it?’
‘I feel there’s something I should explain,’ Dad persevered.
‘Sorry, but it’s none of my business,’ I said as I rinsed a bowl.
‘Well, I just wanted to clear it up.’
‘Why? I mean, what?’
‘I felt it was important,’ he went on. ‘Because, you see, there was gossip.’
‘Gossip?’
‘And I didn’t want you to hear anything …funny about me. Do you understand, Minty?’
‘Sorry, Dad,’ I said, as I agitated the soapy water, ‘but I’m really tired, my brain isn’t working at full speed, and even if it was, I don’t see how your visit to Sadler’s Wells has anything to do with me.’
‘People began to talk,’ he said, as he wiped another dinner plate.
‘Talk?’
‘Yes, about me and …’
Oh God, I didn’t want to hear any confessions. If Dad had had an affair I really didn’t want to know. He and Mum seemed perfectly OK now.
‘They began to talk,’ he tried again. ‘They began to talk about me and …’ I didn’t care what her name was ‘ …Kevin.’
‘Kevin?’ I repeated.
‘Yes, Kevin.’
‘Kevin, as in your golf partner?’
‘Yes, you see …’
‘Are you saying there’s been gossip about you and Kevin?’
‘Yes. Because, well, Minty, it’s rather embarrassing really, but the fact is Kevin and I both like …ballet. And Kevin’s wife hates it, and your mother’s not very keen, and anyway, she was too involved with her charity work to go. But Kevin and I like it. And we especially like Coppelia. So we decided to see it. Together.’
‘You were waiting for Kevin that night?’
‘Yes. And I’m afraid there’ve been some very silly remarks about us at the golf club as a result, and I was just anxious that you should know the truth.’
‘Ah,’ I said. ‘That’s why you looked so embarrassed.’
‘Yes, it is. Because although Kevin and I felt we had nothing to be ashamed of, at the same time we were hoping we wouldn’t bump into anyone we knew …I was so taken aback when I saw you, and I didn’t want to explain it all to you in front of Joe.’
‘I see,’ I said, and I was laughing now. ‘Does Mum know all this?’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘she does. I know it was a silly deception. But now you can see why I was embarrassed.’
‘Well, yes. Or rather, no. Not real
ly. Anyway, it’s all all right.’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘it is. It’s all fine. So we’re going to Swan Lake next week.’
‘Thank you for listening,’ said Amber, adjusting her headphones in Studio C, ‘and do join me for next week’s programme, in which I’ll be talking to A. S. Byatt about another great Victorian novel, Vanity Fair. But until then, from me, and from my guest, William Boyd, goodbye.’
‘That was Amber Dane,’ said Barry. ‘It’s a Classic! was brought to you in association with Borders Bookshop. Bleak House is published in paperback by Penguin at the special price of £2.50. And now the travel news, brought to you by Alfa Romeo …’
‘That was wonderful,’ I said to Amber, after she’d shown William Boyd out. ‘I was riveted. You’re a natural.’
‘Do you really think so?’
‘Yes, I do. The format’s perfect for you.’
‘And did I fluff?’
‘No, but you popped once or twice, so don’t sit too close to the mike. And be careful not to rustle your notes.’
‘I really enjoyed it,’ she said again as we went up to the third floor in the lift. ‘It was so …intimate,’ she added as she clutched her copy of the book. ‘It was so exciting doing it live, and we covered so much ground.’ Indeed, they had. The programme was only fifteen minutes long, but in that time she and William Boyd had discussed Bleak House, ranging over its themes and characterisation, the world it portrays, as well as bringing in snippets of biographical information about Dickens and the social history of the day. Here and there, they had read short extracts to illustrate their points, and the effect was of a conversation between two people both of them passionately interested in the same book. It was fantastic.
‘Fantastic, Amber,’ said Jack, with a smile. ‘You’ve got such a good voice, and it was clear you knew what you were talking about. The listeners like to feel they’re in safe hands when they turn on the radio, and that’s how you made me feel. Oh,’ he said, with a laugh, ‘sorry, I should have introduced you. These are my two step-daughters, Topaz and Iolanthe.’ The girls smiled awkwardly at Amber and me. It was national ‘Bring Your Daughter to Work Day’, so Jack had brought them in to London FM.