Curled up in bed on Saturday night, Georgie glanced tenderly – actually rather drunkenly – at her handsome yet stressed boyfriend, who was lying on his back staring up at the ceiling. A patch of moonlight was falling through a gap in the curtains onto his forehead, lighting it up like a landing signal. It made him look kind of ridiculous, which in turn left Georgie feeling disloyally giggly. Simon was not normally someone who allowed himself to look ridiculous.
Rolling over towards him in a sudden rush of affection, she knocked gently on his forehead. ‘Knock knock,’ she said.
He turned slightly, the patch of moonlight falling briefly across his eye like a pirate patch. ‘Who’s there?’
She pressed herself against him. ‘Forehead,’ she said, or rather all the wine she’d drunk earlier did.
‘Forehead who?’
Ahh. This was the problem with accidentally starting a joke to which you had no punchline. She thought quickly. ‘Fore-heddan’s sake, Si, you’d better not snore tonight.’ She grinned at her own lightning wit. ‘Forehead-an’s. For heaven’s. Get it?’
He rolled over and slung a heavy thigh over hers. ‘That was terrible, Georgie. Really bad,’ he said, but she could hear he was smiling. ‘If you have to explain a joke, it generally means it doesn’t work.’
Affronted, she elbowed him in the ribs. ‘You do one, then,’ she told him.
‘Knock knock,’ he said after a moment, knocking on her forearm.
‘Who’s there?’
‘Arm.’
‘Arm who?’
‘Ah, my lovely girl, go to sleep. Get it? ARM my lovely—’
‘Si, if you have to explain a joke, it generally means—’
‘Oh, shush. Good night, Georgie.’
‘Good night, Simon.’
They were getting there, thought Georgie optimistically, as they lay together in the darkness and she heard his breathing lengthen and slow. Navigating their way in this new place, recalibrating their relationship in its changed setting. They’d had a good laugh together that day, mucking about on the funfair at the end of the pier, screaming on the roller coaster (her), winning a stuffed gorilla on the hook-a-duck (him) and people-watching in general. Then they’d sauntered back to the flat via a pub for a cheeky half, and had enjoyed really good sex on the living-room floor with the windows open. Yeah! That was one advantage of living high above street level at least. If they’d tried that back in Stonefield, they’d have had Mrs Huggins from next door knocking anxiously after two minutes, calling through the letterbox to see if they were okay, only she thought she’d heard a bird trapped in the chimney or something.
We’ll be okay, she thought, remembering how they’d lain there afterwards, breathless and feeling naughty, buck naked on the living-room floor. Five and a half months to go and they’d be back home in Stonefield anyway. They could get through it.
On Monday, Georgie put off attempting any actual writing work for a while as she uploaded photos to Facebook: her and Simon with their faces in one of those funny cut-out boards on the pier (him as busty Baywatch-style lifesaver, her as a half-drowned swimmer wearing a rubber ring). ‘HILARIOUS!!!’ she typed underneath, trying to recapture the laughter of the moment.
Just as she’d posted the update, her phone chirped notifying her that she’d had an email and she flipped to her inbox to see that – at last – she’d had a reply from Viv, the magazine editor. Not only that but the subject line read New edition now live!
Oh my goodness. Today was the day! The magazine was out – and presumably so was her very first Hey Em column. Who said Mondays were rubbish? Imagine her friends’ faces when she posted the link on her Facebook page. Or maybe she should go into town once she’d read the online version, grab a bunch of printed copies and post them off to her parents and her mates as a surprise. They would be so impressed!
Without bothering to read what Viv had actually written in her email, Georgie clicked through to the link, fingers turning to thumbs in her haste, hardly able to believe that she was about to see her name there on her very own inaugural problem page. How cool was that? The first of many too, she hoped. Give it a few months from now and she’d probably be really blasé about being in print, but today it felt thrillingly momentous.
The magazine opened in a new window and she scrolled through hurriedly to find her contribution – title page, contents, some feature about this local actor blah blah, whatever, she could read all of that later. Then she reached a spread headed Hey Em in big writing, and her heart beat faster with pride. Here it was!
Viv had written a little intro at the top of the page. Problems? You’re in the right place. Meet Em, our new agony adviser. She’s cool, she’s witty – and she tells it like it is!
Amen to that, sister, Georgie thought joyfully. Cool and witty, that was her. Even better, it was right there in black and white, somebody had actually said that she was cool and witty. She couldn’t wait for her friends to see this. Amazing! Although . . . ah. No mention of her name, unfortunately. No big letters announcing that Georgie Taylor was the talent behind cool, witty Em. Which was a tiny bit gutting, if she was honest.
Hey Em, she read, feeling her sense of satisfaction return as she scrolled down the page. There it was, the real-life problem from the waitress in her café that she’d written up and then replied to. She held her breath as she went through the paragraphs, but Viv had hardly changed a thing. Pride swelled within her. Well, would you look at that? There were her words in print, sentences she had written, for the city to see. She, Georgie Taylor, had brought Em to life!
But then she noticed there was further text following Em’s reply and scrolled down the screen to read on.
Em’s had her say – now it’s over to you. Here’s another problem which we want you, our readers, to advise on. Tell us what you think!
Georgie frowned. Another problem? That was odd. She’d only sent in one. Had Viv written a second letter to fill up space on the page or something?
Hey Em, she read,
Do you know what, my boyfriend is being a real arse. He’s got this hot-shot new job and now—
Whoa there. Her blood seemed to freeze in her veins. She almost stopped breathing. Wait just a cotton-picking minute. What?
– and now thinks he’s like this super-amazing professional. We’ve moved down all the way from Yorkshire so that he can indulge his wet dream, I mean, take up this wowzers job—
Oh my God. Oh Christ, no. She thought she might throw up. How had this . . . ? No. She hadn’t sent the wrong document to Viv, had she? The wrong document with her rant about Simon in it? She stared at the screen, horror drumming through her.
– and I feel a bit insignificant to him all of a sudden. I’m trying my best – I’ve gone out and found my own new job – but it’s like everything’s changed in our relationship.
Shit. She had as well. She must have done. Her hand rose silently to cover her mouth as she was filled by the sudden urge to scream. She had actually been that stupid, that unprofessional, that bloody dim. Fuck! What a total total bellend. How incompetent could you get?
He acts like he’s the important one, while I’m just tagging along for the ride, she read on miserably, her own words tormenting her. Maybe I am just tagging along for the ride?
Viv had added ‘Help, Em, what should I do?’ and signed the letter ‘Yorkshire Lass’. Georgie’s heart sank even further and she stared aghast at the screen. Well, there was no way she could show her column to Simon now. Absolutely no way. She couldn’t show it to her mates either, never in a million years. She’d be the laughing stock of Stonefield! She’d never live it down! But you said you were having an amazing time! her friends would frown, confused. All those sunset photos you kept posting! That funny lifeguard one – HILARIOUS!!! you wrote just this morning!
The thought of their reactions – their pity! – was so horrendous that she put her hands over her face and shuddered. Well, she told herself, trying to rally her spirits, they would never know about it, end of story. Her terrible secret was going to stay right here on the south coast and that was that.
Wait – there was more, though. Underneath the letter . . . oh, no. Kill me now, she thought dismally. Underneath the letter was the online poll she’d written, supposedly for Freckles, the subject of her proper problem.
So, it’s over to you guys. What do you think Yorkshire Lass should do in this situation? Take part in our online poll and have your say!
Yorkshire Lass should:
DUMP HIM? He’s no good! Steer clear!
LUMP HIM? Put up with him in the hope it’ll get better.
HUMP HIM? Sod it, he sounds hot, shag him anyway!
Click to vote . . . and see what others think.
Georgie’s eyes felt as if they were on stalks. Worse and worse. Just worse and effing worse! She was going to wake up in a minute. Please, let her wake up in a minute!
She pinched herself in case she was in the midst of some godawful nightmare but unfortunately she was already awake and it was all really happening. So not only had the magazine printed her whinge about Simon – her private whinge that no other human was meant to see! – but now everyone in Brighton had been invited to speculate on her relationship, to vote on its outcome!
Oh, help. This was so bad. This was beyond silver linings and bright sides. In fact the only tiny remote glimmer of not-badness that she could think of was the fact that her name wasn’t anywhere on the page.
Click to vote . . . and see what others think the text urged her. ‘Sod off,’ she growled. It was like finding herself in an episode of a tacky reality TV show. What happens next for Georgie and Simon? YOU decide!
But then again, what did others think? she couldn’t help wondering. What did the wider Brighton population reckon she ought to do in this situation?
Hating herself for it, she loyally clicked the ‘Lump Him’ option. (Viv must have added that one, she thought.) She wasn’t ‘lumping’ Simon, anyway, she reasoned defensively. She loved him! He was her one true love! Her one true love who was a bit work-obsessed and irritable, sure, but didn’t everyone get like that sometimes?
A new window had popped up on screen.
THANK YOU! Voting so far:
DUMP HIM: 76%
LUMP HIM: 4%
HUMP HIM: 20%
Georgie’s mouth fell open in outrage. Only four per cent of voters thought she should stick with him? That was ridiculous. How shallow were these people? She wondered in the next moment how many readers had actually voted and whether that four per cent actually represented her one single click.
She closed down the page, feeling trembly. What an absolute disaster. How could Viv do that to her? She must have known that Georgie had sent the wrong version, she could have guessed that Georgie was the subject of the Simon letter, too. Was she deliberately trying to make her look an idiot?
Belatedly, her mind still fogged up with the awfulness of it all, Georgie remembered that Viv had written an accompanying email when sending through the link of doom. Oh joy. This was sure to be even more embarrassing.
Hi Georgie, the email read,
Thanks for the letters – great stuff! We thought your voice as Em was spot on, although I decided that the poll was better suited to the unanswered question – was that what you intended? It wasn’t quite clear in your email. Fab idea to ask for reader feedback though, love it.
Re your other ideas, I like the suggestion for a ‘You Send Me’ feature where readers suggest activities for you to try out around the city. You’re on! I’ll kick-start things by sending you to the Roller Disco in Saltdean – there are two free passes available for either Tuesday or Wednesday evening so you can take along a friend (mention the magazine when you arrive). If you could write this up and get it to me by Friday, we can put a note up on our Facebook page asking for suggestions for next time.
Cool! And obviously another ‘Hey Em’ problem or two for Friday as well. Let’s try one of each again, answered and unanswered so that readers can join in; the juicier the better! Finally, do let me have your bank details so that I can pay you.
Cheers
Viv
Georgie slumped back against the pillows, trying to take all of this in. Well, there was her silver lining, at least: payment, although it felt more like blood money now that she’d unwittingly aired her and Simon’s dirty laundry in public. And Viv liked her idea about Georgie trying out all sorts of unusual things around the city, so that was good too, although she was fairly certain already that Simon would refuse point-blank to go with her if she asked him to go to a roller disco. (‘You’re kidding me, right?’ he said scathingly in her head.)
Still, it was progress of a kind. A commission. With that and the new problem letters to write, she might even be able to pay off that expensive dinner for two she’d put on her credit card last week. Hey Em, she thought to herself, rolling her eyes, I’m trying my best down here in the south but it’s not that easy . . .