Chapter Eleven

‘YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL!!’ says the e-mail on my screen. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I got your picture, you said that I was too good to be true but you look like a model! I didn’t even know English girls could look that good! I’d really love to hear your voice, how would you feel about chatting on the phone? I understand if you don’t want to give me your number, but I’ll give you mine. Maybe you can call me later today. 310 266 8787. Hopefully I’ll hear from you later, JJ. Take care. Brad. xxx.’

‘Well,’ says Geraldine, standing behind Jemima reading the words.

‘Well,’ I echo, feeling incredibly guilty. ‘That’s another fine mess you got me into.’

Geraldine laughs. ‘It’s not a mess, it’s fun. The only way it could become a mess would be if he wanted to meet you, and he’s so far away I’m sure that will never happen. So, are you going to phone him?’

‘Why not?’ Nothing to lose. ‘I’ll give him a call later.’

‘I bet he’s got a really sexy voice,’ says Geraldine. ‘As long as he doesn’t punctuate every sentence with “like” and “rilly”.’

I laugh. ‘You are so cynical, Geraldine, I don’t understand you sometimes.’

‘I may be cynical but you, my dear Jemima, are an innocent, and that’s why you need fairy godmothers like myself to keep your best interests at heart.’

‘Ben Williams, please,’ says a voice at the end of the phone.

‘Speaking,’ says Ben, cradling the phone in one shoulder and looking through a pile of papers on his desk.

‘Hello there,’ says the girl, sounding young, sounding like someone not very important. ‘This is Jackie from London Daytime Television.’

‘Oh hello!’ says Ben, attention suddenly riveted to the voice on the other end of the phone.

‘I’m Diana Macpherson’s secretary. We got your application this morning and Diana was wondering when you could come in to meet her.’ As Jackie says this she’s looking at Ben’s photograph, and laughing to herself because she made a bet with Diana that his voice wouldn’t be nearly as sexy as his face. She’s laughing because she is wrong. Boy is she wrong.

‘Oh!’ says Ben. ‘That’s fantastic!’ Calm down, he tells himself, play it cool, this doesn’t mean anything. ‘Well, things are a bit quiet this week, when do you want to see me?’

‘We’ve had thousands of applications and we’re trying to see the people on our shortlist as soon as possible. Any chance you could pop in this afternoon?’

Any chance? Any chance? Ben will create the chance. ‘This afternoon’s fine. Would three-ish suit you?’

‘Three-ish would be perfect,’ says Jackie, making a mental note to reapply her make-up after lunch. ‘Ask for me at the main reception and I’ll come and get you.’

‘Do I need to bring anything?’ asks Ben.

‘No,’ she laughs. ‘Just yourself.’

Ben puts down the phone and looks around him. Shabby, he thinks. This room is filled with shabby desks, shabby computers, and people in shabby suits. Soon, he thinks, I will be working in television, where everyone is smart and stylish, where I will never again have to deal with the daily dross of the Kilburn Herald.

Careful, Ben, remember that old expression, don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched, but then again, if you received a picture of Ben you’d interview him too.

If the truth be known, had it not been for Jackie, Ben Williams would not have been seen. It is true that London Daytime Television received thousands of applications, and it is true that most of them went straight to Personnel, where they were sorted out into three piles: Yes, No, and Maybe.

Ben, however, was clever. Ben addressed his envelope directly to Diane Macpherson, so his application bypassed Personnel and ended up on Jackie’s desk. Jackie has had a few of these applications, for there are several potential television presenters who possess as much common sense as Ben Williams, but none of the others has caught Jackie’s eye in the way Ben did.

Jackie was pushing them all into an internal envelope to send straight up to Personnel when she spotted Ben’s photograph, and as soon as she read his letter she went to see Diana.

‘Diana,’ she said, walking through the doorway, for this is television and the formalities normally associated with the hierarchy of blue-chip companies do not exist here. ‘I think you should look at this.’

‘Not another bloody job application,’ said Diana. ‘Send it up to Personnel.’

‘Actually,’ said Jackie, sitting down and drawing her legs up under her, ‘actually I think you should have a look at this.’

‘You fancy him then,’ smiled Diana, reaching first for the photograph. ‘Mmm,’ she said, licking her lips. ‘I see exactly what you mean.’

Diana Macpherson is a tough woman, as she would have to be to reach the position of executive producer on a show as big as London Nights. She is also single, and happens to have a particular penchant for pretty young boys like Ben. Diana Macpherson is a rough diamond – brought up on a council estate, she was the only girl on the estate to win a scholarship to a good girls’ school, and then go on to university.

She is a bleached blonde, who at forty-one may not be as young as she used to be, but still turns heads by virtue of her micro mini-skirts and mane of hair. Everyone is terrified of her, and few have earnt her respect, but those who have have also won her undying loyalty.

Jackie, she respects, because Jackie comes from the same side of the street as Diana, and Jackie is bright. Jackie may be working as a secretary now, but when the time is right Diana will make her a researcher, and from there the world will be her oyster.

‘So who is he then? Has he got any TV experience?’

‘No,’ says Jackie, ‘but he’s the deputy news editor on some local paper, and he sounds perfect for the news and politics reporter.’

‘News and politics? Shame to waste that face on news and politics. Nah, he might be better for showbiz. Then again he might be crap on screen.’ Diana sits in silence for a while, thinking.

‘Why don’t I get him to come in?’ says Jackie. ‘Then we’ll see whether he’s as good as he looks.’

‘Yeah,’ says Diana, ‘I could do with a pretty boy round the office again.’

Jackie laughs, for the last pretty boy around the office went on to become the presenter of his own chat show, thanks to his affair with Diana.

‘Go on,’ says Diana. ‘Give him a call and see if he can come in this afternoon.’

But Ben of course doesn’t know any of this, although it obviously won’t be the first time his looks have got him through the door. Ben is far too excited to analyse exactly why he has been chosen to meet the people at London Daytime Television, far too excited to get any work done.

‘Jemima,’ he says on the internal phone when he has said goodbye to Jackie. ‘It’s Ben. Can you meet me for lunch?’

‘When? Now?’

‘Yup, I’ll see you down there. I’ve got something to tell you.’

‘I’ve got an interview,’ says Ben as we’re queuing in the canteen. ‘Can you believe it? I’m going in this afternoon!’

‘That’s amazing!’ Of course I’m happy for him, I’m not that bitter, but even as I try to share his excitement I can feel my heart sink. ‘See,’ I say brightly, trying to cover it up as I nudge him playfully, ‘I told you they’d know you were too good to pass up.’

‘I know,’ sighs Ben. ‘But I really didn’t think they’d give me a chance.’ His face falls. ‘Maybe they won’t. Maybe I’ll get on really badly with this Diana Macpherson and that will be it.’

‘Do me a favour. You’re being interviewed by a woman? You’re in. All you have to do is charm her socks off and boom, you’re on television.’

‘Do you really think so?’

‘Yes,’ I nod. ‘I really think so.’

‘Oh God, I hope I get it,’ he says.

‘You will,’ I say, knowing that I am probably right, that the gods will be shining on Ben Williams because of his good looks and easy charm.

We carry our trays to a table and sit down, me with a plate of salad, real salad as opposed to salads swimming in mayonnaise and calories. I’m with Ben, remember? Ben has invited me to lunch, and anyway these last couple of weeks my appetite doesn’t seem to be what it once was.

I know I’ve only lost ten pounds, but I can see the difference already. My clothes are slightly baggier, my trousers no longer cut into the place where my waist should be, nor are they straining at the seams when I sit down.

I had forgotten how good this feeling was. For the time being, the cravings have subsided, and for the past couple of weeks I’ve only had a small bowl of cereal for breakfast, and I’ve bypassed my daily bacon sandwiches completely. The smell still gets me every day, but somehow I’ve managed to learn to live with it, not to give in to the temptation.

‘Can you imagine if I were on television?’ Ben says, looking as if he’s lost in a world of cameras and fan mail. ‘It would be amazing.’

‘I’ve never understood people who wanted to be on TV.’ I look at him in astonishment. ‘I can’t think of anything worse.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, for starters think of the lack of privacy. Suddenly everywhere you go people recognize you and want your autograph or your time.’

Ben grins. ‘Fantastic!’ he says.

‘And then,’ I continue, rolling my eyes, ‘there’s the press invasion. I mean, you know yourself what it’s like. As soon as you’re on screen you become public property, and that means newspapers have a licence to dig up as much dirt as they can find.’

‘Are you suggesting I may have sordid secrets?’ says Ben with a grin.

‘Doesn’t everyone?’ I look at the ceiling thinking I should be the one on television, because I am probably the only person in the world with no skeletons in her closet. ‘And anyway, they don’t have to be that sordid. Think of the number of times you’ve opened the Sunday tabloids and seen an ex-girlfriend or boyfriend of someone famous spill the beans on their steamy sex life. I’d hate that. All sorts of awful people would come crawling out of the woodwork.’

‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ says Ben. ‘But I don’t think any of my exes would do that.’

‘It’s amazing what people will do when there’s money in it.’

‘God, if someone wanted to offer one of my exes money to talk about our sex life together good luck to them. I don’t think they’d find anything interesting.’

I blush, can you believe it? Ben mentions sex, and I blush. Never mind that it wasn’t that long ago I was sitting looking at hard-core porn pictures with him on the Internet. Nope, all he does is say the word and I bloody blush. ‘Oh well,’ I say. ‘That only seems to happen to people who become famous for no reason at all, and I suppose they enjoy all the attention. They probably wouldn’t bother with London Daytime Television reporters.’

‘What about BBC newsreaders?’

‘Is that what you want to do?’

Ben groans in mock ecstasy. ‘I would kill to be a BBC newsreader.’

I’m stunned. ‘Well you are a dark horse. I never realized.’

‘There are a lot of things about me you don’t know,’ says Ben playfully, as he tucks in to his lunch.

‘So,’ says Geraldine, squeezing in next to them. ‘Is Jemima telling you about her latest boyfriend?’

‘Geraldine!’ Shut up! I don’t want Ben to know about Brad. But, on the other hand, if he thought someone else found me attractive maybe he’d start looking at me in a new light. What do you think, worth a try?

‘Well?’ says Geraldine. ‘Are you?’

‘What boyfriend?’ says Ben.

‘The gorgeous Californian hunk on the Internet.’

‘No,’ he says, ‘I don’t know anything about this. I don’t believe you, Jemima Jones, you’ve been pulling on the Internet?’

‘Not exactly. I just went back to the LA Café, I was messing around and I’ve been chatting to this guy, Brad.’

‘Brad!’ Ben laughs. ‘God, how typically American.’

‘But Brad is completely, drop-dead gorgeous. A hunk. No two ways about it,’ says Geraldine.

‘How do you know?’ Ben’s curious.

‘He e-mailed me his picture,’ I say, wishing we’d never brought the subject up because however you look at it dating on the Internet sounds as naff as answering Lonely Hearts adverts, and before you ask, no, I’ve never done that.

‘And,’ adds Geraldine, munching on a mouthful of crisp iceberg lettuce, no dressing, ‘she’s calling him this afternoon.’

‘Good for you,’ says Ben distractedly, looking at his watch and jumping up. I look at my watch and see that he’s got to make tracks if he’s going to be on time for his interview. ‘Sorry, guys,’ he says, standing up. ‘I’ve gotta run.’

‘Good luck,’ I shout, as Ben runs off.

‘Good luck?’ Geraldine’s looking quizzically at me. ‘What for?’

‘Oh, some interview he’s doing this afternoon.’ Good girl, Jemima, that’s what I like to see, thinking on your feet.

‘So when are you going to call the hunk?’

‘I don’t know.’ I sigh dramatically. ‘This could all end rather nastily, I’m not sure I want to.’

‘Oh what the hell,’ says Geraldine, ‘what have you got to lose?’

She’s right. I know she’s right.

We walk back upstairs together and Geraldine tells me about a man she met last week, Simon, who drives a top-of-the-range Mercedes, works in investment banking and is taking her out for dinner tonight.

‘Right,’ she says, perching her tiny bottom on the edge of my desk. ‘Pick up that phone and call Brad.’

‘I can’t,’ I say, smiling.

‘Jemima! Just do it.’

‘No.’ I shake my head firmly.

‘Honestly, I despair of you sometimes. Why not?’

‘Because.’ I pause for dramatic effect. ‘Because it’s six o’clock in the morning in California and I don’t think he’d be very happy.’

‘Oh,’ says Geraldine. ‘In that case I’m going to come back over here at five o’clock, and I expect you to be on that phone. Long distance. Agreed?’

I nod my head. ‘Agreed.’

Sure enough, at five o’clock on the dot Geraldine walks over to my desk. If I didn’t know better I’d think she’d set her alarm.

‘Okay, okay,’ I laugh, picking up the phone. ‘I’m phoning him.’ I dial the number without really thinking of what I’m doing, just laughing at Geraldine, who’s pulling faces at me as she disappears down the office.

‘B-Fit Gym,’ says the American voice brightly on the other end of the phone. ‘Good morning, how may we help you?’

‘Good morning,’ I say, suddenly wondering what the hell I’m doing. ‘May I speak to Brad, please?’

‘Certainly, ma’am. May I say who’s calling?’

‘It’s Jemi –’ I stop. ‘It’s JJ.’ Ma’am?

‘Please hold the line.’

I sit and wait, and I come incredibly close to putting the phone down but just before I do someone else comes on the line.

‘Good morning,’ says another bright female voice. ‘How may I help you?’

‘Oh hello. May I speak to Brad, please?’

‘May I say who’s calling?’

‘It’s JJ.’

‘Please hold the line.’

‘Hello?’ A deep, sexy, male Californian voice. ‘JJ?’

‘Brad? It’s me. JJ.’

‘Oh my God, you called me! I can’t believe you called me. It’s so good to speak to you.’

‘Thank you,’ I say, not knowing what else to say.

‘I just got in to the office, what a great surprise.’

‘Well it’s five o’clock here, so I’m wrapping up.’

‘God, your voice is as sexy as your picture, which, I have to tell you, is now pinned to the wall. In fact, I’m looking at you as we speak.’

‘I’m really flattered.’ If only you knew.

‘So JJ, did you have a good day?’

‘It was fine. I did a bit of filming this morning, which was fun.’ Don’t ask me what it was, please don’t ask.

He doesn’t. ‘I can totally understand why you’re on television, you look so groomed, I think is the word.’

‘What, even on my bicycle on a hot summer’s day?’

‘Absolutely. I had to show your picture to everyone here, and boy, let me tell you, you have a fan club already in California.’

‘God, that’s so embarrassing,’ I groan audibly.

‘Don’t be embarrassed. I think it’s great that you work out and keep healthy, you’re exactly my type of woman.’

‘Good,’ I say, recovering my composure. ‘I aim to please.’

Brad laughs. ‘So listen, Jemima, what I don’t understand is how come you don’t have a boyfriend. I mean I know you said you just broke up with someone, but you must have men falling at your feet.’

‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that. I do meet a lot of men through work but I suppose I’m picky.’

‘Well I am honoured that you liked my picture enough to call me. So, talk to me some more, I love your accent. Tell me everything about yourself.’

‘God, where do I start?’

‘Okay, tell me about your parents, do you have any brothers or sisters?’

‘No brothers or sisters. I’m an only child and my parents are divorced.’

‘Oh that’s tough,’ says Brad. ‘Mine are too. Did yours divorce when you were young too?’

‘Yup,’ I say, wondering why on earth I’m telling all this to someone who is practically a stranger, when not even those closest to me, well, Sophie, Lisa and Geraldine, know anything about my past. ‘My mother is not a happy woman. She bitterly resents being on her own, and tries to have far more input to my life than is healthy, which is mostly why I moved to London.’

‘You’re not from London then?’

‘No, I was brought up in the country. In a small town on the outskirts of London, which I suppose is really suburbia.’

‘And did you ever get lonely as a child? Did you want brothers and sisters?’

I wasn’t just lonely as a child, I was achingly, heartbreakingly lonely. I used to go to bed at night and clasp my hands together, praying to God to deliver a baby brother or sister, not fully understanding that without a father, there was little, if any, chance of that happening. But although I have already revealed more than I planned, this would be too much, so I take a deep breath and say breezily, ‘Sometimes, but not often. I was fine by myself.’

‘Look,’ says Brad after I’ve filled him in on the finer details of my childhood, the pain-free details. ‘This might sound crazy, because this is the first time we’ve actually talked and we hardly know each other, but I have a feeling that we could have something special here.’ He pauses while I try to digest what he has just said, because truth to be told the only reason I’ve been doing this is through boredom, not because I thought there could be something special here.

And for God’s sake, this man is practically a stranger. Admittedly, a particularly good-looking one, but this seems bizarre. We’ve never met, this is our first phone conversation and he could be some psychotic killer. And how does he know I’m who I say I am? Oh. Perhaps I’d better get off this train of thought.

‘JJ? Are you still there?’

‘Yes, sorry. Carry on.’

‘Well, it’s just that I know it sounds kinda crazy to meet on the Internet, but then people are meeting like this all over the world, and sometimes it does work out. Look. I think you are great. I think you’re funny, and honest, and beautiful and I love your accent and I don’t want to scare you off but I’d really like to meet you.’

Thank God Brad cannot see me, see how my face has paled, how I am thinking seriously about killing Geraldine because I knew, I just bloody knew that this would happen.

‘I’m not suggesting you come over here, I mean I know that would be a big step for you and you’re probably really busy in your career, but how would you feel if I were to fly over to meet you?’

‘Um,’ I say imaginatively, stalling for time, praying for divine intervention, which of course doesn’t come. ‘Um,’ I repeat.

‘Okay,’ says Brad. ‘I can hear that I’ve thrown you a bit, but would you just think about it?’

‘Okay,’ I lie. ‘I’ll think about it.’

Then, as if that isn’t enough, I do the unthinkable. I give Brad my telephone numbers, both home and my direct line at work (because I wouldn’t want to blow my cover as a top TV presenter), and when we say goodbye I put the phone down and go into the loo to look at myself in the mirror.

I look at my chins, my cheeks, my bulk, and as I stand there I make a decision. A huge decision. A decision so momentous that even in this split second I know that it will change my life. I run back to my desk, well, run/ lumber, grab my bag, and run down the stairs.

I’m not going far. I’m walking, almost sprinting, up the Kilburn High Road to the brand new fancy gym that just opened. I pass it every day, barely registering its existence because what, after all, would a gym mean to me.

But today is the day I’m going to change my life. And pushing through the double doors I approach the pert blonde receptionist with as much determination as I can muster.

‘Hello,’ I say. ‘I’d like to join.’