Chapter Thirteen

‘I’m going to a leaving party tomorrow night,’ I type in my e-mail to Brad. ‘One of my closest friends at work is leaving to work for another television company so I’m pretty sad. I know it will be a good night, but I don’t know who I’m going to talk to any more, other than you, of course, whom I seem to be becoming more and more dependent on.

‘Anyway, I won’t be able to talk to you later as I’m going straight to the gym, but call me tomorrow when I get home after the party and I’ll tell you all about it.

‘Big hugs and kisses as usual, JJ. xxxxxxxxxx.’

Good heavens, let us just stand here and take a look at Jemima, because the transformation, in just a month, is completely remarkable. Paul, the trainer, is quite frankly amazed, but he is also slightly worried because the weight has dropped off at an alarming rate, and he suspects that Jemima is eating far less than he told her to.

His suspicions are right. Jemima took his diet sheet home with her, put it in a drawer, and promptly ignored all the good advice, and for the last month this has been her daily routine.

Jemima Jones gets up in the morning at 7 a.m., and has a glass of hot water with a slice of lemon in it. She pulls on her tracksuit, shoves her clothes for work into a training bag and is in the gym by 8 a.m. She has doubled the routine Paul devised for her, and has added some movements of her own. She spends fifteen minutes on the bike, twenty-five minutes on the Stairmaster, fifteen minutes on the rowing machine and half an hour on the treadmill, mostly powerwalking but with the odd spurt of running.

She then does floor exercises and sit-ups, and just about manages to get to the office by 10 a.m., completely ignoring bacon sandwiches on the way there.

She sits at her desk and swigs still mineral water all morning, and then for lunch she has a side plate of plain lettuce, tomatoes and cucumber, while Geraldine shakes her head in amazement, still unable to comprehend Jemima’s will-power after all this time. Once lunch is finished, Jemima will feel ever so slightly guilty at having eaten anything at all, because Jemima has taken this dieting business to extremes.

She drinks another litre of mineral water during the afternoon, finishes work at around 6 p.m., chats to Brad on the phone usually for at least half an hour, and occasionally an hour, and then goes back to the gym.

She does an exercise class for an hour at the end of the day, and then relaxes in the steam room or the sauna. She still thinks she is huge, although she is infinitely less huge than she was a few months ago, and refuses to watch herself in the mirrors of the gym, except to think that one day all this excess weight will be gone. One day she will be have a hard body. One day she will be a hardbody.

If Jemima had any choice at all she would eat nothing in the evening, because she has started this new regime and she is determined to lose the weight, but she knows that if she eats absolutely nothing, she will not have the energy to exercise, and she needs protein, so dinner is a small plate of steamed vegetables and a plain grilled chicken breast.

The food she eats is boring and plain, but for once she doesn’t care. She doesn’t have cravings, she feels too good at having lost this weight. She likes the feeling of her clothes being large and, although she hasn’t as yet bought anything new, she knows that if she carries on being as good as she has been, it won’t be long before she will be able to wear whatever she wishes.

Jemima Jones has been losing between five and six pounds of weight a week. Add her weight loss this last month – twenty-two pounds – to the thirteen pounds she lost in the previous month, and we will see that Jemima Jones now weighs twelve stone.

Paul has told Jemima that, at 5’7”, she should aim to get down to ten stone, but Jemima Jones has ignored this and has decided that she will weigh eight and a half stone, even if it kills her.

Jemima stands in the bathroom, takes off all her clothes and looks at herself in the full-length mirror. She still feels revulsion at the cellulite on her thighs, the bulges on her hips, but even she has to concede that the change is miraculous.

For, despite being twelve stone, Jemima Jones now has a waist. She has knees. She has a small double chin, rather than a quadruple one, and her face is almost unrecognizable for it has slimmed down so much. JJ is slowly emerging from the fat of Jemima Jones and, although she is not yet the JJ on a bicycle on a hot summer’s day, there is no question that she is getting there. She is finally getting there.

And tomorrow night is the night she has been dreading, Ben’s leaving party. Everyone has been amazed, because nobody has ever left the Kilburn Herald to go on television. Some have left to join national newspapers, regarded as heroes by the colleagues they have left behind, but those are few and far between, and nobody has ever dreamt of knowing someone who started at their crappy local paper and went on to be famous.

‘Next thing you know we’ll be interviewing you,’ guffawed the editor, clapping Ben on the back after it had sunk in that he was losing his star reporter. ‘Don’t forget us when you’re rich and famous, eh?’ And Ben just smiled, mentally ticking off the days on his fingers.

For all his diligence and hard work, Ben has been far too excited these last weeks to concentrate on the paper, but he has been forgiven, and his normal daily duties have already been delegated to others, his presence at the office now being a mere formality.

Ben was at the office when he received the call telling him he got the job. He knew the screen test was the best he could have possibly done, but he didn’t know whether it was good enough, and the days of waiting were some of the worst of his life.

‘It’s fate,’ he kept saying to Jemima. ‘Either it’s meant to be or it’s not.’

‘Que sera, sera,’ she would echo back, hoping that fate would smile upon him, but hoping too that fate would smile upon her, that perhaps it wouldn’t mean taking him away from her, because she was absolutely sure that once Ben left the Kilburn Herald he wouldn’t look back, he wouldn’t remember the friends he left behind.

And it is safe to say that Ben and Jemima are friends. They weren’t, when we first met them, they were merely colleagues, but as so often happens in times of need friendships are forged, and Ben needed a confidante, more than ever during the week of the long nights, as he dubbed it.

But friendships can be a transient thing, as Jemima well knows, and their friendship, as much as it is based on trust and admiration, is equally based on convenience, and Jemima is certain that once Ben is immersed in the glamorous world of television she will no longer hear from him.

But Jemima wants Ben to be happy, more than she wants him to be at the Kilburn Herald, and she was the first person he told when he heard he got the job.

‘Ben,’ said a sharp voice on the phone. ‘Diana Macpherson here.’

Ben’s breath caught in the back of his throat, and Diana’s laugh cut through the silence. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I suppose you want to know what I thought of the screen test?’

‘Yes,’ said Ben, not sure what to make of her tone.

‘I’ve just watched it,’ she said, ‘and I had to phone to tell you that you. Are. Fucking. Amazing.’

Ben gasped. ‘You’re joking!’

‘I never joke about things like this. This is one of the best screen tests I have ever seen, and I can’t believe you haven’t presented before. Are you sure you’re telling the truth?’

Ben laughed.

‘I’ve shown it to the head of features and we both agree that you’re the right man for the show, but there is one problem.’

Ben’s heart sunk. ‘A problem?’

‘Yeah. It’s not a big one, but when we spoke you said you wanted to do news and politics, and I’m afraid that’s not what we’re offering. We’d like to offer you a year’s contract on London Nights as the chief showbusiness reporter.’

There was a silence while Ben tried to digest what she had said.

‘You still there, Ben?’

‘Yes, sorry. It just wasn’t what I expected.’

Diana sighed. ‘I know, but I’ve been in this game long enough to know what people’s strengths are, and although I know that news and politics are what you really want to do, I also know that you’d be wasted on that. You need to be much more high profile, and quite frankly, Ben, with this as a stepping stone the world’s your oyster.’

‘I know.’ Ben nodded his head, still not quite sure what to say. Of course it was a wonderful opportunity, but did he want to be seen as a showbusiness reporter? As a fluffy, flim-flam celebrity interviewer?

‘Can I just have a few minutes to think about it and then I’ll call you right back?’ asked Ben, unaware that nobody, no first-time presenter, had ever had to think about an offer from Diana Macpherson before.

‘Okay,’ she agreed. ‘I’ll be in the office for another ten minutes, and if I don’t hear from you I’ll ring up our second choice. Sorry to be brutal, but that’s television for you.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Ben. ‘I understand.’

Ben went running round to Jemima’s desk, and they sat there, heads huddled together, while Ben told Jemima what had happened and what his reservations were. Don’t be ridiculous, said Jemima, it’s the chance you’ve spent years waiting for, you wouldn’t be pigeonholed, and all it took in television was to get your foot in the door. ‘If you screw this up,’ she said seriously, ‘you don’t know when the next opportunity will arise. Or indeed if,’ she added ominously, ‘it will arise.’

That was what did it for Ben. He checked his watch, two minutes to go before the ten minutes were up, kissed Jemima on the cheek, picked up her phone and dialled London Daytime Television.

‘Diana?’ he said in a much firmer voice. ‘It’s Ben Williams. I’ve thought about it and I’m phoning you to tell you I’d love to work for you, and as soon as we organize the dates, I’ll be in the office.’

‘Phew,’ said Diana Macpherson, who was smiling. ‘You gave me a right fucking scare, especially because we didn’t even have a bloody second choice!’

And with just one phonecall Ben’s fate was sealed. It may not be the job he always wanted, but it’s certainly a start, and a very good one at that, but before a new beginning must come an ending, and tomorrow night is the last night of his time at the Kilburn Herald.

Jemima Jones feels sick at the thought, so sick, in fact, that she commits an unforgivable sin and confides in Sophie and Lisa, only because she has no one else to talk to, and she doesn’t mean to say anything, it just comes out by mistake.

‘You seem a bit down,’ says Sophie, as they walk in. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘Fine,’ I say, and before I can help it a huge sigh has escaped my lips. ‘I think I’m just overdoing it a bit maybe.’ I try and cover it up.

‘You are spending a huge amount of time at the gym,’ agrees Lisa, ‘maybe you should cut it down, I mean, no one needs to exercise as much as you.’

Shall we take a look at what’s going on here? Lisa is beginning to see that the Jemima Jones of old is well on her way to being the JJ of the future, a JJ that could well be the unthinkable. A threat. Because Lisa, as addicted as she is to the superficialities of life, can see that as the weight is dropping off, a real beauty is emerging, and Lisa doesn’t like this. Not one tiny bit.

‘Maybe,’ I say, but actually I’d like to be spending a lot more time in the gym. If I had my way I’d move into the gym, I’d work out all day every day, but I can’t expect her to understand this, I can’t reasonably expect anyone to understand this. I know what this is, I’ve seen it on a daytime show. I’m addicted to exercise. Ha! Me! If someone had told me six months ago that I would become addicted to exercise I would have rolled on the floor laughing. But I know about this, I know that this addiction is more or less the same as being addicted to alcohol or drugs. I know my body is now overflowing with endorphins, and I feel fantastic almost all the time.

I once, just once, missed an evening class when I went out for a drink with Ben, and the next morning I felt so damned guilty I doubled my workout, and nearly collapsed with the strain.

‘There is another reason, I suppose,’ I say because I have to say it. I have to tell someone and I can’t tell Geraldine. ‘Ben’s leaving tomorrow.’

Sophie and Lisa perk up. ‘What?’ says Sophie. ‘Not the gorgeous Ben that we met?’

I nod miserably.

‘Where is he going?’ asks Sophie.

‘He’s going to London Daytime Television. He’s going to be a reporter on a new show.’

‘You mean he’s going to be on screen?’ Lisa’s eyes are wide, and they’re so bloody superficial I can see exactly what they’re thinking. Pulling a handsome man is all well and good, pulling a rich man is even better, but pulling a famous man almost goes off the Richter scale, and Ben is not only gorgeous, he’s about to be famous. They’re so impressed they can hardly speak.

‘Yes, he’s going to be on screen, and I’m just a bit down about it. I mean I’m thrilled for him, really, I am, but I’ll miss him. He’s become one of my closest friends at work, so maybe that’s why I’m feeling a bit low tonight.’

‘Where’s the leaving do?’ says Sophie nonchalantly. As if I’m that stupid. As if I’d tell her. Honestly. As if!

‘I can’t remember,’ I say, shrugging, standing up and heading out of the room. ‘Some wine bar somewhere.’

Jemima Jones walks upstairs to her room while Sophie looks at Lisa. ‘Thank you, God,’ she says with a smile, ‘for providing me with this golden opportunity.’ For Sophie has kept Ben’s number, just hasn’t had the bottle to call him. Until now.

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Watch me.’ Sophie digs her Filofax out of her bag, pulls out Ben’s number and picks up the phone.

‘Hello, is that Ben? Hi, it’s Sophie, Jemima’s flatmate. Yes, the one with the hair. I just phoned to say good luck, Jemima just told me about your new job and I’ve never met anyone who’s been on television before. You must be really excited.’

‘Er, yes,’ says Ben, who can’t imagine why this girl he hardly knows is phoning. ‘I am.’

‘I just wanted to say well done, because now you’re practically famous you probably won’t be coming round here too much, so just in case we don’t meet again, good luck.’

‘Thanks,’ says Ben, with a smile. ‘Really, that’s ever so nice of you.’

‘Have you had a leaving do then?’ says Sophie innocently, winking at Lisa.

‘No, it’s tomorrow night.’ There’s an awkward silence where neither of them knows what to say, but Ben fills the gap first. ‘Come along if you like.’

‘I’d love to!’ she breathes. ‘Where is it?’ She writes down the address as Lisa jumps around in front of her, pointing at herself and making faces.

‘Is it okay if I bring my friend Lisa?’ she finally says grudgingly.

‘Sure,’ says Ben, thinking what the hell, he’ll be far too out of it to notice.

‘Wonderful. We’ll see you tomorrow night.’

Hi Sweetie

Thanks for your e-mail, it always brightens my day to come in to work and find a message on screen from you. I can’t believe how close I feel to you and we’ve never even met, but as soon as you’re less busy you’d better come straight to LA, although I’m not too sure I can wait another three months!

I’m already planning all the things we can do together once you come over here. There are so many things in Los Angeles I want you to see. I’ll have to take you to Universal Studios, rollerblading down Venice Beach, to all my hang-outs so you can meet all my friends.

I know this sounds crazy but I’ve been telling everyone all about you, and I made a copy of your picture which I carry around so everyone’s seen you too and they can’t wait to meet you.

I’m sorry your friend is leaving, but you seem to have so many friends one less probably won’t make that much difference. Wear something beautiful tonight, I’d like to picture you in a black silk dress, cut so it swings around your legs as you walk, and if you have any high-heeled strappy sandals, wear them tonight and think of me.

On second thoughts, if the weather in London’s as bad as I think it is you might be better off in a sweater and boots!

Anyways, my darling, take care and don’t be too sad. I’m sitting here in the sunshine thinking of you, and I’m still here for you.

Call me when you get home and I’ll call you straight back, and have a good time.

Huge hugs and kisses, Brad. xxxxxxx

I’m not sure I like this familiarity, and something about the words might just possibly put me off if I stopped to think about it. It’s not that there’s anything nasty about them, about his letters, I think it’s just that he seems a bit bland, but maybe that’s just a cultural difference. Anyway, I’m sure he’s completely different in the flesh. He’s probably just not very good at writing letters. That’s all.

‘That was nice of your flatmate to call.’

‘What?’ I turn from my screen and look at Ben in horror. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Your flatmate. Sophie. She phoned last night after you told her about the job to wish me luck.’

Little cow. I don’t believe her. ‘But I didn’t give her your number. Where did she get it from?’

Now it’s Ben’s turn to look surprised. ‘I don’t know,’ he says, shrugging. ‘I assumed you gave it to her.’

‘Strange.’ I’m wondering what she’s up to.

‘Anyway,’ said Ben, ‘I said she could come along tonight.’

‘Oh.’ So that’s what she’s up to. ‘What did you think of her? Is she your type?’

‘Jemima!’ he admonishes. ‘The only time I’ve ever met the girl she looked a complete state, plus you know that she’s not the type of girl I’m interested in.’

‘Sorry,’ I say, smiling a little inside. ‘I just thought maybe it was time you had a girlfriend.’ Careful, Jemima, this is a dangerous game you’re playing.

‘Girlfriend?’ says Ben laughing. ‘What would I do with a girlfriend at this time in my life? I’m far too busy being famous. By the way, do you know who I am?’

‘Yes,’ I laugh. ‘You’re Ben Williams, the amazingly large-headed man, whose head is growing by the second.’ I shake my head in mock disbelief. ‘God knows what you’re going to be like when you’re actually on television.’

‘I will be marvellous,’ says Ben, throwing up his arms in a dramatic gesture. ‘I will be a stupendous presenter of rubbish. I will be Ben Williams, panderer to the stars, arse-licker of the famous.’

‘Ben!’ I giggle, thrilled that our friendship has reached this stage of easy teasing. ‘You won’t forget me, will you?’

‘But you are lowly Jemima Jones, of the crappy Kilburn Herald. I have to forget you, I know no one from anything as downmarket as the Kilburn Herald!’ Ben is speaking in his luvvie tones, but he stops as he sees a shadow of doubt cross my face. He couldn’t be serious. Could he?

‘’Course I won’t forget you, Jemima. You’re my only real friend here, how could I possibly forget you?’

I smile, and adjust my rapidly shrinking bottom on the chair as I turn to reveal a cheekbone that’s only just starting to emerge, but Ben doesn’t notice the cheekbone. Ben doesn’t seem to notice my weight loss at all, which means only one thing: I’m not thin enough yet.

Perhaps in an abstract way he has noticed I’m looking better, but I suppose when you’re with someone for long periods of time it’s very difficult to perceive any change in their size. You would instantly notice if they had a drastic haircut, or wore something they never normally wear, but weight is something you rarely notice. Particularly if you’re a man. At least that’s what I hope.

The only way Ben will notice that Jemima has lost weight is if he doesn’t see her for a while, which would be Jemima’s idea of living hell, a living hell that, she suddenly realizes, could become a reality.

‘So you will stay in touch?’ ventures my insecurity, refusing to let the subject drop.

‘Only if you promise to respect and adore me.’

‘But of course, oh-famous-one,’ I say, when of course I, unbeknownst to Ben, already do.