checking new emails for anything important.
‘“Oi”? How rude is that? She keeps us waiting, and then says “Oi”!’ Naomi is indignant.
‘Sorry, hello, I apologize for my lateness, I was in some stupid bloody meeting for hours, at the end of which we established we are going to put an old lady in fog to scare people.’
‘Like Last Of the Summer Wine?’ Nim asks.
‘Yes, just like that. Are we still on for tonight?’
‘I am, but I’m going to be late. I have to meet the Countess of Wessex.’ Jules is a fundraiser, she keeps meeting royalty; we don’t ask why.
‘What time are you going to be finished?’ Nim asks.
‘About seven.’
‘Cool, that’s good for me,’ I say, turning my attention to the photos on my desk that have been sent through by our agency of young wannabes to play our leading man. They are all useless. I wanted gritty and urban, I’ve got sons of Lionel Blair.
‘Shit, I’m finished at six, what am I supposed to do for an hour?’ Nim works in the City, meaning she works normal hours, unlike myself and Jules, who chose ‘interesting’ careers, instead of being well paid and working sociable hours. Nim has both, and even though she has to put up with banking arseholes all day, she has pots of cash, and wants to go out every night. I have to talk to her about that. I don’t want her to end up like Charlie.
‘Shop, write personal emails, go to the gym, whatever,’ Jules is saying at the other end of the phone.
‘I should go to the gym.’
‘Well, there you go, do that,’ I say, as an email entitled ‘Play this now!’ flashes up from Phil. I open it, distracted, and try and smack a monkey with a hand as fast as I can by pulling back my mouse and then whizzing it across my desk.
‘So seven? Dinner or drinks?’ I say, as I swing my mouse into my in-tray, sending papers flying everywhere, and swing it back.
‘Shit, hold on.’ I find and press hold, and shout out for Phil, who opens the door seconds later,
‘Phil, what’s your fastest smack?’
‘Four hundred and thirty-six miles an hour,’ he replies, and wanders over to stand behind my PC.
‘Bloody hell,’ I say and pull my mouse back, determined to beat his score. I whack the mouse and a tune plays and the computer declares I have smacked the monkey at five hundred and two miles per hour.
‘Shit,’ Phil says, and grabs my mouse from me, and has a go himself, as I press hold again.
‘Sorry, did we decide?’ I ask.
‘Yep, drinks and dinner, Café Bohème,’ Jules says.
‘Cool, I’ll see you later.’
‘Can I bring some guys from my office?’ Nim asks.
‘Who?’ Jules asks suspiciously, knowing full well that she doesn’t want to run into at least two of them.
‘Neither of them,’ Nim pre-empts her.
‘They’re nice,’ as some sort of explanation.
‘And they work at your office?’ I ask, incredulous. I know some of the guys who work with Nim; they know Charlie.
‘Yes, some of them are nice.’
‘None that I’ve met,’ I say.
‘They’ve just started.’
‘Oh, okay, cool.’
‘See you later then, I’ve got to go,’ I say, as I see Phil smack the monkey at six hundred miles an hour.
‘Cool, byeeeee,’ we all squeal off the phone, trying to go higher than each other.
‘Give me that.’ I grab the mouse off Phil, who is looking smug. I smack it a couple more times, but can’t beat his score. He strolls around to the front of my desk, wipes the sweat off his forehead, and throws himself into a chair.
‘Are you going out with them tonight?’ he asks, the picture of innocence.
‘Yep.’
‘What time?’
‘Seven.’ I start going over the photos again, trying to see past the crowned teeth and sunbed tans.
‘Can I come for a couple? I’m meeting the boys at eight.’
‘Yep,’ I say, and then, ‘these are shit.’ I throw the photos across my desk, lean back in my chair, and sigh. ‘What time is it?’
Phil checks his watch.
‘Ten to six.’
‘Have you got any more games?’ I ask wearily.
‘Of course, but aren’t we supposed to set up that shoot or something?’
‘Shit, SHIT, yes! Well done! Call Tony, get him on the case. I’ll make some calls.’
I grab my numbers.
‘What exactly am I supposed to ask him?’ Phil hasn’t moved from the chair.
I look at him and feel bad at the prospect of making him work hard for the next hour. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll call him.’ I plug the number into my phone, as Phil closes his eyes in front of me, deciding it’s time for a well-earned nap.
‘Out,’ I shout at him and point at the door.
‘Alright, darlin’.’ I hear Tony’s Scouse greeting on the hands free and pick up the receiver. ‘I was just about to leave – whattdaya need?’
‘Tone, I need a massive favour, hon. A shoot tomorrow. I need mist. For Evil Ghost 2.’
‘Not a problem, you tell me how much.’
‘And an old lady.’
‘Eh?’
‘I need an old woman, but I’d rather not pay for her, I haven’t got the cash. Is there anybody that you know – how old is your mother?’
‘Not old enough, I’m from Liverpool, remember.’
‘Of course, she’s probably younger than me.’
‘Pack it in.’
‘Okay, but you have to find me some old dear, preferably one without her own teeth, who’ll work for a hundred quid tops tomorrow morning.’
‘Not a problem, darlin’.’
‘You are a star.’
I
