6. Charlie
6
CHARLIE
What the hell just happened?
I crane my neck over the computer screen but I can’t see Nell anywhere. It looks like Bishi has taken her to another room. I was half hoping she might give Nell the desk directly across from mine. But then maybe it’s for the best that she didn’t – I wouldn’t get much work done, constantly sneaking glances at her.
This is wild.
The moment I stepped back into that Pret, I was mentally kicking myself for not asking for her number. As nervous as I am about starting this internship – about seeing Nick for the first time in forever – I still noticed her as soon as I walked in. She was standing among the other customers, lost in something on her phone, smiling to herself. She was obviously hot – all dark hair, dark eyes and deep-red lips – but it was the smile that made me unable to look away. There was something about it. It was the kind of smile where you desperately wanted to know what she was finding so funny.
And then when I saw she’d left her phone on the counter, it was like the universe saying, Here you go then, now’s your chance . . . And the phone was in Tinder too, for God’s sake – so I even knew she was single! It was literally the most golden opportunity anyone could hope to be given, and . . . I bottled it. I don’t know what was wrong with me. I’m normally . . . smooth. Not that I’d ever use that word out loud, obviously – that would be deeply un-smooth. But I am. I never have issues with asking girls out. But something about Nell threw me off balance.
So I walked away, inwardly cursing myself, thinking I’d never see her again.
Which is why it was beyond mind-blowing to see her suddenly walking towards this desk.
I spot the lift doors open, and my stomach flips in anticipation – but it’s not Nell. It’s a woman who looks a little older than me, in a Notorious B.I.G. T-shirt, with masses of black curly hair bouncing at her shoulders.
‘Hello. You’re not Nell,’ she says as she approaches, wearing a friendly-yet-confused expression. I slap on my brightest grin and turn on the charm.
‘No. I’m Charlie. Hi!’ I stand up and hold out my hand to her.
She shakes it, but still looks confused. ‘Charlie . . .?’
‘Charlie . . .’ I pause. I was hoping to go a little longer without having to get into all this. ‘Francombe.’
‘Oh.’ Her eyes widen. ‘Ohhhhh. Right. Charlie Francombe.’
I work hard to keep my smile in place, but I feel something wither inside me. The look she’s giving me is one people have been giving me all my life. A look that makes me feel like a six-year-old kid. A look that makes me ashamed to be the son of a father I barely even know.
I swallow hard and try to think of Mum. I’m here for her, after all. I’m here because she wants me to be here. But weirdly it’s my dad that pops back into my head. I remember something he told me before he left us. I must have been eleven, just about to start at the stupidly posh private school he’d insisted I go to, even though it meant boarding away from Mum. I’d confessed to him how scared I was about going, how nervous I was about not fitting in. He’d said: ‘Just act like you belong, Charlie boy. That’s the trick: act like you belong.’
That’s what I need to do right now. Act like I belong. As much as I hate the guy, it’s good advice. Advice I’ve been using ever since.
Bishi is walking back towards our section now – no Nell with her, just a bloke wearing a lime-green Rick and Morty hoodie. ‘Morning, Talia,’ she says. ‘I see you’ve met Charlie.’
‘I have indeed.’ Talia nods.
‘And this is Nate Pritchard,’ Bishi says to me, indicating the man next to her. ‘He’s the head writer on Punching Up.’
Nate smiles. He’s a head shorter than me, his face framed by glasses and a scruffy goatee. He must be nearly thirty, but there’s a kind of mischievous, schoolboy energy about him. ‘Wicked to have you aboard, man!’ he says, sticking his hand out. ‘How you doing?’
‘Yeah, good, thanks.’ I stand up straight and shake his hand. Act like you belong. ‘Thanks for having me. I know it’s very last minute.’
‘Oh, mate, don’t sweat it. Of course! Now, can we get you anything? Tea? Coffee?’
‘Charlie’s actually got some coffees there for the whole team,’ Bishi says, nodding at Nell’s order on my desk.
Nate drops his jaw, miming amazement. ‘No freaking way. Best. Intern. Ever!’
‘Oh, it wasn’t actually me,’ I point out. ‘It was N—’
But Nate cuts me off as he reaches for one of the cups. ‘You’re a legend, mate. Thank you.’
Bishi nods behind me. ‘And here comes your father now . . .’
‘Charlie boy!’
I look round to see Nick striding across the floor towards us, every head in the office turning with him as he passes. He’s wearing a dark-blue suit and crisp white shirt, with the top button undone, looking every inch the powerful TV executive.
‘Long time no see! How are you then, sunshine?’ he booms, pumping my hand and grasping my shoulder tightly. ‘Good to see you!’ I can sense the whole office’s eyes on me. God, I wish he would keep his voice down. I feel my cheeks go red, but I straighten my back and try to match his confidence with my own.
‘Good, thanks,’ I mutter. ‘How are you?’
‘Excellent!’ He beams at me, still gripping my shoulder tightly. Even though it’s nearly a year since I last saw him, he looks the same as ever. A little greyer at the temples, maybe – but still confidence personified, in total command of the room.
‘Settling in OK?’ he asks.
I nod, my cheeks still burning. Act like you belong.
‘He’s already won us all over by bringing coffees in,’ says Nate, with a grin.
‘I actually didn’t bring them, it was –’
Nick’s barked laughter drowns me out. ‘Good lad! He’s already doing better than his last job then.’ He turns to the team, his hand still clamped onto my shoulder. ‘He got the boot from an art gallery after slagging off the owner to his face! Didn’t recognise Sir Michael bloody Barkley, and told the guy he’d pissed all his money away on a load of pretentious wank!’ He roars with laughter and punches my arm. ‘You hopeless lump, you!’
The team laughs along with him, but their laughter is tight somehow – uncomfortable, forced. It’s like they’re terrified of putting a foot wrong in front of him. As far back as I can remember, that’s the way people have always acted around Nick. And around me too, when they find out I’m his son. Which is why I’m usually at pains to conceal that fact.
But they’re all still laughing, so I nail my smile back on as I perform a what-am-I-like? gesture and wish for the ground to open up and swallow me.
‘Well, look,’ Nick says. ‘I just wanted to nip down and say hi. I’ll let you get on. But maybe we’ll have lunch later, yeah?’
‘OK, yeah, sounds good,’ I mumble, just to get rid of him.
He strides away, all eyes trailing him back to the lift. As soon as he disappears, I finally feel like I can breathe again.
Nate claps his hands together. ‘Right. Let’s get into the room, shall we? This week’s show isn’t going to write itself.’
The rest of the team stand up and begin gathering their things. Bishi turns to me. ‘Charlie – would you go and fetch Nell?’