The Funny Thing About Love

10. Charlie

10

CHARLIE

The first thing I notice is the security.

Arriving at the office the next day, there’s a wall of massive, frowning men in black suits and sunglasses blocking the double doors.

Initially, I assume there must have been some kind of bomb threat, until I remember that photo on the wall of the writers’ room.

Lina. She’s the special guest on the show this week.

‘He’s all right, he works here.’ I hear Bishi’s voice from behind the wall of men, and they part to allow me through. Bishi is looking even more flustered than usual this morning, holding a phone in each hand, her eyes bouncing between both screens.

‘Hey, Bishi!’

‘Morning, Charlie. You go on up,’ she murmurs, still glancing from one phone to another like she’s watching a particularly intense tennis match. ‘I’ve got to stick around and greet Her Royal Highness when she finally arrives.’

I touch my fob on the electric gates and head in. At the other end of the lobby, I spot Nell, waiting for the lift. I glance at my reflection in the huge hallway mirror and then speed-walk towards her as I see the lift doors opening. ‘Hey!’ I call, as she steps in. ‘Hold the doors!’

She makes a flappy, apologetic gesture that seems to translate as, ‘Sorry – I don’t know how!’ But the smirk on her face as the doors close suggests she isn’t that sorry.

It’s so weird. I swear there was something there yesterday morning. I mean, there was definitely something there for me. But I was sure she was giving some vibes back. Today though she doesn’t seem in the slightest bit interested in speaking to me.

By the time I get up to our floor, she’s nowhere to be seen. She must have already headed to her desk round the corner. In the little writers’ area, everyone is channelling that same nervous energy that Bishi was exuding downstairs. They’re all rushing around, tidying their desks and generally looking flustered and frantic. Nate and Noah, who yesterday were wearing tatty T-shirts and jeans, are now in smart shirts and blazers. They look kind of wrong in them somehow – like kids who’ve been forced to dress up for a wedding.

I can’t exactly talk though: I haven’t worn a suit since sixth form.

I peer out of the window behind my desk at the scrum of security guards still surrounding the main entrance below. There are now also a few photographers dotted around the courtyard – paparazzi waiting for Lina to arrive, I guess. There are fans too – clusters of girls holding hand-drawn signs, filming each other performing dance routines. It suddenly strikes me just how big of a deal this is. I’m not into her music, but she is properly, properly famous. And she’s about to walk into this office.

‘Pretty mad, isn’t it?’ Anna says, looking up at me from her desk. She’s fruitlessly trying to shuffle the jungle of papers on it into some sort of order.

‘Yep,’ I say.

‘Fuck, I hope she likes the sketch pitches,’ Noah chimes in, taking a massive gulp of coffee.

Only Talia seems unfazed by everything. While the others chew their nails and mainline caffeine around her, she’s just sitting at her computer tapping away at a script document. ‘I’ve seen interviews with Lina,’ she says. ‘She seems genuinely smart and funny. I think she’s going to kill it on the sketches.’

‘Is she performing too?’ I ask. ‘Like, singing?’

Talia nods. ‘Yep. I think she’s doing her new single.’

Nate runs a hand through his scruffy hair. ‘Her music’s shit but she’ll triple our viewing figures.’

Rich snorts at that, and I laugh too, even though I don’t find it particularly funny. Nate’s basically my boss, and you’ve got to laugh at your boss’s jokes, right?

But Talia fixes him with a hard stare. ‘Her music’s not “shit”, Nate. Millions of people love it. It’s just that you don’t.’

Nate smirks at her. ‘Millions of teenage girls, T-Double,’ he says witheringly.

Her stare hardens. ‘What’s that Harry Styles quote about why we, as a society, assume teenage girls have worse taste than some thirty-year-old hipster douchebag?’

Anna laughs and high-fives Talia. And I let out a genuine laugh this time.

Nate just rolls his eyes. ‘I’m twenty-eight.’

‘Right,’ Talia says. ‘Not disputing the hipster douchebag bit though?’

Everyone laughs at that – including Nate. ‘Touché, T-Double,’ he says, holding up his hands. ‘But can we save these LOLs for when Lina is actually in the room, please?’

‘She’s running late!’ All our heads turn to see Bishi striding towards us, still clutching both her phones. ‘Her agent just texted to say we can expect her in about an hour, so everyone stand down for the moment.’

There’s a collective sigh of relief from the entire room. Kerri stops tidying and flops down into her chair.

‘OK, let’s have a quick run-through of the sketches we’re presenting to her then,’ Nate says to the writers. They file into the meeting room, and Bishi comes over to me.

‘Charlie, since they’re using the room, can we go and see Nell so I can talk you guys through what’s on the schedule for today?’

I practically leap out of my seat. ‘Yeah, sure!’

We head out of the writers’ area towards Nell’s desk, and whenever I feel Bishi isn’t looking, I try desperately to assess my reflection in any mirrored surface we happen to pass. My hair is doing that annoying thing where it sticks up at the back, no matter how much I try to slick it down. It makes me look like a mullet-sporting eighties action star.

I’m trying to tame it as we turn the corner and Bishi chimes, ‘Hey, Nell!’

Nell is sat hunched at her tiny desk, wrinkling her nose at a bloke next to her, who is eating a truly gigantic packet of Monster Munch. My stomach flips – mainly because she looks even better than she did yesterday. Her dark hair is pulled up into a messy topknot this morning, and she’s wearing a deep-red T-shirt that matches her lipstick. As Bishi and I approach, I nail on my brightest, most confident grin. Nell narrows her eyes at me.

Bishi pulls two chairs over to her desk, and we sit down opposite Nell. ‘Thought we’d come to you this morning,’ she says, ‘as the writers are in the meeting room.’

‘Oh, OK. Cool.’ Nell gives her a polite smile, and – as is apparently usual now – gives me absolutely nothing. I feel a jolt of disappointment. I really could have sworn she was flirting with me yesterday. I’m normally quite good at reading these things. So, what’s happened since then to make her not even want to look at me?

I chance another quick glance in her direction. Her eyes are still fully focused on Bishi. Maybe she’s . . . playing hard to get? Is playing hard to get actually a thing? Or just a thing that happens in books and sitcoms? If she is playing hard to get, it’s definitely working. I’m starting to fancy her more and more with every second that she refuses to look at me.

‘I just wanted to grab a minute with the two of you together,’ Bishi says. ‘I’m sorry it’s all been so hectic so far. We’re still sort of figuring out how it’s going to work here with two interns.’

She laughs. I follow suit. Nell just gives a tight smile and nods. Are there not normally two interns here?

‘So, Nate and I will be discussing how we’ll proceed, going forward,’ Bishi continues, ‘but for the moment, we thought it’d be fun if we gave you each a little task to do ahead of the show tomorrow.’

‘Sounds cool,’ I say.

‘Mm,’ says Nell, her eyes still on Bishi.

‘Great!’ Bishi trills. ‘So, the writers have come up with this segment called “The People Versus Lina”. It’s going to be a fun, light-hearted thing where we roam the streets asking members of the public to sing bits of Lina’s most famous songs on camera. Ideally, the people who look the least likely to be into her – uptight-looking businessmen or elderly people in bus queues, that kind of thing. We’ll edit the best, funniest clips into a package, which we’ll play at the end of the show, and Lina will award a prize to her favourite one.’

Nell and I both nod.

‘So,’ Bishi says, ‘we’re thinking that we’ll send both of you out with a camera team each and see if you can nab as many of these singing clips as possible.’

Nell furrows her brow. ‘So . . . we’ll have to go up to random people and ask them if they’re willing to sing on camera and then . . . be broadcast to the entire nation?’

‘That’s pretty much it!’ says Bishi brightly. ‘Just be your charming selves and I’m sure tons of people will agree.’

Nell’s brow gets even more furrowed. ‘Do we have to be in the clips ourselves? Like, do we have to be on camera with the people singing?’

Bishi purses her lips as she weighs this up. ‘I think if you feel it’s going to work for the clip, if it’ll be funny to have you asking them, then yeah: go for it!’

I glance over at Nell and, just for half a second, she meets my eyes, but then she blinks and looks straight back at Bishi.

Bishi claps her hands together and stands up. ‘OK. Let’s head downstairs and I’ll grab you a camera team each.’

‘Wait – we’re going right now?’ Nell asks.

Bishi smiles. ‘Right now.’