The Funny Thing About Love

15. Nell

15

NELL

Thank God the toilets are empty.

I bolted straight out of that little room and down the corridor, not even knowing where I was going. I just wanted to get as far away as I could from them all because I could feel the tears coming and I didn’t want to be forever known as ‘that weird intern who started randomly weeping in the edit suite’.

As soon as I burst in here, I checked every stall to make sure there was no one inside, and then I locked myself in the very last cubicle and let it all flood out. I leaned forward, hugged myself around the middle and just bawled and bawled and bawled.

So, now, here I am: that weird intern randomly weeping in the toilets.

This is ridiculous. I’m not normally a crier. I can’t even remember the last time I cried. Maybe a couple of summers back, on that plane to Greece, watching The Notebook? But I’d put that down to the altitude and the two gin and tonics I’d sunk after take-off. Right now though I’m stone-cold sober, on the ground and wailing my eyes out. I can’t help it.

When Charlie Francombe swaggered into that room to a hero’s welcome it was like something inside me just snapped. No one even mentioned my Covent Garden mass singalong. I have no idea if they’ve even seen the footage. I risked total humiliation to get that clip in the bag – a clip that Dev and Mike told me was ‘one of the best things we’ve ever filmed’ – and Charlie Fucking Francombe just swooped in and stole my thunder by roping in Ed Sheeran. How does he even know Ed Sheeran?!

Then I remember what Nate said in the edit suite. Your dad sent it over late last night.

Of course. Of course his dad is helping him.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I panic, thinking maybe it’s Bishi checking where I am. But no, it’s just Mica on the group chat.

What the hell is this??

I click the link she’s sent and it takes me to Lina’s Instagram Story – a video of her, right outside the room I’ve just sprinted away from, hugging Charlie Francombe like he’s her long-lost love.

A noise comes spluttering out of me that’s halfway between a sob and a laugh. The whole thing is so ridiculous, so unfair, that it’s almost funny. Or at least it would be if it were happening to someone else.

I jab the phone screen, all set to record the weepiest voice message in history, explaining everything, when I hear the creak of the door followed by footsteps. Shit. Someone else is in here. I press both hands over my mouth to stop my snotty gasps escaping. But as the footsteps get louder, the pressure keeps building and building behind my eyes, and I can’t stop myself. My stupid body betrays me and a loud, ragged breath bursts out from between my lips, echoing around the room. Outside, the footsteps stop.

‘Hello? Is everything OK in there?’ Talia’s voice. It’s gentle. Concerned.

I take a shaky breath in. ‘Yeah, no, fine, I just . . .’

‘Nell?’ she says quickly. I can see her shadow under the gap in the cubicle door. ‘What’s up? What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing, I . . .’ I haul myself to my feet and try to pull myself together. I can’t let my Literal Hero see me like this. I dab frantically at my eyes with a wad of toilet paper, but as soon as I unlock the door and see Talia’s worried frown and wrinkled brow, I can’t help it. I start crying again.

‘I’m sorry, Talia, I’m so sorry . . .’ I flap my hands at my eyes, trying to stop the tears. But they just keep coming.

‘Hey! Hey . . . what’s up?’ To my immense surprise, Talia doesn’t back away towards the door in horror. Instead, she pulls me gently into her and wraps her arms around me. The shock of it – the unexpected kindness – only makes me cry harder. I bury my face in her shoulder.

‘Oh God, I’m not normally like this, I promise,’ I wail.

‘Hey, it’s OK. It’s OK, Nell.’

‘I normally only cry on planes,’ I gabble, ‘but that’s because of the altitude and the gin and tonics. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.’

I feel Talia’s body shake softly as she laughs.

‘It’s OK, Nell, it’s OK.’ She just keeps repeating it gently, like a mantra, as she rubs circles into my back. I open my blurry eyes and catch a glimpse of us both in the mirror. It’s actually surreal. I’ve spent so many hours watching YouTube interviews with this woman, and even – in my dorkier moments – compiling lists of my ten favourite sketches by her. Now, here I am, buried in her arms in a bathroom, emptying my tear ducts into her T-shirt.

The door opens again and a woman I don’t know enters. I flinch to try to hide my face, but Talia holds onto me. ‘Clare, really sorry, can you just give us one second?’ she says.

The woman nods and backs out. I feel such a rush of gratitude for Talia that I instinctively hug her even more tightly. ‘I’m sorry,’ I mumble again into her shoulder. ‘This is so embarrassing.’

‘Don’t apologise,’ she says. ‘When I first started here, I was crying in these toilets at least three times a week. Four if Mercury was in retrograde.’

This time it’s me who shakes with laughter. ‘Thank you,’ I say, as I step away from her. I glance at the mirror again and wince. I look like a panda that’s just run a half-marathon.

‘So, are you going to tell me what’s going on?’ Talia asks, yanking a paper towel from the dispenser and handing it to me. ‘You don’t have to, obviously. But if you want to talk about anything . . .’

I scrub the towel across my face and it all comes spilling out. By the time I’ve finished, Talia is staring at me with her eyebrows raised. She looks half amused, half impressed. ‘You seriously started singing in the middle of Covent Garden?’

I laugh and dab my eyes again. ‘Yeah. It was definitely one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. But then everyone joined in – the whole square! It was crazy.’

She shakes her head, her expression hardening. ‘I can’t believe Nate didn’t even show us the footage. He just came in this morning wittering on about this amazing exclusive that Charlie had bagged.’ She puts a hand on my shoulder. ‘Do you want me to talk to Nate about this? We could try to get your clip played as well?’

‘No, please don’t,’ I say hurriedly. ‘I don’t want to cause any trouble. Plus, maybe I’m even secretly glad that the entire country won’t get a taste of my atrocious singing.’ I force a laugh, trying to lighten the mood. But Talia is still frowning at me with her brow furrowed. Her persistence makes me feel like I don’t have to pretend everything is OK.

‘It’s just that . . . I tried so hard on that assignment,’ I tell her. ‘I love this show so much, and it’s always been my dream to be here. So I really wanted to impress Bishi and Nate and all of you. But now it’s as if I didn’t even bother. Or I may as well not have. And I just keep wondering – is it going to be like this for the rest of the internship?’

Talia looks down at the floor. ‘I get that.’

‘Like, yesterday, Charlie got to go into the writers’ meeting, and I had to miss it because Bishi asked me to do this spreadsheet thing, and –’ I check myself suddenly, flinching with shame at complaining about being here. ‘God, I’m sorry. I sound so spoilt. Obviously, I’m so grateful to even be here, but –’

‘Nell, stop,’ Talia says firmly. ‘You don’t need to be grateful to be here. I read your sketches. You’re here because your writing is shit-hot. You’re here on merit. Which is more than can be said for Charlie Francombe.’

Honestly, that very nearly makes me start crying again. I actually have to take a step backwards to stop myself hugging her again. ‘You have no idea what that means to me, Talia,’ I gulp.

‘I’m not being nice, Nell. It’s a fact,’ she snaps. She hands me another paper towel. ‘Now, seriously – do you want me to talk to Nate about all this? To make sure that you and Charlie get equal treatment in future?’

I shrug. ‘What would you say?’

She opens her mouth and then hesitates, chewing her lip. ‘I don’t know. I mean, Nick Francombe is . . . Nick Francombe.’

I nod glumly. She smiles at me. ‘Don’t worry about impressing us, Nell,’ she says. ‘You are impressing us. Just keep doing what you’re doing, and people will notice. I promise you.’

‘Thanks, Talia. So much. I’ll try.’ I wince as I notice the dinner-plate-sized wet patch on her shoulder. ‘Sorry for snotting up your T-shirt.’

She laughs and pats the patch with a fistful of towels. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

The door opens again and the woman from before pokes her head round. Talia beckons her in. ‘Cheers, Clare – you can come in now.’

As Talia and I walk out, Clare gives me a supportive smile. I have to stop myself hugging her too.

‘Right, I’d best get to the stage,’ Talia says when we’re back out in the corridor. ‘Rich’s egotistical scientists sketch still needs tweaking.’

‘I’d better get back upstairs to my desk too. Seriously, Talia – thank you so much for being so nice.’

‘Of course.’ I’m about to start walking when she adds, ‘Nell . . . I’ve not been in this industry very long, but trust me: it’s full of Charlie Francombes.’

I laugh. ‘Yeah. I’m not sure that makes me feel any better, Talia.’

‘It should do,’ she says firmly. ‘You know why? Because you’ve got more talent than all of them.’ She nudges my elbow with hers. ‘Talent is what got you into this building, and talent is what will keep you here long after the Charlie Francombes have gone.’