16. Charlie
16
CHARLIE
As soon as I step out of the lift, I see him.
There are fewer people up here than on our floor. The top brass, I guess.
He’s sitting in a big leather chair inside a glass-panelled office, barking into the phone as if he’s Logan Roy in Succession. Which makes me . . . who? Kendall? Connor? Greg? None of the available options are particularly appealing, to be honest.
Nick spots me through the glass and hangs up the phone to usher me in. ‘Charlie boy! What are you doing up here?’
‘Hey, I just –’
‘Shut the door behind you, there’s a good lad.’
‘Yep, sorry.’
He gestures to the chair in front of him. ‘Have a seat.’ As I do so, I feel my stomach clench. The heart-thumping anger that drove me up here has dissolved suddenly, replaced by a quivering, weedy nervousness. I haven’t really thought this through. I’ve never had any sort of ‘serious’ conversation with Nick in my life. He’s basically a stranger. The last time I expressed any sort of emotion in front of him I was eleven years old. Crying at the top of the stairs while he packed his suitcase. Begging him not to go.
Since then, it’s all been platitudes, small talk, smiling for his selfies. What am I actually going to say to him?
‘So, what’s up?’ he asks. To the side of his keyboard, I notice a framed photo. It shows him and Alice – his wife, the woman he left us for – along with their two kids, Barney and Ezra. The half-brothers I’ve still never met. If Nick notices me glancing at the picture, he doesn’t show it.
I swallow hard. ‘Erm, well, I was just down in the edit suite and I saw that video . . .’
He chuckles and raps the desk with his knuckles. ‘I thought that might be what brought you up here! Bloody brilliant, isn’t it?’ He dips his head smugly. ‘You’re welcome, by the way!’
I cough to clear my throat. ‘Why would . . . Why did you –’
He cuts me off, misinterpreting my whys for hows. ‘Oh, I know Ed’s manager from way back. I’d told him Lina was on the show and he’d mentioned reading somewhere that she was a massive Sheeran fan. So I thought I’d reach out and see if we could set something up. Give you a bit of a hand with your assignment.’
‘Right, yep,’ I mumble, trying to keep my voice as level as possible. ‘I mean, I didn’t really need a hand, but . . .’
I let the sentence tail off as I stare at the carpet. The silence is broken by the squeak of Nick’s leather chair as he shifts in it. ‘No, I know you didn’t,’ he says slowly. ‘But I thought I’d surprise you with it. Let’s face it: an exclusive Ed Sheeran video is a bit more eye-catching than a load of vox pops of nobodies!’
He roars with laughter. I look up at him and feel the heart-thumping anger creeping back in. ‘Yeah, except I spent all day collecting those vox pops,’ I tell him. ‘I had nothing to do with the Ed Sheeran thing.’
Nick flaps his hand impatiently. ‘Oh, don’t worry. I told Nate to tell everyone it was all your idea.’
‘So Nate knows it wasn’t?’
He pauses. ‘Well . . . yes. But you’ll get all the credit for it, old boy!’
‘But it wasn’t my idea.’
‘No, but the rest of them don’t know that, do they? I told Nate to keep schtum!’
‘But I –’
He cuts me off with a raised index finger. ‘Look – this other intern,’ he says. ‘Nell, is it?’
I nod, surprised that he knows her name.
‘She’s obviously a pretty smart cookie,’ he continues. ‘Nate was telling me she knows the show inside out, and she’s ambitious as all hell. He says she’s got tons of potential as a sketch writer too.’
I just shrug. I don’t see what any of this has to do with the Ed Sheeran video.
Nick rolls his eyes at the blank look on my face. ‘So, what I’m saying is: if you want to impress Nate and the rest of the team, you might need a little . . .’ He purses his lips, choosing his words. ‘Leg up.’
A spasm of shame runs through me. I squeeze the bridge of my nose and feel heat rising into my face. He’s so certain that I can’t succeed without him. His words from a couple of days ago ring again in my ears. You hopeless lump.
Something inside me hardens. I still have zero interest in working in TV. I’m still only doing this internship to ease Mum’s worries. But the fact that Nick is so certain I need his help . . . I don’t know. It’s like a switch has been flipped. I suddenly want, more than anything, to prove him wrong. To prove everyone here wrong. To show them I’m not just ‘Nick Francombe’s son’.
He raises his palms and frowns at me. ‘But, look, Charlie, if you don’t want me to give you any more help, just say the word and I’ll stop.’
‘OK.’ I stand up and look straight at him. ‘I don’t want your help.’