The Funny Thing About Love

19. Nell

19

NELL

Over the past five days I’ve become something of an expert at ignoring Charlie Francombe. In fact, it’s fast becoming one of my main life skills. But previously I’ve only ever had to ignore him with other people present. Ignoring him when it’s just the two of us is proving much harder. Especially when he keeps ruffling his sandy hair and smiling his double-dimple smile. And when he’s wearing a shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, which I suppose, objectively speaking, are quite nice forearms.

Plus, annoyingly, he was kind of funny in the meeting. As much as it pains me to admit it, that Duolingo idea was pretty solid. I can’t believe how easily he just tossed it out. He looked so calm about speaking up – like it’s never even crossed his mind what a total privilege it is just to be in that room. It took literally all my nerve to mumble that San Pellegrino thing. It’s worrying, actually. Charlie clearly just walked into this internship because of who his dad is, but what if he turns out to be good at it too? If a job does come up, I won’t stand a chance . . .

‘Fun morning, wasn’t it?’ Charlie’s chirpy voice derails my train of thought as he steps into the lift behind me, clutching the team’s Pret order on a scrap of notepad paper. ‘That conspiracy theorist idea you suggested was wicked, by the way!’

‘Mm-hm,’ I say. The doors close and I lock eyes with my own reflection, hoping we can just complete the rest of this assignment in silence. Charlie does not take the hint.

‘So, how was your weekend?’ he asks. ‘Did you get up to anything interesting?’

‘Not really.’ The lift doors open and we step out. ‘Just hung out with my flatmates.’

It feels rude, and therefore wrong, not to add, ‘You?’ at the end of that sentence. But adding ‘You?’ would go firmly against the whole Ignoring Charlie Francombe Thing, so I don’t. Besides, I do not exist to make his life more comfortable – he already has tons of other people doing that. And I’m definitely not about to give him any more detail about my own weekend. No way will I be opening up about my disastrous date on Thursday night with Zach from Tinder, who turned out to be genuinely the most tedious, mansplainy alpha-male douchelord I’ve ever encountered. As I told Chloe and Mica straight afterwards, if dating in London means listening to a load of Zachs wang on for hours, I’m seriously considering deleting the apps.

Even worse, he messaged me last night to ask when we could do it again. Ghosting him feels rude and wrong, but I don’t know how to let him down gently.

Still, apart from the crap date, the rest of the weekend was awesome. Chloe, Mica and I went out both Friday and Saturday nights, got hideously drunk and had a ridiculous amount of fun. It was like being back at uni again, only the drinks were about seventy times more expensive. Yesterday, nursing our collective hangovers with a takeaway McDonald’s, they’d given me another pep talk, along the lines of Talia’s last week, about how I had to keep giving it my all at this internship. I even spent last night doing a shit-ton of research on this week’s guest host, that douche billionaire Jed Greening. I suffered through a ten-minute YouTube tutorial about this stupid new e-scooter he’s invented, on the off-chance that it might spark some sketch ideas. Because, like Talia said, I got through these doors on merit, which is more than can be said for Charlie Fucking Francombe.

And this morning was a reminder of that. That moment in the writers’ meeting when the conspiracy theorist joke came to me. I was almost too nervous to open my mouth. What if nobody laughed? Or worse – what if there was the false tinkle of pity laughter? But I was so sure that the gag was good. I even did what I always do in moments of comedic doubt: I ran it through the Dad Check. I thought to myself: Would Dad have laughed at this? And the answer, in this case, was a definite yes.

So I blurted it out.

And they all laughed. Way more than they had at Charlie’s Duolingo thing.

God, it had felt so good.

The way I’d picked up on Rich’s idea and sent it spinning somewhere else, and then Kerri had taken my thread and spun it another direction too – I just kept thinking: how incredible must it be to do this as your actual job? To sit in that room every day, riffing and spinning and weaving ideas together with a load of clever, funny people. It was my Literal Dream, and for a moment, I was living it.

Until I got hoofed out to Pret with my Nepo Baby Nemesis.

As we leave the building, Charlie overlooks my failure to ask him about his own weekend and starts wittering on about his extremely weird-sounding flatmate and how his ‘snake had got loose’ on Sunday. I’m praying this isn’t some sort of disgusting euphemism, but before he can finish the story, we enter the crowded Pret and he pulls out the order sheet.

‘OK, so, shall I get the sandwiches?’ he suggests. ‘And you get the drinks?’

‘Yep, that sounds go—’ I stop dead as I scan the shop and see him. My heart leaps into my throat. Yep, it’s definitely him.

No way. No. Actual. Way. You cannot be serious.

‘Erm . . . Nell? What are you doing?’

Charlie is frowning down at me. Without even realising it, I’ve crouched behind a cart full of apples, in order to sufficiently shield myself from Zach the Alpha-male Tinder Douche, who is currently standing just metres away.

I know he works nearby, but still – what are the chances? Clearly, the universe hates me.

‘I’m getting an apple,’ I mumble, over the increasingly loud thump of my heartbeat.

‘Oh, cool. Can you get me one too?’

‘Can you keep your voice down?’ I hiss up at him.

‘Er . . . why?’

I chance a look up, praying Zach has gone. He has not gone. He is still very much here, and has now moved to the fridge behind us, so there is no possible way I can sneak out without him seeing me. I shuffle round to the other side of the apple cart. Charlie squats down next to me.

‘Nell? Can you please tell me what is happening right now?’ he whispers. ‘Why are we crouching and whispering in front of some apples?’

‘Because . . .’ Oh God, I’m going to have to tell him. There’s no other choice. And to be honest I’d rather break my ignoring-Charlie-Francombe rule than see Zach the Douche again.

‘There’s someone in here I don’t want to see . . .’

‘Who?’ He shoots up to his feet, head spinning, meerkat-like, from side to side.

‘Get down, Francombe!’ I hiss and yank his shirt until he drops back down next to me.

‘“Francombe?”’ he says, with an amused grin.

I flush, but then Charlie wrinkles his nose. ‘Not sure I like “Francombe”, actually,’ he says. ‘Reminds me of school. I’d rather you just called me “Charlie”.’

‘Well, Francombe, we don’t always get what we want.’ I smirk at him and he smirks back and . . . I need to focus. ‘Anyway, look, you see the guy with the blond quaff in the dark-blue suit?’ I mutter.

Charlie peers around the corner of the cart. ‘Yeah . . .’

‘That’s Zach – I went on a date with him last week.’

Charlie’s eyes widen. ‘Oh. Ohhhh. Hey, wait – is that the Obvious Doctor Guy?’

Instinctively, I laugh. So does Charlie. It’s the first time either of us has mentioned the way we met, right outside this exact cafe, six days ago. For a moment, I feel that same weird, crackly energy I felt when he handed me my phone that morning.

‘No, different guy,’ I say, peering round to see if he’s gone yet.

Charlie raises his eyebrows. ‘Nell. You absolute player.’ His lip is bitten in smug amusement, which just makes the whole situation even more infuriating. I roll my eyes to mask the worrying flip my tummy performs.

‘So I’m guessing this date went extremely well?’ he whispers. ‘That’s why you’re hiding from him under some apples?’

The laughter bubbles up inside me again before I can stop it. ‘He was a total dick,’ I whisper. ‘Talked to me about his Ironman training for about three hours, and then when he finally asked what I did, and I told him I was interning at a comedy show, he frowned and told me point-blank that he “didn’t really find women all that funny”.’

Charlie winces. ‘Come on. No way did he actually say that out loud.’

‘He actually said that out loud.’

‘Jesus.’

‘And then he dunked on my Meowie Bowie socks.’

‘Your what?’

‘My “Meowie Bowie” socks,’ I hiss. ‘They’ve got a cat dressed as Ziggy Stardust on them and they say “Meowie Bowie” in glitter.’

Charlie gives an appreciative nod. ‘Nice.’

‘Thanks. But Zach noticed them and went into this ten-minute spiel about how, actually, the pun didn’t work because “Bowie” rhymed with “Chloe” and not “Meowie”.’

Charlie shakes his head. ‘Wow. Incredibly poor dating game. Maybe I should give him some tips . . .’

He makes to stand up, and I have to cover my mouth again to stop laughing. My stomach performs another swan dive as he squats back down and smiles at me. I sense that weird spark between us again. It makes me feel like being honest. ‘He messaged me yesterday to meet up again, but I haven’t replied yet.’

‘So, what?’ Charlie whispers. ‘Are we just going to hide here until he leaves?’

‘That’s the plan, Francombe, yes.’

Now he rolls his eyes. ‘I don’t think it’s a very good plan.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because he’s right there.’

I look up. Zach is indeed, literally, right there above us, perusing the apples. The second he glances down I will be deep in the bowels of humiliation hell. Oh shit.

I’m aware that one day this moment could feasibly form the basis for a funny story. Maybe even a funny sketch. But right now, it’s just deeply, horrendously cringe. I take a deep breath to steel myself for the impending embarrassment when Charlie whispers, ‘OK – you sneak out and I’ll get the food afterwards, yeah?’

I stare at him. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Just go,’ he hisses. And then he stands up. ‘Zach! Hello, mate! Long time no see!’

I freeze in my crouched position by his feet. What the hell is he playing at?

‘Erm . . . hi?’ I hear Zach say.

‘It’s Charlie!’ Charlie booms. ‘Charlie from uni! Oh, mate, good to see you! How long has it been? Hey – you still doing the Ironmans?’

I bite my lip hard to stop the laughter escaping.

‘Erm . . . yeah, still doing the Ironmans,’ Zach mumbles. ‘What are you up to these days?’ I feel Charlie’s trainer nudge me. Still covering my mouth, I scramble out and head for the door.

Before I go through it, I hear Charlie say, ‘What am I up to? Oh, mainly watching comedy these days, mate. Anything with Phoebe Waller-Bridge, Victoria Wood, Michaela Coel, Kristen Wiig or Ali Wong in, really. They’re all just so fucking funny, don’t you think, mate?’

I spring through the door and out into the fresh air. Finally safe, finally able to laugh out loud, and ever-so-slightly concerned about the butterflies flapping wildly in my stomach.

Damn you, Charlie Francombe.