The Funny Thing About Love

22. Charlie

22

CHARLIE

‘OK – he’ll be here any minute,’ Nate says. ‘So, what have we actually got?’

It’s Tuesday morning, and we’re all sitting in the writers’ room. Jed Greening is due into the office today – a day earlier than guest hosts normally come in, because Jed apparently has some meeting tomorrow that he can’t shift – and the staff are even more stressed and overdressed than they were for Lina. Nate has gone beyond just blazer and jeans, and is now wearing an actual suit.

I get it, I guess: Lina is massive with young people, but literally everyone knows who Jed Greening is. I even heard my gran mention him once. Granted, she called him ‘that dreadful rich pillock’, but she still knows him. He’s massive, and him hosting the show is massive.

Which is why Nate is currently flapping about like a headless chicken with a Sharpie, trying to figure out which order they should pitch the sketches to him. I, on the other hand, am nursing a mild five-Guinness hangover and staring through the glass wall, hoping that Nell will turn up at any moment.

I haven’t even seen her yet this morning – I’m guessing Bishi has got her on something else, as usual. It’s an irritating paradox: I can’t concentrate when she’s in the room, and I also can’t concentrate when she’s not. As nervous as everyone else is about Jed showing up, I’m way more nervous about seeing Nell. I’m just praying that that frost has remained melted overnight, and that I can bump my eye-contact personal best up to fifteen seconds, at least.

I was so close to swiping right on her last night. In my booze-addled mind, it seemed like it would be funny – a kind of inside joke that would also let Nell know I genuinely like her. But Ben convinced me otherwise. In his usual mature, big-brotherly way, he told me it might seem a bit creepy and weird. For a casting vote, we even got Tansy back on the phone to ask her opinion. She agreed with Ben that if I really liked this girl, I’d be better off trying to actually get to know her, rather than randomly right-swiping her on Tinder when I was pissed. Last night, with the glow of the Guinness still inside me, I was a bit disappointed as I put my phone away. But waking up this morning, I could see they were both right. I genuinely like Nell. The last thing I want her to see me as is another Zach. Plus, the idea of me right-swiping her and her not swiping back . . . Yeah, that might have been a little too painful.

Nate taps his Sharpie against the wall, snapping me back into the moment. The wall is covered in the many, multi-coloured Post-it notes that represent the week’s different sketches so far. I yank my gaze away from the glass and over to it. I’m supposed to be proving my worth to these people, not endlessly daydreaming about Nell. I need to get my head back in the room.

Nate jabs the first Post-it with his pen. ‘So, Rich, how about you go first with the San Pellegrino thing. And maybe don’t pitch it from down there on the floor, yeah?’

Rich’s hand emerges from under the table in a thumbs up.

‘OK. Then T-Double, you’ll pitch your GB News pisstake,’ Nate says.

Talia nods. ‘Yup.’

‘Then I’ll pitch the THT headlines . . . What else have we got that’s actually ready to go?’ Nate squints at the Post-it notes again. ‘The time-travel thing, the piss-up in a brewery sketch, that witness-protection idea. We still haven’t cracked the thing about his scooter so we can’t pitch that . . .’ He puffs his cheeks out. ‘The board is looking worryingly empty right now.’

‘We never have anything ready on a Tuesday morning,’ Anna points out. ‘It’s not our fault he’s coming in early.’

‘I know, but Jed Greening is a fucking big deal, Anna!’ Nate snaps back at her. ‘It’s taken us years to get him on the show! He will, literally, triple our viewing figures this week. Socials have already gone crazy since we announced he’s hosting.’ He points back up at the wall. ‘What if he doesn’t like what we’ve got? We need back-up!’ He starts pacing around the table, glancing at people’s notebooks. ‘Who’s got something? Anything? Rich?’

Rich is still on the floor, so Nate squints down at his notepad on the table. ‘“Builders who are afraid of bricks”,’ he reads. ‘What’s that?’

‘It’s an idea I’m developing,’ Rich says. ‘About some builders who are afraid of bricks.’

Kerri snuffles with laughter, but she’s the only one. ‘Right . . . well, probably needs a bit more development before we pitch it to one of the world’s most successful businessmen,’ Nate says. ‘Anyone else? Noah?’

Noah flicks through his notebook: ‘Erm . . . Well, I had this thing about, like, you know how you have your baby teeth? And then they fall out? Well, what if you had that for other parts of your face too? Like, you had your baby ears?’

The idea is so ridiculous it actually makes me laugh. ‘So, like, when you’re seven, they fall off and you put them under your pillow for the Ear Fairy?’ I suggest.

‘Exactly!’ Noah shouts, as Rich guffaws underneath the table.

Nate just squeezes the bridge of his nose and sighs. ‘Where is this going, Noah? This isn’t a sketch. It’s just a sequence of horrifying images. Save it for your stand-up.’

Noah shrugs. ‘Your loss. I’m gonna call my Netflix special Baby Ears.’

‘Oh, bollocks,’ Nate says. I follow his gaze and see what he’s frowning at. Through the glass, Bishi is striding towards us, flanked by a short-ish bloke with a ludicrous beard, carrying an even more ludicrous scooter. Jed Greening has arrived.

As Bishi opens the door, Talia kicks Rich under the table. ‘Rich! He’s here!’

Rich springs up from the floor, whacking his head on the side of the table, and gives Jed a flustered wave. ‘Hi! Sorry! Lost a contact lens.’

‘You’re wearing glasses,’ Jed points out. I see Talia and Kerri bite their lips to keep from laughing.

‘Yeah . . . My eyesight’s just . . . really bad,’ Rich mumbles. Bishi cuts in quickly, speaking through a rictus grin. ‘OK, morning all! Jed – these are our fabulous writers! They’ll be talking you through the sketches you’ll be performing on Thursday’s show.’

‘So! These are the funny people!’ Jed smirks. ‘What’s up, funny people?’

We all murmur hello.

‘I’ll leave you to it then!’ Bishi says, flashing a slightly panicked look at Nate before closing the door.

Jed leans his e-scooter against the glass wall and flops down into a chair. Nate’s chair, to be precise – right in front of the whiteboard. He grins around the table at us all, stroking his preposterous goatee. He looks like he’s modelled his entire style on Robert Downey Jr in the Iron Man films. The beard looks like a black Sonic the Hedgehog silhouette stencilled across his entire lower face. It’s trimmed with such intricate precision that it must have been – and probably was – done with lasers. His hair is jet black and thick as a doormat. A look I would describe as ‘The Simon Cowell’. I’ve scrolled past many Mail Online sidebars in my life screeching the theory that Jed Greening got a hair transplant after divorcing his third wife. In the flesh, it’s safe to say that this is less a ‘theory’ and more a ‘stone-cold fact’. There is no way that hair is real. He’s also wearing a lime-green hoodie, artfully ripped skinny jeans, box-fresh white trainers that probably cost more than my mum’s house and way too many wrist bangles for a man in his late forties.

In summary: he looks like an absolute muppet.

He slaps his phone face-down on the table and holds his palms out. ‘So, funny people, what have you got for me?’

‘Er, yep . . . Right, OK . . .’ Nate is clearly a bit ruffled about having had his chair stolen from right under his nose, but he’s trying his best to style it out. He pulls out a free seat next to Kerri. ‘Erm . . . Well, I’m Nate Pritchard, I’m the head writer here at Punching Up. And look, Jed, mate, we just wanted to say – we are so stoked to have you hosting this week. Right, guys?’

Everyone duly nods and murmurs their assent. Jed gives a smug wave of approval, like a medieval king deigning to acknowledge some peasants.

Nate gestures at Rich, who’s still slightly red-faced from his fake-contact-lens kerfuffle a minute ago. ‘So, first off, Rich here has come up with a sketch in which you’d play a San Pellegrino lemonade can.’

Jed barks a laugh. ‘OK. Surrealist. Love it.’

Rich takes up the baton from Nate. ‘Yeah, we were just riffing on the idea that the other drinks probably think the San Pellegrino is a bit of a pretentious knob. And maybe because of his little tinfoil hat, we were thinking we’d make him a conspiracy theorist too. Banging on about chemtrails and anti-vax bollocks.’

Everyone round the table laughs. Except Jed. ‘Yeah, I mean . . . the jury’s still out on chemtrails,’ he sniffs. ‘And “vaccines”.’ He makes finger quotes around the word, as if vaccines are the stuff of fantasy, like unicorns or pixies. I feel everyone around me shift in their seats awkwardly. ‘Nah, to me, that idea just sounds like more “woke” comedy,’ Jed carries on. ‘I’m just so sick to death of all that. All you ever see on comedy shows nowadays is this virtue-signalling woke shite, and let’s be real – it’s just not funny, is it?’

Bloody hell, this guy is a dick.

Talia clears her throat. I see her and Kerri exchange a glance as Nate splutters to fill the silence. ‘Yeah! I know what you mean, Jed. Definitely,’ he gabbles. ‘It’s just that, y’know, our audience is skewed quite young, and they’re into all that “woke” bollocks.’

Talia shoots him a look that says, Seriously? I raise my eyebrows at him too, but Nate’s back up at the Post-its again. ‘Talia over here has got a really funny send-up of GB News,’ he says. ‘But maybe that’s not quite –’

Jed cuts him off sharply. ‘GB News is the only mainstream current-affairs platform giving people the truth right now, mate. There’s no way we should be sending up GB News.’

The awkwardness in the room is suffocating. Just when you think this guy can’t get any douchier, he manages to surprise you. Everyone around the table looks just as uncomfortable as I am – but no one’s challenging him.

‘What else have you got?’ Jed asks.

‘Erm . . .’ Nate flashes a panicked look at the rest of us.

‘Builders who are afraid of bricks?’ Rich blurts.

‘Baby ears?’ says Noah at the same time. ‘Like baby teeth, but –’

Jed holds up his hand. ‘I actually had a few thoughts of my own for stuff we could rip the piss out of.’ He starts swiping at his phone. ‘Have you guys ever done a pronouns sketch? Like, you know how everyone’s suddenly obsessed with telling each other their pronouns nowadays? Hey – we could even flip that San Pellegrino thing and have someone who “identifies as a San Pellegrino can”!’ He chuckles, shaking his head. ‘Although that probably already exists, to be fair – you can’t even make this shit up any more!’

It’s as if all the air has been sucked out of the room. Everyone seems to be straining their hardest to nod politely at this stream of idea-diarrhoea spewing out of Jed’s mouth. Everyone except Talia and Kerri, that is, who are now glaring at him with undisguised contempt.

Nate gives a high-pitched laugh to try to puncture the awkwardness. ‘Ha, yeah – we could definitely try that! Erm . . . why don’t we brainstorm some pronouns stuff this afternoon, guys?’

I’m actually kind of shocked at Nate. I know Jed is a big deal and everything, but surely Nate should be kicking back a bit at this torrent of bullshit, rather than just pandering and playing a ‘yes’ man. Part of me really wants to say something – maybe point out that ‘pronoun jokes’ were already fucking pathetic when Piers Morgan was doing them five years ago.

But at that moment, Jed’s phone buzzes in his hand. ‘Shit, I’ve got to take this. Back in a sec. Maybe work up some pronouns stuff while I’m gone?’

‘Will do!’ Nate squeaks.

Jed presses the phone to his ear and strides out of the room, leaving the door wide open behind him.

Rich nudges me. ‘Charlie, close that, would you?’

I jump up to shut the door, managing to bump Jed’s ridiculous scooter in the process.

‘Careful!’ Rich hisses as I catch it. ‘Those things are about ten grand each.’

‘Don’t worry, it’s OK.’ I lean the scooter back up against the glass and sit down.

Talia exhales lengthily and looks around the table. ‘So . . . Wow. I mean, I was expecting him to be an awful person, but I was not expecting him to be literally the worst person who’s ever lived.’

‘Totally,’ I nod.

‘If that’s what happens when you get divorced, remind me never to get married,’ says Rich.

‘The man is honestly the biggest twat I’ve ever met,’ Kerri says. ‘He makes Donald Trump look like Bob Mortimer.’

‘And what’s with the hair?’ Anna winces. ‘It looks like someone’s sewn a patch of Astroturf onto the top of his head.’

‘Please don’t tell me we actually have to do this pronouns thing?’ Noah grimaces. ‘That’s worse than Rich’s brick-phobic builders.’

Rich kicks him and asks, ‘What’s “Jed” even short for, anyway?’

‘Jedward?’ I suggest, and everyone laughs.

‘If we were allowed to rip the piss out of Jed Greening himself, we’d easily have enough sketches to fill ten shows,’ Noah sighs.

‘Honestly. What. A. Prick,’ says Anna. Then she points at the scooter. ‘Erm . . . guys? What’s wrong with that thing? Why is the red light flashing?’

We all look at it. Sure enough, there is a little red light blinking on its handle.

‘Oh fuck,’ says Nate. His face is white as a sheet. ‘I think it’s recording.’