23. Nell
23
NELL
I hit ‘send’ on my email to Bishi and leap out of my chair, heading straight for the writers’ room. I’ve already missed forty-five minutes of this morning’s meeting, and I’m keen not to miss any more.
Despite Chloe’s frequent assurances that Charlie can’t possibly keep getting preferential treatment, my daily routine at Punching Up is beginning to suggest otherwise. Every morning I rock up to my desert-island desk, switch on my computer and find an email from Bishi asking me very nicely to do something very dull. All while Charlie saunters up to his desk in the writers’ nook and struts straight into the morning meeting. I have no idea if he actually saunters and struts. But in my head, he is definitely a saunterer and a strutter.
After the way he saved my skin with Zach in that cafe, I actually spent much of yesterday entertaining the idea that Charlie Francombe maybe, possibly, potentially, might not be the Devil Incarnate. Especially when I thought about his smile and the way he ruffles his hair. But this morning, sitting at my faraway desk, hammering away at yet another spreadsheet while he literally lives my dream on the other side of the building, it’s comforting to be back in default mode, resenting him again.
As I jog towards the writers’ nook, I can hear a man’s voice barking a one-sided conversation. ‘Not tomorrow! Never tomorrow! I want those numbers now!’ I turn the corner and almost stop dead. Shit. That’s Jed Greening. I thought he wasn’t due in till tomorrow.
I tiptoe past him as he continues shouting at the poor person on the other end of the line, and then hurry on towards the writers’ room. Through the glass walls I can see that everyone’s in there – including Charlie – but they aren’t sitting around the table. They’re all huddled around something in the corner. I open the door to see that it’s one of Jed’s e-scooters. He must have already been in here . . .
‘Fuck! Fuck! Fucking fucking FUCK!’ Nate is hissing.
‘Are we sure it’s recording?’ Anna says, clawing at her face. ‘I mean, how is it recording? Why is it recording?!’
‘Erm, hi,’ I say meekly. ‘What’s going on?’
Talia turns around to face me. ‘Oh, hey, Nell. Minor catastrophe,’ she deadpans. ‘We’ve all just been slagging off Jed Greening while he’s out of the room, and apparently his fucking scooter has been recording it.’
I put a hand to my mouth. ‘Oh . . . dear.’
Anna winces. ‘Oh God, I said his hair was like Astroturf!’ She shrieks and covers her mouth. ‘Oh God, I said it again!’
‘But why is a scooter recording anything?!’ Kerri asks.
Having spent most of last night reading up about Jed Greening and his ridiculous inventions, I actually know the answer to this. ‘It’s got a camera and mic built in,’ I tell her. ‘Whenever these scooters sense contact they start recording so they can catch whoever’s crashed into them or tried to steal them.’
Rich looks at Charlie accusingly. ‘So when Charlie bumped into it just then, it must have started recording!’
Now everyone’s looking at Charlie. He blanches. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. ‘Oh my God,’ he gulps. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t know!’
‘Well, can someone get it to fucking stop recording!’ Nate hisses.
I look down at the touchpad on the handle. ‘I think you need a code to access it . . .’
‘Oh Jesus.’ Nate slumps down at the table with his head in his hands. ‘So, let me get this straight: we’ve just spent the past few minutes ripping the piss out of Jed Greening’s name, hair and entire personality, and as soon as he comes back into this room he’s going to be able to hear everything we’ve said?’
‘Maybe even before that,’ Noah moans. ‘I’m guessing the footage gets sent straight to your phone?’
Nate lets out a wail of despair.
‘He was still on a call when I passed him in the corridor just now,’ I say. ‘Maybe he won’t check it before he comes back in.’
‘But he’s going to see it whenever he gets his scooter, isn’t he?’
I don’t have an answer for that.
‘What the hell are we gonna do?’ Nate seethes.
‘We could smash it up?’ Rich suggests. ‘Pretend it was an accident?’
‘How is that going to look like an accident? We’re in an office!’
‘We could chuck it out of the window?’ Talia offers. ‘Just fully gaslight him and insist that he never even brought it in here?’
Kerri laughs and immediately slaps a hand over her mouth when Nate glares at her. ‘Sorry. I know this is objectively awful. But it’s also objectively quite funny.’
Nate runs his hands through his hair. ‘Kerri, if Jed Greening pulls out of hosting, we are totally, utterly fucked. This show is totally, utterly fucked!’
I’m racking my brain, trying to mentally replay that YouTube video I watched last night. It definitely explained how to delete files on these scooters. I’m pretty sure I can remember it. But first I need to unlock the touchpad . . . I’m about to say as much when Noah’s face falls. ‘Oh shit,’ he whispers. ‘He’s coming back.’
Through the glass windows, we watch Jed stride towards us, tucking his phone into his pocket.
‘Everyone sit back down! Act normal!’ Nate hisses.
We all scramble into our chairs, our eyes boggling at one another. For some reason, my gaze lands on Charlie. He looks so green around the gills that I wonder if he might actually vomit. That moment in the cafe yesterday pops back into my head. He saved my skin then. Grudgingly, I have to admit that maybe, maybe, I owe him a skin-saving in return.
More importantly, I don’t want my favourite TV show to be totally, utterly fucked. My stomach swoops as an idea occurs to me. It has to be worth a shot. Even if it’ll take more guts than singing in front of the whole of Covent Garden.
‘OK, so . . . how goes the pronouns brainstorming?’ Jed booms as he swaggers back into the room.
‘Erm . . .’ I can see beads of sweat glistening on Nate’s forehead as he tries not to look at the still-blinking scooter.
Before I lose my nerve, I stand up. ‘Hi! Nice to meet you. I’m Nell, one of the interns here.’
Jed looks as surprised as everyone else that I’ve randomly decided to insert myself at the forefront of this meeting. But he shakes my hand anyway. ‘Hello, Nell . . .’
‘I just wanted to say, erm, I am so excited for the J-Ped coming out! I can’t wait to buy one. I was just wondering if you could show me how it worked?’
I can feel the entire room staring at me, silently willing me to shut up. My face flushes and my heart pumps, but Jed doesn’t even look that weirded out by my request. ‘Sure thing,’ he shrugs. ‘I’ll give you the personal guided tour.’
He grabs the scooter and taps in a code on the touchpad. It lights up. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Rich put his head in his hands.
‘So, this is your home screen, and you –’ Jed tails off as his finger hovers over the icons. ‘Huh. That’s weird. It’s recording.’ He looks back at the table, and everyone nails their smiles on. ‘Did anyone bump it or knock into it?’
Charlie stares down at his lap. Nate wipes his forehead with his shirt sleeve. ‘Erm, no, don’t think so.’
Jed shrugs. ‘Must have been the impact when the door closed. The sense detectors on these things are state-of-the-fucking-art.’
‘So, how do you stop it recording?’ I ask, trying to keep my voice as casual as possible over my thundering heartbeat.
‘Like this . . .’ He hits a button and the red light stops flashing. ‘And then we can play back the recording like this . . .’
I glance at Nate. He looks like he might explode at any minute. Rich’s forehead is now pressed into the table. He clearly wants to get back onto the floor. Jed swipes the touchpad and a file comes up – a frozen image of the writers round the table. I remember this bit in the YouTube tutorial. I know what to do.
‘Oh, cool, so you just touch the icon?’ I say. And before Jed can hit ‘Play’, I press my finger onto the icon and clumsily slide it across to the ‘Delete’ option. The file disappears.
‘Oh no!’ I gasp. ‘I’m an idiot! I think I deleted it?’
Jed gives a confused laugh. ‘Yeah. You did. Bit heavy-handed there, Nell.’
‘I’m so sorry! I’m such a ditz!’
‘Not to worry,’ Jed sighs. ‘Women and technology – never a good mix! I’ll just show you the previous recording instead . . .’ He presses play on the next file, and a video of some random street comes up. Not a Punching Up writer in sight.
I glance sideways at the table. They’re all staring at me, open-mouthed. Nate’s face is a mask of shock and delight. Charlie is wearing pretty much the same expression.
As I turn my attention back to Jed, my chest swells. I’m pretty sure I just saved the day.