38. Charlie
38
CHARLIE
After lunch, I’m at my desk, re-reading Max Ribiero’s Wikipedia page for about the thirtieth time today, when Nate walks into the nook.
‘Hello, mate,’ he says, looking around. ‘Where is everyone?’
The room is empty except for us. ‘I guess they’re still all out getting sandwiches?’
He sighs mock-dramatically. ‘Bunch of work-shy lay-abouts.’
I laugh. I’m about to carry on with my interview research when Nate glances around again, as if to check we’re really alone. Then he leans in towards me. ‘Oi – well done, by the way.’
I look up at him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘That marketing intern,’ he whispers. ‘Fit. As. Fuck. You’re a dark horse, Mr Francombe.’
I feel my cheeks flush. ‘You mean Daphne?’
He grins and nods. ‘Rich and I have been making excuses to go to the post room for weeks just to get a look at her. She’s outrageous.’
‘Oh, erm, yeah . . . I mean – nothing happened,’ I stammer.
‘That’s not what I heard,’ Nate laughs. ‘Word on the street is that you two looked very cosy at that interns thing last week.’ He thumps my shoulder. ‘Seriously – good on you, mate. Nice work.’
My stomach clenches. Nate must be nearly thirty – it seems pretty fucking grim for him to be leering over an intern. And word on the street? What the hell does that mean? Daphne and I only kissed inside that photo booth – surely no one saw that, did they? Unless Daphne told someone . . . And that someone told Nate . . .? Who else knows?
The idea of Nell finding out that we kissed makes me very uncomfortable. Mainly because . . . I’d much rather have kissed Nell.
I’m about to ask Nate who told him all this when Anna, Talia and Kerri come back into the nook. Nate just shoots me another sideways grin as he walks off to his desk.
I start back on my interview research, but before I have time to give Nate’s word on the street comments much more thought, my phone rings.
Mum.
That’s weird – I spent all afternoon with her on Saturday. It’s not like her to call for a chat two days later. My brain immediately goes into panic mode – there must be something wrong. Years and years of Mum calling me out of the blue with bad news from doctors’ appointments have drummed the fear of God into me whenever I see her name flashing on my phone when I’m not expecting it.
I duck out into the corridor and answer quickly. ‘Mum? You OK?’
‘Hello, love!’
My shoulders loosen. She certainly sounds OK.
‘All fine, just calling to say hi,’ she chirps.
‘Right . . . OK. I’m just at work at the mo. Are you sure everything’s all right?’
She pauses. ‘Well, it was actually about work that I was calling.’ I hear her shift on the sofa and clear her throat. ‘See, your dad sent me an email yesterday.’
My skin prickles as always at the thought of them being in touch. ‘What? Why?’
‘He just wanted to say how well you were getting on at the office, and he mentioned something very exciting too. Apparently, there’s a job opening coming up – an actual paid job as a writers’ assistant at the end of this internship!’
I blink. ‘OK. So?’
‘Well, wasn’t that the whole point of this, Charlie?’ she insists. ‘To get your foot on a ladder that was actually leading somewhere?’
I lower my voice as Talia and Kerri walk past me towards the vending machine. ‘Mum, I still don’t know if this is a ladder I even want to be on,’ I tell her.
‘Well, why not try it out for a bit and see?’
I sigh. ‘Who says I would get this job, anyway, even if I did want it?’
Mum gives a tinkling laugh. ‘Charlie, I’m sure your father could pull some strings in that department.’
My skin prickles again. It’s one thing Nick not believing in me – thinking I need his help to succeed. But Mum thinking it too . . .? That feels ten times more humiliating. And what makes it cut that little bit deeper is that Nick has been on my mind a lot over the past couple of days.
Talking to Will about school, about how much I hated being at Grassmere, brought up all this stuff I haven’t thought about for years. I remember feeling so angry that I had to go to that place just because Nick wanted me to. And then he wasn’t even around to help me when things got really bad there. He’d just ‘pulled some strings’ and walked away. Which is what he always does. Which is what he’s doing right now, in trying to convince Mum he can land me this job.
I really don’t know if I even want it. The idea of being in the same building as Nick every day is definitely not appealing – particularly because everyone will surely suspect it was his string-pulling that landed me here. But that desire to prove him wrong – and now to prove Mum wrong too – is still so strong. I want to show them both that I’m not such a ‘hopeless lump’ after all.
Plus, I like being in the writers’ room. It’s cool seeing how the show is put together, and how the ideas form. I might not be a natural when it comes to suggesting sketches, but . . . maybe I’ll learn? And who knows, being a writers’ assistant might involve lots of things besides just writing? And, erm, assisting. It might mean doing more stuff like collecting those Lina vox pops – which I definitely did enjoy – or even doing interviews, like this Max Ribiero thing on Wednesday. Which I’m already kind of excited about. If I really work my socks off over the next fortnight, if I do everything I can to impress Nate and the rest of them, then maybe I’ll get given the job purely on merit. If that happens, I won’t just be proving Nick and Mum wrong. I’ll also be landing a proper, paying job that might actually turn out to be fun and fulfilling too.
I tell Mum I’ll think about it. But as I hang up the phone it strikes me. It sounds like there’s only one job opening. Not two.
If I get it, that means Nell won’t.