43. Nell
43
NELL
‘Nell, this is fucking brilliant.’
Talia is beaming at me as we all watch the raw footage back for a second time. We’re standing in the edit suite, Kay DeBlue’s face up on the huge screen in front of us, and the entire writing staff roaring with laughter at the interview.
Myinterview.
I knew it had gone well. Even as I stepped into the room with Kay, I knew it would go well. It was so weird. It was as if seeing those photos in Charlie’s hallway had dissolved all my nerves. Once the initial cocktail of confusion and humiliation and regret wore off, it felt like I’d been . . . sharpened. All my focus was on getting out of that flat, wiping last night from my memory and conducting the funniest interview in history.
I knew Charlie hadn’t set an alarm. But screw him. He probably woke up anyway. That’s what I thought as I crept back into his room to get dressed, trying to make as little noise as possible. There was no way I was going to wake him up myself, to explain why I was leaving. As I closed the front door of his flat, I thought of how humiliating it would be this evening, going home to Chlo and Mica, who’d be begging me for details about this ‘amazing night’. Having to tell them about those photos I found. I cringed as I thought of what I wrote on the group chat just a minute before I discovered them. I really like him. Really, really, really . . .
Ugh. I’m such an idiot. I saw them together, for God’s sake. I saw Daphne squeezing his arm and laughing at his jokes and smushing her annoyingly toned body up against his. So why did I believe him when he said nothing had happened between them? How much of a fool am I? I asked him point-blank if anything had happened and he told me no. He lied, right to my face.
Which is why seeing those photos was like a bucket of cold water poured all over me. Wake up, you idiot.
On the Tube to Brixton, I just read and re-read my question sheet for Kay over and over again. Anything to keep my brain from replaying the image of those photos.
And when I was ushered into the room with her, and Dev had the camera rolling, it was like I was on autopilot. I nailed a smile on, told Kay she was literally my favourite stand-up ever, and went from there.
The whole ‘never meet your heroes’ thing has already been proved wildly wrong in my case by Talia – but this was next level. Kay is massive – she plays 50,000-seater venues, she’s had three Netflix specials, she’s even developing her own sketch show. And she was so nice. I got her on my side straight away with a few carefully honed questions about some of her old stand-up bits, to show I was a genuine fan. And then, when I started going off-piste, chucking in questions off the top of my head, she just riffed straight back, spiralling off on ridiculous tangents that made us both collapse with laughter.
As Dev was packing away the camera, she leaned in and grinned. ‘I really enjoyed that, Nell.’
It made my head spin. And it’s still spinning right now, in the edit suite, as Kerri grabs my arm and points to the screen. ‘This bit here!’ she cackles. ‘Nell, when you mention regional TV news anchors and Kay goes straight into the impression of the one she watched as a kid . . .’
Everyone buckles with laughter as the clip plays out in front of us. God, it feels good.
The guy at the edit desk pauses the footage. ‘It’s going to be hard to get this down to five minutes,’ he tells Nate. ‘It’s all gold.’
Nate raises his eyebrows and looks at me. ‘Seriously, Nell – you really knocked this out of the park. Incredible work.’
I melt under the compliment. As Nate turns his back, Talia does a little jig on the spot and mouths the words ‘WRITERS’ ASSISTANT!’ at me. I cover my mouth to stop laughing.
‘All right, let’s head back up and grind out these final sketches,’ Nate says. ‘Despite our severely lacklustre host, we might still have a winner of a show on our hands this week.’
‘No, we definitely do not,’ Bishi announces, striding dramatically into the room. ‘We’ve got an absolute shitshow on our hands. Max Ribiero didn’t happen.’
Everyone turns to look at her. I feel my stomach clench.
‘What are you talking about, Bish?’ Nate asks.
‘Charlie was over an hour late to Pinewood and they missed the slot,’ Bishi hisses. ‘Max Ribiero’s been called to set now for the rest of the day. That was the only window they had for a filmed interview with him, and we missed it.’
I swallow hard and stare at the floor. Try to ignore the spike of guilt running through me, and instead focus on the humiliation I felt when I saw those photos.
Nate takes off his glasses and runs a hand over his face. ‘Fuck. OK. Well, something must have happened to Charlie. Has anyone checked if he’s all right?’
‘He’s fine!’ Bishi shouts. ‘I just spoke to him. He told me he’d overslept!’
I keep my eyes on the floor as Kerri mutters, ‘Fucking hell . . .’
‘We haven’t advertised Max Ribiero on social yet, have we?’ Rich asks.
‘No, thank God,’ Bishi sighs.
‘OK . . . Look, we can fix this.’ Nate gestures at the monitor, where Kay DeBlue’s face is still frozen. ‘There’s so much good stuff from Nell’s interview. Maybe we just extend that to ten minutes? Break it into little highlight clips we scatter throughout the show?’
Bishi tugs at her plait as she considers this. ‘Yep. Yeah. That could work.’ She flashes me a tight smile. ‘Fantastic job by the way, Nell.’
Nate gives me a pat on the shoulder. ‘First Jed Greening’s scooter, now this. Seems you’re constantly saving our arses, Nell.’
I blush again as Talia waggles her eyebrows at me.
As we all troop back upstairs, I try to keep those photos I found at the forefront of my mind. But my stupid conscience still keeps nagging at me.
I wonder where Charlie is right now.