The Funny Thing About Love

49. Nell

49

NELL

Once I get back to the flat, I change into my pyjamas and do not change out of them again for approximately thirty hours.

I just sit in bed, with my laptop perched on top of the duvet, and write. And write. And write and write and write.

I have a folder full of random sketch ideas that I’ve been adding to for years. The first thing I do is go through it with a fine-tooth comb, grabbing anything that has potential, and whittling them down to a shortlist of the best ones. By the time Mica comes back from work, I’ve narrowed it down to five: five solid ideas that I’m sure would make Kay DeBlue – and everyone else on the writing team – laugh. I just need to figure out which is strongest and write that one up in full.

‘What the fuck’s going on?’ Mica asks, opening my door to see me sitting in bed at 7 p.m. ‘Have you been sacked, or something?’

I tell her about Kay DeBlue and the sketch pitches.

‘Dude, that’s awesome,’ she says. And then, ‘Hey – was Fuckhead Francombe back in today?’

‘Er . . . yeah. He was. But I didn’t really get a chance to talk to him.’

‘Ugh. Nepo baby douche. Anyway, keep working, mate – I’ll bring you up some pizza.’

‘Thanks, love.’

There’s no way I can get into all the Charlie stuff now. If I tell Mica and Chloe about his apology, they’ll want to talk about nothing else for the next few hours. And right now, I’ve got sketches to write.

But it’s so hard not to think about him. What he said this morning shifted something inside me. The fact that he owned up to the lie – he didn’t try to style it out, or gaslight me into thinking I’d jumped to the wrong conclusion. He owned it, he admitted his fuck-up and apologised. And then he told me why he’d done it.

I really, really like you, Nell . . . And with every day that’s gone by over the past few weeks, I’ve just liked you more and more.

I mean, it was straight out of a Richard Curtis movie. But something in his voice and his face made it clear that he really meant it. And it made me realise, quite suddenly, that I’d started to like him more and more every day too. The urge to stand up and kiss him again had been so strong. If Bishi hadn’t come rushing in at that exact moment, I probably would have done it.

I shake my head and try to refocus on my work. I have to impress Kay DeBlue. I have to make sure this writers’ assistant job is mine. I only have one shot at this. Everything else can wait. Even Charlie Francombe.

It’s tough though, because as I keep fine-tuning my sketch ideas, it becomes increasingly clear that the funniest idea is one that Charlie actually suggested.

Granted, the premise was mine. During our walk along the river, I started talking about my mum’s obsession with Facebook-stalking my old schoolmates and texting me unwanted updates about them. But Charlie was the one who’d pointed to the idea’s sketch potential. And he’d come up with that title too – ‘Facebook Mums Detective Agency’ – which is hilarious in itself.

I run the idea through the Dad Check several times, and each time it comes back glowing. I can really picture Dad laughing his head off at it. So, in the early hours of Tuesday morning, long after Chloe and Mica have gone to bed, I start writing it up.

The sketch opens in an MI5 office – two hard-boiled agents discussing a fugitive they’ve been unsuccessfully trying to apprehend for months. One of them mentions a top-secret government agency that’s apparently able to track down anyone on the face of the earth in minutes . . .

And that’s when we cut to the Facebook Mums Detective Agency. The MI5 guys tell the FMDA chief (played, of course, by Kay DeBlue) all about their suspect – and then casually mention that he went to school with the chief’s daughter.

The chief leaps into action, scrolling Facebook at lightning speed, before pinpointing the fugitive’s exact location, as well as providing extensive details on his relationship status and current career prospects. As the MI5 guys speed off to arrest him, the chief calls her daughter. ‘Do you remember Jack Thompson from school? Well, he’s a big-shot fugitive these days. He’s got MI5 after him and everything. And he’s got a lovely long-term girlfriend and was recently promoted at work. Just thought you’d like to know . . .’

At some point around 3 a.m., midway through my third draft of the sketch, I fall asleep. When I wake up a few hours later, the first thing I do is reach for my laptop and re-read it.

It’s still funny. It still works.

I email it to Talia, and within minutes she replies.

Nell, this is SO good. Perfect. No notes. Send it to Nate!

I run downstairs to put some coffee on, and then spend most of Tuesday morning and afternoon tightening up my four other sketch ideas, tweaking and polishing and honing them to perfection. Then, around 5 p.m., I take a deep breath and email the whole batch to Nate.

With adrenaline still pumping through me, I finally change out of my PJs and take a much-needed shower. When I come back to my room, Nate has replied.

Nell, I love these. Can you come into the office now to discuss?

‘Isn’t it a bit random that he wants you to come in now?’ Chloe says. ‘It’s after six.’

I press the phone to my ear as I cross the road from the Tube station towards the office. ‘Not really,’ I tell her. ‘The work ethic here is pretty insane. They’re constantly pulling all-nighters. I guess he just wants to run through what I’ve written before he presents stuff to Kay tomorrow.’

‘Mm. OK. Well, good luck. We’ll save you some dinner.’

‘Thanks! See you later.’

I hang up the phone and head straight through the revolving doors and into the lifts. Everyone is in the nook, typing away with their headphones on – everyone except Charlie. I feel a wave of relief at that. I really couldn’t have dealt with seeing him right now.

Nate stands up as he sees me come in. He’s got a stack of papers in his hand. ‘I’ve printed your stuff out.’ He smiles, then gestures to the writers. ‘This lot could probably do without us rabbiting on while they’re trying to work, so why don’t we head out for a drink to discuss?’

‘Oh. Yeah, OK.’

Talia catches my eye as I walk past her. I feel like she wants to speak to me – but Nate’s already striding purposefully towards the lifts.

We go to a pub round the corner from the office. The place is heaving with after-work drinkers – it doesn’t seem like the most practical setting for a work meeting. Especially since the writers’ room is currently empty. But I don’t want to rock the boat by pointing this out.

‘What are you having, Nell?’ Nate asks as we get to the bar.

When we last went for a drink it was lunchtime, so ordering an orange juice didn’t feel particularly weird. But since it’s now nearly 7 p.m., I figure I should probably order a proper drink.

‘Erm, I’ll just have a glass of house white, please.’

‘Large or small?’ the barman asks.

‘Small, please.’

Nate laughs and waves a credit card at me. ‘Ah, come on. It’s all on the suits upstairs!’

‘Haha. OK, erm, large is fine.’

We take our drinks to a table near the back. Nate downs nearly half his pint of lager in one go. ‘Ah,’ he says, smacking his lips. ‘Needed that. Fucking stressful day.’ He spreads the papers with my words on them out across the table and grins at me. ‘Right. Let’s get into this, shall we?’

The next couple of hours are honestly amazing.

I’ve barely shown my stuff to anyone before, let alone had someone go through it so carefully and respectfully and precisely. Nate starts out by telling me he thinks the Facebook Mums sketch is ‘absolutely fucking brilliant’. He says it will almost certainly make it onto this week’s show, as long as Kay likes it – which he feels sure she will. My head swims at the thought. Until guilt prods at me when I remember that Charlie suggested it.

Nate has a few suggestions for tweaks to my script – so we go through it line by line, tuning it up, making it as funny as it can be. There are a couple of moments when he adds bits I don’t think quite work, but I don’t feel I can really say anything. He is my boss, after all.

Once we’ve broken the Facebook Mums sketch, we go through my other ideas. We flesh each of them out, bouncing suggestions off each other. Before I know it, we’ve got the bare bones of a script for two of them and I honestly feel giddy. Giddy with Nate’s compliments, giddy about finally doing the one thing I’ve always dreamed of doing. Not to mention giddy with the large glass of house white. Nate orders himself three more pints while I nurse the same glass, laughing along politely at his jokes about me being the world’s slowest drinker.

Finally, he stands up. ‘Right, I’m starving. Shall we get something to eat?’

‘Erm, yeah.’ I’m actually famished too – but I was hoping he might suggest getting a takeaway and bringing it back to the office. I want to keep working – maybe even show Talia what we’ve done and see if she has any notes.

I stand up and follow Nate out of the pub. As he checks his phone, I suddenly say, ‘Thank you, Nate.’

He looks up at me. ‘For what?’

‘It’s just that this – writing comedy – is what I’ve always wanted to do. My whole life. And now I’m actually doing it. I never thought someone like you would ever even read my stuff, let alone work on it with me, and maybe even put it on my favourite show.’ I shake my head and laugh. ‘It’s still just so crazy to me.’

He puts his phone away and smiles at me. ‘You deserve it, Nell. You’re the real deal. I can tell.’

I flush again at his compliment. ‘Thank you.’

He sort of wobbles on the spot, and for one awful moment I think I’ve misjudged how pissed he is. Is he about to fall over? Or be sick? But then he leans slowly in towards me and I realise the situation is in fact much more awkward.

His lips press against mine as an electric panic flashes through me. I try to say ‘sorry’, but his mouth is still on me, so it comes out as a meaningless grunt.

I pull away and say it again.

He closes his eyes and nods. ‘It’s OK, it’s OK.’ He lays his hand gently on the back of my head and brings me back towards him.

I resist and he wrinkles his brow in confusion.

‘No, I mean, I’m sorry, I don’t . . .’ The words just aren’t coming. It’s like the panic and the shock has robbed me of my power of speech. My stomach feels queasy. I just want to get out of here. ‘Sorry,’ I repeat stupidly.

Nate smiles at me again. ‘Look, if you’re worried about the others finding out, you don’t need to be.’

‘No, I’m just . . .’

He goes to kiss me again and this time I push him back with more force. His eyes flash as he looks at me. ‘Whoa. OK. Message received, Nell.’ He forces a laugh.

‘Sorry, I’m really sorry,’ I splutter. ‘I didn’t mean to make things awkward.’ My face is burning. I honestly want to cry. After how amazing the past couple of hours have been, I feel like I’ve just ruined everything. ‘I just want to keep work stuff and personal stuff separate. If you know what I mean?’ The words tumble out of me – the best excuse I can think of in the moment.

Nate sighs and takes a step backwards. He smooths down his jacket and frowns. ‘No, it’s cool. I get it. My fault. Misread the signals.’ He holds up his hands. ‘Look, maybe we should call it a night. I need to get back to the office. Why don’t you head home and we’ll talk again tomorrow?’

I just nod. I’m worried that if I try to speak, my voice will crack.

‘Cool. See you tomorrow, Nell.’

I watch him walk off into the night. And as soon as he turns the corner, out of sight, I finally let the tears come.