Chapter Six
Rob was busy making a full English when I came through the door; the smell of salty bacon hit my nostrils and made them tingle.
This house was definitely not signed up to Coco’s ‘vegetables first’ principle.
I felt relieved that whatever the nutritionist had in mind for us in Surrey, was going to stay firmly in Surrey.
‘Baby!’ Rob beamed, pleased to see me. ‘Come and join my hangover lunch – there’s plenty.’
He flung both arms around me lovingly.
‘Mmm, you smell much better,’ I said, wrapping my hands around his neck and pushing my hips inwards to meet his, instantly comforted by his familiarity.
‘I had three extra hours of sleep after you left.’ He smiled. ‘I feel reborn.’
I looked over his shoulder approvingly. ‘And you tidied up. Is there black pudding?’
‘For someone who claims to be mostly vegetarian, you had better keep your black pudding habit to yourself, Miss Green.’
‘You know all my dirty secrets,’ I replied, teasing his lips apart with the end of my tongue. ‘Hmm you taste of bacon. Cook’s perk?’
I let myself go, pulling him in for a proper slow, sensual French kiss.
He smiled into my lips when we moved slightly apart. We looked at each other for a moment longer than necessary. I liked to do that sometimes, to take him in. As I saw the sexy, slouchy Saturday Rob, I wondered which version of me he was seeing today.
‘So how did it go?’ he asked, when we moved apart.
‘Really good. Mandy’s wearing Lucy’s wedding dress to her event today.’
‘Wait – what?’ His forehead crinkled.
‘Yup, I’m not quite sure how I pulled this one off either.
’ I grabbed a piece of cut baguette and added an extra dollop of butter on top, before tossing it into my mouth.
I hadn’t eaten anything bar a couple of sticks of celery and some raspberries at the Corinthia.
There had been no time for the pastry course, plus I wanted to make a good impression on Coco. ‘But trust me – it works.’
He filled two warm plates with scrambled egg, bacon, a spoonful of baked beans, fried mushrooms, and grilled tomatoes, plus two slices of black pudding, declaring, ‘The full monty.’
We sat at the small dining table in our kitchen.
‘There’s going to be a nutritionist living in the house with us, and she seems militant, so I had better make the most of this meal. It feels like the last supper. Which reminds me’ – I paused to chew a mouthful of delicious egg and bacon – ‘Mandy wants me to move in on Monday.’
‘As in, the day after tomorrow?’
I nodded and tried to assess his gaze, which looked disappointed.
‘I wasn’t expecting it to be this soon either, but Mandy moves fast. I suppose the sooner I start, the sooner I’ll finish though,’ I offered, as a softener. And it was true.
He nodded sceptically. ‘Yeah, I guess. I just thought we’d have a bit longer to get used to the idea.’
Knowing I would need to spend most of the following day packing for my three months away, I needed to use this time to talk about what was going on with Rob too.
Since he had started as a director at Serious Global – the TV production company with the world’s worst name – Rob had seemed less enthusiastic than ever about his line of work.
The television world was having a difficult time.
Following a boom in commissioning, and career highs like the Angel Wear documentary Rob had directed in New York, things had cooled off and fewer shows were being made.
It wasn’t a reflection on his skills, but a market trend – audiences were becoming less loyal to streaming platforms and commissioners had had their budgets cut.
Rob’s most recent pitch, about the inside world of influencers and their relationships with fashion brands, had failed to make it past the development stage because of the extortionate fees the influencers required to consider taking part in it – they could simply upload a sponsored image of themselves relaxing in their garden sporting some new sunglasses for ten times the money Serious Global could offer.
It meant that, as a stop gap, Rob had been seconded to a less senior role assisting the production of the long-running daytime reality show called Bag a Bargain .
The problem was that the show was currently in the middle of a media storm following the dismissal of one of its lead presenters, whose extra-marital relationship with a much younger colleague had recently been revealed via a photo sent to The Sun , thus making front-page news across three continents.
To be fair, ‘Bag Another Woman’ made a really good headline.
It didn’t help that said presenter was also one of the stakeholders in Serious Global.
None of this looked particularly great on Rob’s CV, so he had taken a pause on applying for other roles while this played out. Unsurprisingly, it was getting him down.
‘Did you get a chance to chat to Rory about your work last night?’ I asked, feeling glad to have a level of food in my stomach that made me feel human again.
‘Not really, Rory seemed too preoccupied with his own work dilemma,’ Rob replied.
‘Oh, really?’
‘Yeah, it sounds like your sis has designs on taking over the PR world, so Rory may look at reducing his days when the baby comes.’ He paused.
‘You Greens are strong women.’ He looked across to me, his green eyes shining, yet I couldn’t quite work out whether it was in awe or contempt.
He was hungover, so I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.
On a practical level, I hoped that my news about the bonus might cheer him up. ‘Anyway, The Divorcee had Girl Friday over last night,’ Rob offered between mouthfuls of food. ‘You slept through it.’
‘And did they get to fourth base?’
‘Yes, twice, they kept me awake.’
Damian, known affectionately to us as The Divorcee, lived in the flat above ours, and the paper-thin ceiling did nothing to muffle the sounds of him having sex with his girlfriend, whom we nicknamed Girl Friday, because we had worked out they had an arrangement, whereby she – presumably also divorced with children – came to stay over every other Friday, the weekends when they were both child-free.
And they always had sex, loudly, several times that Friday night or Saturday morning.
Rob and I probably knew their habits between the sheets better than they did.
‘They were out until late last night,’ Rob said. ‘I vaguely recall having a chat with them in the corridor at about one a.m. I think I might have invited them in for some pasta and a nightcap.’ He cringed. ‘Thankfully they didn’t take me up on it.’
This was typical Rob, he was definitely the friendliest drunk you could hope to bump into, on the rare Friday evenings when his alcohol intake was higher than mine.
‘Excuse me!’ I exclaimed. ‘You actually saw Girl Friday? This is major!’ Over the past six months that we had heard the shagging, we jokingly questioned whether she actually existed, because neither of us had witnessed her enter or leave the flat.
All we had ever heard was the screaming noise she made at orgasm and the howl he returned shortly after.
‘I don’t think I could look her in the eye,’ I continued, ‘so …?’
‘She seemed nice.’
‘Oh, come on, Robert, you can do better than that,’ I teased. ‘Name, looks, hair colour, approximate age – do you remember any details?’
‘Afraid not, I was drunk. Anyway, stop interrogating me, my eyeballs hurt. Tell me more about Mandy.’
‘She was nice actually, and I met the rest of the team.’ I talked Rob through my first impressions of Blair, Lola, Jimi, and Coco, my comrades for the next three months.
Nursing a mug of tea, I spent the afternoon carefully reading through the contract from Julie-Ann.
In signing it I was also relinquishing my right to withhold any video or social media content that included me, my image, voice, or actions, if it was taken during the filming schedule at the house.
And although I wasn’t expected to play a major part in any filming, it clearly stipulated that I needed to sign the accompanying release to waive all of my rights.
It’s standard , Julie-Ann had assured me in the covering note.
‘They are suggesting you might be required to make appearances. How do you feel about that?’ asked Rob.
‘I’m there to do the styling job, and my life is infinitely less exciting than Mandy’s so, let’s face it, I don’t think I have much to be worried about,’ I replied.
There was also a clause about travel and the strong possibility I was required to accompany Mandy on a transatlantic trip during the coming months. It all sounded very exciting.
By mid-afternoon, I was glued to Instagram as paparazzi images of Mandy arriving and departing from the lunch emerged.
There was a video of her walking up some steps to the venue – Annabel’s private members club on Berkeley Square – shimmering in the flashbulbs like an aquatic goddess.
Yes, she looked classy instead of brassy – less Florida and more Mayfair.
Mission one: accomplished.
I couldn’t resist uploading a photo of her onto my own Instagram page with the caption: Did some styling today. Meet mermaid Mandy. Thank you, Pronovias!
And a blue heart and mermaid emoji.
Rob and I watched the film Before Sunrise that evening, after I was flabbergasted to discover he had never seen it. We curled up on the sofa together and I thought how much I would miss him during the weeks when I would be away.
‘Does this mean I’ll be your Girl Friday when I get back?’ I teased, as we both put the date I would be returning home into our calendars. I nuzzled my nose into his neck and peppered it with kisses.
‘You’re my Girl Every Day ,’ he replied, pulling me in close for a proper kiss.