Chapter Twenty-One April Fool
Oh, what a wag my boss is, completely hilarious. He’ll tell you as much himself.
My phone wakes me up at 7 a.m., number unknown. I answer to a very deep male voice. ‘Am I speaking to one of the original Granny-Okies?’
‘I think so,’ I say.
‘Then I’d like to book you as my support act. Are you free at the weekend?’ asks the voice.
It’s turning into a bad Sean Connery impression. This should alert me but I’m still half asleep so I tell him that we are.
‘Great, you’ll need to do Spandau Ballet tracks. Can you sing me any lyrics?’
Why I start doing this I don’t know but in my best Tony Hadley voice I start warbling.
‘Hmm, that’s a bit quiet. Can you do it any louder?’ asks the caller.
Stupidly, I sit up and project the song full force.
‘What were the last few words?’ says the voice. ‘I couldn’t quite catch them.’
I really belt it out this time: ‘. . . I’VE LOST MY MIND.’
Charlie and Peter burst out laughing at the end of the line and yell in unison, ‘You certainly have — April Fool.’
‘You will pay for this,’ I warn them before slumping back into my pillow, smiling all the same.
So, Charlie and Peter were together at 7 a.m., then? Wait until I tell Josie. I don’t have to tell her, the post-coital glow across Charlie’s face would outshine the Blackpool Illuminations.
‘Ooh, someone’s happy,’ chirps Josie. ‘Come on, we want details.’
‘Ask him who he woke up with,’ I prompt, but Charlie gets in first.
‘Or what I woke up to.’ He flicks on his phone to a recording of my morning performance. I give him a shove but Josie is not distracted.
‘We’ve heard Granny Hollywood squawking before, that’s not news...’
Moi? Squawk? I’d be offended if I didn’t want the lowdown on Charlie’s love life.
‘. . . but Charlie’s big romance,’ says Josie, ‘now that needs serious tea and biscuits.’
A customer rather inconveniently walks in to book a holiday (the cheek of it), so Josie heads off to help, wagging her finger at our blushing boss.
‘Post lunch,’ he says. ‘I promise all the details.’
The morning goes quite quickly. It’s the right time to grab a bank holiday break and we have a steady flow of people doing just that. Every now and then someone will also ask if we’re doing one of those ‘haunted book weekends’, so we add their names to the list of prospects for the travel club.
Which in itself turns out to be the reason for the evening Charlie has just had; Peter came round to review the plan we’d written and, of course, they did all of this over food and wine. How come I never get this kind of service at the bank?
‘He thinks we’ve got something here,’ gushes Charlie. ‘For a business like ours, it’s all about establishing a niche in the market and serving it well. Peter thinks we can do that. He looked at our plan, then gazed into my eyes and said, “Handsome and talented, how will I keep you to myself?” I tell you, I just melted.’
Josie and Charlie are gazing into the distance, lost in a world of princes and ponies. I surprise myself by being more interested in the idea.
‘So, it could work?’ I ask.
‘If we really give it a go,’ nods Charlie.
Mr Branson, hold that spot on Necker Island, I might be coming after all.