Chapter 48
For the next two weeks, she was in her element. She’d forgotten how much she loved organising events, and without Tony and Ollie to get in her way, she was crushing it, the different strands from her almighty Gantt chart all coming together.
The team were all playing their part. Tasha was in charge of catering, putting together a supper just like patients might have eaten back in the day. She’d borrowed metal trays from a local Thali restaurant into which she planned to unceremoniously slop the food. Steve was housekeeping, starching sheets and collecting moth-eaten grey scratchy blankets that were destined for landfill from an army surplus outlet. Hozan was mostly on observation duty, wandering around and regarding the work underway with abject suspicion, but he understood what was at stake, and was happy that they were trying their best against The Man.
The volunteer-led craft sessions had been given over to the creation of props, things like old patient case notes and signs to help people navigate their way around. What they lacked in finesse would be made up for by blocking up the windows and keeping the lights off, so the details wouldn’t really be seen.
Jasper continued to hold his usual sessions with guests and visitors. It was agony not being able to pick up where they’d left off in bed that day; she was bobbing on a fast-flowing river of affection, gaining momentum with every snatched minute she spent with him. It wasn’t a sensation she was entirely comfortable with. She’d spent her adult life thinking of men like perms: they may seem like a good idea at the time, but they never are. She expected some huge fall to happen at any moment, a Niagara-grade drop that would leave her dashed on the rocks. But every time the doubts became unwieldy, and she imagined perhaps he didn’t feel the same way, he would suggest a walk around the block, or a brief tea break, during which his hand would seek hers out, letting her know in the sweetest of ways that it really had occurred, and he really hadn’t regretted it.
Ziggy and Nancy kept their word to drum up interest. They’d been at the opening of yet another swanky bar where they’d bumped into one of London’s biggest club promoters. They casually asked if he’d heard about this event that everyone was talking about. The guy had pretended to know exactly what they meant, and then, later on, had his PA circle back to ask for details about how he might get on the guest list. Having secured that person’s interest, it was then a case of rinse-and-repeat for other leading influencers. Before long, they’d been proactively contacted by some of the biggest names on the social media circuit, all asking to be included. It was like a Ponzi scheme, but with social currency at stake versus cold hard cash. The potential guest list kept on getting bigger – in both length and ego – until they had their pick of the bunch. With a day to go, Simone had been contacted by two journos for What’s On style digital magazines, asking to come and cover everyone’s arrival. It was bonkers. All of which meant that, by the time the evening swung round, she was absolutely crapping herself that the whole thing might be a terrible, disappointing let-down.
The fact that, two hours in, it didn’t seem to be bombing, made her even more nervous.
‘What’s the vibe with everyone?’ she asked. ‘Are people enjoying it do you think?’
She’d taken Ziggy and Nancy to one side to garner opinion. The atmosphere was decidedly buoyant, but it was impossible to be in all places at once, so she was having to trust that everyone was doing what they needed to.
‘Babe,’ said Ziggy, who, ever keen to show off her arse, had decided on a backless hospital gown as her outfit of choice. ‘Apparently the Mindfulness Maven just posted she’d had an out-of-body experience in the isolation room, Mr E has been livestreaming himself crying over the plight of poor people, and Jason Reynolds – only the UK’s biggest lifestyle vlogger – wants to talk to you about his upcoming birthday party. So, yeah, I think things are working out.’
Her shoulders relaxed a little. ‘Okay. But what I really need is for this to make money.’
Nancy gave Simone’s arm a cuddle. ‘It’s going to make money,’ she said.
Was it? The JustGiving page that Gayle had set up was off to a slow start; just over six hundred pounds in donations had come in. Sure, she was hoping attendees would bolster the coffers by the end of the event, but they were also relying on this capturing the public’s imagination. Thus far, her influencers hadn’t proved particularly influential, even if the event was trending on socials.
‘Stop relentlessly refreshing pages, and go and enjoy yourself,’ said Nancy.
That might be a step too far, but she should try to not spend every second in a state of perpetual panic. What would be would be.
‘In other news,’ said Ziggy, ‘we need to talk about Jasper.’ She gave a chef’s kiss. ‘I can see why you might want to do the whole look into my eyes, look deep into my eyes thing with that.’
That was exactly what she was hoping to do after this was over.
Nancy murmured her agreement. ‘And I absolutely adore Wei!’ she said. ‘Where have you been hiding him all this time?’
It was odd that the girls had now met both Wei and Jasper. It was like she was a maypole, and the different ribbons of her life were intertwining around her. The truth was she’d always been a bit embarrassed about going to Wei’s: he was markedly no-frills compared to the upmarket places the girls frequented, but she’d been an idiot to care; they clearly didn’t. She was beginning to understand that friendships were like most things in life – you got out what you put in – and with these pair she’d skirted along, providing the bare minimum. After all this was over, she was going to try and be a better friend to them.
‘Thanks for everything, guys.’
‘Aww. You’re welcome!’ said Nancy.
‘Are we free to go now?’ asked Ziggy. ‘That guy who does cocktails on TikTok has said I can strap him to a gurney and take him for the ride of his life. So, you know, priorities.’
‘Yes. Go. Have fun. But don’t forget to tell everyone to include the link to the JustGiving page if they’re posting.’
* * *
By the time the pale light of dawn bled in through the gaps in the newspapered windows, and the guests were filtering out to be greeted by a throng of fanboys and girls wanting to catch a glimpse of their mobile-screen idols, they had reached just under fifty percent of their target.
‘OMG,’ said Ziggy. ‘We’ve been invited to an afterparty at the Hot House!’
The Hot House was a huge loft on Brick Lane where a bunch of hugely successful twenty- and thirty-something influencers lived together, collaborating creatively, and churning out content around the clock.
‘This is next-level shit!’ said Nancy, her entrepreneurial moxie briefly usurping her butter-wouldn’t-melt persona.
‘Are you coming, Sim?’ said Zig. ‘They said you’d totally be welcome.’
No, she bloody well wasn’t going. Her plan not to charge everyone had backfired. Those privileged tight-arsed cockwombles. Coverage was all well and good, but cold hard cash was what they really needed, and barely anyone who had been there that night had donated.
‘Hey,’ said Nancy, ‘it’s going to be okay. It’s still early in the morning. Most people will only just be waking up to the posts and stuff. There’s every chance more donations will come in. You’re worrying over nothing.’
But it would have been easier to swallow a brick than it would her disappointment. ‘You guys go on. I’m going to finish up here then check in with the others.’
Once all the guests and helpers had left, they reconvened in the lounge. Jasper gave her a hug.
‘Long night, huh?’
‘Yeah.’ She wanted to collapse into him.
‘I’m absolutely knackered,’ said Tasha.
Gayle was sat at a table with Steve, the eyes wide stare of the sleep-deprived lending her face a gormless air. ‘I can’t believe it.’
‘I know,’ said Simone. ‘After all that.’
‘I didn’t think they had it in ’em.’
She agreed. ‘Unutterable, selfish pricks.’
‘To think I considered twatting one for filming me without asking.’
‘Don’t hold back the next time you get the opportunity.’
‘And all along they were planning this?’ said Gayle.
‘To totally do a number on us.’
‘Eh?’ Gayle blinked.
‘You were right all along. You said it was risky doing pay what you think it was worth. I’m sorry I didn’t listen.’
‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ said Gayle.
‘We’re only at half the total. I blew it.’
Gayle’s eyes were getting more manic by the second. ‘Do you know who Demetri D is?’
‘Yeah, he’s that dickhead who asks poor people for money and then gives them crisp packets stuffed with cash if they lend him some.’
He’d been one of the guests, but she hadn’t spoken to him. There was something about his performative morality that irked the shit out of her.
‘Well, that dickhead just gave us ten thousand pounds.’
‘Eh?’
She looked more closely at Steve. His mouth was working like an oxygen-starved fish. He picked something up off his lap: an envelope bulging with cash.
‘Is that real?’ asked Jasper.
Steve nodded. ‘I think so.’
‘Oh my god.’ Simone ran over, took the envelope, and pulled out a wad of fifties as thick as a paperback book.
‘What happened?’ she said.
‘I dunno,’ said Steve. ‘He asked me if he could film me chatting to him, and I said I was fine with it. I was telling him about everything that had happened, the whole Twelve Steps and that. Then he asks me if I have twenty quid for a cab home later. I thought it was a bit weird, because, you know, he could just use Uber and pay on account. But I appreciated him listening so I said of course, pal, and I gave him twenty quid. He gave me this back.’
Simone pulled out her mobile and frantically searched for the guy online. Sure enough, his latest Tik Tok was of him giving Steve a bundle of cash.
‘How can he afford to do that?’ asked Jasper.
‘Said he’d set up a Crowdfunder campaign, got the others involved, so he could spring it on us,’ said Steve. ‘I think he’s just a really good guy.’
She really did have to stop pre-judging people.
‘Weren’t you tempted to do a runner with it?’ She riffled through the notes again. The possibility that all that money would represent to someone like Steve.
‘Of course. I’m only human. But I could never face our kid again if I did that. And step twelve is to help others. I’d say this gets me off to a decent start.’
The man never ceased to surprise her. ‘You are a wonder.’
Steve whistled. ‘You’re not doing too badly yourself, mate.’
‘Let’s not start sucking each other’s saucy bits just yet,’ said Gayle, even though she was clearly gearing up to do just that. ‘We’re not there yet.’
Tasha looked up from her phone. ‘The other total has just gone up too,’ she said.
Simone refreshed their JustGiving page. Sure enough, the thermometer had shot up by another couple of thousand pounds. Her hands trembled. She refreshed the page. Another hundred dropped into the pot.
‘Holy shit.’ She caught Jasper’s gaze. ‘It’s actually happening!’ she shrieked.
He nodded, still pretending to be as calm as you like, but his eyes were gleaming as he pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket. ‘It looks that way.’
Gayle sang ‘We’re in the Money’. Steve joined in. Tasha bayed like a wolf. Hozan, who had watched all this unfold, simply bowed his head in silent prayer.
She refreshed the page again. More money had come in. The girls had been right, it was simply a matter of time before they exceeded their total. It was like someone had let off a party cannon in her chest as happiness and disbelief fluttered like confetti through her body. She’d never experienced anything like it. Ten minutes ago, she could have slept where she stood; now every nerve was ignited with the surfeit of energy coursing through her. There was, she was certain, absolutely nothing that could topple her from this feeling.
Then the door burst open.