Chapter 4
4
‘Oh. Where did she go?’ says Greg as I clutch my chest, which is pounding like a bass drum.
I’m struggling to breathe.
‘Err, Temi? We can no longer see you,’ Greg says. ‘Your camera is switched off.’
Pushing my chair back, I keel over. My breath is coming fast. What kind of sick, twisted joke is this ? What the heck is Wale doing here? My brain is whizzing with possibilities.
Greg says, ‘Can you see the camera icon on the bottom left of your screen? You need to click on that.’
Reluctantly, I turn my camera back on. My flustered face reappears on the screen. Behind me is my unmade bed. I should have used the background blur effect – too late now.
Well, this is embarrassing.
I clear my throat. ‘Sorry about that.’ I can barely look at Wale, who’s doing a better job at keeping his cool. Closing his slightly parted lips, he resets his dark features before rolling the cuffs of his denim shirt to reveal a familiar arm of black ink.
The last time I saw Wale in the flesh we were at his friend’s house party, arguing. It was the same night we broke up.
Annoyingly, I have a sudden urge to wee and yet I glug my glass of water. My neckline slides over my left shoulder and exposes my pink bra strap. I pull my top back up.
Will he admit that he knows me? Or is he just going to sit there and be fake? Should I say something? Flippin’ heck. This is stressful.
I fluff the left side of my hair before realizing that everyone else can see me do it.
‘Right, this interview won’t take too long,’ says Greg, his eyes trailing to the time in the bottom right of his screen. He has sun-tanned skin and looks like a man who is forever in a hurry. Of course he is – Wale is hot property now. He’s probably got some huge deals on the table. Although he was this season’s villain, he practically carried the show.
‘I’m Greg, as you know. And this is my client, Wale Bandele. Wale appeared on this year’s season of The Villa . I’m sure you’re familiar with it?’
I nod.
Then, like two kids forced to apologize, Wale and I drag our eyes to each other.
‘Nice to meet you,’ we say, one after the other. But while my tone is miserable, Wale tries to sound jovial, as though he’s meeting me for the first time.
So we are going to pretend that we’re strangers .
‘You’re probably wondering what this project is all about,’ says Greg, pulling my attention. ‘Well, Wale was a real hit on the show. The only downside is he’s got a bit of a … bad-boy reputation. Is that fair to say, Wale?’
Wale lets out an audible huff. ‘Yeah, and not in a good way.’
‘We want to show the public a different side to him,’ Greg continues. ‘Kingston Books approached us with this opportunity, given Wale was such a strong character and had a knack for sharing anecdotes while he was on the show. Wale, what’s that phrase you kept saying?’
Wale develops a small itch behind his ear. ‘Lemme tell you a story?’
‘That’s the one!’ Greg grins. ‘They think his voice would translate well into a book and appeal especially to young Black Brits.’
A scoff escapes me. I disguise it as a cough and reach for my water.
This is absolutely ridiculous! The guy has only been famous for two minutes and now he thinks he’s qualified to write a memoir?! Black Twitter will drag him through the mud! And rightfully so. And yes, Wale is charismatic, but does he even have enough life experience to fill an entire book?
I push out my lips. ‘It’s quite soon for a memoir. Do you or the publisher have an angle?’
Greg considers my question. ‘It won’t be out till next spring, which gives us plenty of time for an authentic rebrand. Besides, everyone loves a redemption story.’
I arch a brow at Wale. He looks proper embarrassed.
‘The working title is Mister Understood ,’ Greg carries on, and I hold back a hoot of laughter. Terrible . ‘And we’re looking for someone to help Wale write a coming-of-age type of memoir to show the different sides to him. Perhaps if the public had some insight into Wale’s childhood and adolescent years, they’d understand some of his actions on the show. In terms of structure, we’re happy for the ghostwriter to take the lead. Anyway, this interview is a chance for us all to get to know each other. To see if we’re a good fit. Before we start, do you have any other questions?’
What would I say? FYI, Wale is my dumb ex and I would like to end this interview?
‘Nope. I think you’ve covered everything.’ A delicious smile spreads across my face. ‘Thanks for answering my question. Looks like you have a great idea on your hands.’
If Greg notices my sarcasm, he doesn’t show it. It’s hard to know what Wale is thinking; he’s staring blankly at the screen.
‘Right –’ Greg looks up again – ‘as mentioned in the job ad, due to the publishing schedule, the first draft will need to be submitted in six weeks. Can you confirm whether you have any commitments that might prevent you from completing this task?’
I blink.
Gosh, he sounds as though he’s reading me my rights.
‘No, sir.’ Might as well reply as though I’m standing on trial. But then, I remember the novel I’m supposed to be working on, and I open my mouth only to close it again. Temi , it’s not like you would actually take this job . He doesn’t need to know all that.
‘Excellent.’ Greg picks up his pen. ‘Tell me about your background. What genre or niche do you have experience writing in?’
I think back to my short but insanely busy stint at Bonsai. ‘All sorts,’ I reply because this is the truth. ‘Novellas, memoirs, self-help.’ I give a quick summary of my time at Bonsai, skipping out the part when I used to cry in the toilets.
‘And what’s the fastest you’ve written something of significant length?’ Greg asks.
My eyes pan to Wale. ‘I wrote an 80,000-word novel in a month.’
At this, Wale raises a brow.
Yeah, that’s right, biatch .
‘Impressive,’ says Greg, sounding far from impressed. ‘Mayee mentioned that you’ve moved on from Bonsai. Where do you work now?’
I no longer feel badass.
I reach for my water again. ‘Um, I write for a living.’
‘Oh, you freelance?’
‘No, I write for myself.’
‘So, you’re self-employed?’
‘Not exactly.’
Greg stares at me, tired of this game.
‘I mean … I’m currently not in formal employment,’ I finally say.
‘So, un-em-ploooyed.’ Greg enunciates each syllable as he ticks the relevant box.
Without meaning to, my eyes flicker to Wale. He looks sympathetic. I’m riled up.
‘I mean, I recently quit my job to focus on my writing,’ I backtrack. ‘It’s all I ever wanted to do.’
Greg breezes through the interview. He asks me questions ranging from ‘What is your process for learning your client’s voice?’ to ‘Can you talk me through your working style?’
‘Wale, feel free to jump in,’ he keeps saying. But Wale doesn’t say anything.
‘Finally, last question.’
Thank God .
‘When you were at Bonsai, did you work with any high-profile clients?’
I withhold a hiss of disbelief at the implication: Wale? High-profile? Don’t make me laugh.
‘Err, let’s see.’ I make a show of looking around my room as though I’m rifling through my extensive memory. Clearly, Greg hasn’t bothered to check Bonsai’s website, otherwise he would know that the only ‘celeb’ they’ve worked with was a woman whose claim to fame was rapping badly on Britain’s Got Talent .
‘Ooh, funnily enough –’ I click my fingers – ‘I actually worked on a memoir for one of the Teletubbies. Not an actual Teletubby, obviously. The person who did one of the voices.’
Greg stares at me, not sure how to react. Wale scratches the side of his nose and stifles a smirk – he knows I’m taking the piss. Somehow, I maintain a straight face.
‘Ah, I see,’ Greg says eventually. ‘Right, that’s all from me. Temi, do you have any questions—’
‘No. All good.’
Greg glances over to the next square. ‘Wale?’
There’s a taut silence. I can literally taste the tension. Is he going to reveal this for the farce that it is?
Wale strokes the tuft of his beard. ‘Temi.’ Hearing my name from his mouth is like a spear in my heart. ‘Did you –’ he fidgets in his chair – ‘did you watch this season of The Villa ?’
My nostrils flare.
What he’s really asking is, did I see his foolish girl-jumping antics? Did I see him coupled up with Kelechi? Did I see all those times he had his tongue down her throat?
I roll my shoulders. ‘Not all of it. But enough.’
Wale’s Adam’s apple juts up and down.
Another rigid silence follows. I allow him to see my pain.
‘All right, well, we should really shoot off now,’ interjects Greg, his eyes back on the time again. ‘We have a few more interviews to do, but we’re hoping to make a decision ASAP. I’ll be in touch with Mayee as we’re ideally looking to have someone start straight away. Thanks for your time.’
‘Likewise,’ I say.
Wale has the bloody nerve to say, ‘Good seeing you, Temi.’
I click the button to leave the meeting.
Because it was not good seeing Wale. It was pure hell.