Looking for Andrew McCarthy (10 page)

‘Why don’t you tell them to take their big fat job and shove it up their big fat asses?’

‘And I’d get a half-day,’ shouted the temp who was listening on speakerphone.

‘Okay, can we just put aside how much fun this would be for everyone else for just a tiny second?’ said Ellie, but her brain was working overtime. ‘I’ve never done anything like this before.’

‘What about that time with the Copydex?’

‘That was completely different. The guy was losing his hair anyhow.’

‘Hmm.’

‘Oh God. I don’t want to be skint again.’

‘You could move back in with your dad.’

‘Do you know what? I’m already skint. Oh my God!’

‘What?’

‘I’ve just had a horrible thought. Do you think Visa and Mastercard are run by all the companies in the world to stop their employees getting up and walking out
en masse
?’

‘It would explain a lot. Why don’t you phone the girls?’

‘Because I know what they’d say. “Don’t rush into anything, Hedgehog. You’re always full of wild schemes that don’t work out, Hedgehog. Remember when you left your architecture degree and thought you were doing the right thing, yada yada yada …” oof, hang on. I’ve got a call on the other line.’

‘Excuse me? Do NOT do this to me …’

‘Hello?’

‘Hey, yeah, hi … is that the lovely Ellie Eversholt?’

‘No, this is the stroppy Ellie Eversholt.’

‘Ha ah!
So
funny. This is Edgar Wilkins from AZP&P.’

The tile factory. Ellie held up the receiver and made V signs at it.

‘So nice to catch you! Anyway, I was thinking, remember we talked about maybe having a little day out to sort out some business? Ho ho!’

‘Two point five billion men in the world,’ thought
Ellie. ‘They can’t all be like this, can they?
Can
they?’

‘Well, don’t you think we could go on a little adventure, make it fun? Silverstone’s coming up, or Goodwood … just you and me? Little bit of …
after hours?
Ho ho!’

‘I love him,’ thought Julia mournfully, staring at her computer screen. ‘I do. But … is this it?
Is
it?’

Her mother was all in favour of the idea, but then her mother would seemingly have been quite happy to see her married off to any one of the assorted lowlifes she’d dragged back over the years, as long as there was the promise of grandchildren and some sort of joint mortgage paraphernalia.

‘But what was it that did it; what really made you think about dad, this is it, this is the one I want to get married to?’ she’d asked her mother once.

‘Because we wanted to have sex, stupid.’

Everyone seemed to be treating Loxy’s proposal like it was absolutely not a big deal, and why the hell shouldn’t she? She put it down to a conspiracy of silence from her married friends, and the enticing prospect of a free piss-up from her singletons. No-one seemed to be sitting her down and telling her what to do. Which, of course, was fair enough, but still.

‘I love him,’ she thought. ‘He loves me. We have
a good life together. He loves kids. He’s got a good job.’

‘It’s just sometimes,’ she thought, ‘he really fucking irritates me.’

She phoned Annabel, who at least had some experience in the matter.

‘Annie – does George ever really, really annoy you?’

Annabel sounded slightly exasperated.

‘How could George ever possibly annoy me? He works until 8.30 every night and plays golf all winter and cricket all summer. And of course he never goes in the kitchen, so he can’t possibly pester me while I’m doing the washing up or the laundry or the cooking or unpacking the shopping and of course, I’m a woman, so I love doing all the shopping anyway and I do actually understand that using an iron and having a penis are mutually untenable.’

‘Righty ho,’ said Julia. ‘Um, Annie, Loxy’s asked me to marry him.’

‘Really? Oh, that’s
wonderful!
That’s really brilliant! I’m so pleased for you both.’

‘Um, I haven’t given him an answer yet.’

‘Oh, don’t worry, you’ll have such a lovely party. Ooh, can I help choose your frock?’

Julia widened her eyes.

‘Ehm … can I get back to you on that?’

Ellie sat in her cubicle and pondered for a long time. Which was worse, she thought. Having a job she hated or having nothing at all but enjoying a little bit of a shout and a little bit of drama
and
getting to go to America? Her heart in her mouth, she made up her mind and headed out towards the conference suite, trying to keep her chin up like Michael J. Fox in
The Secret of My Success
.

‘Mr Rooney?’

He looked up.

‘Miss Everhart, I really don’t have time for this.’

The conference room was full and smelled of burnt coffee and low level anxiety. Rooney was standing beside an overhead projector, pointing out seemingly meaningless graphs. Ellie stood in the doorway, white and nervous, but determined.

‘Hmm. Not even if I tell you to stick it up your BIG FAT ASS YOU BIG FAT BASTARD?’

The entire room turned round as one, exactly the effect Ellie had intended. Mr Rooney opened his pink eyes wide and pointed his laser stick at her.

‘What? Can anyone here tell me what you just meant by that? Anyone? Anyone?’

The general plethora of ill-nourished surveyors gazed fiercely at their Cornish pastie sandals. Mr Rooney slowly lowered his laser stick.

‘Written warning not go too well then?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Ellie. ‘Because those big fat
personnel bitches CAN STICK IT UP THEIR BIG FAT ASSES.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Mr Rooney gently. ‘I see; it’s a kind of general invitation.’

‘Yes it is,’ said Ellie. There was a silence. This wasn’t going quite as she’d planned. She’d expected everyone to quiver with rage and Mr Rooney to get absolutely apoplectic, before bursting into tears and having her frog-marched from the building in a moment of high drama that she could replay down the pub in a deeply wronged tone. Instead he was looking at her concernedly.

‘Oh well, dreadfully sorry. Um. Have you got those figures we asked for?’

‘No! I stuck them up the accountancy department’s BIG FAT …’

‘Yes, yes, I’m beginning to spot a pattern! No matter.’

He smiled benevolently and leaned over, resting his arm on the projector.

‘Are you leaving us, Ms Eversholt?’

‘You can take your job and shove it up …’

‘That’s a shame.’

He stared philosophically into the middle distance.

‘Ms Eversholt. Did it never occur to you to come to me and tell me you were unhappy before you started shoving things up other people’s … things?’

Ellie shrugged and suddenly felt eleven years old. She stared hard at the floor.

‘Just because I can’t let you go swanning off for months at a time doesn’t mean I can’t listen you know.’

‘…
big fat asses
,’ whispered Ellie mournfully to herself.

‘Or’, he tapped the overhead, ‘you could even have come and seen me about voluntary redundancy. We haven’t had the figures on time for so long, it’s got to the point where we need to make quite drastic savings.’

Ellie’s head shot up.

‘Oh well,’ he said, ‘I suppose you would only have taken the redundancy money and shoved it up somebody’s ass.’

‘Not … necessarily,’ said Ellie in a very small voice.

‘Oh really?’ he said. ‘Well, maybe you might want to stop by my office on your way home … if, that is,’ he chuckled in his unhumorous schoolmastery way, ‘you think that you, me and my ass can all fit in there at the same time.’

The surveyors laughed like sycophantic drains.

‘I have to see you tonight,’ hissed Julia.

‘But I have to see you too!’ hissed back Ellie, mindful of the temp.

‘I have news!’

‘And I have news too!’

‘Well … okay then!’

‘Okay then!’

‘Bye!’

‘Bye!’

‘Are you leaving?’ asked the temp, ‘Only, if you are, would you mind signing my timesheet for double overtime?’

Mr Rooney and the woman from personnel sat her down and made her promise to stay for a couple of weeks to try and sort out the mess, and got her to sign lots of papers. Then they countersigned a cheque. Ellie, too mortally embarrassed to say anything, sat in the chair, trying to make herself as small as possible. She muttered appreciatively from time to time.

After the clearly disapproving personnel woman had gone, she finally felt able to offer some thanks.

‘Call me Craig,’ said Mr Rooney, leaning back, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. Ellie prayed to any Gods that might exist that this didn’t mean he was about to ask for a grateful blow job. He leafed casually through her personal file and glanced up at her.

‘How old were you when your mother left, Ellie?’ he asked suddenly.

No-one had called her Ellie in so long it took her a second or two to respond.

‘Fourteen,’ she said diffidently, and stared at the floor. ‘It’s in the file,
Craig
.’

‘I was twelve,’ he said, and stared out the window. ‘So, you know, I suppose I win on points.’

Ellie didn’t say anything, because she knew what she could say that would be helpful: absolutely nothing. Craig continued to stare out of the window.

‘Wouldn’t recommend working your way out of it,’ he went on. ‘Doesn’t work, not in the long run, the old “desk cure”.’

He nodded to himself.

‘A little bit of travelling, mind you – probably couldn’t hurt.’

‘Prob’ly not.’

He nodded again.

‘Hmm. No, I don’t think it could hurt at all.’

He handed her the cheque, patted her once on the shoulder, shrugged on his overcoat and stepped out into the already darkening evening.

Ellie couldn’t sit down once she got home and it was driving Big Bastard crazy.

‘What the fuck’s the matter with you? Have you got piles?’

‘I know, Big Bastard, that it is very difficult to think of anything other than piles in your delicate condition but actually no. Something wonderful has happened, and I’m excited, thank you.’

‘What’s that then – don’t tell me. The European Union has announced that all women on the blob get a week off work.’

Big Bastard had strong and regularly expressed views on the European Union.

‘No. But did you hear they’re going to make all the rugby balls square to fit in with common agricultural policy and stacking regulations?’

His beefy face went puce. ‘Those bastards. We’ll show them. Two world wars and one World Cup.’

Julia came rushing up to the door with Arthur in tow.

‘What’s your news??’ she asked, pulling off her coat.

‘I’m here under duress,’ said Arthur. ‘Do you know, I spent six hours on your call waiting.’

‘Tough. Okay, here’s my news …’ said Ellie, mixing Cosmopolitans with one hand.

Julia’s face fell. Ellie stopped stirring.

‘… or we could have yours first …’

Julia beamed, sat down and composed herself on the sofa.

‘Do you want a Cosmopolitan, Big Bastard?’ said Ellie, pouring the mixture into tall glasses.

‘What, poof juice? Sorry Arthur mate, no offence.’

‘None taken, duckie. All the more for us.’

‘I didn’t say I didn’t want one.’

‘Here you go then. One glass of Fairy Fruit cocktail.’

Big Bastard grimaced and gulped it back.

‘Okay. Final scene,’ said Julia. ‘
Pretty in Pink
. Well, near enough final scene.’

‘Do you know,’ said Ellie, ‘I think that dress really
was
hideous. Even then. Do you remember? It was actively unpleasant. Really unflattering. And pink with red hair. I still don’t think that’s right.’

‘I agree,’ said Arthur. ‘Even by the standards of the day. And the standards of the day were
vomitous
.’

‘Shut up a second, okay? Just cast your minds back.’

‘Okay.’

‘What does Andrew say to Molly right at the end?’

Ellie squinted, trying to remember.

‘Does he say “I’m really not sure that pink dress goes with your red hair”?’ hazarded Arthur.

‘No! He says, “I believed in you – I just didn’t believe in myself.”’

‘Jules, that’s the cheesiest line of all time.’

‘No, you don’t see. I think … that’s exactly what I need to do. Or at least, find out if I do.’

‘What?’ Ellie leaned forward.

‘About Loxy, stupid. I mean, I know he’s fine. He’s great. It’s me that’s the problem. So …’

‘Uh huh?’

‘So, you know. Going to find Andrew McCarthy. I’m with you, all the way. I want to know what the hell he meant by that. I want to know if he did find love, just by being,’ she coloured, ‘the loveliest man in the world. And I’m going to find out if I – ahem – believe in myself enough to go through with it and, well, maybe get married, maybe not.’