Miss Wrong and Mr Right (16 page)

When Gran came out of the bath she was wearing a long nightgown. Her face was free of make-up and her hair was down. Without the make-up and jewellery she looked vulnerable. She refused to take my bed so I made up the sofa bed for her in the living room. When the sheets were on she got in, and I found myself tucking her in for the night.

‘This is great Natalie,’ she said snuggling down under the covers. ‘It’s lovely to see you, I am sorry I didn’t let you know sooner… I lost my phone and…’ her eyes welled up. ‘I am so tired.’

‘It’s fine. You’re always welcome here,’ I said. I leant down and gave her a kiss. ‘Sleep tight.’

‘God bless Natalie,’ she murmured and she was asleep. I watched her for a moment and then crept out and switched off the light.

Aftermath

When I woke the next morning I tiptoed about, so as not to wake Gran who was fast asleep on the sofa. She was still snoring as I left the flat, so I scribbled a quick note, leaving my work number. I realised bloody Benjamin still had my spare key, so I added that if she wanted to go anywhere, I would come back and drop off my key. Ugh, ex-boyfriends!

Outside the sun was blazing, and it was promising to be another hot day. When I arrived at the theatre, Raven Street was bustling; bike couriers sped past, swearing at tourists who were too transfixed with the tacky glitz of Soho to look both ways before crossing; white vans were dotted along the road, unloading their deliveries for the shops, bars, and restaurants; and a huge refuse truck rumbled along, stopping every few metres to collect bins and hold up the traffic.

The screens of The Big O opposite were still blank. A ladder was propped against the building, and one of the square screens making up the video wall had been removed to reveal a tangle of multi-coloured wires. A man in dungarees and a cap stood on the ladder, tinkering with a screwdriver. Outside the theatre, Val from the box office was trying to move a group of Ryan fans, who were blocking the entrance.

‘Are any of you lot listening to me? Move to one side, let this poor bloke do his job!’ she was shouting. A greying man was waiting with a trolley piled high with bottles he needed to deliver to the bar. The fans ignored her, using the opportunity of the open door to peer past her into the gloom of the box office. Some took pictures on their phones.

‘Ryan Harrison is
not
in there!’ she cried. One of our security chaps materialised and shooed the fans to one side.

‘Morning,’ I said to Val and the delivery man.

‘Gawd, haven’t they got anything better to do with their lives?’ muttered Val, and then followed the delivery man inside.
 

I was about to go in after her, when a small figure in a pink tracksuit and baseball cap emerged from the doorway of The Big O
.
It was Tuppence Halfpenny; she pulled a box of cigarettes from the front pocket of her hoodie and lit up. Contrary to what Brendan had said on the news, she seemed fine.

‘Jamie, Jamie!’ she snapped. ‘How long are you gonna be up there? I want you to watch my rehearsal…’
 

It was Jamie on the ladder with the screwdriver.

‘Give me ten more minutes,’ he said.

‘You shouldn’t be fiddling with that, let’s call in the engineer,’ she snapped, taking a drag of her fag.

‘I know what I’m doing, Tuppence,’ he said. I realised that if you took away the video screen and replaced it with an
old car, they were just like any other couple. I went inside the theatre before they saw me.

I was in the office first, and Nicky followed a few minutes later. She was clutching her iPad, and seemed to be in a better mood than last night on the phone.

‘Morning honey. It seems this pigeon thing is already fizzling out… I was real worried the national media would grab hold of it,’ she said.

‘And they haven’t?’ I asked nervously.

‘Not really, in fact there’s very little about their launch yesterday… Look, just a small piece in the
Sun
and
Mail Online
.
’ She handed me her iPad. The
Sun
had an unflattering shot of Tuppence toppling off her swing, and a pigeon hovering above her head in the process of having a crap.

‘
Going arse over Tuppence
,
’ I said, reading the headline.

‘And look at this,’ added Nicky swiping at the iPad. ‘Our delicious little golden goose Ryan Harrison is
everywhere
. The national newspapers took up Eva Castle’s interview with him. Doesn’t he look great!’
 

‘What about Brendan?’ I asked.

‘Who’d want to interview Brendan?’

‘No. I’m worried Brendan is out there, plotting against us,’ I explained.

‘Honey, there will always be someone out there plotting against us. What’s the worst that can happen? Ryan gets photographed picking his boogers? He’s a cool kid. Clean cut and media savvy, and more importantly so are we.’

I looked back at the awful picture of Tuppence mid-fall, and remembered the vindictive look on Brendan’s face yesterday. I didn’t share Nicky’s sudden confidence.
 

At lunchtime I had a call from Gran to say she wanted to go out shopping, so she could cook dinner tonight. I popped home and found her standing in the middle of the kitchen. She was still in her nightgown and looked confused.

‘Are you okay?’ I asked.

‘How do I make a bloody coffee?’ she grumbled. ‘All these shiny machines! I tried the hole in the front of your fridge, but it showered me in little pieces of ice, and that other thing vants me to insert a capsule?’

‘You sit, I’ll make us a nice strong coffee,’ I said. Gran perched on the chair. I made us coffee and cheese sandwiches, and gave her a twenty pound note, which she didn’t want to take.

‘I should be back about five,’ I said, when we’d finished our lunch. ‘You will be careful out there?’

‘My God Natalie, I am not a baby. I vas the one who first brought you to Soho!’ she said. I gave her a hug and left the flat. On the way back to the theatre I made a phone call to Benjamin. I was relieved when it went to answer phone, and I left a short message asking him to return my key.

When I got back to the theatre, Nicky, Xander and I went up to the rehearsal room to watch a run-through of the first act of
Macbeth.
We sat on some folding chairs arranged facing a square marked out to represent the stage, as Craig and Byron bustled about checking the actors were all ready. Then there was a nervous excitement in the air as the lights in the rehearsal room flickered off, and we were plunged into darkness.

There was a little shuffling around from the actors, and Byron’s chair squeaked as she settled down in the tech booth, then it was silent. A distant bell tolled, and the three witches slowly materialised in the gloom. We watched rapt as they performed the opening scene, casting the spell that would doom Macbeth
.
 

Even at this early stage, the play seemed to have energy and drew us in. And when Ryan entered as Macbeth, returning from the battle – and he was reciting his lines in a British accent! And it wasn’t a bad Dick Van Dyke cockney, or like the plummy one Madonna affected during her Guy Ritchie years; Ryan’s accent was strong, masculine. He was brilliant.

‘Look at Xander,’ said Nicky leaning across to whisper in my ear. ‘He’s in love…’

We looked at one another and realised this play was going to be amazing. The first act was over all too soon and we gave them a loud applause. Then Craig took the actors down to the bar for a notes session. When they were gone, Byron joined us outside in the corridor. She had a serious look on her face.

‘Is everything okay?’ I asked. ‘That run-through was brilliant.’

‘No, this is more of a housekeeping matter,’ said Byron. ‘I hev a request from Mr Hirrison. He needs to move hoe-till.’

‘Hoe-till?’ repeated Nicky, confused. I was versed in Byron-speak so I understood it as ‘hotel’.

‘Yis. His hoe-till room is at the front of the building, and he’s been having real trouble gitting down for some kip…’

‘Sleep,’ I translated for Nicky. ‘Are all the fans camping outside his window?’ I asked.

‘Cimping, screaming, throwing up their brassieres… and they constantly chant obscenities, “shag me”, “do me now”, “I want to hiv your bubbies”. The poor chap is exhausted.’

‘Okay, I’ll sort this,’ I said.

‘Do you hev his pseudonym for the hoe-till?’ asked Byron. I said I did.

Byron said thanks and went back into the rehearsal room. Xander went off home and then it was just me and Nicky in the corridor.

‘I don’t know about you honey, but today was certainly better than yesterday,’ said Nicky. ‘I’m gonna go home early. It’s date night for me and Bart.’
 

‘Yes, go and have some fun,’ I said. ‘I think I’ll go home early too. My Gran showed up last night.’

‘The crazy communist one?’ asked Nicky

‘Well, she’s not a communist, but yes.’

‘Okay. Let’s go home, have some time out, and make tomorrow an even better day,’ said Nicky. She gave me a hug and then I made my way home.
 

When I got home there was a delicious smell coming from the kitchen. Gran was standing at my cooker stirring something in a huge pan.

‘Natalie! Darlink. I’m making my famous goulash!’ she cried. She was dressed in a smart pair of trousers, a red blouse, and was fully made up.

‘Lovely, I’m starved,’ I said giving her a hug.

‘I visited that very good butcher shop on Raven Street, and I vent to the greengrocer too,’ she said.

I pulled my laptop and phone out of my bag and started to put them on charge.

‘Glass of vine?’ she said moving slowly to the fridge.
 

‘I can get that,’ I said.

‘Sit please, my darlink. The guest vill serve the host.’

I went to the table and sat. She came over with two glasses of red.
 

‘Your butcher sells
vine,
can you believe it?’ she said. We clinked glasses and I took a sip. It was amazing.

‘Hang on, butcher? Do you mean the Rossi’s Organic Store on Raven Street?’ I asked.

‘Yes. He did seem Italian,’ said Gran going back to the pan and stirring. A beautiful smell of spice, tomatoes, and wine floated across.

‘Gran, that place costs a fortune. I only left you twenty quid?’

‘And here it is,’ she said handing me back my money. ‘I opened an account.’

‘I didn’t know you could even do that?’
 

‘Darlink, I vore the gold, the furs, I vas a bit of a bitch. I got an account.’

She went and opened the fridge. It was considerably fuller, with packets of cheese and sliced meats shining through greaseproof paper bearing the Rossi’s branding. She took out some plastic tubs of olives and stuffed bell peppers.

‘Nibbles? The goulash needs time…’

‘How big was this account he gave you?’ I asked.

‘Natalie, Natalie. I make this meal for you. Let me vorry about how it comes to the table. Just enjoy.’ She leant over and popped an olive in my mouth before I could complain.

‘Oh, hang on, I have to make one phone call for work,’ I mumbled through the olive. I went to the landline and dialled the number for the Langham Hotel. I explained that ‘Samuel Heathcliff’ aka Ryan Harrison needed to be moved to a suite at the back of the hotel, away from his screaming fans. The man on the desk promised he would have Ryan moved immediately.

Over wine and nibbles, and Gran’s mouth-watering goulash, I brought her up to speed with everything that had happened.
 

‘And finally, Mum thinks I’m bringing Benjamin with me to the christening,’ I said, a gloom suddenly descending over me.
 

‘Natalie, Natalie, Natalie,’ she said grabbing me in a hug. ‘It’s okay. I’m here my darlink…’

‘Today was such a good day, and here I am worrying about a bloody man! I’m being silly aren’t I?’ I said, wiping a tear away.

‘No. You hev all these men making you feel like Miss Wrong, but you are Miss Right, don’t you forget that!’ said Gran.

‘It was really nice to come home and have someone cooking for me,’ I grinned.

‘It is a pleasure. Now, I didn’t get any dessert. I bought soap because it hev less calorie.’

‘We’re going to eat soap?’

‘No Natalie. I think you need a nice bath.’
 

I had more wine as she ran me the water.

‘I put special boobles in,’ she said emerging wiping her hands on a towel. ‘For a nice booble bath…Your butcher also sells very good soap.’

‘You bought soap from Rossi’s, Gran? It costs a fortune!’

‘Shhh. As I said, instead of a dessert…’

When I was in the bathroom I saw a wooden box of hand-milled soap sitting open on a chair beside the full bath. I’m pretty sure I had seen them in the shop priced at sixty quid. I slipped into the water and felt myself unwind in the warm soapy water. When I emerged an hour later I was sleepy and relaxed. Gran was just finishing washing up.

‘Natalie, why don’t you take an early night? I hev done the dishes, everything is done,’ she said.

‘Are you sure?’

‘You are a beautiful girl, but you must have your beauty sleep…’

‘I suppose I am a little tired,’ I said. ‘Goodnight, and thank you.’

‘Good night my darlink… Vould you mind if I make a few phone calls? They are not international.’

‘Course, the phone is by the fridge,’ I said. ‘Goodnight.’

‘Night darlink,’ she said, and gave me a hug. I crawled into bed and was asleep in minutes.

The invitation

The next morning I left Gran snoring, and went to work. Benjamin hadn’t got back to me, so I sent Xander out to get a key cut, and asked him to post it through my front door in an envelope. The rest of the day was a series of meetings, ranging from the sublime to the ridiculous.
 

In the morning we had a staff meeting about whether or not we should reattach the anti-pigeon spikes to the roof, after the fiasco during the flash mob. It turned into a fierce debate about pigeons. Val from the box office was dead against it, saying her husband kept racing pigeons and they are highly intelligent creatures – in fact she thinks
they are more intelligent than her husband. Byron was also dead against it; she is a devoted animal lover and spends most of her wages sponsoring animals around the world.