The Only Boy For Me (10 page)

Barney knows something is up, but frankly he doesn’t care because a vital bit of kit has gone missing and he’s in the midst of throwing a major tantrum. I rush about sorting out the crisis, and try to stop the crew pretending to push one another into the sea because sooner or later someone will fall in. They ignore me. Someone falls in – Dave the electrician – and has to be fished out by our boatman who does not think it is funny at all. Dave stands wringing out his pockets and emptying water out of his hood. The crew, and Barney, think this is fabulously funny. Everyone cheers up hugely, and we finally finish dithering about and Barney is happy that we can start tomorrow with the camera pointing vaguely in the direction where the sun rises, so we all troop off back to the posh hotel and start running up a major bar bill.

Barney wanders off to his room saying he has calls to make, and I say I’m knackered and am going back to my hotel to sleep, but he can call me on my mobile if he needs me. It looks like the entire crew are ordering bar snacks and watching sport on satellite television, so I can slope off back to my hotel without half of them trailing after me demanding food.

As soon as I’m back in my room I ring Leila for an emergency therapy session. She thinks it is very funny.

‘Look, Leila, it’s not bloody funny. If Barney finds out he’ll go berserk.’

‘Oh stop it, he’s always going berserk about something, you can handle him. You know the deal: screw the agency if you must, but never screw the crew. Now tell me more about this man.’

‘Well, he’s called Mack.’

‘Christ. Not Mack MacDonald?’

‘Yes, apparently.’

‘Oh honestly, how could you not have recognised Mack MacDonald? They call him Mack the Knife, you know, everyone’s terrified of him. He’s from Glasgow and once threatened to stab a client at a big pitch which wasn’t going very well. He did that brilliant campaign last year for Persil.’

‘What? That awful one with the baby?’

‘No, you idiot, the one with the dog. He’s the new man at BLG, which is now BMLG. As in Bates MacDonald Lightfoot and Grace. That MacDonald. Ring a bell now? He’s fantastic, a brilliant creative type but good with money too. They’re paying him a fortune and they had to give him a chunk of the agency to woo him away from DDT. For God’s sake, you must know who he is now?’

‘Yes of course I know the name now, but he didn’t give me his surname last night, and anyway Lawrence does all the agency crawling, you know that. And we don’t work for DDT, not since Barney stormed off that Jif shoot and refused to go back. So how would I know what he looks like?’

‘Oh yes, I’d forgotten about that. Well, anyway, now you know what he looks like better than most of us. Actually, now I come to think of it, I met him a few months ago at a party and tried flirting with him, but it was like trying to flirt with a tree – all rugged and gorgeous but totally blank when it came to chitchat. He’s gorgeous, darling. Hurrah, hurrah, you finally got laid by someone who doesn’t look like a refugee.’

Leila has always disapproved of my choice of men, preferring matinée-idol-type looks rather than my pale
and wistful working-class-hero types. Mack is actually a bit of both.

‘Yes but, Leila, what do I do with him now? I’m supposed to meet him in the bar, but I just know someone will see us. I can’t handle this at all, and I haven’t brought any decent clothes, and anyway I’m totally knackered.’

‘Oh stop it, and have some fun. What clothes have you got? Oh God, not those awful jeans.’

A rather painful conversation follows where Leila declares she does not know why I insist on going round dressed like a runner, and she told me to throw out that hideous old bra years ago. Then she redeems herself, as she always does.

‘Well, it’s a good job you’re so gorgeous, because you really are hopeless. Just wear a white T-shirt, tight, use safety pins at the sides if you have to, and that horrible old leather jacket but don’t do it up, and the cleanest jeans you can find. And don’t wear your woolly hat. And not those awful old deck shoes, have bare feet if you have to. Have you got lots of condoms?’

‘Leila, shut up. We are going to have a professional chat and sort this out so it’s not a problem tomorrow.’

‘Yes, and then you are going to shag him senseless. Have you got condoms?’

‘Yes. I’ve got my emergency packet in my washbag, the ones you made me buy last year.’

‘Good. Have they gone past their sell-by date?’

‘Leila, I’m warning you.’

‘OK. Well, be careful, darling, and have fun. And you can tell me all about it when you get home. Love you, bye.’

And with that she is gone. I ring Mum and chat to Charlie, who is staying up late as a special treat.

‘Nana made sausages for tea and they were great. Much better than you do them. You should do them in the frying
pan like Nana, you know, Mummy. And Grandad is taking me fishing tomorrow, and we may catch a shark.’

I tell him I’m not sure there are sharks in the local lake, and he tells me I know nothing about fishing and should leave it to him and Grandad.

I still can’t work out what to say to Mack, but put on the outfit suggested by Leila just in case. At five to nine I go downstairs, find a quiet corner in the bar and order a triple vodka. All the financial lot from last night are still in the restaurant, so the bar is blissfully quiet. Mack saunters in and orders a beer, then comes over and sits down.

‘Look, I really am sorry. I just didn’t want to talk about bloody advertising all night, but I never thought you would turn out to be the bloody producer.’

‘What do you mean by that – don’t I look like a producer?’

‘Well, to be honest, no. You don’t look demented enough.’

I’m secretly rather charmed by this, but try not to let it show.

‘So, what do you suggest we do now? I think we should pretend it never happened, and get on with the job.’

Actually seeing him again has made me realise I think the direct opposite of this, but I don’t want to appear to be a total pushover.

‘Yes, well, I’ve been thinking about that. And you see the thing is I really don’t want to do that. So I don’t really think that’s an option.’

I’m half thrilled by this, and half furious. Christ, it’s like being fifteen again. As if it’s just up to him to decide. I’m about to tell him exactly how annoying he is when he leans over and kisses me. Hard. We are in the midst of a passionate clinch when two of the crew, George and Kevin, walk in.

They stand completely still in the doorway and watch, with their mouths slightly open.

‘You total fucker, two of the crew have just walked in.’

‘Shit.’

George and Kevin sit down at the bar, and pretend not to see us. But I know they have, and they know I know.

‘I know. I’ll go up to my room, and you can chat with the boys and then follow me up.’

‘And that’s your plan, is it?’

‘Yesh, Moneypenny, and it’s a damned good one.’

I can’t help laughing. But also do a bit more swearing, and add that I will not follow him up to his room like a well-trained puppy because this will be totally obvious.

‘In that case I shall be forced to sit here and kiss you at unexpected moments throughout the evening.’

‘You wouldn’t!’

‘I bloody well would, you know.’

‘OK, OK. You go up to your room like you said and I’ll try and think of something to stop the boys grabbing their mobiles the minute I leave.’

‘OK. I’ll wait for you by the lift. You have ten minutes. Or I’m coming back in.’

With this he gets up and walks out.

George and Kevin look over and try to appear surprised to see me.

‘Wasn’t that Mack, the bloke from the agency?’ says George. ‘What have you been doing to him? He looked well pissed off.’ Then he snorts into his drink in a most annoying manner.

I get up and walk over slowly. Staring hard at George, I tell him that if he breathes a word of this to anybody, even his mother, I’ll ring his wife and tell her about that waitress in the Little Chef last summer. George goes white, and
Kevin sniggers. I tell Kevin that I will also ring George’s wife if Kevin says anything, and George is a lot bigger than Kevin. I think this will do the trick.

I walk out of the bar to find Mack loitering beside the lift, getting some very odd looks from the woman on reception. The lift arrives and we get in, and Mack begins kissing me. I’m enjoying myself immensely when the lift stops and an elderly couple join us. Since I don’t want to get arrested for performing an indecent act in a hotel lift, as apart from anything else it would be bound to get back to the PTA, I glare at Mack until we reach his floor. We get out, the doors close and then we hear the elderly couple laughing. Mack doesn’t seem to care at all, and as soon as we reach the safety of the other side of his door, neither do I.

Eventually we realise we’re both starving so we order sandwiches and coffee and then try to work out how we’re going to handle the shoot, which is due to start in a few hours. We agree that we’ll just have to play it by ear and hope George and Kevin will keep silent. I finally stagger back to my room at two thirty. I have no idea how I’m going to stay awake for the next twelve hours and manage to speak, let alone work. I’m dithering about trying to decide what to wear, as it will be freezing, when the phone rings.

‘I just wanted to say that I think you’re lovely, and I want to see you back in London if that would be OK. Just in case I don’t get a chance to say so later.’

He seems rather embarrassed by this outburst, and promptly puts the phone down. I’m thrilled, and suddenly feel much more energetic.

The location manager, Johnny, turns up to collect me and we get to Barney’s hotel at three fifty-five. He’s hopping
about in reception. He takes one look at me and says, ‘God, darling, you look totally fucked.’

Nearly choke on my coffee in the polystyrene beaker which Johnny has magically provided, but Barney begins chattering on about plans for the morning and was just being his usual charming self. The boatman looks freezing, but the catering van has turned up, so all the essentials are in place, and the weather is fine although the sea is pretty rough.

Amazingly, things go without a hitch, and we get all the shots we need of the actor stepping off the boat in the early-morning light, although as usual it turns out that the sun actually rises in a totally unexpected point no one had anticipated, which requires frantic repositioning at the last minute. No one falls in and things are looking good, when Barney decides it would be nice to get a shot of the boat coming back into harbour. It will look great, the light is wonderful, and he’s the director so that’s what we’ll do. The actor is not keen on heading out to sea, and neither is the boatman, but Barney insists and we finally persuade them all that it won’t take long. We put Chris, the first assistant, on the boat with a radio so Barney can tell him what he wants. He’s not keen either, and says boats make him puke.

Just as they head off to sea Mack turns up with Lucy and the client, and we explain what’s going on. The client is a bit dubious and wants to know if it will cost extra. Mack says, ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ and Barney looks at him with a glimmer of admiration. Lucy rushes the client off to have breakfast and soothe his ruffled feathers. We’re all huddled on the dock watching the boat head out beyond the harbour walls, where it begins to pitch about alarmingly, and the strangled cries from Chris on the radio suggest all is not plain sailing.

‘It’s fucking heaving out here, guv, can we come back now?’ There are muffled sounds of swearing in the background.

The waves are getting quite big now; in fact it looks almost like a mini storm is brewing. The sky is fantastic, with the sun breaking through the clouds and sending shafts of light on to the sea. The tiny little boat comes bobbing back through the entrance to the harbour, and Barney, as usual, is right: it does look brilliant. The boat gets close in, but Barney says they have to go out again because the sun went in just at the crucial moment. Terrible language can be heard on the radio when Chris breaks the news to the boatman.

I notice with horror that the client has brought his own video camera and is standing right behind Barney trying to record over his shoulder. He then plays back the tape and peers at it. I can tell, and so can Lucy and Mack, that he’s about to start asking questions. Barney turns round and fixes him with a terrifying glare. Lucy and I surround the client and Mack grabs his arm and we manage to walk him over to the car where he starts blathering on about the light not being very bright. We go into all sorts of technical detail, some of which is totally made up, and eventually manage to persuade him to stop worrying. Lucy assures him that if he doesn’t like it we can always cut this bit from the final film. She whispers this because if Barney hears he’ll have a fit. Mack then suggests coffee, and begins asking the client all sorts of questions about his lovely camera, and they wander off quite happily. Brilliant, and you’d never know they were faking it if you couldn’t see them making rude gestures behind his back.

The boat goes back out, and comes back in, three more times before we get the right combination of light, clouds
and the boat bobbing up and down looking like it won’t make it back into harbour. Then Barney makes them go round and round inside the harbour, almost docking and then going off again, so we can get that bit just right. The actor has been sick, and the boatman is furious. Finally we get what we need, but now Barney wants the boat to come right up close to the harbour wall so we can get a shot of the actor throwing rope off it.

The actor isn’t keen, and says nobody told him he would have to throw ropes about, but we tell him to pull himself together or Barney will make them head out to sea again. This does the trick, and he hurls ropes about countless times. It’s really getting rough now and on about the tenth run a huge wave hits the boat, bashing it into the harbour wall with a sickening cracking sound. The boatman slams on the engines and moves the boat away from the wall, but the damage has been done and the railing at the front is cracked and hangs off looking pathetic. Everyone says, ‘Oh fuck,’ and then frantically looks away pretending to be doing something else.