The Only Boy For Me (17 page)

The Science Museum is a huge hit, though personally I think it would be a much better place if you could rent energetic teenagers to charge around the exhibits with the kids, and then you wouldn’t have to pretend to be interested in how engines work. We eat lunch in the café, which costs a fortune, and then race off to Hamleys where Mack spends a staggering amount of money on toys for himself and the children. We get a cab back to the house and after a quick cup of tea we leave. Charlie and Alfie part as new best friends, Daisy looks relieved, and Mack says he will ring later. It’s very nice to be back with just Charlie and me, and he spends the journey home telling me that Hamleys really is the best shop in the world, and that Alfie can come to his party but not Daisy because she is stupid. When Mack rings he says he thinks the weekend was a huge success because Alfie said I cooked good spaghetti and Charlie was great, and Daisy said the spaghetti was OK. I feel ridiculously pleased. Just hope no one turns out to have caught nits.

The next morning Edna arrives early and I manage to get to the studio for the dog-food job at what feels like the crack of dawn. The dog handler turns up with four
dalmatian puppies, all of whom are adorable but wildly over-excited. Then various owners start arriving with their puppies, and they’re all very demanding and cannot control their dogs who run round jumping and barking. One bites the electrician who is very stoical and says, ‘It’s only a nip, and they don’t mean no harm.’ This is going to be a very long day. We now have twenty puppies, four stroppy owners and a desperate dog handler who begins to erect a puppy cage so we can try to keep all the animals in one place for more than two seconds. The cage turns out to be enormous, and it takes three of the crew an entire hour to help him get the bloody thing to stop wobbling and looking like it will decapitate any animal put inside it. When it’s finished there’s enough room for all the dogs and the dog handler, so he sits inside on a blanket and begins trying to calm the puppies down by singing to them. The entire crew are spellbound by this, and it does seem to be working as the puppies all lie down and stare at him in amazement. Barney arrives and says, ‘What the fuck is he doing?’ which doesn’t really help but luckily the man doesn’t hear. The set is finished, and we get ready for the first shot. The idea is a woman comes into her kitchen, puts new dried puppy food into a bowl for her dalmatian puppy and then, lo and behold, hordes of the little buggers stream in through the dog flap. Simple really, and the voiceover will say, ‘Puppies love it. You’ll love it. So will the neighbours. You’d better buy the big bag next time.’

Barney and John, the lighting cameraman, have a frank exchange of views, because John thinks if the camera moves too quickly following black and white puppies running over black and white tiles then the whole thing will strobe, and Barney thinks this is crap. They end up deciding to do it Barney’s way, but also do a slower version in case John is
right. ‘But if it doesn’t strobe in rushes then you’re in serious trouble, John.’ John starts to backtrack and says he didn’t say it would, only it might. While all this is going on two of the owners have got into an argument about whose puppy is most likely to win Best in Show at a forthcoming competition. This results in one of them deciding to walk out in a huff, because apparently she has never been so insulted in her life. I spot her grabbing three puppies and storming off, and try to persuade her to stay but she’s adamant. When I inform Barney we now have only seventeen puppies, he says, ‘Christ, why didn’t you stop her?’

The puppies are quite keen on the bowls of food for a while, but then they all get full up and start lying down for little sleeps. Except for one little stalwart, who we christen Porky, who keeps shooting through the dog flap and bolting down food like crazy. We decide he’s our best bet, and start to get some shots of him jumping up at his pretend owner and wagging his tail. The other puppies then wake up and join in the fun. Barney says, ‘Where the fuck is Cruella de Ville when you need her?’ and another owner gets the hump and threatens to leave.

We finally manage to get what we need, but it takes hours longer than we thought and we go into overtime, which cheers the crew up no end but makes Barney furious. The agency people have behaved themselves perfectly, and Paul has even managed to divert a couple of runaway puppies just before they belted out of the studio doors. The client makes a brief appearance but leaves when the puppies begin nipping people’s ankles. Barney goes off muttering about bloody dogs. There’s another script in for the same stuff, but this time the version is designed for bigger dogs involving a St Bernard breaking down a door to get into the kitchen and eat a bowl of food. The voiceover will say,
‘Leave the door open. You know it makes sense.’ I’m really not looking forward to it and half hope the client will hate this one. But I have a sinking feeling he won’t and we’ll all be back here before we know it, up to our necks in St Bernards.

Charlie comes home from school clutching an invitation to a birthday party, and is already wildly excited because the birthday boy, Jack, has promised there’ll be a magician and Coke and indoor fireworks. I ring Jack’s mum Clare to ask for tips on a present, and tell her Charlie is thrilled about the magician and fireworks. She says, ‘What magician?’ and it turns out she was planning on Pass the Parcel and lots of jelly, but may be forced to reconsider now or ruin Jack’s reputation entirely. We agree that small boys really are hopeless, and I promise to ring Kate to see if she knows any magicians who are likely to be available at very short notice.

By the time I ring Kate Clare has already called her, but she couldn’t help. We’ve decided on a joint birthday party for Charlie and James this year, which is due in a couple of weeks. Kate has booked the local swimming pool for a vast fee, and the café upstairs will provide a birthday tea. We’re allowed to bring our own cake, but everything else has to come from the café at hugely inflated prices. But – and this is the really fantastic bit – they do all the cleaning up afterwards, blow up all the balloons, and even provide a party
helper. Marvellous. I don’t care what it costs as long as I don’t have to pick squashed birthday cake out of the living-room carpet.

Kate also has Phoebe’s party to sort out for next month, which is proving far more tricky. The only hints Phoebe will give her are that James is not allowed to come, and if Kate won’t let her wear make-up and high heels she’ll die. She’s on a bit of a mission about make-up at the moment, and Kate has had to start hiding her make-up bag in the back of the wardrobe to foil Phoebe’s attempts to leave the house looking like Pat Butcher in
EastEnders.
I come up with the inspired suggestion that Kate books someone from a beauty salon to come round and do a full make-up for Phoebe and her friends, and then Kate can take photographs of them all. Kate rushes off to tell Phoebe and rings back ten minutes later to say sulking Phoebe has been transformed into hysterically happy Phoebe, and I’m invited to the party as guest of honour, but only if I promise not to bring Charlie.

It looks like the second dog-food job is on, and Barney has been ringing in an increasingly hysterical state because Lawrence has arranged for countless owners with St Bernard dogs to turn up at the office so Barney can see if he likes the look of them. I spend hours on the phone sorting out the studio and crew, and Mack threatens to visit the shoot with a couple of cats just to liven things up. We are due to meet up this weekend, but I tell him if he makes one more crack about cats he can stop in London.

I’m just walking in the door after picking Charlie up from school when the telephone rings. Charlie rushes to answer it, and gets there before me.

‘Oh hello, Barney.’

Christ.

‘Yes, I’m very well, thank you. Would you like to hear my best new joke?’

Double Christ.

‘What do you call a donkey with only three legs?’

There’s a long pause.

‘A wonkey.’

I wave an apple at Charlie and tell him that cartoons are now on. He drops the phone and runs off clutching the apple.

‘Hi, Barney.’

‘I think your son and heir might have just called me a wanker.’

‘Out of the mouths of babes, Barney, out of the mouths of babes.’

‘He’s a bit lippy for a babe, isn’t he, just like his mother. Anyway, moving swiftly on, have you sorted out the crew yet?’

‘Yes, I faxed the stuff through hours ago.’

‘Oh good, I’ll look at it when I get back to the office. Lawrence has got more bloody dogs coming in, so I’ve done a runner. Talk to you later.’

Poor Lawrence. I’m almost tempted to ring and warn him that Barney will not be turning up to give the dogs the onceover, but in the end decide it might be best to keep out of it. I do ring Stef and warn her, though, because Lawrence will try to take it out on her if she’s not careful. Charlie wanders back in and wants to know if Barney thought his joke was good, and I say that he did, although next time he must let me answer the phone. ‘Alright, Mummy, but I like talking to Barney – he’s very nice, you know.’ I can think of countless people who would be prepared to stand up in court on oath and swear otherwise, but decide not to disillusion him.

Jack’s party day arrives, and I drop Charlie off at three pm. A lot of children are already there, and Clare looks on the point of hysteria. Jack is running round and round in small circles saying, ‘I’ve got a magician, I’ve got a magician,’ in an increasingly shrill voice, and snatching presents from the arriving guests. Jack’s dad is wrestling them off him and saying, ‘Remember we said we wouldn’t open any presents until later.’ It looks like there’ll be a major scene at any moment, so I beat a hasty retreat before the screaming starts.

Kate comes round for a cup of tea with Phoebe, and we put on a video for her and creep off for a clandestine cigarette. We agree that we feel like naughty teenagers smoking in bus shelters. We try not to smoke in front of the kids, as apart from anything else the smug lectures are unbearable, and both admit to standing in the garden in the freezing cold with coats and hats on, simply to have a fag in peace. Pathetic really. I tell Kate that I’m feeling less nervous about Mack, but am still not entirely sure what’s going on.

‘I wish I could fast-forward six months and see how it all turns out.’

‘Try not to think about it, and enjoy yourself while you can. It might not last six months. Oh, sorry.’

‘It’s alright. I’m just not very good at keeping calm and seeing how things turn out.’

‘I know. Neither am I. That’s why I’m crap at knitting. Anyway, what’s the best thing about him? I mean, apart from the obvious.’

‘He really makes me laugh.’

‘Oh, that’s vital. Phil never made me laugh – well, not for years anyway. Sometimes he made me snigger, but that was never on purpose.’

‘How is he, by the way?’

‘As infuriating as ever. His latest plan is to dump the baby on me for the weekend while they go off for a little break. Can you believe it? I mean, apart from anything else she’s revolting. Even Phoebe was prettier than her, and she looked like a beetroot when she was born. And why on earth did they call her Saffron? You know, she had quite bad jaundice when she was born – she was bright yellow. They might as well have called her Daffodil. Phil says they want to have another one as soon as they can. God, what will they call it this time – Coriander?’

‘They could go for Basil if it’s a boy.’

This makes us giggle, and it’s good to see Kate laughing, because last year she couldn’t really laugh much at all. She had wanted to have another baby with Phil, before he announced that she had become old and boring and he was leaving her for a 20-year-old beauty called Zelda who modelled at his art class. Her real name is Sandra, but she decided to change it to Zelda when she became artistic. Apparently she thought Phil was marvellous, and understood just how important creativity was to him. Phil is an accountant, and not a very good one. He keeps losing clients because he forgets to send their forms in on time.

‘But there is some good news. Apparently Zelda is getting a bit fed up with Phil already. Phoebe says last time they were there she told him to shut up twice, and said if he wanted to be creative he could cook lunch while she had a sleep. You know, I might end up actually feeling sorry for her.’

We pause for the full unexpectedness of this news to sink in, and then say, in unison, ‘But not enough to have Saffron for the weekend,’ and then it’s time to pick the boys up.

The deafening noise of lots of over-excited children nearly knocks us over, and the magician is frantically trying
to pack up his kit. Actually he looks close to tears. His rabbit is running round and round the living room pursued by lots of screaming children, and he’s trying to wrestle his wand off a little girl who wants to take it home. Clare is trying to distract her with sweets but she looks very determined.

I spot Charlie and end up grabbing him by the back of his sweatshirt to get him to stop running. We’re given a bag of sweets and a slice of cake by Jack’s dad, who looks desperate. The journey home is fairly quiet as Charlie is busy eating his sweets. Then, without warning, he suddenly flings his piece of birthday cake out of the car window. I tell him he could have seriously injured a pedestrian with flying cake, but he is unmoved and points out that there was nobody walking along, and anyway the badgers will like it because it’s well known they adore cake. So it will be a lovely treat for them for supper. Sometimes I really really wish I believed in slapping.

I try to provide a supper with no sugar content whatsoever, to counteract the party food. Charlie says he is full up and will only eat two crackers and a small piece of cheese before announcing that if he’s forced to eat any more he will explode. He plays in the bath for ages, and tells me all about the magician who made a whole flagpole covered in flags come out of Jack’s ear. He also produced a rabbit and lots of small packets of Smarties, and created all sorts of marvellous creatures out of balloons, which made rude noises when he let the air out. He obviously knew his target audience very well, because rude noises made by deflating balloons are a guaranteed winner with all under-tens. I agree it sounds truly marvellous and nonchalantly mention that Mack might be coming down later. Charlie seems totally uninterested in this, and wants to know if I think
Mr Smarty Pants (apparently this was the magician’s name) would like to come to his swimming party. I point out that his rabbit would get wet, and this seems to do the trick.