The Only Boy For Me (28 page)

‘Look, Mummy, I’ve got it.’

‘Thank you, Charlie.’

He’s hopping with excitement now, and says, ‘Is there going to be a prize? Can we go to the shop on the way home and get sweets? Can we, can we?’ I’m too soaked to argue, and also want to avoid a scene in front of James, so I agree to a detour via the village shop. I park as close to the shop as I can, and open the car door to discover we’re in the middle of a small lake. I try to get out of the car by a weird sort of leaping combined with limbo-type movements, and end
up standing in four inches of muddy water. Charlie is delighted.

We squelch into the shop and find it’s full of people with soaking-wet trouser legs, so at least we’re not the only ones. A small crowd of children surrounds the sweet shelves, and the noise is indescribable. One boy is firmly clutching an enormous bag of toffees but his mum is holding out for a small packet of Refreshers. Another woman has three children with her, and a toddler who’s lying on the floor screaming because he wants a family-size tub of vanilla ice-cream from the freezer. I quickly offer Charlie a small bar of chocolate if we can leave the shop before the slapping starts. Thankfully he agrees, and we rush back to the car in torrential rain. The lake now entirely surrounds the car and Charlie drops his chocolate into the water, twice. Apparently it’s fine, it only got a bit wet and the silver paper has saved the day. He’s eaten the whole bar before I’ve got my seatbelt on.

When we get home I put Charlie straight into the bath, and then get waylaid with a stream of phone calls about work. Charlie takes the opportunity to have a really good splash, and we spend ages mopping up the bathroom floor. I end up going to bed at eight thirty and plan to get up and tidy up after a quick nap, but somehow manage to bypass this and wake up just in time to hear Edna arrive. She’s very chirpy and makes tea and wipes surfaces while I run about getting dressed. I charge out of the house and I’m on the motorway before I realise I’ve left half the pieces of paper I need at home. Barney rings on the mobile and starts fussing but thankfully his car enters a tunnel or something and the call is suddenly cut off. I decide to switch my phone off to get a bit of peace, and claim the signal went dead.

I get to the studio to find the set isn’t ready. Barney
marches over and says, ‘What’s the matter with your fucking phone? I’ve been trying to call you. This set is a disaster, and that staircase is in totally the wrong place. Christ, can’t these people get anything right?’ I calm him down, and then discover the staircase is in the exact position specified on the plans, but Barney changed his mind and forgot to tell anybody. Finally I get things sorted, and Barney wanders off mumbling about laying a track. He always lays a track when he can’t think of anything else to do, and the crew know this. So they all start milling about saying this will never work. The grand piano arrives, and looks enormous. It’s reinforced with metal and then covered in wood to look like an ordinary one, so when it flies down the stairs the legs won’t snap off. It takes four men to wheel it into the studio on a special trolley. The crew all look at it and start shaking their heads. Barney has gone very pale and is muttering to himself.

The idea is for a new brand of fizzy orange drink. A couple are sitting in a restaurant overlooking a terrace with stairs down to a huge swimming pool. The woman orders a drink, and the waiter starts shaking the bottle before opening it. Assuming it will spray everywhere, she ducks under the table and manages to push a chair over, which trips up a passing waiter causing a chain reaction of crashing trolleys and curtains being set on fire, finally culminating in the piano being given a hefty shove. It careers off down the stairs just behind a waiter, who dives into the pool closely followed by the piano. The final shot is the waiter opening the original bottle of drink which gives an elegant little hiss. The voiceover will witter on about how this drink can be shaken and won’t explode because it’s a special blend of fruit and spring water. Relax. Just shake it and pour.

Wish I could relax, shake it and pour, preferably with
something involving gin, but just to make things completely perfect a very anxious client, called Adrian, has turned up and keeps trying to ask Barney exactly what his plans are. As Barney is still trying to decide, this line of questioning is not entirely welcome. We finally get everything in place and Barney announces he wants to try to get the piano going down the staircase first, so if anything goes wrong we still have the next two days to play with. The crew start shaking their heads and telling me that this is going to be a disaster. Everyone is getting very nervous, and Barney is still wandering around muttering to himself and obsessing about the lighting.

The stuntman dresses up as a waiter and stands at the top of the staircase. We get four men behind the piano waiting to shove it through the doors. We’re finally ready and they begin to push. The bloody thing hardly moves and then when it does it bounces off the first stair, drops to the second, does another little bounce and stops. Barney yells at them to push harder. We end up with about twenty people crouched behind the doors, the piano comes out at about ninety miles an hour, bounces much higher but still only makes it to the fifth step before stopping. We break for a coffee and try to work out what to do next. Barney suddenly announces that the staircase must be removed, and a ramp put in, painted to look like the stairs.

‘You’ve got to be kidding, guv, that’ll never work.’

‘Yes it will.’

‘But, guv, it’ll just shoot down the ramp, and anyway it won’t sound like stairs.’

Barney considers this for a moment. ‘Of course it won’t, you’ll have to nail bits of wood down to make it bounce a bit. Christ, do I have to think of everything?’

The carpenters look at him like he’s mad, but remove the
staircase and put in a ramp. We have to break for lunch and we still aren’t ready to go. At this rate we’re going to take the entire three days just to get one shot. The stuntman points out that the ramp may mean the piano actually catches up with him, but Barney says it’ll be fine, and anyway we’ve got a frogman standing by to fish him out if the piano lands on top of him.

The stuntman does not look pleased at this news, and says that really we should have two divers in the pool: one to take care of the piano, and one to drag him out from under it if it all goes pear-shaped. Barney glares at me, as if I should have anticipated this, and mutters something about snorkels. I decide to ignore this, because I have a sneaking suspicion his next idea will be that I spend hours lurking at the bottom of the pool. I’m not sure my snorkelling skills are really up to rescuing drowning stuntmen from underneath grand pianos.

The ramp is finally sorted, and the frogman gets back into the pool. The piano is repositioned behind the doors, and I get practically the entire crew to stand behind it ready to push. The stuntman stands ready and the tension mounts. A junior copywriter from the agency helpfully points out that if the piano really builds up speed it may veer off in an entirely unexpected direction and demolish half the studio. Everyone tells him to shut up, and we start. The piano shoots through the doors and begins bouncing down the ramp in a most convincing fashion. The waiter starts running, and keeps glancing over his shoulder. The piano is definitely gaining on him and he looks absolutely terrified. Finally he dives into the pool about two seconds before the piano hits the little hidden ramp, flies into the air and splashes into the water. The frogman yanks him out of the way just in time. The entire crew applaud and yell, and
Barney is thrilled. It looks like we’ve got it, and we’re busy congratulating ourselves and watching the tape, which looks brilliant, when the client wanders over looking very worried.

‘Um, I don’t know about this, you know. I mean, I just don’t think it’s funny.’

Barney looks at him with utter contempt, and says, ‘Oh, sorry, Adrian, was it meant to be funny? No one told me it was meant to be funny.’

The crew fall about laughing, and the client looks furious.

‘Look, Adrian, why don’t you go back to the agency and work out how to make it funny, and then come back and tell us tomorrow? In the meantime I think we should get on, don’t you?’

Adrian is whisked off by the agency, and I ask Barney what he thinks he’s playing at.

‘What exactly are we going to do tomorrow when he comes back with a load of old bollocks he wants us to shoot, and there’s nothing in the budget?’

‘We’re going to ignore him, that’s what we’re going to do. This film is going to be great, I just know it. Whenever they tell you it’s not funny, you know you’re on to a winner – you should know that by now. I’d have been really worried if he’d said he loved it.’

‘Yes, but –’

‘Don’t “yes but” me. We’ll tell him we don’t have time tomorrow and then on the last day we’ll just ignore him, and then we can all bugger off and if he doesn’t like it he can stuff it. Now, let’s get set up for the next shot, shall we? It’s getting late.’

I get home in the middle of the night, totally exhausted. I barely manage to fall asleep before it’s time to wake up and head back to the studio, but at least I get to see Charlie, who
comes into my bed at some point during the night and has a quick cuddle before going back to sleep.

The second day goes well, apart from the bit with the curtains which catch fire very easily but won’t go out again, and threaten to burn down the entire studio before we get the blaze under control. The client turns up with a contingent from the agency who have come up with a couple of really crap ideas, and Barney says we’ll see what we can do, and then completely ignores them for the rest of the day.

I make vague noises about our plans being pretty much set for today, but talk about the possibility of having a bit of time tomorrow, and then try to corner Barney and persuade him to at least pretend to listen to them. He points out that he didn’t get to where he is today by listening to clients, and anyway can I please shut up because he’s trying to work out the next shot. I get away at a reasonable hour, but the client is clearly furious and I anticipate ructions tomorrow.

I know we’re in for a hard day when I spot Lawrence arriving early the next morning. The crew start muttering as soon as they see him as they know this means trouble, and sure enough the client asks for a quick meeting before we start and says that Lawrence has told him this will be fine. Barney sits through the entire meeting in silence, and then says, ‘Thanks, Adrian, that was very interesting,’ and wanders off to chat to the lighting man. The client seems happy with this, and the agency people look very relieved. They take him off for coffee, and the minute they’ve disappeared Barney marches back over and starts shouting at Lawrence.

‘You little fucker. Get back to the office right now. If I want any more meetings fixed up, I’ll let you know.’

Lawrence looks like he’s about to say something, but then
thinks better of it and storms off. And then Barney turns on me.

‘And as for you. What the fuck were you doing when he was fixing up meetings with the fucking client?’

I use my special reassuring tone of voice which I usually save for crisis moments with Charlie.

‘Now look, Barney. I know you’re tired, but don’t start yelling at me or I’ll go home. Let’s get a coffee and you can tell me what you want to do next.’

I almost take his hand as I would Charlie’s but stop myself just in time. Barney looks at me with a horrible sneer on his face and I know he’s tempted to continue yelling. But last time we played Call My Bluff I did actually walk out, admittedly only to sit trembling in my car trying to work out how I was going to find another job. But then Barney came and sat in the back of the car and said I’d better not think I was walking off his set. Which was Barney-speak for an apology, so we both went back and finished the job. He finally says, ‘Don’t treat me like a three year old. I’m fucking annoyed.’

‘All right then, let’s go for the old-fashioned approach. If you speak to me like that again I shall slap you hard, and then you’ll be sorry. Just tell me what you want to do next, or shall I get them to build a nice big track while you have a little think?’

I realise I am pushing it, but am too tired to care and anyway Barney is delighted and starts laughing. The rest of the day goes fairly smoothly, and the client gets bored and leaves early. He’s so stupid he actually thinks Barney has taken some of his ideas ‘on board’, whereas in reality he’s ignored them completely.

In fact we all get away pretty early, and I’m in serious danger of arriving home just in time to catch Charlie’s
bedtime, which I cannot quite face, so I loiter in McDonald’s drive-in drinking coffee. I notice a couple of other women apparently doing the same, and realise there must be working mothers all over the place wasting an extra half-hour rather than walk in slap in the middle of bedtime. We could start a whole new trend in bars and cafés. Not so much Happy Hour as Don’t Get Home Before Bedtime Is Over Hour. The coast is clear when I get home, and Mum has made supper which is keeping warm in the oven: shepherd’s pie. Bliss. Mack rings up and says he’s back, the trip was totally exhausting but interesting and can he come down at the weekend? Yes please. Leila is due down on Sunday, so I arrange for Mack to come down on Saturday and push off shortly after Leila arrives, which suits him because he has to go back to the States on Monday. I have a long chat with Mum about plans for Christmas, which gets rather fraught, but we end up agreeing that everyone will come to me on Christmas Day. I’m still not sure quite how this happened because my secret plan was that we would all go to Mum.

I wake next morning to find Charlie is already up and has made me breakfast in bed. Five digestive biscuits covered in honey, which he’s managed to spread over the entire kitchen, and a tea bag in a cup of cold water. Yum. I go down to the kitchen to make tea and find the soles of my feet stick to the kitchen floor. Try to be grateful but fail, and Charlie sulks.

‘Honey is very difficult to spread, you know, Mummy. Lots of biscuits cracked into bits before I got the hang of it.’