Читать книгу Mum in the Middle: Feel good, funny and unforgettable - Jane Wenham-Jones, Jane Wenham-Jones - Страница 10

The newspaper offices were halfway down the High Street. I pushed open the door and crossed the floor to where a middle-aged woman sat behind a counter, looking at her screen. She looked up wearily as I came towards her and raised her eyebrows.

‘I’m here to see Gabriel,’ I said.

Her eyes swept over me, as if deciding. Then she

jerked her head towards the stairs to the side of her desk. ‘Go on up …’

At the top I found myself in a large room with various desks and computers and people tapping at keyboards. A woman of about my age looked up and smiled. ‘Do you want Malcolm?’

‘Er, no Gabriel, please.’

‘He’s in with Malcolm.’ She pointed to the back of the room, where double doors were open to another office beyond. I walked towards it feeling conscious of several pairs of eyes on me and rather wishing I’d ignored Gabriel’s message.

He’d emailed at 8.30 a.m. apologising for not replying sooner and saying I had nothing to worry about. If I came into the office at lunchtime he would give me both a copy of the newspaper and the info on the open mic night for Ben.

I’d replied saying I would, then hot-footed it to the newsagent’s to see the story right away. It was not too bad. The manic photo was small and the feature quoted Jinni at length and me not too much – and didn’t mention anything about anyone being paranoid or otherwise, but focused on how upset and shocked I was that anyone could display such mindless aggression.

I didn’t actually remember using this phrase, but it was better than sounding like a lonely hearts advert. The main picture was of Jinni pointing at a broken pane of glass beneath the headline ‘Actress Fears Campaign to Drive Her Out’, and above a report on how Northstone’s top glazier had given his services free to replace the window.

I was Tess, 46 (either Gabriel couldn’t do the maths or he was being kind), mother of three and a newcomer to the town and the only quote that sounded slightly cringy was the one about my finding it so handy to have a corner shop on the corner (where else might it be?). The online version was identical, except the photo of me was bigger, with a pop-up ad for greenhouses mostly obscuring it.

I heard Malcolm before I saw him. ‘You don’t make things up!’ he was saying loudly, ‘and you don’t sneak rubbish about your mates into my newspaper AFTER I’ve seen it. Get it to the subs, I said. I didn’t tell you to write a bloody fairy story first!’

‘I didn’t know it was …’ Gabriel was protesting.

‘It’s your job to know. You check the facts. Then you check ‘em again, You don’t put a load of bullshit in just because your crony in the pub gave it to you.’

I stopped outside the door, unsure what to do. The girl at the desk nearest to me was typing on, apparently unconcerned by the shouting.

Gabriel was saying something about helping Jinni, which seemed to infuriate Malcolm further. ‘WE’RE NOT RUNNING A BLOODY CHARITY,’ he roared.

His voice then dropped. ‘And two tyres and one broken window is hardly “an orchestrated campaign”,’ he said sarcastically. ‘By whom exactly?’ I thought you said you wanted to be an investigative journalist. I’m surprised you can find your way out of bed …’

Gabriel was still valiantly defending himself. ‘You said I couldn’t name names – I told you Jinni said Ingrid …’

Malcolm gave a loud, disparaging snort, which seemed to echo around the office. ‘Ingrid is a damn nuisance. She’s not a complete imbecile.’

I stepped back as he strode through the doors. He saw me and stopped. ‘If you’re here to see me, I’m going for lunch,’ he barked.

‘I’ve come to see Gabriel,’ I said. ‘To say thank you,’ I added, as I saw the crushed expression on the young man’s face.

Malcolm looked sceptical. ‘I can’t imagine what for.’

‘A great article,’ I said boldly. ‘I thought he did it very well.’

‘Everyone’s an expert today,’ said Malcolm. ‘Don’t keep him talking too long – he’s got work to do …’

He marched on through the outer office. ‘I’m going to Rosie’s’ he bellowed to the room in general.

The girl nearest us rolled her eyes. ‘He goes there every day and has done for about twenty years. It would only be worth shouting about if he wasn’t going to Rosie’s.’

She pushed her keyboard away from her and opened a drawer, pulling out a foil package. ‘It’s your turn to make coffee, Gabe,’ she said, unwrapping sandwiches.

Gabriel, who was still standing in the doorway shell-shocked, looked at me. ‘Would you like a coffee, Tess?’ he asked politely. ‘I’ve got those things for you.’

He led me to a desk in the corner of the room and offered me the chair. ‘Thanks for what you said.’ He gave a small smile as he handed me a mug and fetched a second chair to sit next to me on. ‘Sorry about the mess.’ He pushed a pile of paper aside so I could put my coffee down.

I smiled back. ‘No worries. It was a good article.’

Gabriel went slightly pink – looking touchingly pleased and grateful. Then he pulled a face. ‘Not according to the big boss. I was only trying to help …’

It seemed Gabriel had offered this bloke he knew, Sean, who had a replacement windows and conservatories company, a good mention in the paper if he replaced Jinni’s broken glass and sorted out another rotten frame or two for her, to cheer her up after what had happened.

But Gabriel had taken Sean’s word for it that Sean was the longest-established windows firm in Northstone, and one of Malcolm’s friends had phoned him up this morning to complain, that in fact HE owned the oldest glazing company in the area and so Malcolm was furious because this friend was the chairman of the Rotary Club Malcolm belonged to, none too pleased at one of his competitors getting all those column inches.

‘He says I should have checked,’ Gabriel said ruefully.

‘Well, has he?’ I asked indignantly. ‘He’s taking the word of this Rotary Club chap, isn’t he?’

Gabriel looked at me in admiration. ‘I didn’t think of that.’

As I got up to leave, I recognised Emily, the pretty young blonde girl who’d been at the quiz, coming towards us with a carrier bag. She stopped at Gabriel’s desk and pulled out a baguette and a diet coke. ‘I got you these,’ she said, looking even more adoring than she had in the pub.

Gabriel smiled at her. ‘That is really kind of you,’ he said.

Emily flushed and looked at her nails, clearly not sure whether to stay or leave us. I helped her out.

‘I’m off, then,’ I said, putting my handbag over my shoulder and picking up the flyer for Ben and a booklet of Things-to-do-in-Northstone, which Gabriel very sweetly thought would help me make friends.

He kissed me on the cheek and I saw Emily look longingly at him. ‘Thank you,’ he said, with feeling – his slightly lost and emotionally battered look bringing out in me a surge of motherly concern.

It must have been the thought of how I’d feel if it was one of my boys being so unfairly judged because I am not usually given to bursts of assertiveness – not unless really roused – but the sight of Malcolm through the window of Rosie’s Bistro opposite, tucking in without a care in the world, filled me with a flush of outrage on poor Gabriel’s behalf.

The young man had helped Jinni out and brightened her up again and so what if he’d given a bit of a plug to the chap who’d done the work for free. It was a simple bartering system and what was wrong with that? It was really quite inventive and creative of Gabriel and weren’t we, as a society, always complaining that the youth of today weren’t sufficiently resourceful or self-motivated? The reporter’s heart had been In the Right Place and it was completely unreasonable of Malcolm to shout like that. Where the whole office could hear too!

Malcolm looked up and saw me looking at him through the glass and waved. I might have left it if he’d seemed embarrassed at his earlier bad temper but he appeared quite pleased with himself. Before I knew it, I had pushed open the door and was standing in front of him, trembling with indignation, but preparing to make a calm, carefully thought-out speech about working practices, ethics and man management.

‘I think you are bang out of order!’ I said.

Malcolm finished the last mouthful of whatever it had been – clearly something with gravy – and put his knife and fork together. Then carefully dabbed at the corners of his mouth with his napkin.

‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘Would you like a pudding?’

‘The boy’s an idiot,’ Malcolm handed me a menu. ‘The treacle tart is rather good or are you one of those annoying females who fusses about her food?’

‘No, I’m not,’ I said primly, wanting to refuse him but suddenly realising I was absolutely starving.

‘Or the blackberry and apple crumble,’ Malcolm added. ‘I’m not supposed to, but I do.’ He looked up as the waitress appeared. ‘I’ll have that. With custard.’

‘It’s not a case of “one of my friends”,’ said Malcolm when the waitress had gone again. ‘He’s one of our biggest advertisers. Whether I like him or not is irrelevant. I don’t let friendships affect my newspaper. This other Johnnie-come-lately has apparently only been trading half the time Roger has, and as for being “award-winning”, that’s absolute balls. Never won a thing. He’s a known bodger and Roger says half his business is putting right what this other cowboys got wrong. Of course, he’s disgruntled to see him getting free coverage in an article full of inaccuracies.’

‘How do you know that’s all true, though?’ I asked feebly, already knowing the answer.

Malcolm looked scathing.

‘Because I Googled Companies House, read reviews online and asked Grace on reception what the general opinion was. She knows everything about everyone.’ He leant back and scrutinised me. ‘Why do you care?’

‘I felt sorry for Gabriel – I’d hate it if someone shouted at one of my kids like that. He was only trying to use his initiative. And it was kind of him to help Jinni.’

‘Kind?’ Malcolm’s tone was pitying. ‘He’s a journalist – it’s not his job to be kind. He was just trying to pad the story out because he didn’t really have one.’ Malcolm sat up straighter as the waitress reappeared bearing two bowls. ‘But he’s not as clever as he thinks he is.’

He dipped a spoon into the steaming fruit and custard that had been placed in front of him, put it his mouth and sighed with satisfaction.

‘I’m trying to educate him,’ he said when he’d swallowed. ‘My trainees do things properly and go on to better things. I’m not going to let some silly American boy be any different.’ He plunged his spoon in again.

As I took my first bite of strawberry cheesecake, I remembered what Gabriel had told me about Malcolm being very well thought of in the industry and how his last intern had landed a job on the sports desk of the Daily Mail, and decided Malcolm probably took a fatherly interest in Gabriel and was simply trying to teach him the ropes.

‘Do you have children?’ I asked after a moment’s silence during which Malcolm munched.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Don’t like them.’

I smiled. ‘Are you married?’

‘Not anymore.’

‘I’m divorced,’ I offered, immediately feeling hot with embarrassment in case he thought I was making some sort of offer. ‘I wouldn’t get married again,’ I added hastily, to show I wasn’t in search of a husband.

‘Neither would I,’ he said with feeling. ‘They were all mad.’

By the time we were on coffee, I’d learned he’d had two wives and a fiancée – the latter had left him because of his drinking and the fact that he was exceptionally rude to her mother. ‘Dreadful woman,’ he explained. ‘Always “popping in” for something. I was relieved when that one packed her bags.’

‘What happened to the other two?’

‘One died and one went off with a woman she played badminton with.’ Before I could express sympathy at his bereavement, he leant forward with a sudden wolfish grin. ‘I always knew there was something not quite right about her.’

I shook my head, knowing there was little point in protesting. And there was something quite refreshing about someone who didn’t care what he said or how politically correct it was. I could see why he and Ingrid clashed.

He startled me by mentioning her name as I was thinking it. ‘So what do you really think about this so-called hate campaign?’ he asked, suddenly serious again. ‘Coincidence or someone really so upset with incomers they’ll resort to vandalism?’

‘I like to think it’s coincidence,’ I said. There were some boys about that night – could have been them messing around and they broke it by accident.’

‘Like you do,’ said Malcolm dryly. ‘Accidentally throw a stone …’

‘They might have been throwing something at each other,’ I said, ‘and one of them ducked and whatever it was sailed past the intended victim and straight through the window.’

Malcolm looked amused. ‘Sailed past the intended victim, eh? Want a job?’

I laughed, feeling more comfortable with him now. ‘You know what I mean. And the slashed tyres, well they were the other side of town, weren’t they, and a couple of weeks ago? These things happen.’ I shrugged. ‘My next-door neighbour in Finchley got paint stripper poured all over his car.’

‘And who did it?’

‘Word was he owed money to some builders.’

‘Never a wise move’

‘But Ingrid seems to be the sort to make her feelings known with petitions, not physical damage.’ Even as I said it, I had a picture of her steely gaze.

Malcolm nodded his agreement, his eyes still intent on mine.

‘Oh! There she is.’ I felt startled again as I spotted Ingrid on the pavement outside talking to a tall man.

Malcolm did not turn round. ‘She gets everywhere,’ he said.

‘Thank you,’ I said, when Malcolm had paid the bill and we were standing in the street again. ‘That was very nice – and unexpected.’ He nodded and strode off across the road.

I looked at my watch and followed. My plan to go to the butcher’s – I was not only going to use the shops but was considering going the whole Easter hog and ordering a turkey – would have to wait. Ahead of me Malcolm lifted an arm as if to silence someone and I saw Ingrid was now right outside his office. I grinned to myself as Malcolm disappeared through the door and out of view – clearly having no truck with whatever Ingrid had to say – but it was too late to pretend I hadn’t seen her.

‘Hello, how are you?’

Ingrid appeared to straighten herself. ‘Oh Tess –’ She indicated the man next to her. ‘This is my son, David.’

Ah The Wanky One. Telling myself I must keep an open mind, I stood up straight as well and held out my hand, looking directly at him, in the manner Caroline had instructed me to look at all males in her increasingly frequent collection of lectures with the umbrella title: ‘Why you still haven’t got a man’.

Even though this one would not be my type at all, being, according to Jinni, self-seeking and hypocritical with no moral scruples, but I was still momentarily shocked by how good-looking he was, with his dark hair and eyes, tall frame and defined features.

‘How do you do?’ I smiled.

He gave me a cursory glance. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said shortly, looking anything but.

There was a tense pause. I was still extending my hand. I dropped it to my side, embarrassed. Ingrid threw me an odd look, which I couldn’t quite fathom and then David grasped her arm and propelled her away from me.

‘Just leave it, will you!’ I heard him say.

I stood for some moments watching their backs go ahead of me up the street, stunned by his rudeness.

Feeling horribly, almost tear-jerkingly, alone.