Dumped, Actually(50)

. . . but if I hadn’t gone out on the pull, then I would never have met Vanity, and had the most cathartic and rewarding experience of this entire process so far.

Sometimes, I have learned, you just have to risk going outside your comfort zone for something good to happen.

I have tried to firmly remain in my comfort zone my whole life for one reason or another, so this can safely be considered quite a large shift in my outlook on the world.

Bearing all this in mind, my hand tightens on the phone as I respond to Benedict’s offer.

‘Yes, Mr Montifore. I would like to come. It would be nice to see your golf course.’

‘Excellent, Oliver. I’m very pleased. It will give us a chance to discuss how you’re feeling about the future of Actual Life, and your place in my company. I’ll have my secretary call you later today to arrange a time and sort out all the details.’

‘Okay, Mr Montifore.’

‘I look forward to meeting you.’

‘As do I, sir.’

Try telling my balls that. They’ve now climbed back up into the cavity from which they dropped three decades ago and are attempting to burrow in even further.

The other end of the line goes dead, indicating that Montifore is done with me . . . for now.

I sit back in my chair and purse my lips together.

Whether this is a good idea or not, I have no clue, but at least I now have a sense of focus and purpose again. I’m not worried about what I’m going to write about next any more. I am comprehensively worried about spending a significant amount of time in Benedict Montifore’s company – but that is infinitely preferable to having nothing to tell stories about. I’ve got to keep my audience happy, whatever it takes.

I want to keep Erica happy as well, so I’d better tell her all about this latest development. I’m sure she’ll be delighted I have a new angle for ‘Dumped Actually’!


‘You’re doing fucking what?!’ Erica exclaims when I pop in to tell her about my date with Montifore.

‘You don’t think it’s a good idea, then?’

‘A good idea? A good idea?!’ she snaps, and jumps to her feet. ‘No, Ollie. I do not think it’s a good idea!’

My face flames red with shame. The last thing I want to do is upset Erica, and it looks like I’ve managed to do that in spades.

‘Why not?’

‘Because . . . Because . . . Aaaargh!’ She throws her hands into the air. ‘Because he’s a bastard, Ollie! A morally bankrupt, self-centred, money-grubbing bastard!’

The venom in Erica’s voice could kill a herd of elephants.

‘I know! But Ahmed thinks I should get to know him better!’

Her face drops in confusion. ‘What?’

I go on to explain the contents of Ahmed Rahami’s email, and why this is the reason I’ve reluctantly agreed to spend the day golfing with Montifore at his resort of eighteen holes and gross misogyny.

Erica starts to pace up and down in front of me when I’m done. ‘It doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t do this, Ollie. Pick a different email.’

‘I don’t have another good email,’ I reply – which is a lie, of course. I have the ones about the mindfulness and confronting Samantha, but Erica does not need to know about either of them. This golf date with Montifore feels like the right thing to do. I just have to convince her of that. ‘Look, I don’t like the idea of spending time with him any more than you do, but think of the story I can write about it. And maybe, just maybe, I could talk him round into keeping us. And if I could do that, we’d all end up winning.’

Erica looks at me darkly. ‘He won’t change his mind, Ollie. Trust me on that.’

‘Why, though?’ I ask in confusion. ‘If we’re making him money, and the site is popular, why would he want to get shot of us?’

Erica leans on her desk. ‘There’s more going on with him than you know about. But it’s stuff you don’t need to know about. It’s just between him, me . . . and the rest of the board of directors.’

I throw my hands up. ‘Well, if you won’t tell me, then what am I supposed to do?’

‘Pick another story.’

My shoulders slump. This really isn’t fair. I know there’s good material in this. Erica is shooting me down for reasons she won’t go into and it’s very, very frustrating.

Ah well. I guess I’ll just have to think of something else to write about.

. . . you could tell her you’re going to do it.

I couldn’t do that.

Why not? Let’s face it, you’re her best asset right now. She needs you.

Yeah, but she’s the boss.

So is Montifore – and he makes a good subject for a story, doesn’t he?

I can’t do it.

Yes, you can.

No, I can’t.

YES, YOU CAN.

‘Ollie? Are you alright?’ Erica asks, sounding puzzled. ‘You’re twitching a bit and staring off into space.’

I look at her. ‘I want to do this story, Erica. It’s right. It’s good. It’ll go down well with the audience.’

Erica goes to open her mouth to argue, and sees the resolute look on my face. This is no doubt quite shocking to her. My face doesn’t do resolute. It’s happier with things like apologetic and capitulatory. I probably look like I’m having a seizure.