Million Love Songs(4)
When I head out into the restaurant, Charlie Clarke is at the desk, taking a phone booking.
‘Hi,’ I say, when she hangs up. ‘Cut it a bit fine today. Sorry.’
She shrugs. ‘Lunch was a bit manic, but we haven’t exactly been rushed off our feet since.’
Charlie has been a great friend since I started here. You know some people you just bond with instantly and become firm friends for life? Well, Charlie is one of those. She’s the same age as me – thirty-eight pretending to be thirty-two or less – and we have the same silly sense of humour.
Despite my bravado, I can confess to you that I felt so low when Simon left that I didn’t know what to do with myself. In fact, I barely recognised the person I became. Despite the fancy haircut, the new job, the new apartment, I’d completely lost my confidence. I think I have a lot to offer in a relationship, yet my husband’s head was turned by a sparkly noo-noo. That’s got to hurt. Charlie has been such a tonic though. We’ve shared so many laughs together that she’s helped me through some dark hours. Mostly because she’s as jaded with life as I am. We are both bruised and a little bit broken.
Charlie’s small and curvy. She’d be the first to tell you that. Our mutual muffin tops are a constant topic of conversation. She has a cheeky face and there’s always a beaming smile on it, even if she’s feeling rubbish inside. Her hair is her pride and joy and I can’t tell you how much or how long she spends on it. It’s long, dark and lustrous. She straightens it within an inch of its life and has one of those flash hairdryers which cost a few hundred quid. For a hairdryer. Makes my twenty-quid Babyliss look a bit pants. For work she has to tie it back in a ponytail which she resents with every fibre of her being. She’s not married. Never has been. Charlie is resolutely single, but that’s not to say she isn’t hopelessly in love. Hopeless being the operative word.
My dear Charlie only has eyes for Gary Barlow, he of Take That mega-fame. She’s been a serious fangirl since they first came on the music scene. No other nineties band will fit the bill. You can keep your Wet Wet Wet and your Westlife, thank you very much. Whenever you get in Charlie’s car or go to her flat, the hit tunes of Gary and the lads are blasting out. She follows Gary to gigs all over the country but, in certain circles, isn’t considered a truly hardcore fan as she’s never travelled abroad to see him. Mainly due to lack of funds rather than lack of inclination. I think, if she could, she’d go to the ends of the earth for Mr Barlow. She has a cardboard cut-out of him in her living room. The first time I went back to her place, late at night, he scared the bejaysus out of me. I thought she was being burgled. She’s the only person I know who looks forward to the beginning of every month simply because she gets to turn over a new Gary on her calendar. She can’t wait for August because he’s doing a yoga pose wearing very small black shorts.
‘I’ve got to shoot off sharply when I’m done.’ Charlie gets a tray and starts tidying the nearby tables while I scan the bookings for this evening. Tonight’s steak night, which is always popular. Two steaks and a bottle of decent red for forty quid. ‘I’m seeing the Take That tribute band tonight. Take Off.’
See? Total fangirl.
We both launch into the first few lines of ‘Could it be Magic’. In my short time here, I’ve been tutored well. ‘I’d forgotten it was tonight.’
‘Shame you couldn’t come. It’s a good crack.’
‘I would have loved to. I couldn’t get anyone to swap shift.’
‘You need to be on your toes later.’ She pauses, cloth in hand. ‘Our dear lord and master is in da houzz. Apparently.’
‘Mason Soames?’
‘The one and only.’
Wow. This is my Big Boss. The one I’ve yet to meet, despite having been here for two months already. ‘What’s he like?’
‘A twat,’ she says. ‘But a handsome twat. He looks a bit like that movie star bloke – Tom HigglePiggleBum.’
‘I know he’s supposed to be my boss, but I haven’t met him yet.’
‘That’s because he’s never around.’
‘Why is that?’
Charlie shrugs. ‘I guess being the owner’s son bestows on him a certain amount of largesse. If he was in any other business he’d probably be given the boot.’ My friend rolls her eyes. ‘He’s supposed to be our Events Director yet he seems to spend most of his time in Klosters or Monaco or somewhere. Nice work if you can get it.’ More eye-rolling.
‘What does he actually do?’
‘Do? Good question. Mostly he turns up in his Aston Martin and gets on everyone’s tits. That’s what he does. Whenever we have an event, Jay and I organise it. Shagger generally sweeps in when it’s all sorted and takes the glory.’
I laugh. ‘I still can’t believe you all call him that.’
‘Not to his face, obvs.’ Charlie laughs too. ‘That’s probably a sackable offence. Still, you’ll know why when you do meet him. He’s a smooth sod. He’s probably tried it on with every single female that comes through those doors. I don’t think he can help himself.’
I shake my head, dismayed. ‘Now I really can’t wait to make his acquaintance.’
‘Don’t take your eyes off his hands or they’ll be down your pants before you know it.’