‘Jesus, no thanks,’ I reply. ‘I can think of nothing worse than being famous. Shift over, will ya?’
I’ve just done my weekly ten minutes at The Sneaky Fox, a pub with the nicest craft beers and punters who won’t try to bottle you with them. It’s the kind of place I’d like to have brought Kate to. Fuck, why didn’t I take her out more?
‘So why are you putting yourself through all this if you don’t want it to go anywhere?’ Graham asks, looking genuinely bewildered. ‘I don’t get it.’
‘Fun,’ I reply. ‘Coming out, performing, having a couple of drinks. It’s fun! Like karaoke, but with my own songs.’
‘So you’re telling me that if someone offered you a record deal, you’d say no?’
‘I would,’ I reply. ‘I mean if someone wanted to buy my songs– that I could definitely get behind.’
‘Ah!’ Graham exclaims. ‘Smart move. Songwriting royalties arethe way to go. All it takes is one shit, catchy Christmas song and you’ll be set for life.’
‘True. But it’s not even just that. I’ve realised that as much as I enjoy this, I’m far happier during the creative process than I am in the performance side. It’s a bit like teaching. I put the time and effort in and then I get to watch those kids flourish.’
‘I’m going to need you to never say that again,’ Graham says, frowning behind his beard. ‘I think all that guitar strumming has gone to your head. You’ll be pulling out your tambourine next and shaving your head.’
An hour later, I’m jumping in an Uber and heading home, having declined Graham’s invitation to carry on drinking at his flat on a school night. Although it seems more favourable than going home to an empty house, I don’t fancy listening to how great Lauren is while I’m busy missing Kate.
Kate
It appears this morning that an entire flock of birds has shit-bombed my car, which looks like a Jackson Pollock painting. I’m already running late but there’s no way I can leave it like this. I get inside, fling my bag in the back and google the nearest car wash which, it seems, is a hand-wash service at the bottom of a car park. This is what I miss about living outside of London. Almost every petrol station at home has a drive-thru car wash where machines do all the work, and you don’t feel uncomfortable having other human beings wash bird poo off your car.
Thankfully, I don’t have to queue for too long and four men soon surround my car with soapy water and sponges, while I sit there like a princess trying not to make eye contact. Ed does this all the time and it doesn’t bother him, but I just feel like I should be apologising for not keeping my car cleaner, like I have any control over avian bowels.
I get into work around 8am. I’m the last to arrive and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Even the trainee receptionist, sitting beside Trish, gives me a look which can only be described as ‘nice of you to join us’. I scowl back, hoping she messes up the partners’ lunch order.
As usual, I barely slept last night but that was mainly downto my neighbours who decided to have a party which started at 12am and was still going when I left for work. I need to look for somewhere new. Maybe somewhere with underground parking.
By 10am, I feel a bit more on top of things, though Harriet has decided to assign me to a new case, with a meeting already scheduled for this morning. My phone hasn’t stopped ringing which doesn’t help. Between all this and the bird shit, I can tell today is going to suck.
‘Kate, I have your mum for you.’
‘Can you tell her I’ll call her later, Trish, I’m just about to go into a meeting.’
Today has been a nightmare already and it’s only half-past ten. I hang up but the phone immediately rings again.
‘Sorry, Kate. She says it’s important.’
Trish connects her while I carry on adjusting my notes for my meeting. I have no idea why Harriet wants me involved– this guy doesn’t even have a regional accent or a social media presence.
‘Hey, Mum, everything OK? I’m really up to my eyes in it. I’ve got—’
‘Gubba’s in hospital, love,’ she says quietly. ‘She’s got a lung infection and it’s bad.’
My stomach drops. ‘When was she taken in?’
‘This morning, about eight. Her breathing was pretty laboured, so the home help called an ambulance. We’re here now.’
My mum is very rarely rattled by anything, but her voice sounds shaky. . . almost desperate.
‘I’ll come,’ I say. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
‘Thanks, Kate. I’ll get Gary to text you the info.’
The moment she hangs up, I feel the panic begin to set in. Not Gubba. She has to be all right.
I grab my bag and rush to Harriet’s office, almost breaking my neck as I go over on my ankle, snapping one of my high heels. Itake my shoes off and keep going.
