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30 a.m. Got back from school run. Turned on email to deal with the school Sports Day picnic and detonated:
Sender:
Brian Katzenberg
Subject:
Forwarded email
Yes, you are fired. But they still want you in the mix. They’re going to set up a meeting with the new writer. The movie business!
A new writer? Already? How could they possibly have found one so quickly?
Phone quacked.
Roxster:
Jerked into action in a frenzy of googling country pubs on LateRooms.com to find absolutely everything was booked up.
We are like Mary and Joseph with no room at the Inn except that rather than about to give birth to the Son of God am about to be broken up with by Joseph.
10 a.m. Just texted Tom who texted back five minutes later.
10.05 a.m. Oh. Just checked the treehouse. It’s £875 a night.
10.15 a.m. Yayy! Have found a room in a pub.
10.20 a.m. Oh, just called them. It’s the Bridal Suite. Texted Roxster.
10.45 a.m. No reply. Oh God. Maybe he thinks I’m serious?
I braved.
Then decided to give him a way out in case he really just wanted a relaxing setting for the full break-up.
Held my breath . . .
11 a.m. Feeling suddenly light and giddy, I booked the room and texted:
Long pause, then . . .
MINI-BREAK OR BREAK-UP?
Saturday 8 June 2013
Texting has been more high-spirited than ever with Roxby McDuff, full of plans for our trip, so maybe it was just a wobble brought on by the Ellen Boschup toy-boy article, and he is in the Present Moment and everything is all right.
But anyway had better finish packing or will miss train. Ooh, text from Roxster.
Was he going to cancel?
I texted nervously.
Stared at the phone. What was going on?
Thought carefully, then, suspecting a trick, I texted:
Sunday 9 June 2013
