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Cue eyeroll and laughter all round.
“To recap,” I said, seizing back control, “if I want to buy a guy a drink for a night in, I should get him all the ingredients for some bollocks gin and tonic? You can buy them ready mixed in a tin. My mum gets those.”
“Oh God, No!” Peter said, scandalised, accompanied by a gasp from Aisha and Zara clicking her tongue.
“Aisha, honey, whatever you’re buying, double it up and send it express to Con’s mum. We can’t have poor Mrs Telford drinking substandard cocktails from a tin.” Peter shuddered in total disgust.
“Sure.” Aisha got her radio out, yapping instructions into it like whoever was on the other end would understand a word. Those radio conversations were full of static and codewords; even after years in the industry, I had no idea what half of the terminology meant.
Aisha put away her radio and grinned at me. “Hashim is on the job. Two set-ups of uber-fancy G and Ts, organic lemons and fresh mint. One to be shipped to Mrs Con and one to be wrapped in rainbow glitter for this guy to get impressed. Anything else?”
“You bought him flowers?” Peter asked, tugging at my hair.
“Yeah.”
“Is he a flowers kind of guy?”
“I don’t think so. It was a mistake, wasn’t it? He didn’t have a vase, so the flowers are in a bucket on his kitchen table.”
“Oh, so we stayed the night.” Zara narrowed her eyes. “That’s serious.”
“No, Zara, it’s not. We’re friends. I popped over for a drink, that’s all.”
Peter was tutting too loudly for my liking.
“The G-and-T idea is solid. He drinks, this boy of yours?”
“He’s not my boy, Peter.”
“Keep telling us that, mate,” Aisha muttered. “Anything else before I go and bang my head against some trailer wall? I have things to do, people. Seriously.”
“A coffee?” I suggested weakly.
“Big night then.”
“No, it was not a big night. Stop it! I’m trying to do a nice thing for a friend.”
“Sure you are. One coffee.”
“Bring him two. His face is a mess.” Zara winked.
“At least his hair’s good.” Paul mussed it for effect. “You still sleeping on that silk pillowcase I got you?”
I wasn’t. I had no idea where it had gone. I had more pressing matters in my life than keeping an eye on some slinky piece of fabric that was supposed to be good for my hair.
“Yes, of course. I live in a bloody hotel, Peter.”
“Handy.” He sighed.
I sighed even louder.
The day rolled on. I had a bit of a laugh with my pretend daughter, delivered my lines with conviction, and then my Saturday off was cancelled as we had to reshoot the intimate scene with Toby. I was pissed off but at the same time relieved because nobody had been happy with the shoot the other day, least of all me. I was still salty about that actor. I knew that with Toby, we would deliver, and I would hopefully be back at the hotel in time to get in a good afternoon workout. My body was aching for weights and movement after I’d neglected everything over the past week.
I needed the gym. I needed to go spend the weekend with my mum and get my head screwed on straight. I needed to go to this bloody Gucci thing tomorrow night, but most of all…
After I was dropped off at the hotel, I went up to my room and stood there, surveying the familiar mess.
I was wearing Matt’s clothes again. An oversized hoodie, which was skin-tight on my upper frame, and the same joggers I’d worn yesterday. The waistband was cutting in my hips, but I didn’t care. The clothes smelled nice. Clean. Well, they’d been in his laundry basket, but there was honestly nothing wrong with them.
