Phoebe Smith’s Private Blog: A Romantic Comedy Page 23

  ‘We’re ready to introduce you,’ says a blonde assistant called Sally.

  I’m led into a pokey room where Jimmy Rivers, the host of Jimmy Rivers in the Afternoon, waves at me. God, I’ve never been so nervous in my life. I don’t know how celebrities can do this on a daily basis. My stomach gurgles and I pop an Imodium. I don’t want an accident on air. Even Adele throws up before a big concert. I’m starting to know how she feels.

  ‘Here’s Perfect Strangers for you on this wintry afternoon. Coming in a few minutes the lady who rocked a department store, Phoebe Smith, stay tuned.’

  He gulps down some coffee before shaking my hand.

  ‘Great to see you Phoebe, are you nervous?’

  ‘A bit,’ I lie.

  I’m super nervous.

  ‘There’s nothing to it. We’ll shoot straight in, ask about your blog and the store, and go from there. Just get the cans on,’ he says pointing to the headphones. I plonk them on with shaky hands and take a deep breath.

  ‘So, welcome back. In the studio I’m joined by blogger Phoebe Smith. If you’ve been keeping up with your local news, then you’ll know all about her.’

  He smiles at me.

  ‘Thanks for coming on the show Phoebe.’

  ‘Thanks for asking me.’

  ‘So, sexually harassed at work, did that make you feel good?’

  I gape at him. Do what? Is he serious?

  ‘No not at all, in fact quite the opposite,’ I say sternly.

  He frowns. Oh dear, not the best start.

  ‘Yeah right, right indeed. We never get that here at Radio Camden. I’ve been waiting two years to get harassed,’ he laughs.

  I cringe and turn to look at Sally who rolls her eyes.

  ‘So, anyway, SHAG were on our Good Morning Camden show and had lots of great things to say about you and how you’ve raised the awareness of sexual harassment in the work place. So more on that in a minute. Meanwhile, here’s a golden one for you oldies.’

  ‘Just need a pee,’ he says and disappears through the studio door.

  Do the likes of Adele and Lady Gaga have to put up with this? Sally rushes in and adjusts my headphones.

  ‘He’s a bit of a dick,’ she says. ‘He’s got no idea. We tried to get you on Gail Shore’s evening show but no luck.’

  ‘Right,’ I say my excitement slowly diminishing. He flies back in and shoves the headphones on his head.

  ‘Okay, nothing like a nice bit of Neil Sedaka. We’re here this afternoon with Phoebe Smith, the local blogger who made the news recently. Phoebe blogs about her love life or rather the lack of it,’ he laughs.

  I’m finding it hard to laugh with him.

  ‘So, Phoebe, do you now have a boyfriend?’

  ‘Erm, well no I don’t.’

  He nods thoughtfully.

  ‘Do you think your blog gives hope to other single women like you who are almost forty?’

  I almost fall off my chair. Almost forty? I’ve only just turned thirty-four. Bloody hell, I’ve got another six years to go yet.

  ‘I’m thirty-four actually,’ I say, looking down at my list.

  ‘Oh,’ he mutters and has the bloody cheek to look surprised.

  ‘Still, you must worry about that ticking clock.’

  ‘Not really, no. I leave that to my mother.’

  I hope she’s listening.

  ‘Sexual harassment,’ mouths Sally through the partitioning window.

  ‘Right, mums huh?’ he laughs. ‘So, social networking is a big thing these days. Do you think sharing your problems with your love life, or should I say the lack of it, helped you?’

  ‘It was cathartic, and I think …’

  ‘We’ve got an emergency traffic update just coming through. You’re listening to Radio Camden and I’m Jimmy Rivers, talking this afternoon to Phoebe Smith.’

  I wouldn’t actually call it talking.

  ‘Just let them do the traffic updates and we’ll zoom back on to you,’ he says.

  Do we have to?

  ‘So we’re back with Phoebe Smith, who we understand is something of an expert on pork pies. So, what’s your favourite Phoebe?’

  God, I couldn’t sound more shallow if I tried.

  I smile, ‘Erm, well, I like Besties actually.’

  ‘I see they were mentioned quite a lot in your blog.’

  ‘So was sexual harassment at work,’ I push.

  He fidgets in his chair.

  ‘Yeah, that’s right. Your blog drew attention to the unwanted advances that a woman has to contend with at work. But you do say you’d like a boyfriend though?’

  ‘Yes, a boyfriend not a leech.’

  He’s pissing me off now.

  ‘If you’ve just tuned in, we’re talking to Phoebe Smith, the blogger who made the news when the group SHAG stormed Lynworths department store. Phoebe who is thirty-nine and a spinster wrote on her blog about her struggles to get a boyfriend for a works do’

  ‘Thirty-four,’ I shout.

  ‘Right, let’s have a nice calming piece now. A little bit of Enya and chill …’

  ‘I’m …’ I begin.

  ‘I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to be doing,’ yells Jimmy to Sally. ‘Talk about her fucking love life or the bloody pork pies? For Christ’s sake Sally.’

  ‘Sexual harassment at work, Jimmy,’ Sally sighs.

  The music finishes and I don’t feel any calmer.

  ‘Hey, welcome back to Radio Camden. You’re listening to Jimmy Rivers in the Afternoon and on the show today we have Phoebe Smith, well known blogger and activist for women who are sexually harassed at work.’

  ‘Just women who are sexually harassed,’ I point out. ‘Harassment goes on everywhere. For instance, Bloom Properties are attempting to take over my block of flats and I rather think …’

  ‘Sorry Phoebe, have to stop you there, we have another traffic report coming in.’

  I don’t believe this.

  ‘Can you ask me some sensible questions,’ I snap.

  ‘I am asking sensible questions. Sally,’ he calls.

  Sally hurries into the studio.

  ‘Five minutes and then we go to the news. Ask Phoebe what she is doing for work since the harassment situation struck the store.’

  ‘Got it,’ says Rivers.

  ‘We’re back for the last few minutes with Phoebe Smith. Coming up soon is the news and then Sophie is here to take you into the evening. Phoebe before you leave us, can you update everyone on what’s happening in your workplace now, since the harassment situation struck.’

  ‘I’m applying for a managerial job at Lynworths,’ I say. ‘A woman shouldn’t have to leave her place of work just because a man can’t control himself.’

  ‘Hear hear,’ shouts Sally.

  ‘Right,’ says Jimmy.

  ‘And,’ I add quickly. ‘It’s people like Henry and Nigel Taylor-Lynworth who should step down …’

  ‘But he owns the store doesn’t he?’ says Jimmy peering at me.

  ‘Are you saying that gives him the right to sexually harass women?’ I ask.

  ‘No wow no, but Lynworths is a great store, so good luck with the promotion.’ he says. ‘Thanks very much Phoebe. It was lovely having you on the show. The news is next but before that, let’s play Calum Scott’s Dancing on My Own for Phoebe Smith.’

  He pulls his headphones off and glares at me.

  ‘I don’t do debates darling. I just do a radio show and the odd interview with a local fucking celeb.’

  I pull mine off too.

  ‘I’m not your darling,’ I snap.

  ‘Time out,’ shouts Sally. ‘This way Phoebe. Thanks for coming on. If we need anyone to discuss sexual harassment in the future we’ll call you.’

  ‘I’ll probably be too old and decrepit by then. After all I’m almost forty now. The least you could have done is got my age right. Although why you needed to use it at all I don’t know.’

  I grab my coat and storm out
of the studio.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  The Guildhall ball is two weeks away and I still haven’t given Ashby an answer.

  Rita and I are on our way to Luxury for Women to spend our vouchers. I want to get a special outfit for my interview at Lynworths. I’m really excited to be getting back to work. Being a celebrity is all very well but I wouldn’t want to do it full time. Besties pork pies have set up a meeting for Friday morning. I’m not sure what they are offering but after the radio show I’m lowering my expectations.

  Jeremy and his mum have the kids today so Rita and I decide to make a day of it. We’re going up to Knightsbridge to shop once we’ve finished in Luxury for Women.

  ‘Welcome back to Luxury for Women,’ says the owner. ‘Let us get you some Chardonnay. Please take a seat while we fetch the drinks.’

  ‘We listened to you on the radio,’ gushes another assistant, placing a table in front of us.

  ‘I love that you’re now famous,’ purrs Rita.

  ‘I’m not exactly famous,’ I say.

  ‘Okay, well known then. Same thing really.’

  I find a great suit for the interview. It’s good to power dress isn’t it? Especially now I have a reputation to live up to.

  ‘We’ll have lunch in Harrods,’ says Rita lavishly. ‘It’s part of our birthday present to you. Jeremy feels bad about that swearing business. Your blog made us realise how stupid we’ve been lately. It’s done wonders for our relationship. Got us talking and everything and I’m getting the vagina business sorted.’

  Oh dear, too much information.

  ‘How’s the gorgeous Harry?’ Rita asks slyly as we leave the shop.

  My heart does its usual flutter at his name.

  ‘He’s a prick,’ I say hotly. ‘Blooms have bought my flat. Someone is going to contact me about the new tenancy arrangements. I thought it was going to be yesterday but haven’t heard a thing.’

  ‘You’ll be able to stay won’t you?’

  ‘Maybe, if I get the managerial position.’

  ‘You’ll get it,’ she says confidently.

  Well, if I don’t, at least I’ll still have my old job but I doubt that will pay the rent that Blooms will demand. No doubt they’ll want to do some interior design. Don’t get me wrong. I’m all for a bit of interior design but not if I have to pay for it in my rent. I’d googled Blooms and their methods but it’s not a crime to buy a flat and do it up. It’s up to the tenant if they want to stay.

  ‘Here we are,’ says Rita as we arrive at Harrods.

  ‘Ooh posh,’ she says. ‘Let’s lunch like rich girls.’

  *

  Lunching like rich girls is really rather nice. Rita uses her Joanna Lumley voice, which doesn’t sound in the least Joanna Lumley but there’s no point telling her that. We choose scrambled egg and smoked salmon. I imagine Harry eats that all the time with his Sainsbury’s ‘taste the difference’ smoked salmon. Why am I thinking of Harry Bloom while lunching in Harrods? Honestly, there must be nicer men to think about than Harry Bloom. Talking of Harry Bloom, is that Horsey Mouth that just walked in? Oh no, that’s all I need and she’s wearing her riding jodhpurs too. Is she ever off a horse? She looks like she’s jumped out of a Jilly Cooper novel. I try to look away but she’s seen me and is striding towards us.

  ‘Shall we have cake, after?’ Rita asks.

  ‘Oh shit,’ I mutter.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘It’s …’

  ‘Phoebe Smith, fancy seeing you here. Shouldn’t you be protesting somewhere?’ says Jilly.

  ‘Oh, I’ve put my protesting hat away for the afternoon.’

  After all, us activists have to take a break sometimes.

  ‘I read your blog,’ she says pointedly.

  ‘Oh sod it,’ mumbles Rita.

  ‘I wondered,’ I say.

  ‘You have a way with words.’

  I’m not sure if it is an insult or a compliment.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘And how’s Harry, is he still talking to you?’

  ‘Harry?’ I say surprised.

  Why is she asking me? This is mortifying. I must not think about the things I said about Harry Bloom in the blog. Oh God, I mentioned the bloody kiss didn’t I? Oh floor, please open up and swallow me.

  ‘Say I said hello when you next see him.’

  She’s about to turn when I say.

  ‘But you’ll be seeing him won’t you?’

  ‘We broke up darling, don’t you remember? I suppose he’s got new drums. They always did come before me.’

  ‘But I saw you, that Saturday,’ I say.

  ‘What Saturday?’ she asks curiously.

  ‘When my car wouldn’t start.’

  ‘Oh that. I was being kind darling, visiting his mother in the hospital. He didn’t want to upset her by telling her about our break-up. Anyway, I’d like to say it was nice seeing you but horsey mouth Jilly, really!’

  ‘It wasn’t meant … it was a term …’

  Oh bugger, what’s the point.

  ‘Whatever. See you around. Try not to get sexually harassed. It makes boring reading.’

  ‘You bitch…’ begins Rita.

  ‘Not in Harrods,’ I say. ‘You don’t want to make the paper as the harassed forty-two year old mum of three.’

  She flops back in her seat and we watch Jilly join a table of more horsy women.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ I say.

  And I don’t. Harry Bloom is available. Bugger and bollocks. Why didn’t he say something?

  The waitress returns with our scrambled eggs.

  ‘Harry Bloom is available,’ I say.

  ‘I thought you didn’t like Harry Bloom?’ Rita says.

  She’s quite right of course. I wonder what’s wrong with his mum. God, I hope it isn’t serious. I’d hate to think I was horrid to him the other night and his mum was ill. Not that it’s my fault she’s ill.

  ‘He gave me a box at the Royal Opera House for my birthday.’

  ‘Bloody hell Phoeb.’

  ‘We had an argument. He told me that someone was coming to see me about the flat and I got angry and told him to leave.’

  ‘After he gave you a box at the opera house?’

  ‘You don’t have to be nice to men because they give you gifts, Rita,’ I say activating.

  ‘No, of course not,’ she says quickly. ‘But a box.’

  ‘He said Tosca is on.’

  ‘Tosser? Who’s a tosser?’

  I know plenty of tossers, but none of them have been made into an opera.

  ‘Tosca,’ I repeat. ‘It’s an opera.’

  ‘I know sod all about opera.’

  ‘Ashby has asked me to go the Guildhall ball with him.’

  The eggs are delicious. I must try and make them myself. I really must get my eating organised. Problem is, I can’t be the face of Besties pork pies and not eat them can I?

  ‘Are you going with him? I don’t think I sodding well would.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Seriously, you’re asking? He dropped you like a hot potato when Essex Earring came along and then dropped her faster than you can say smoked salmon when he wanted you back.’

  She’s not wrong.

  ‘Which means I still don’t have a date for the Guildhall.’

  ‘Jeremy …’

  ‘Oh please, Rita.’

  I would rather go to the Guildhall on my own. I’m an emancipated woman, after all. Who needs a man anyway?

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  ‘It’s so great to have you back,’ says Sasha, hugging me tightly and dusting my suit in a shower of Batiste. Nothing has changed.

  ‘I’m so glad that arse‘ole Henry has gone. He was always leering at me.’

  ‘You’ll make a great boss,’ says Imogen, dusting the shampoo off my jacket.

  ‘Good luck petal,’ says Mak.

  ‘Thanks guys. I’m a bit nervous.’

  ‘Can we have you on the shop floor p
lease,’ says Brian popping his head round. ‘I appreciate you’re all pleased to see Phoebe but our priority are the customers.’

  ‘Sure thing,’ says Mak. ‘Good luck Phoeb.’

  I nod nervously.

  ‘Phoebe, would you like to come up to my office?’ says Brian.

  I follow Brian up the stairs. He invites me in and offers me a seat.

  ‘It’s good to have you back. I’m sorry about all that went on but that’s behind us now. We’ve had two other applicants. You’re the last to be interviewed.’

  I wonder if that is a good or bad sign.

  ‘What strengths do you think you’d bring to this post?’

  ‘I’m organised.’

  Well, apart from my handbag. But every woman has a messy handbag.

  ‘I’m good with people.’

  Not so good with men though.

  ‘I understand the department really well. I’ve worked in the men’s department for three years and I get on very well with my work colleagues.’

  Most of all, I need the money.

  ‘You don’t think your friendships here will affect your judgement?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Well, I have to tell you that you are the logical choice. You know the department, you know the staff and head office is very keen to offer this position to you. On the understanding of course, that this has nothing to do with the protest outside the store that day.’

  Not much.

  ‘Of course,’ I say.

  ‘You’ll be given the job on merit and nothing else.’

  Do I really look that stupid?

  ‘I’d be delighted to fill that position. I’ve always been happy at Lynworths.’

  The lies we tell to get a job.

  ‘Shall we say a three month trial?’

  I stare at him.

  ‘The job’s mine?’

  ‘I think you’re the most suitable applicant and while the others had good managerial skills, they weren’t experienced here at Lynworths as you are. We’d rather have someone who knows Lynworths values and keep a good member of staff.’

  ‘Thank you Brian.’

  ‘So, shall we say start Monday? I know you have your meeting with Besties pork pies this week but if you can come in at the end of the week we can do the training. I’ll have your contract ready.’

  *

  ‘Can’t believe you’re going to be my boss,’ giggles Imogen. ‘I’ll try not to be sick too much.’