Christmas on Primrose Hill (37 page)

‘I hate to say it, but they’re right.’ Jules shrugged.

‘Jules!’ Nettie cried.

‘Listen, you know I’d disagree with them if I possibly could, but the finish line is in sight, Nets. It’s only for a few more days. And then you don’t ever have to see him again – if you don’t want to.’

‘Ha! See him again?’ Daisy trilled. ‘We should be so lucky. By the time we clock off on Friday, he’s going to be on a private jet to the Caribbean.’

Nettie felt a jolt of ice arrow through her veins. It was true. If he wasn’t gone from her life already, he most certainly would be then. ‘How do you know that?’

Daisy stared back at Nettie, pleased to have Jamie’s ball in her court for once. Nettie tried not to be riled. She probably knew the sister of his travel agent’s dog-walker. Or something. Daisy planted her hands firmly on the desk. ‘Look, we have got three days left to spend with one of the hottest men on the planet. Don’t blow it for the rest of us.’

Nettie swallowed, squeezing her eyes shut and letting a woolly silence blanket them. There was no way to get out of this. Without a rock solid explanation as to why she had every reason to consider herself the injured party, she was cornered. And no way,
no way
, was she telling them what she’d done – going back to his hotel, running out the next day, how Jamie had called her a ‘groupie’ to Coco Miller.

‘Fine,’ she said finally, through gritted teeth.

‘Yes!’ Caro and Daisy high-fived each other, Mike punching the air again in a short victory jab like Andy Murray.

‘You’re doing the right thing,’ Mike said, the colour returning to his cheeks.

Nettie watched, feeling an impression of an idea beginning to gather in her mind. ‘But it’s not going to be an outright apology,’ she said quickly, making them all halt their celebrations again.

‘Huh?’ Daisy asked.

‘What?’ Caro mumbled.

‘Well, this is the digital age, right – or so you all keep telling me. I say we use the momentum we’ve got with all the views and retweets and whatnot, and put a bit of pressure on him to relent, rather than me just apologizing to him. I mean, he’s being a pretty sore loser. Everyone else thinks the gag is great.’

‘Well, they would! But we don’t want to do anything that’s going to embarrass him further, Nettie,’ Mike said gravely.

‘Of course not. But we can play this a bit more cleverly than a simple “sorry”, can’t we? I mean, let’s work the crowds. If they like it so much, let’s get them involved. Let’s get
them
to convince
him
to forgive
me
.’

‘So you mean peer pressure, but on a global scale?’ Jules asked with a laugh. She gave Mike a wink. ‘There’s no stopping her now.’

‘You know, I actually like that idea,’ Caro said, chewing at speed and nodding intently. ‘It’s always better to keep the conversation flowing, and they’re already really mobilized – we can see that from the conversion stats, and with last night’s clip still trending, we should take advantage of the discussions happening out there. Everyone’s already intrigued by the link-up. He’s sexy; she’s funny. He’s famous; she’s cool. Plus there’s a real groundswell out there about wanting to know who you are, Nets. It’s on loads of chat forums and fan pages. We could feed that into it – maybe tease that we’ll do a big reveal on Friday too.’

‘No! I don’t want to be revealed,’ Nettie said quickly.

‘Why not?’

‘Because it’s too big now. I don’t want . . . I don’t . . .’ Her voice trailed off.

‘That’s totally fine, Mike, isn’t it?’ Jules asked rhetorically. ‘Isn’t it?’

‘Uh, yes . . . yes, fine,’ Mike said reluctantly.

Caro exhaled, bored. ‘Whatevs. But if they think you two have had a tiff, so much the better. Any publicity is good publicity.’

Mike rolled his eyes. ‘Why a straightforward “sorry” won’t suffice I don’t know. It’d be a lot faster.’

Daisy’s phone rang. Her eyebrows furrowed as she clocked the number on the caller display. ‘Hello?’

Everyone looked up in surprise. No one ever took phone calls mid-meeting. Mike looked outraged, but Daisy simply put her finger to her lips to silence him.

They all fell quiet, watching as she uh-huhed into the phone, her eyes sliding over to Nettie. She gave her a wink, their rivalry over Jamie a moment ago already forgotten.

‘Who was that?’ Mike demanded the moment she put down the phone.

‘
The One Show.
’ Daisy looked at Nettie, a grin growing on her face. ‘They want you and Jamie for a fifteen-minute segment tonight, and he’s to perform one of the songs.’

‘Oh. My. God!’ Jules cried, clapping her hands together.

‘But that’s so soon!’ Nettie gasped.

‘We’ve got to get you to the studios for six o’clock,’ Daisy said, opening her iPad and bringing up a train timetable. ‘Which is easier said than done, given that they’re recording the Christmas specials in Salford this week.’

‘Well, how long will it take to get up there?’

‘About two hours, I reckon . . .’

Caro looked out of the window at the heavily falling snow. ‘That’s if the trains are even running.’

‘Oh crap, that’s all we need,’ Daisy muttered, remembering too late the difficult travelling conditions.

‘Ladies, langu—’ Mike started to protest, but no one was interested.

‘Have they spoken to Jamie’s camp yet? What if he says no?’ Jules asked.

‘Of course he won’t! He’s about to release the Christmas single. He wouldn’t do that,’ Daisy said with certainty, just as her phone rang again. Her eyes fell to the caller ID. ‘Oh
shit
!’

Mike groaned again. They all watched anxiously as she took the call. ‘. . . See what I can do. I’ll come back to you in the hour.’ She dropped the phone on the desk again. ‘So he did do that,’ she shrugged. ‘He’s not going.’

‘The bastard!’ Nettie gasped, shocked by the extent of his reaction. ‘What about the charity? He’s going to deprive them of a prime-time slot on TV just because his precious pride’s been hurt?’

‘You have
really
pissed him off,’ Caro chuckled wickedly.

‘It’s fine. We can sort this,’ Daisy said confidently. ‘We’re going to sort this. Worst comes to worst, I’ll call my ex. He’s a producer on BBC Two. He knows people.’

Caro dropped her head to the table and began banging it against the top. Daisy watched on in bafflement.

‘Look, Nettie’s on to something with this peer-pressure thing,’ Jules said, appealing for calm. ‘If he’s not going to do the honourable thing, then we’re just going to have to play dirty and force his hand. But how?’

The room fell silent as everyone thought, brows creased as they doodled, twirled biros, chewed pencils, spun on the chairs . . .

‘We could photograph Nettie holding a sign saying, “
Sorry
”?’ Caro piped up after a while. ‘Or . . . or a load of messages in a short film – you know, like in
Love Actually
?’

‘I loved that film,’ Daisy sighed.

‘Yeah,’ Jules nodded. ‘That could work.’

‘No, it doesn’t. It still means
me
saying sorry when
he’s
the one with no sense of humour,’ Nettie protested.

Everyone rolled their eyes.

‘Could you not just—’ Mike pleaded.

‘No!’

There was an irritated silence.

‘Well, then we have to get the public behind
you
,’ Daisy said. ‘Yeah, they need to feel sympathy for you because you’ve been dumped, basically. We need for them to see you as the victim here. He doesn’t want you anymore.’

Nettie willed her to stop speaking, for the sounds to stop coming from her mouth now. They were too close to the truth.

‘Doesn’t want you . . .’ Mike murmured. ‘Hey, what’s that song . . . ? You know . . .’ He began humming, clicking his fingers and doing just enough of a shoulder-wiggle to alarm the lot of them. ‘Oh, who was it? Who sang it? You know . . .’ The answer came to him in a flash. ‘Human League!’

‘Who?’ Caro asked, her upper lip curled in a sneer.

He closed his eyes and began singing again. ‘“
Don’t you want me, baby?
”’

‘Oh yes!’ Jules said, her eyes wide with excitement and joining in. ‘“
You know I can’t believe it when you say that you won’t see me
,”’ she sang. ‘The lyrics are perfect!’

‘What, so we’ll get Nettie . . . singing it?’ Daisy asked doubtfully.

‘No! She can mime it – we’ll do a spoof video for it. Have her looking sad by a window, her ears all droopy, a picture of Jamie in a frame on her lap . . .’

Caro sat back in her chair and grinned. ‘That’d be so funny.’

‘It could say he has to forgive her if we get to £100k. I mean, he can hardly very well
not
, can he? And we can get people to retweet if they agree he should take her back, getting it trending again. He can’t ignore that. We could do with another hashtag too,’ Daisy said. ‘Something like “hashtag lovebunny” or “hashtag secondchance”.’

‘It’d have to double as today’s upload,’ Jules said, rubbing her temples and looking stressed. ‘There’s not time for two skits. We’ll barely get this done as it is.’ She looked around the table. ‘Are we in?’

‘We’re in,’ Mike said, giving the table one of his customary slaps as he rose to standing. ‘Let’s do it.’

‘Great. Let’s go.’

‘Another cupcake?’ Jules asked. ‘My treat.’

Nettie looked up at her from under her lashes. She could scarcely bring herself to tear her attention away from the screen. She shook her head fractionally.

Jules sighed and got up, ordering a fresh round of tea and returning with a carrot cake, two saucers and a knife a few minutes later.

‘What? You’re looking thin. You’ve been doing too much walking lately. You’ll start slipping down the pavement cracks if I don’t keep an eye on you.’ She cut the cake in half and slid one piece, on a saucer, towards Nettie.

‘I don’t understand why he isn’t responding,’ Nettie said, oblivious to the temptation under her nose. ‘I mean, it’s at nearly half a million retweets already, and eighty-six grand. That’s a
lot
of people calling for his forgiveness. How stubborn can one man be?’

‘Very, apparently. Anyway, they’ll be responding all right – in a soundproofed room somewhere off the M4. Dave will be doing his nut over this.’

Nettie’s eyes flicked up. ‘Why Dave?’ She stiffened in suspicion. ‘Have you been communicating with Gus?’

‘No!’ Jules protested, spraying crumbs over the table. ‘But it’s obvious, isn’t it? Jamie’s had a fit of pique and very visibly let down a small charity that needs his patronage and which he was waxing lyrical about last week. What a flake! The press’ll destroy him. This is a PR dis-as-ter.’ She winked. ‘They’ll be having crisis talks right now, I promise you. He is having a
shit
day.’

‘I hope you’re right. We’re stuffed if something doesn’t happen soon. I’ve got to be on that train in an hour if I’m going to get up to the studios in time.

‘It’ll be fine,’ Jules said dismissively. ‘Dave’s a businessman. He won’t let Jamie damage his brand like this. Jay’s just throwing his toys out of the pram, but he’ll come round.’

‘Don’t call him that.’

‘Who? What? What’d I say?’

‘Jamie. You called him Jay, like you’re in his posse.’

‘Entourage.’

‘Exactly. And you’re not. I don’t care if you’re shagging his guitarist. You’re my friend, not his.’

Jules cocked an eyebrow. ‘Has it come to this? Oh my Gawd.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Just chill, babe. It’ll all come good.’

Nettie looked around the cafe, their usual haunt when it was too early to go to the pub. The neon-pink ‘Primrose Bakery’ sign in the window cast a fondant glow onto the pistachio walls, the elaborately iced confections in the display cabinet as intricate and highly coloured as jewels. A mother and her tweenage daughter were sitting at the next table, comparing their manicures. Nettie looked away quickly, trying to pretend to herself that she hadn’t noticed them, that she didn’t remember that bond.

She examined her own nails. Last night had been a mistake, she saw that now. She’d had enough time to calm down, watched the clips at least twenty times herself, a sick feeling steadily growing in the pit of her stomach as she saw the look of betrayal in his eyes as she ran off stage, victorious and so pleased with herself.

She had gone too far – justified or not – and jeopardized the final days of what had been a phenomenally successful campaign. She should have just said sorry. She’d never see him after this Friday anyway. How bad would it have been to just DM him an apology? She would still get the last laugh. People were going to be laughing and sharing the clip for a long time to come. In fact, he may never live this down. Every interview he ever gave – well, if he ever gave one – every article written about him would feature her trick and his incensed, selfish response. She would haunt him for the rest of his career, although that was scant recompense compared to what she was facing – having Jamie Westlake as the One Who Got Away was a far worse fate.

An idea came to Nettie suddenly. ‘Text Gus.’

‘What? Why? You told me
not
to.’

‘I know. Tell him I’m going to go on the show anyway to talk about the campaign and that if they ask me about why he isn’t there, I’ll obviously have to tell the truth that he’s being a bad sport. I’ll say how devastated everyone is by his abandonment of the campaign. Use that word. Abandonment.’

Jules’s shoulders slumped slightly. ‘Nets, I don’t want me and Gus to get drawn into—’

‘Could you just do it? Please? What choice do we have? He’s obviously not going to be bullied by the entire Western world.’

Reluctantly, Jules fired off a text. ‘And make it look like you’re warning him, like you’re on their side,’ Nettie said, biting a nail as she watched Jules’s fingers fly over the screen. ‘Did you use the word—’

‘Yes, yes.’ Jules pressed ‘send’ and replaced the phone on the table, casting Nettie an unhappy look.

Nettie gave her a ‘what?’ look back, the two of them sitting in antsier silence as the minutes ticked past.

Jules had begun picking the cake apart crumb by crumb when her phone rang suddenly.

Jules looked at it in surprise, before slowly bringing it to her ear. ‘Yes?’ she said in a sing-song, telephonist’s voice. Her expression changed. ‘Oh, hi, Jay . . . Of course.’ She held the phone out to Nets. ‘It’s for you.’