Original Cyn (29 page)

After Graham and Chelsea had gone, people drifted off to get coffee. Dan and Gazza held back.

“For what it’s worth,” Dan said to Cyn, “I’d have probably done the same thing in your position. The woman needed to be taught a lesson.”

“I know,” Cyn said, “but I could probably have come up with a more grown-up way of dealing with it. Look, it was wrong of me to keep you out of the loop. I should have told you what was going on.”

He shrugged. “I don’t think it’s me you have to apologize to.” He nodded in Gazza’s direction. The man was looking utterly forlorn. As Dan went over to join the rest of the crew, Cyn went up to Gazza.

“I am truly sorry. I didn’t set out to deceive you. It’s just that the first time I met you at the Droolin’ Dream office, you were convinced I was Chelsea. You wouldn’t let me get a word in and the whole thing just spiraled out of control.”

He didn’t say anything. His hands were in his pockets and he was looking down at the floor.

“Gazza, please say something. Shout, scream, but don’t go silent on me.”

After a second of two he finally looked up. “I know people think I’m a bit of a prat.”

“No, they don’t . . .”

“Yes, they do, but it may surprise you to know that I’m not a total plank. I would have understood and I’d have helped you if you’d let me. All you’d have needed to do was explain.”

“But I didn’t know you would help me. I didn’t know you. I was so angry with Chelsea, I wasn’t thinking straight. I just wanted what was mine and I didn’t think further than that.”

He nodded. “No, you didn’t.”

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so ashamed. “I’ve got a meeting with Graham this afternoon,” she said. “He’s probably going to sack me, which means somebody else will be in charge of the Droolin’ Dream account. At least you won’t have me around anymore.”

“Chel, I said I wasn’t a plank and that means I have enough brains to know a good thing when I see it. This ad is going to be fantastic with a capital Terrific and I want you around until we’ve finished. If Graham sacks you I shall have something to say about it, believe me.”

“I’m not sure it’ll do much good.” She paused. “So what’s happening? Are you forgiving me?”

He managed a smile. “In time I think I’ll manage to get over it. I just can’t believe I let you convince me you’d changed your accent because it didn’t fit in with PCW’s Cool Britannia image.”

“Bearing in mind I came up with it in about three seconds, I thought it was pretty inspired.”

She was so glad Gazza hadn’t shouted at her—even though she’d had it coming. She found herself thinking about how she’d laid into Joe on the phone and called him pond life. Not that he hadn’t deserved it. She couldn’t help missing him, though, and she knew it would take a long time before she could put their relationship behind her. No matter how much somebody hurts you, she thought, it’s impossible to love them one day and simply stop the next.

“By the way,” she said to Gazza, “there’s something else I lied about.”

“I know, you’re not a lesbian.”

“Bloody hell. How on earth did you guess?”

“I didn’t. It was supposed to be a joke. You mean it’s true?”

Her face was contorted with guilt. Then she nodded. “You kept asking me out and . . .”

He let out a long sigh. “I know. You don’t have to say any more. I was coming on too strong. It’s a fault. You’re not the first woman to have said it. When I like somebody I just get a bit carried away, that’s all.”

“But I shouldn’t have said I was a lesbian.”

“So that other woman, the woman you were with that night in the pub, she isn’t gay either.”

Cyn shook her head. “So, do you want your k.d. Lang CDs back?”

“Nah, you can keep them.”

“You sure? I really do like k.d. Lang.”

“Then have them. I’d like you to.” They decided to go and get some coffee. “You know,” Gazza said, “the Audrey Hepburn bird is really fit. Do you reckon she might be up for a film and a chicken vindaloo later?”

Chapter 22

Graham said that what Chelsea had done to Cyn was appalling and despicable. “There can be no question of her keeping her job at PCW. Having said that, I realize she’s a complete basket case and deserves a modicum of sympathy. I suggested she go back to the States, get some therapy and later on I can help her find another job in advertising, but in a noncreative role. She wasn’t interested, though. I think she wants to discover where her real talents lie and make a new life for herself.”

“That makes sense,” Cyn said.

“Yes, but what doesn’t make sense is the way you handled this situation. Chelsea couldn’t help herself, but you could.” Oh, boy, was the axe ever about to fall. “When this thing blew up, you should have come to me and told me what was going on. Instead you went over my head and took things into your own hands. Your arrogance is mind-blowing. Plus you deceived Gary Rossiter. A less decent and forgiving bloke would have told PCW where to go and then leaked the story to
Campaign
. Overnight our name would have been mud.”

“But I thought if I came to you, you wouldn’t believe me. As far as you knew, Chelsea was the most talented person here. You had enormous respect for her. Meanwhile I was messing up left, right and center. Only this morning you said you weren’t sure if things were really working out for me at PCW. Then when Chelsea confronted me just now at the studio, you turned to me and you said she deserved an explanation. Your mind was already made up. If I hadn’t made that tape recording, you’d still believe her version of events.”

Graham put his elbows on the desk and made a steeple with his fingers. “OK, I admit I might have taken some convincing, but that doesn’t alter things. What you did threatened the whole company.”

“I realize that now. I’m sorry.”

“And I’m sorry I didn’t see through Chelsea.”

“How could you? If it hadn’t been for Luke overhearing her on the phone to Charlie Taylor, the real story would never have come out.”

Graham sat back in his chair. “I’ll speak to him later and thank him for what he did. Maybe we should think about giving him a bit more responsibility. I always thought with Luke that if brains were taxed he’d get a rebate. Maybe I was wrong. Do you think he could cope?”

“I think he deserves a try.” Cyn resolved to give Luke a talking-to about leaving his iPod at home and sharpening up his act.

“By the way, Gary Rossiter speaks very highly of you. He thinks you’re amazingly talented.”

Cyn smiled. “He just fancies me.”

“No, it’s more than that. And he’s right. Your Droolin’ Dream is a fantastic concept. It perfectly captures the zeitgeist. How long before you finish filming?”

“Three or four days. So does that mean you’re not going to sack me?”

“No, I’m not going to sack you. I was furious, but I was never going to sack you.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” She was shaking with relief. “That’s really fantastic. I don’t suppose . . .” She was going to ask him if he could have a word with the Anusol people about modifying the ad on the side of her car, but Graham had already been more than generous for one day. There was no point pushing it. Instead she stood up and went to the door. It was a walk of less than ten feet. Somehow she managed to fit in at least half a dozen more thank-yous.

Since Graham prided himself on his honest and open management style, the moment he’d gotten back to the office after taking Chelsea home, he had called a staff meeting to tell everybody what Chelsea had done. The upshot was that no sooner did Cyn come out of Graham’s office than dozens of people came up to hug her, pat her on the back and tell her how much they admired her. Few took the she-was-emotionally-damaged-and-couldn’t-help-herself position. Keith Geary, who had loathed Chelsea more than most, had even been out and bought champagne to celebrate. Cyn found it hard to join in the revelry. Not only did she feel sorry for Chelsea, she felt monumentally guilty about stealing her identity.

“So, when I heard Chelsea on the phone in the ladies’ room that time,” Luke said at one point, “she wasn’t talking to her drug dealer? He was really the bloke who was inventing all her ad campaigns?”

Cyn nodded. “You know, Luke, if it hadn’t been for you, I would never have been able to work out what she was up to. You’re a bit of a hero in all this. Thank you.” She gave him a squeeze. Luke was glowing, partly with embarrassment at being hugged and partly because it was probably the first time in his life anybody had ever paid him any real attention, let alone described him as a hero.

Because Gazza and the people at Droolin’ Dream wanted the commercial finished as soon as possible, they carried on filming over the weekend. This suited Cyn partly because she was anxious to get the ad finished as well, but also because she thought Joe might try calling round at her flat again. At least she didn’t have to deal with him being downstairs ringing the doorbell and refusing to go away. Having to talk to him; having to listen to him begging her to take him back while she still missed him, while she still loved him, would just be too painful. What was even more painful was having to constantly fight the bit of her that wanted to pick up the phone and tell him about the Charlie Taylor tape and describe in every glorious, magnificent detail how she’d finally gotten her revenge on Chelsea.

By Tuesday, a rough cut of the Droolin’ Dream ad was ready. Cyn organized a screening in the large trailer. Dan was there, along with Graham and all the other creatives. When it was over, there was a spontaneous round of applause.

“Well done,” Graham said. “This is fantastic. Absolutely fantastic. I know it’s going to be a huge success.” He turned to the rest of the group. “I hope you will all join me in wishing Cyn every success as a senior copywriter.” The applause started up again. Cyn felt herself turn pink with delight. “I’m not sure I entirely deserve this,” she said to Graham. “But thank you. I promise I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t,” Graham said warmly. “By the way, I thought you’d like to know that your promotion comes with a company car. What would you say to a VW Beetle?”

“What would it be advertising?” She was imagining goose-stepping bratwursts or an image of Adolf Hitler pigging out on sauerkraut and going, “Some people think I was a sour Kraut, but this is the real thing!”

“No advertising, this time. I absolutely promise.”

“In which case, I’d say thank you. Thank you very much.”

She decided tonight’s would be her last therapy session. The only reason she was going was to finally confess to her relationship with Joe. It wasn’t that she felt she needed or even deserved the group’s forgiveness. It was more like wanting to draw a line under everything that had happened, so that she could get on with the next part of her life. Then she would say good-bye. She knew she would have to leave. For a start, the group wouldn’t let her stay after she’d had an affair with a group member, but there was another reason for leaving. What had happened between her and Joe had, in a sense, been a blessing in disguise. During the huge row at the salon, she’d allowed herself to get truly angry. She hadn’t hidden her feelings. Nor had she decided they weren’t worth expressing or that she would be a bad person if she came out with what was on her mind. She’d just let rip. Getting angry didn’t scare her anymore. She didn’t need therapy anymore.

She had no idea if Joe and Clementine would be there. Given the choice she’d rather they weren’t. Seeing them—Joe especially—would cause her emotions to crash-land again. But it was vital that the group heard her version of events. Afterward she would say good-bye and wish them all well.

Cyn made sure she was a few minutes late. That way she didn’t have to chitchat with people—particularly Joe and Clementine—before the session began. When she arrived everybody was sitting in silence. Joe was unshaven and looked like he hadn’t slept for days. Even Clementine seemed uneasy. Cyn took a seat well away from both of them and refused to make eye contact. As she took off her coat she was aware of a more general discomfort. It seemed to hang in the air like stale cigar smoke. She had no idea what had been said after she’d left last week, but it was obvious nobody wanted to go there. Cyn decided to take the initiative, but Joe got in first.

“I said it last week and I want to say it again. Clementine and I have not been having an affair.”

“That’s right,” Clementine said. “OK, it wasn’t for want of trying on my part. I admit I gave Joe my phone number, but nothing happened.”

Cyn found herself giving a contemptuous snort. Still she refused to look at Joe.

“We would both like to know who wrote the note,” Joe continued.

Veronica’s eyes went slowly from one person to the next. Cyn could almost see the green Kryptonite rays penetrating each person’s brain.

“Joe, for God’s sake put an end to this nonsense,” Cyn burst out. “Why are you lying? You were having an affair with me and you were seeing Clementine at the same time. That’s the truth, isn’t it?”

There was one of those cinema audience gasps that happens when a character gets his brains blown out or finds a severed horse’s head in his bed. “No, that isn’t the truth,” Joe said with forced evenness.

By now Ken was looking utterly crestfallen. “Here’s me finally plucking up the courage to go speed dating at the Immaculate Conception of Our Lady, while Joe waltzes in and seduces two women practically overnight. I’d give anything to have a bit of what he’s got.”

“Look, for the last time,” Joe shot back, “I did not seduce two women . . .”

“OK, so you seduced one,” Jenny snapped. Her anger seemed to have come from nowhere. Everybody turned to look at her. “At least you don’t spend your entire life being ignored, the way I do. It’s not fair. I hate it and I just wish I knew why it happened.”

As Clementine opened her mouth to speak, Jenny flew to her feet. “Say something clever,” she hissed, “and I swear I’ll . . . I’ll . . .” Clementine recoiled in genuine terror.

“Well, Jenny, I don’t think anybody is ignoring you now,” Veronica broke in. “While it is undoubtedly a good thing that, like Cyn, you have managed to get in touch with your inner devil, may I remind you that physical violence is not acceptable in the group.”

Jenny sat down and took a couple of deep breaths. “It was me who wrote the letter to Veronica,” she said. “It was cowardly and I’m not proud of it, but I’m just fed up with being bullied by Clementine. That comment she made last week about me lying awake worrying about the way the ranger treated Yogi Bear and Boo Boo was typical. I can’t stand it anymore.” She burst into tears and turned to Joe. “I’m sorry I involved you,” she sniffed. “You’re a good, kind man and I’ve got nothing against you.”

“Hang on,” Cyn said, finally looking at Joe. “You really weren’t seeing Clementine?”

“Absolutely, categorically and emphatically not.”

“But you hung on to her list of numbers. I saw it sticking out of your jacket pocket the night we went to Harmony’s party.”

“Clementine works for
Vogue
and a friend of mine has a daughter who’s about to leave university and is desperate to get into fashion journalism. I was going to check if it was OK with Clementine if I passed on the numbers. I just thought Clementine would be a useful contact.”

Cyn could barely take in what she was hearing. She’d spent a week trying to stop having feelings for Joe. Suddenly she could start loving him all over again. She sat there, stunned. Her mind suddenly went back to the night she won the Smart Car and she first observed that good news could be as much of a shock as bad.

Joe turned back to Jenny. “You know, for somebody who doesn’t have anything against me,” Joe said, “you have a funny way of showing it. Why on earth didn’t you just confront Clementine?”

Jenny shrugged. “I tried lots of times, but I’m not as quick-witted as her.” She was looking at Clementine now. “You’re so confident and haughty and you have an answer for everything. Not a week goes by when you don’t make me feel inadequate or stupid. I know I can be a bit saccharine and earnest, but I’d rather be like that than the kind of person who goes round constantly hurting people the way you do.”

“But I thought you knew I was just making fun,” Clementine protested. “It’s the way I am. I don’t mean anything by it. It’s all bravado. Deep down I’m not at all confident. I’m a screwup who can only feel good about herself when she’s picking up men. Of course I didn’t exactly have the best role model. I mean, you try having a mother who was the bloody Hooker Laureate and see where it gets you.”

“The Hooker Laureate?” Cyn repeated incredulously, trying not to laugh. “Are you saying she serviced the royals?”

“She had ‘By Royal Appointment’ tattooed across her left buttock. She saw to them all. And it wasn’t just the men, believe me. She had more than one duchess on her books.”

There was a group squirm. Cyn assumed she wasn’t the only one imagining Clementine’s leather-clad mother going down on some coroneted and ermined old dowager.

“But you’ve never mentioned any of this,” Jenny said.

“I was too ashamed.”

Veronica suggested it was time for Clementine to start examining her past, maybe in some one-on-one sessions. Clementine agreed, but only if Jenny was made to leave therapy. She said her anonymous letter was wicked and cruel and tantamount to physical violence and that she had no place in the group.

“Look,” Joe interrupted, “since we’re talking about kicking people out, there are a few things I need to say.”

He hesitated for a few seconds and then began to tell his story. All of it. He left nothing out. When he got to the bit about his affair with Cyn, she said a few words of her own. She told the group how guilty she’d felt and how they were always intending to own up and leave.

“As far as deceiving the group about what I do for a living,” Joe said, “all I can say is that I’m desperately sorry. I showed a flagrant lack of respect.”

“You did,” Veronica said. “I think there is probably a great deal of hurt in the room right now.”

“Ah, deception,” Ken said, gazing into the distance. “The wicked worketh a deceitful work: but to him that soweth righteousness shall be a sure reward. Proverbs eleven, verse eighteen.”