Perfect Blend: A Novel (35 page)

Then she created a new document, called it
“CremCo moobs,”
and started writing:

An exclusive coffee brand has been identified by scientists as the cause of a worldwide epidemic of potentially life-threatening breast growth in men,
The Daily Post
can reveal.

Researchers at food laboratories in Britain and the United States have discovered that the £50-a-pound Crema Crema Crema contains Texapene, a chemical that acts like the female hormone estrogen.

Crema Crema Crema is sold by a subsidiary of troubled coffee giant Bean Machine and drunk by hundreds of thousands of coffee lovers, including leading celebrities.

After half an hour or so, Roy Hargreaves appeared and began reading over her shoulder. “Not bad. Not … bad. But that para would work better higher up … and okay, down here, why don’t we say …”

Amy started to cut and paste and make the changes. Meanwhile, Roy Hargreaves strolled up and down, drinking coffee out of a mug that said “Drink caffeine: You can sleep when you’re dead.” After a while he was reading over her shoulder again. He started to chuckle. “Fan-fucking-tastic. We have so nailed those bastards.”

In the middle of it all, Boadicea, her manner verging on animated, came over to say she had managed to get quotes from the Department of Health, and the FDA in America, to indicate that if CCC was proved to contain Texapene, they would ban it immediately.

By nine o’clock, the piece was finished. Amy and Boadicea were having a cup of coffee before calling it a night, when Roy Hargreaves called Amy into his office. As soon as she walked in, he offered her a smile and invited her to sit down.

“I just want to congratulate you. You just wrote a fucking brilliant piece on an extremely tight deadline. You should be proud of yourself.”

Amy felt herself color as she thanked him.

“Okay, I’m not going to beat about the bush. I want to offer you a staff job. I have a team of two shit-hot roving investigative reporters, and I need a third—”

Amy stopped him. “Look, before you go on, don’t think for a second that I’m not grateful for the offer, but I couldn’t possibly take a staff job. I’m a single parent with a six-year-old child, and I need to be around for him. My plan was always to freelance.”

Roy Hargreaves leaned back in his chair. “Amy, let me tell you something about freelancers that you may not know. The best of them—I mean the very best—have all had staff jobs at one time or another. They didn’t leave those jobs until they had years of experience under their belts and had built up dozens of contacts. You are a clever, talented young woman, but don’t overestimate yourself. You are a beginner who has had some beginner’s luck. Come to work for me and you will learn your craft. Then, when you have done that, you can think about going solo. But believe you me, if you turn out to be as good as I think you are, I will fight like stink to keep you here. For now, I will be paying you a six-figure salary and you will get the chance to travel all over the country—the world even.”

“That’s the trouble,” she said.

“Plenty of women with kids manage, but it’s your choice. I am offering you the chance to establish yourself as a serious investigative journalist. As an inexperienced freelancer you will always struggle to find the big stories. On the other hand, hardly a day goes by when we don’t get a tip-off from some whistle-blower. Think about it, Amy. You’d be throwing away a massive opportunity.”

“I will, but I really don’t think I’m going to change my mind.”

“Okay, but why don’t you go home and sleep on it. Let’s speak again in a few days.” He paused. “Oh, and by the way, be prepared for a bit of a media circus tomorrow.”

Amy frowned. “Meaning what, exactly?”

“You’ll see,” he said, smiling.

While she waited for the cab in reception, she phoned Ruby, who said she shouldn’t worry about Charlie. He’d eaten a huge supper, had a bath, and was fast asleep on an air mattress in the twins’ room. Amy must have said sorry half a dozen times, but Ruby kept telling her to stop apologizing. She seemed far more interested in finding out about the story.

When she got home, Amy stuck a Marks & Spencer lasagne in the oven. While she waited for it to cook, she lay on the sofa drinking a glass of wine. She hadn’t stopped thinking about Roy Hargreaves’s job offer. He was right, of course. Despite her experience in PR, she was a beginner. By taking a staff job she would learn everything she needed to know about newspapers, but how could she possibly leave Charlie to go gallivanting all over the place? It would be different if he had a father … if things had worked out with Sam … but she was all he had. She hadn’t brought her son into the world to abandon him.

At the same time, she craved the challenges this job would provide. A few hours ago, she’d been bashing out a story against the clock, adrenaline pumping through her. Wasn’t that what she’d always wanted? What was more, even if she did say so herself, she had done some good in the world. Despite the tabloid obsession with celebrity, newspapers like
The Daily Post
still had the power to bring down the bad guys and change lives—or even save them. Amy wanted to play a part in that.

She never thought she would be forced to make the choice that so many mothers had to make. She’d been so smug, thinking she had her future as a freelancer all worked out. What was it Trevor always said? “You make plans, and the universe laughs.”

That night, she couldn’t sleep. If she wasn’t fretting about the job offer, she was thinking about Sam.

Eventually she turned on the bedside light and picked up a copy of
Homes and Gardens
. Half a dozen magazines later, she was still awake. It was getting light when she finally drifted off. The alarm woke her at seven.

Realizing it was already eight o’clock in Rwanda, she decided to try calling the school again. For once the phone started ringing. Then, to her surprise and delight, somebody picked up.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” Amy said in reply to the male voice.

“Yes. I can hear you loud and clear.” The chap spoke with a heavy accent.

“Who’s that?” she said.

“Olivier, the caretaker.”

“Hi, Olivier. My name is Amy Walker. I’m phoning from London. I’m a friend of Sam’s—you know, the architect from England who is helping build the new school? I was told I could reach him at this number.”

“Ah, yes. He’s gone up-country with Jean Baptiste, one of our teachers. Sam’s agreed to start on plans for a new hospital. They’ve gone to look at some land.”

“I see. Do you know when they’ll be back?”

“Few days, maybe.”

“Okay. Could I leave a message for Sam?”

“Sure.”

“Could you say that Amy phoned? Tell him I said sorry and maybe he could give me a call?”

“Ah, you his girlfriend? You had fight?”

“Something like that.”

“Okay, I tell him you’re a very nice lady and he shouldn’t fight with you.”

Amy managed to laugh. “I’m not sure that’s going to do much good, but if you could tell him I phoned, I’d really appreciate that.”

“No problem.”

AT HALF
past seven, BBC Radio 4 rang to ask if she would come in and do an interview about Crema Crema Crema for
The World at One
. Radio 5 wanted her at ten, as did
Breakfast Time
and
Sky News
. No sooner had she put the phone down with one researcher than it started ringing again.

At one point Bel rang, squealing with excitement and congratulations. “I’ve just got the paper, and the piece looks fantastic.”

Amy said that was a relief because she hadn’t seen it yet.

“Of course,” Bel said, “you do realize that you are now the most famous person I know. So any invites you get to premiers or celebrity dos, please, please, can I come, too?”

At one point Amy managed to phone Charlie to say how sorry she was about not being able to get home yesterday; she would tell him all about it after school. He didn’t seem remotely put out by having to sleep at Ruby’s and said he had to go because he was in the middle of eating his boiled egg and Marmite soldiers and then Ruby was taking him and the twins to school. She asked Charlie to put Ruby on the phone. Once again, Amy said how grateful she was to her for having Charlie and made a mental note to take around some posh chocs to say thank you.

Afterward she called Brian to say she wasn’t going to make it into work. “I’m so sorry. I hate letting you down like this.”

“Amy, the last thing in the world you could possibly do is let me down. Don’t even think about coming back to work. I just don’t know how to thank you. I feel like I’ve got my life back. I’m not going to get cancer. This whole scare had an upside, though. I’ve realized I’ve got to make the most of everything. You know, carpe diem and all that. That’s why I’m going to end it with Rebecca. Life’s too bloody short to wait for some ditzy woman to come to her senses.”

“But you were crazy about her.”

“I was in lust. That’s all. I can see that now.”

Amy couldn’t help wondering if Bel dumping Ulf had played a part in his decision.

“Well, I have to say I think you’re doing the right thing.”

“I think so, too. Oh, another major headline: Pundits on the radio and TV are already talking about the imminent collapse of CremCo and Bean Machine. Plus, a police spokesman said they are considering an investigation. The likelihood is that Cavendish and Co. will end up facing criminal charges.”

“Omigod. That’s fantastic. This story’s only been news for a few hours and already we’ve got a result.”

“So with Bean Machine gone, I can keep the business running. For the first time in weeks I’m thinking about the future. The Soho coffeehouse idea is a possibility again, and I’ve decided to go hell for leather to make it happen. You saved my health and you saved my business, Amy. I don’t know what to say. I’m just so grateful.”

“I aim to please,” she said, laughing.

When Val phoned to congratulate her, she wanted to know why Amy had been such a dark horse and hadn’t let on that she was working on the story. Amy explained that it had all happened so fast that she didn’t have time. “There’s been some other stuff going on, too.” She explained what had happened between her and Sam.

“Oh, darling, I am so sorry. What can I say? I had such high hopes for this one.” When Amy said she had to go because all the radio and TV stations had been phoning and she had interviews booked from ten o’clock on, Val didn’t hesitate. “Right. No arguments. I’ll leave work early today and collect Charlie from school. Later on, I’ll take him to that place in the park for spaghetti. He’ll like that.”

“Oh, Mum, you can’t start taking time off work.”

“Yes, I can. I’ve got stacks of holiday time owing. I’ll speak to Ruby and tell her she doesn’t need to collect Charlie today.”

Amy had just put the phone down with Val, when Phil rang, bursting with pride and delight. “See, I told you your time would come, and it has.”

“Thanks, Dad. It really made a difference, you and Mum having so much faith in me.”

“Maybe, but I suspect what helped you succeed in the end was the faith you put in yourself.” He paused. “Oh, and Joyce says well done, too. She’s already been on the phone to her friends, bragging about you.”

“Aw, that’s sweet.” Amy chuckled. “How is she?”

“Well, she’s started going to AA, and so far, so good. She hasn’t had a drink for over a month.”

“That’s amazing.”

“She’s got a long way to go, but she’s working so hard. I just wish Victoria would give her a call. How’s she getting on with this therapist she’s seeing?”

“She seems to be making progress, but she’s at the start of a long journey. You’re going to have to be patient.”

Phil said he understood. “Maybe I’ll give her a call, just to see how she’s doing. I won’t mention Joyce.”

“I think that would be a great idea,” Amy said.

Amy’s mobile started to ring. “Sorry, Dad, I’ve got to go. It’ll be the BBC or somebody. Love to Joyce and tell her well done from me, for staying on the wagon.”

On the way to her first interview at the BBC, Amy made the cabdriver stop at a newsagent so that she could pick up a copy of
The Daily Post
. She got back in the car and just stared at the piece, which took up the entire front page: “Male Breasts—Toxic Coffee to Blame.” The headline was in inch-high letters. Underneath came the line that made Amy blink in disbelief: “world exclusive by Amy Walker.” Part of her wanted to tap the cabdriver on the shoulder and say, “Hey, guess what, that’s me. I’m Amy Walker. I got that story.” But she didn’t. Instead, she sat back in her seat and gazed out of the window, a daft smile on her face.

Amy spent the next two days in cabs being ferried from one television or radio studio to the next. Less than keen on coffee as she was, she found herself relying on it to keep her going. All the time people were phoning to congratulate her. One evening she got home to find a bunch of flowers from Zelma. The card read “Mazel tov, bubbeleh,” which Amy didn’t understand, but she assumed it was good.

Instead of being jealous, as Amy had feared, Victoria was glorying in her sister’s success. It seemed that Amy’s scoop had so impressed the local neighborhood that Victoria was once more persona grata. Amy was tempted to say that since none of the parents had gotten particularly angry over the Joyce incident, Victoria had never not been persona grata. But she decided to let it go. Victoria was so excited, it seemed a shame to burst her bubble.

Between interviews—usually when she was in a taxi being ferried from one studio to the next—Amy found herself thinking about Sam and how much she loved him. Before her appalling outburst, there had been a glimmer of hope that Sam might come around to the idea of being a father to Charlie. Then she blew it. She wondered if he would call from Rwanda and decided he probably wouldn’t. If she wasn’t thinking about him, she was thinking about Roy Hargreaves’s job offer. She’d discussed it with Bel and Brian and her mum. Eventually she even talked to Victoria about it, even though she knew what her position would be. But Victoria surprised her. Along with everybody else, she said that it had to be her decision and that she wouldn’t judge her whatever she chose to do.