Strictly My Husband: It's funny, it's romantic and it's got dancing - what's not to love! (25 page)

‘Oh, don’t mind me,’ said Karen. ‘I’m quite happy sitting here. Please continue.’

‘Right, OK,’ said Laura, taking a deep breath. She should just plough on, she decided, get it all over with as quickly as possible and then she could get home and call Hannah to see what was going on down at Wonderland.

‘So I’m hoping that you’re going to really enjoy this group as I’m here to give you a sneak preview of some possible TV and cinema advertising campaigns that my client is considering running. They are really keen to get your reaction, and your thoughts and opinions could help shape the campaign that finally makes it to the screen.’

‘Excellent,’ said Charlotte. ‘That actually sounds quite interesting. I was worried we were going to sit around for ages talking about baby products.’

‘Me too,’ agreed Vicky. ‘I’m only here to escape the potty training; last thing I need is a discussion about nappies.’

‘Nappies, nappies, I’m sure I dream about nappies,’ muttered Philippa, shifting her pregnant belly in her chair and looking as though she might doze off at any minute.

‘Then it’s fortunate that it’s not a baby product we’re discussing tonight,’ said Laura, reaching over the back of her armchair and pulling out several large pieces of card. ‘I’m going to show you what’s known as a storyboard, which is just a series of pictures that illustrate the story of the advertisement.’

‘I know what a storyboard is,’ said Charlotte, leaning forward eagerly. ‘In my previous life I was a sales director in London. I used to get shown these things all the time.’

‘Great,’ said Laura. ‘I’ll talk you through the first concept and would welcome all your thoughts at the end, whatever they are. Please be as honest
as you can even if it’s a different opinion to others in the group. There are of course no right or wrong answers.’

‘Gosh, this is quite exciting,’ said Philippa, suddenly perking up. ‘Better than being stuck at home doing bedtime.’

Everyone nodded silently in agreement.

‘I’ve never been involved in a TV campaign before,’ added Karen. ‘Wait until I tell Diane next door. I keep telling her to get in on these research thingies. She’s a bit lonely and could do with getting out and about and meeting people. And, as I told her, the coffee and biscuits are free. Who needs Costa, eh?’

‘So if we are all ready and everyone can see, I’ll take you through the first concept,’ said Laura, deciding her best policy was to ignore Karen throughout the session. She twisted the first board around to face them and began her spiel.

When Laura looked around the room less than two minutes later she knew instantly that she’d lost them. She was greeted with at best blank looks and at worst cold stares. This was quite common when testing advertising. Creative agencies often tried to be too clever in their desire to create a masterpiece, which resulted in a failure to communicate anything whatsoever about the product. Laura didn’t think this was the case here, however, as the storyboard had seemed very straightforward to her. Charlotte was the first to enlighten her on the hostile reaction.

‘Washing powder?’ she asked. ‘You brought us here to talk about washing powder?’

‘Well, yes,’ replied Laura. ‘What do you think of the concept? What do you like or not like about it?’

‘Quite frankly I couldn’t give a monkey’s,’ replied Charlotte, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms. ‘I couldn’t give a toss about washing powder. I ran a team of forty-seven sales reps two years ago and now the only thing that my opinion is valued for is washing powder? No. Not interested.’

‘I quite liked the pink kittens in the pink jungle,’ muttered Philippa, looking around nervously. ‘Didn’t anyone else like the pink kittens in the pink jungle?’

‘Not really,’ said Rachel, screwing her nose up. ‘It was a bit . . . well, actually extremely patronising.’

‘Of course it damned well is,’ exclaimed Charlotte. ‘Everything aimed at mothers is. Don’t you think? Clearly advertisers believe that having children extracts all intelligence therefore they must speak very slowly and use pretty colours and cute animals in order for us to understand their message.’

‘Is that how you feel?’ asked Laura.

‘Yes,’ said Charlotte, looking exasperated. ‘I had a child not a lobotomy.’

‘Do any of the rest of you feel like that?’ asked Laura. ‘Do you feel patronised by advertisers now you have become a mother?’

Many heads nodded.

‘Not really thought about it,’ announced Philippa. ‘Too tired.’

‘Do you want to know what is really patronising about it?’ added Charlotte. ‘I don’t see any dads being asked their opinion on the pink kittens in the pink jungle.’ She looked round the room.

‘You’re right,’ Laura had to agree.

‘Do you want to know what my husband did today?’ said Charlotte, leaning forward and throwing her hands out in exasperation. ‘He got on a plane to Istanbul to speak at a conference. And here I am being asked what I feel about washing powder.’

‘I’m really sorry you feel like that,’ said Laura sympathetically.

‘Oh no, no, don’t be. It’s not your fault.’ Charlotte shook her head and sighed. ‘It’s the first time he’s been away since Ollie was born and . . . well, to be perfectly honest I’m as jealous as hell. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t be without our son for anything, but I used to do stuff like that and somehow it doesn’t seem fair that my husband still can, just like that, without a backwards glance.’

‘I know what you mean,’ chipped in Rachel. ‘My other half got offered last-minute football tickets tonight. I told him I was already going out, but who had to organise a babysitter? Me. Never even crossed his mind.’

‘My husband moaned because I was going out,’ muttered Philippa. ‘Said he wanted to watch the match on telly and it clashed with bathtime.’

Karen cackled with laughter in the corner.

Laura’s heart sank. This was clearly not a laughing matter.

‘Let me share something with you, girls,’ Karen said, leaning forward. ‘You’re a mum now and that is how the world sees you. You may as well have your kids’ faces tattooed on your forehead. Same isn’t true for dads, of course. But the worst thing you can do is try to hold them back. You very quickly become the bore at home and it won’t be long before they find something new and shiny and sparkly. Believe me, it happened to me with my ex. Set them free if you want to keep them, that’s my advice.’

Laura forgot where she was for a moment as she took in what Karen was saying. All she could think about was Tom, performing on stage right now – something he’d given up to provide them both with more stability. Had she become the bore at home who’d stopped him doing the very thing he loved? Worse than that, had she got in the way of him following his dream? If Karen was right then the only way of holding on to her marriage was to set him free; but she wasn’t sure how to do that or, indeed, whether she could.

‘Hi,’ said Hannah when she finally picked up the phone.

Laura had arrived home, flung her handbag on the kitchen table and immediately called Hannah. She’d wrapped up the session early, knowing from years of experience that she was unlikely to get much sense out of the group in relation to washing powder. Instead she allowed the assembled mothers to let off steam regarding their demotion in society since giving birth whilst she simmered over Karen’s depressing speech.

‘So,’ said Laura, ‘how was it?’

‘The show?’ asked Hannah. ‘To be honest it was excellent. I was very pleasantly surprised. I really enjoyed it.’

‘Thank goodness,’ sighed Laura. That was good news. ‘And how was Tom?’

‘Oh, he’s still got it, Laura. Really he has. I’d forgotten how good he is. The crowd went mad for him.’

‘Great, that’s good, that’s good . . . I think; and what about, you know, him and Carly?’

‘Well . . .’ Hannah hesitated. ‘From what I could tell they were, you know, doing what they were supposed to do.’

‘What do you mean, what they’re supposed to do?’

‘They were performing. They were dancing, they were holding each other, they were touching, but I can’t say I saw or felt this mythical moment you keep going on about. Nothing about it struck me as different to any other time I’ve seen dancers and actors on stage. They’re always lovey-dovey and all over each other, aren’t they? That’s just what they are like.’

‘Well, yes, but you can tell if there’s more going on behind all the air-kissing and back-slapping.’

Hannah sighed. ‘I’ll say it again, Laura. I think you are looking for something that isn’t there. I really do.’

Laura allowed herself to breathe out. Perhaps she just had to let it go. She was imagining things purely because they danced together. Maybe she was being unfair.

‘Well, thanks for going anyway, Hannah,’ she said.

‘You’re welcome,’ replied Hannah. ‘Like I said, it’s a great show. You should be very proud of your husband. Perhaps that’s what you need to focus on.’

‘Yeah, I’ll try,’ she answered. But she was not entirely sure Tom’s triumphant return to performing made her feel any better.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Tom

Tom and Carly struggled to get Jerry’s sozzled bulk through the front door. It was past ten and Tom had no idea where the time had gone. Jerry had come backstage immediately after the show, jumping up and down as though the production had just won an Oscar. He went round the entire cast slapping them on the back, handing out cigars like candy canes and somehow miraculously produced bottles of champagne until the dressing room resembled some dodgy drinking den in the back streets of Soho.

‘Don’t you think this is a tad premature?’ Tom had said to him. ‘We haven’t had the scores in yet.’

‘Fuck the scores,’ cried Jerry, handing Tom a bottle to swig from. ‘It was a triumph – anyone could see that.’

‘I think I’ll wait, if you don’t mind.’ Tom pushed the bottle away. ‘Until we know for sure.’

‘Suit yourself,’ said Jerry, helping himself to another mouthful.

Tom looked at his watch. Archie had promised he’d come backstage as soon as he had the results of the research. Although Tom knew that the show had been much better, he also knew that he was in no position to judge. It was the audience that mattered and what they thought.

Carly came up behind him. ‘It’ll be OK,’ she said. ‘We rocked it out there. We were on fire!’

‘You never know,’ said Tom, shaking his head. ‘It felt good but it might not have felt good out there in the crowd.’

‘If it felt half as good as it did on stage, we have nothing to worry about.’ Carly grabbed his hand and squeezed it. He smiled back gratefully.

The truth was he was frightened how good it felt. It was like a drug that he was both euphoric and regretful to have been reunited with. What if he never felt that way again? He dropped Carly’s hands and ran his fingers through his hair. Where was Archie? He couldn’t stand the suspense any longer.

As if on cue a small tornado burst through the door, black hair flapping and sweat pouring down his sideburns.

‘Archie,’ shouted Tom. ‘Over here.’

Archie looked up and wove his way quickly across the dressing room. Carly clutched Tom’s left bicep hard with both hands as Archie approached.

‘Seven point six,’ he breathed, clutching his sides.

‘Right,’ said Tom, nodding whilst trying to work out how he felt about that.

‘You wanted it to one decimal place, right?’ asked Archie, when Tom failed to give any further response.

‘Yeah,’ replied Tom. He’d thought one more decimal place might just help somehow.

‘So it’s definitely seven point six,’ repeated Archie. ‘I checked it three times like Laura showed me. I’m sure it’s seven point six.’

‘Which when you round it up is actually a score of eight out of ten,’ interrupted Jerry, appearing out of nowhere. ‘Bloody eight out ten! You cracked it, right? That’s the score Phillip was after.’

‘But . . . but . . . what about the decimal point?’ said Tom, struggling to take it in. When Archie had started his declaration of the result with a seven it had thrown him. His heart had sunk immediately. They weren’t quite there yet.

‘Fuck the decimal point,’ cried Jerry. ‘Who needs decimal points anyway? Stupid invention, if you ask me. You scored eight out of ten. It’s a fact. Either way it’s a miraculous turnaround from two days ago. Come on, mate, cheer up. This is good news. Here, have a cigar.’

‘I guess you’re right,’ Tom replied. ‘It was a lot better than Saturday’s show, wasn’t it?’

‘A lot better!’ exclaimed Jerry. ‘It was different show, mate. You and Carly? Enough to make a grown man cry, you two were.’

‘But it could be better,’ said Tom. ‘We need to keep making it better.’ He didn’t want a whisper of a seven in his scores, decimal place or no decimal place.

‘Of course you do.’ Jerry slapped him on his back. ‘Now can you please put a smile on your face and let’s get down that pub and do some celebrating.

It had all been a bit of a blur since then. Jerry had insisted on taking the entire cast to the pub where he’d proceeded to get drunk as he enjoyed the company of his new-found young female dancing friends. Tom had popped outside at one point to call Laura and share the improvement in the scores but she was on the phone and he’d got dragged back into the pub by Tweedledum and Tweedledee, who wanted to settle a bet as to how old he was, which took them forty-five minutes and two pints of lager to drag out of him.

By nine o’clock Tom could see that things were on the verge of getting out of hand. The Halloween cast had now taken over the entire pub, having frightened the regulars into heading across the road to more peaceful surroundings. Someone had started a game of blindfolded darts whilst one of the girls had set up an impromptu stage-make-up class for the incompetent male members of the cast and was currently using Jerry’s face to show them how to create the perfect zombie.

When Zack pulled down his trousers to show his pearly white bottom and asked Michelle if she could make a zombie out of that, Tom decided to take action. He grabbed hold of a chair and stood on it and shouted for quiet.

‘Go home,’ he bellowed.

‘Booooooo,’ everyone hissed back at him.

‘Get down, you misery,’ shouted Jerry.