Coco Pinchard, the Consequences of Love and Sex

  ‘There will be other books Coco. I promise,’ said Adam. He put his arm round me and we walked home.

  Wednesday 18th April

  Agent Fergie Publication Day

  Adam woke me up with breakfast in bed, and a copy of Agent Fergie. He’d been round to Marylebone Station and bought it from WH Smith. I grilled him, asking how many copies there were on the shelf. Was my book point-of-sale?

  ‘What’s point-of-sale?’ asked Adam.

  ‘Was it by the till? Prominently placed?’

  ‘Um, it was sort of round next to the fridge with the drinks,’ he said.

  ‘So at the back of the shop… Was anyone else buying a copy?’

  ‘It was rush-hour Cokes,’ said Adam. He pulled out a pen and made me sign it for him.

  ‘I only get three kisses?’ He grinned blowing on the ink. I leaned over and drew three more. ‘That’s more like it,’ he said. ‘And I expect to receive them all throughout the day.’

  I was far too pre-occupied and reached for my Kindle. Agent Fergie had gone up to #105,003

  ‘Look there’s a review!’ said Adam pointing at the screen. The reviewer said that it’s brill and they loved it, and they had given it four stars. In fact the full review is:

  “It was brill & i loved it”

  ‘Your first review and it’s a goody,’ said Adam.

  ‘It’s bit short though,’ I said.

  ‘It’s a good review Coco…’

  ‘But it’s not very descriptive,’ I moaned. Adam sighed.

  ‘Jeez Coco. You exhaust me! Nothing is good enough. Can’t you just be happy? You’ve gone up a hundred and fifty thousand places in the chart, and it could be a one star….’

  ‘But there are still over a hundred thousand books selling better than mine…’ I sighed, and slathered my toast with marmalade.

  When Adam was in the shower I looked at the four star review again. It was written by someone called, “Joany123” I wondered if she was old or young? If she was the only person who had read Agent Fergie? Or if she fully understood my sense of humour..?

  I fired up my laptop and checked out her other Amazon reviews. A couple of weeks ago she had given five stars to a pair of thermal slippers, and five stars to Mr Tickle. So my writing is basically less enjoyable than a pair of thermal slippers and a Mr Men book.

  I wrote a comment on her review.

  “You should widen your reading. How can you compare comfy slippers with an award winning author?”

  Then I noticed my username had popped up underneath as: Coco Pinchard REAL NAME.

  Adam came back from the bathroom and told me to stop obsessing over the book. He ordered me to take a shower.

  ‘I’m taking you out for lunch,’ he said.

  An hour later he kicked the bathroom door open. The whole side of the doorjamb came away, showering splinters all over the floor.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ I screamed. I was sitting fully-clothed, on the bidet, with my laptop.

  ‘I thought you’d fainted,’ he said. ‘You weren’t answering my knocks!’

  ‘I’ve left a comment on that review, and my real name came up! I can’t work out how to delete it. It looks awful…’

  Adam grabbed the laptop and clicked about.

  ‘There it’s gone…’ he said. ‘Now. Shower. Lunch.’ He confiscated my laptop and left.

  We had a delicious lunch at the steak restaurant in Marylebone, but I rather spoiled it with my jitters and lack of focus. When we came home, I sat down at the kitchen island, and switched on my laptop. Agent Fergie had dropped one place to #105,004, but two more reviews had shown up. Both were one star. They’d taken my average rating down from 4 stars to 1.9 stars!

  ‘“I managed about four pages before I got bored of the predictability and started on something more entertaining. Woof,” said Adam reading over my shoulder. ‘How can Regina Battenberg’s dog Pippin write an Amazon review?’

  ‘How could he have read four pages before giving up?’ I countered.

  ‘And It’s an Amazon Verified purchase! Does Pippin have his own credit card? Can a dog have a credit card?’ asked Adam.

  ‘And she’s done another one in her own name! Is she even allowed? Her quote is on the front of the book!’ I cried incredulously. ‘“Badly written tosh, reads like a teenage girl’s school English project.” That bitch.’

  ‘Calm down Coco.’

  ‘Calm down! Why does she need to do this? She’s sold millions of books, she’s stolen Angie and she’s just out to destroy me for, for sport… Right, if she wants to play like this, so can I…’

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m going to go on all the online forums I can, and I’m going to trash her and then I’m…’

  Adam closed my laptop.

  ‘You’re going to do nothing,’ he said slowly and calmly. ‘We’re going to switch off every electronic device in the house, we’re going to unplug the phones, and we’re going to have one sane relaxing afternoon.’

  ‘But!’

  ‘No buts. You can’t live like this Coco. Leave it, for one afternoon?’

  Adam switched off my laptop and confiscated it, along with my phone and my Kindle. I sat and took some deep breaths. I rubbed my hand over my bump and felt a shifting inside, I calmed down even more. Battenberg will never have what I have, I thought. A new baby.

  Adam came back, took my hand and led me to the living room. He sat me down on the sofa, then lit a fire, and put some music on.

  ‘I prescribe one very small but very good infusion of red wine,’ he said returning from the kitchen with a small glass each. I took a sip and we lay down together on the sofa, Rocco jumped up and nestled between our legs.

  I relaxed for the first time in ages. After we’d drunk our wine, I lay with Adam, my head on his firm chest listening to the warm thud of his heart, and his breathing. I fell into a deep sleep.

  When I woke, it was dark outside and the fire had died down to ash. Adam was sitting in a chair opposite bathed in the glow of my laptop.

  ‘Hey, you said no computers,’ I said groggily.

  ‘I think karma has rounded on Regina Battenberg,’ he said.

  ‘How?’ I asked. Adam came over and sat beside me. He had the SKY News website open. The headline read:

  POPULAR WINE CRITIC ACCUSED OF DENYING THE HOLOCAUST

  Regina Battenberg, bestselling author of Window Box Winemaking, More Window Box Winemaking, Even More Windowbox Winemaking and Winetime, was last night embroiled in an extraordinary controversy after a quote she provided for the humorous novel Agent Fergie was mistakenly printed on copies of WWII story, My Year in Belsen.

  Only a small number of copies were affected, and have since been withdrawn, but Battenberg’s reaction has caused alarm from her publisher. When contacted for comment she stated, ‘I left school at fourteen and have no knowledge of the Holocaust.’ When we informed her that we were journalists reporting for SKY News, she added, ‘You lot never print the truth! America probably didn’t land on the moon, and Hitler is probably still alive so how can we tell what is true?’

  The House of Randoms who publish the author has distanced itself from Battenberg, saying her comments are ‘misguided’ and ‘beggar belief in the 21st century’.

  Battenberg’s Agent, Angela Lansbury was unavailable for comment.

  ‘Serves her right!’ said Adam.

  I thought I’d feel elated, but I didn’t. I felt sad for Regina. I realised just how thick she is. She’s no more a holocaust denier than Adam and me but she has so many people around her saying how wonderful she is that she’s lost track of reality. I tried to phone Angie but her phone was permanently engaged.

  ‘Look!’ shouted Adam. ‘Agent Fergie has gone up to #199!’

  Thursday 19th April

  Adam shook me awake at nine o’clock this morning.

  ‘Coco! You’re number one. You’re fucking NUMBER ONE!’

  He thrust my Kindle in my face and I
was number one! Agent Fergie is #1!

  We got up and did a little dance round the bedroom, me holding on to my bump as Adam held on to me.

  ‘Phone Angie,’ said Adam.

  Angie answered after a couple of rings. She sounded groggy and distant.

  ‘Angie! I’m number one! Agent Fergie is number one in the UK Kindle store!’

  She cleared her throat and said congratulations.

  ‘You don’t sound too excited?’ I said.

  ‘No, I am… That’s great babes… look I’m going away tomorrow.’

  ‘Away? Where?’

  ‘Thailand. I need a break, this Battenberg thing has exploded in my face… She’s fired me.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ I said.

  ‘I was so close to signing her up to a huge media deal. God, I would have made millions… Then the stupid cow said those stupid things… I should have reacted quicker. Now no one wants to touch her… Three months’ work down the drain. And what am I? I’m Angela fucking Lansbury.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘No. I’m sorry Cokes. I’ve been an idiot.’

  ‘Look. Why don’t you come over? Before your flight. We can open some champagne. I’m number one!’

  ‘The thing is Coco. I don’t know if I want to be an agent anymore…’

  ‘But now is the time I need you. I’m number one.’

  ‘Chloe is going to be running things for now. I just need to get away and look for some answers.’

  ‘Why Thailand?’

  ‘I’m going on a colonic irrigation holiday,’

  ‘I doubt you’ll find the answers up there,’ I said.

  ‘Ha. Funny Cokes. Look it’s bye for now, and congratulations. Really.’

  Angie rang off.

  We went out to walk Rocco and saw that the newspapers were all featuring the Regina Battenberg story with headlines like:

  BATTY BATTENBERG BELITTLES BELSEN

  BATTENBERG: HOLOCAUST NEVER HAPPENED

  And my favourite, from the Sun:

  BATTEN-BERK

  Sunday 22nd April

  It’s been a whirlwind few days. I’ve had so many phone calls and visits from people about the book.

  Rosencrantz, Oscar and Wayne came over for dinner on Thursday, asking me to sign their copies of Agent Fergie.

  ‘I was going to give you all copies,’ I said.

  ‘We wanted to support you Mum,’ said Rosencrantz.

  ‘A genuine first edition Mrs P!’ said Wayne clasping the book to his chest.

  Marika and Milan came for dinner on Friday night. Milan was very sweet and brought a pile of copies for me to sign for the guys who work for him.

  Adam bought me an enormous bunch of flowers, Angie sent a silk pashmina from Thailand.

  Chris sent an orchid and a basket of fruit, apologising that he was stuck in Kent trying to keep order as the family argued over the will…

  Ethel barged in with another spare key, and brought some dehydrated sachets of Angel Delight, which were only just past their sell by date. Meryl phoned to say congratulations, and that as soon as Agent Fergie was in the library in Hampstead, she’d read it (I presume this means she is staying put with Daniel and Jennifer). Tony rang, asking when Agent Fergie will be released in Mandarin. Mai Ling is keen to read it.

  Chloe rang to ask if I had heard from Regina Battenberg, she has apparently gone into hiding (like she’d hide at my place). She also said that Agent Fergie is already being re-printed and rolled out to even more bookshops!

  Wednesday 25th April

  Agent Fergie remains at number one. The book is now everywhere: Waterstones, WH Smith, even the Tesco Metro has it as you walk in the store. However, our happiness was short -lived. This evening we discovered Tabitha has done a runner. She’s moved out of the flat owing all the rent for April, and she’s left unpaid bills galore. I’m selling a huge amount of books, but when I phoned Chloe she said that the royalties won’t start coming through until next January at the earliest.

  We went round to the flat this evening. All her furniture has gone, but she’s left a huge gouge across the wooden floor in the living room, rotting food in the fridge, unwashed pans in the sink. The bathroom sink was stained with hair dye and the toilet nearly made me throw up.

  ‘Don’t touch any of it,’ said Adam as I started cleaning. ‘I should have listened to you. I’ll sort this out.’

  Thursday 26th April

  Adam got up very early, got dressed and said he was going out.

  ‘Where?’ I said.

  ‘I don’t know. But by this evening, I’m going to have a solution for all this. I promise.’

  He gave me a kiss and left the house. I didn’t hear from him all day, then around five he phoned to say he was meeting a friend who had a lead on a possible job.

  I tried to watch TV but couldn’t settle. Around eight thirty pm Daniel phoned.

  ‘Cokes. Your husband just served me and Jennifer in The Hop & Grape in Covent Garden…’

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘Adam. He just served me with a pint and Jennifer a vodka and tonic.’ I heard Jennifer mumble in the background.

  ‘Sorry, Slimline tonic…’

  I didn’t know what to say.

  ‘Coco, did you know about this?’

  I paused.

  ‘Sorry the baby just gave me a kick,’ I said. ‘Yes, he’s doing very well at the…’

  ‘Hop & Grape,’ said Daniel.

  ‘Yes, The Hop & Grape.’

  There was another pause and I tried to recover.

  ‘What are you doing in Covent Garden?’ I asked.

  ‘Jennifer is home for the weekend. She came to watch me busk. I made sixteen quid in one hour.’

  I remembered Daniel making the same in 1985. I wondered if his playing had got worse or people stingier. I think he could read my thoughts because he added,

  ‘Bar work is what? Six quid an hour?’

  ‘What’s your point Daniel? That you’re earning more than Adam?’

  ‘Well, now you’ve said it…’

  ‘Have fun,’ I said and I hung up on him. I tried to call Adam, but his phone was switched off. I tried Marika and Chris but they were both busy too. Then I phoned Rosencrantz.

  ‘Hey Muuuum!’ he said. He sounded a bit tipsy.

  ‘Hi love. What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m just putting some highlights in Oscar’s hair, then we’re off out for a farewell meal at Wagamama.’

  ‘Why is it farewell?’

  ‘I’ve just got a part in Hollyoaks,’ said Oscar excitedly in the background. ‘It’s a month’s work.’

  ‘Keep still,’ snapped Rosencrantz. ‘I need to pull your hair through all these tiny tiny holes…’

  ‘Ow! I said I’d go and have it done professionally, are you okay to do this?’ said Oscar.

  ‘I’m fine, but of course you can afford it now you’re working,’ said Rosencrantz.

  I didn’t want to get involved with their bickering, so I wished Oscar luck and said goodbye. I checked my watch. It was now nine. Rocco barked and tugged at my trouser leg. I pulled a cardigan and slippers on, went to the French windows and let him out. A bloated moon loomed above the garden, casting an orangey glow. Rocco did a few laps, barking up at it then stopped and did his business. I heard the sound of a helicopter and looked up as it moved over the house, lights winking. Rocco barked again. The London skyline loomed around us and I heard Mrs Cohen open a window, then slam a door, which is code for keep your dog quiet!

  ‘Piss off you silly cow,’ I said under my breath. She appeared at her upstairs window. We gave each other a fake wave then she yanked the curtains shut.

  Maybe we could move, I thought. But where and how? This is the time when I need a good hospital and doctor and we need good schools. The weight of everything ahead came pressing down on me. Why did life have to be so complicated? I thought when I got to number one with my book, I’d have made it. I’d be sorted. How could I have bee
n so naive? They say God only throws problems at those who are equipped to deal with them, so I should feel it’s a compliment. Rocco finished what he was doing and trotted back indoors. I stayed outside for a moment. There is something about staring at the night sky in the quiet; it seems like all the answers are there for the taking. You just need to work out what they are. I squinted a moment longer willing a solution to pop into my head, but the only thing that came to me was how the Gherkin building looks like a giant dildo. Rocco re-appeared in the doorway, took the hem of my cardigan and gave it a pull. I looked down at his beautiful brown eyes and furry face, and I came in.

  I lay back on the sofa and drifted off to asleep. I woke up with the telly still on, as Adam came in. It was 2am. I went and gave him a huge cuddle.

  ‘Thank you.’ I said.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For taking a crappy bar job.’

  ‘Daniel?’

  ‘Yes, phoned me with glee. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘You would have persuaded me not to, but now I’m on the payroll and it’s fine. Six quid an hour plus tips.’

  ‘British people don’t tip.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s pretty much six quid an hour. But it’s cool. I worked out that after a week we’ll have enough to buy half a travel system.’

  ‘A buggy?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  I smiled at him, and he went off to have a shower. It was both inspiring and depressing. He used to earn five times that in the Civil Service, and even that was hardly enough to live a life in London. Adam went straight to bed but I couldn’t sleep.