Dream a Little Dream

  ‘Great work,’ booms Jonathan. ‘That’s what being in Development is about – taking your idea and expanding – not feeling like you have to stick rigidly to your initial thought. Brilliant, Sarah.’

  ‘Thanks …’ I mumble, embarrassed.

  ‘What I really want to hear about is your time scale. When can you see this all happening? Could we get this off the ground soon?’

  ‘Soon? How soon?’

  ‘Early part of next year?’ he suggests in a way that’s not really a suggestion but a request.

  ‘But, we’re only just sorting out the case study to see if it could actually be something good – we haven’t even met with the research team yet to talk it all through,’ I panic.

  ‘Welcome to television,’ barks Jonathan enthusiastically. ‘We’re like a kitchen in a top London restaurant. Some dishes are left to ferment, marinade or mature while others are sped through and served piping hot – needing to be gobbled up instantly.’

  ‘Right …’ I say, nodding along to his food-based analogy.

  ‘This needs to be gobbled up now while the topic is current and on people’s minds,’ he clarifies, as Julie walks into the room and puts another cup of coffee in front of him before smiling eagerly at Real Brett and me as she turns to leave.

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Plus, let’s not beat around the bush here – we’re talking old folk. We don’t want one of our key characters to pop off and leave us up shit creek.’

  ‘Quite,’ agrees Real Brett, visibly struggling to keep a straight face at Jonathan’s sensitivity on the matter and choice of language.

  ‘So, Julian, is it?’ Jonathan asks, checking to see he’s got his name correct. ‘Where were you thinking of sending him and his new friends?’

  ‘We’re not entirely sure yet, but maybe Australia – from the research I’ve done I think it’s still the top location for British travellers. Probably because there’s no language barrier there.’

  ‘Good for us when negotiating and planning, too – God knows we’ve had some disasters when language gets in the way,’ he shares with an intake of breath before blowing out his cheeks. ‘Right – let’s settle on there then. Look into all the gap year spots around the country – choose where you want to go and how long for. I’ll get Siobhan from Research to look into this too. You two can go on a recce with her in January, that’ll get the ball rolling.’

  ‘January?’

  ‘New year, new project,’ he nods passionately.

  ‘That’s so soon,’ I flap at his plan. ‘I haven’t got the time to organize all this when I’m doing the Christmas party too.’

  ‘Sarah, how many times have you asked if you can come along on trips?’

  ‘Erm, a lot,’ I stop, my cheeks burning at the reminder, embarrassed that my first thought is the office party, which is in just twelve days’ time.

  ‘Exactly,’ he nods. ‘Julie can handle the bloody party arrangements. Now, stop questioning it and go away and make it happen.’

  He doesn’t need to tell us twice, we scurry out of the door with huge panicked grins on our faces.

  ‘Fuck,’ Real Brett whispers.

  ‘Fuuuuuuuck,’ I say, echoing his nervous excitement. ‘How on earth did that just happen?’

  ‘It’s a great idea, that’s how,’ praises Real Brett, making me blush.

  ‘Well in principle. Now we’ve got to find a few grannies to make our collection complete and send them on the trip of a lifetime.’

  ‘Then let’s get cracking.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll phone Age Wise and put some more feelers out through social media encouraging people to nominate candidates they might know for a life-changing opportunity. In the meantime you look into Australia, and then we can get together later today to brainstorm for Julian’s trip,’ I say in a decisive manner that makes Real Brett grin at me.

  ‘On it, chief, or should I say chef?’ he winks.

  ‘Only Jonathan,’ I say, shaking my head and rolling my eyes.

  ‘Just a thought – might be worth checking with Julian if he has any mates in his new home that are in the same position as him.’

  ‘God, I’m sure all of them would flock to travel halfway around the world to spend time with him.’

  ‘Who wouldn’t?’ he asks seriously. ‘It would be good to see an already existing friendship pairing in there.’

  ‘I’ll phone Fiona and talk to her about it.’

  ‘Great,’ Real Brett smiles, nudging my elbow repeatedly in excitement before wandering off to his desk. ‘See you in the boardroom later.’

  ‘Yep,’ I nod, pulling out the chair at my desk and plonking myself on it.

  As I grab my notebook I see my phone screen flash, telling me that Mum’s calling. She rarely calls me during work hours – probably because she hates the thought of me nattering nonsense when I could be working hard and bettering myself – so I resist the temptation of letting her ring through to voicemail, too intrigued as to why she’s calling.

  ‘Mum?’ I say, picking up.

  ‘Ooh, darling, you’re there,’ she says, sounding happy to have a call answered on her first attempt for once.

  I instantly feel guilty.

  ‘Have you got your save the date?’

  ‘From Dan and Lexie?’ I ask, immediately dreading where this conversation is heading and feeling less guilty for not picking up all those other times.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The post hadn’t arrived before I left for work, Mum.’

  ‘Of course. Well, they’re very nice,’ she says smugly, confirming what I’d just feared.

  ‘You’ve been invited,’ I say, managing to hide my shock, annoyed that Dan didn’t think to tell me that my hellish mother had been invited.

  ‘Well, Pat did mention it the other day.’

  ‘Ah,’ I say, envisaging the scene when Pat and Terry (Dan’s parents) would’ve sent Lexie a huge guest list of their own friends. I can imagine Dan throwing a strop about Mum’s inclusion (if he bothered looking at the guest list) and Pat putting her foot down, seeing as they’ve offered to pay for the majority of the wedding (such a double-edged sword but one they had to deal with seeing as they’d just moved into their dream home).

  I’ve no idea what Pat’s playing at by inviting my parents, or why the two women still speak.

  ‘All happening very quickly, isn’t it,’ Mum digs. ‘Not another one of your friends unexpectedly expecting?’

  She might’ve been friendly over Carly and Josh’s situation, but if Dan and Lexie were to be in the same boat she’d clearly have a field day over the matter – Golden Boy Dan who was too good for her daughter is forced to run Lexie up the aisle in a bid to make an honest woman of her.

  I’m almost sorry to burst her gloating bubble.

  ‘Mum, they just don’t want a big lead-up and for the whole thing to be drawn out.’

  ‘Hmm …’ she replies despondently, clearly preferring her own scenario.

  Great, that’s all I need to add to what’s no doubt going to be a spiffingly lah-de-dah day – my mother there casting her judgement over everything. I’ve no doubt she’ll struggle to keep those thoughts to herself, too. She’s bound to offend someone. There go my chances of getting ridiculously drunk and zoning out, now I’m going to be on edge the whole day.

  ‘Have you heard from Max, Mum?’ I ask, attempting to change the subject.

  ‘Max? Oh, I’d be the last to hear if the baby was on its way. They wouldn’t want me there fussing,’ she replies accurately. ‘You know, I can’t help thinking that this wedding is going to be a shambles – three months to plan? I took longer to plan your dad’s sixtieth.’

  With the conversation swivelled back round to the impending doom of next Valentine’s Day, I listen quietly for a further five minutes as she rabbits on with her speculations and expectations.

  As soon as I manage to hang up (not an easy task when she’s fired up on a topic – even if she knows I am at work), I call Carl
y.

  ‘My mum’s been invited to the flipping wedding!’ I spit as soon as she cheerily picks up.

  ‘Ah. I did wonder about that. I think all of our parents might be actually – if that makes you feel any better.’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she groans. ‘It could be worse.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Fair point. I don’t even have the energy to come up with a funny scenario. You win, this is going to be awful … but at least your dream lover will be there.’

  ‘Oh fuck.’

  My tired friend then cackles down the line with such force that I put the phone down on her and head to the loo for a breather.

  Coming out of the cubicle (from a one, not two), I spot Poutmouth Louisa reapplying her lips in the mirror.

  ‘Hey,’ she smarms, flashing a suspiciously kind smile in my direction.

  ‘Morning,’ I reply, washing my hands in the sink next to her.

  ‘I heard Jonathan called you into his office earlier,’ she says, looking at my reflection in front of her before turning her attention to hers and pouting out her perfectly glossed lips.

  ‘Yeah, to talk about Grannies Go Gap,’ I say, not at all surprised at how quickly the news has spread around the office – it’s taken less than twenty minutes for Louisa to hear.

  ‘Amazing feeling to see your idea take off, isn’t it?’ she asks in a benevolent tone that I’m not used to hearing from her – not lately, anyway.

  ‘It’s not sunk in yet,’ I admit. ‘Feels quite surreal.’

  ‘Oh, I totally get that,’ she says, pursing her lips and frowning at me. ‘If there’s anything I can do – just let me know. I’m on your team, after all.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, unable to stop a laugh coming out. It’s absurd that I’ve been put in this position of power.

  Louisa smiles at me and squints her eyes in the way I’ve seen her do in her millions of selfies – almost like she’s smouldering at me.

  She wants something from me, I realize.

  ‘Siobhan said Australia might be on the cards.’

  I nod in reply.

  ‘You know my ex lives over there?’

  ‘Ah,’ I say, as the reason for this calculated collision in the toilets falls into place in my mind.

  ‘He moved back a couple of weeks ago. I was devastated,’ she declares with a sigh. ‘Cried. Like, loads.’

  ‘Sorry to hear that …’

  ‘Well, he’s only my ex because of the distance, you know. We knew it just wouldn’t work, so we thought finishing things would be the kindest thing on us both. I still love him so much,’ she says, her puppy dog eyes glazing over with a teary shine. ‘It would be awesome to see him again.’

  ‘I bet,’ I say, realizing this is why she’s talking to me.

  ‘I’d love to be part of the recce team – or over there helping with the show in any way I can. I’m really good with old people, you know.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I manage to say without laughing. Given the fact that she was appalled at my idea initially when she found out it was centred around the elderly, I can’t imagine she actually is. It’s blatantly transparent that she’s just looking for a free flight to Oz so she can have a good pashing session with her ex. ‘I think Brett and me will be okay though. For now,’ I add, not wanting to be unkind – and covering my back in case she does end up coming. No good making enemies. Damn my sensible side – the feisty part just wants to call her out for being a dick. Oh the internal struggle.

  Her face falls instantly over my reluctance to roll out a red carpet and welcome her on the team.

  ‘Really? You’re happy with Brett? He seems a bit of a drip – are you sure he’s going to be up to getting things done.’

  ‘I think so,’ I smile. ‘But you never know – we might all have to go out for filming. Take on an old person each.’

  ‘Fun,’ she says, her cheeks barely able to lift at the thought.

  She turns on her heels and storms out of the loo.

  25

  Despite the disruption of Dan and Lexie’s wedding invites arriving and having emotional blackmail fired at me in the bogs, I end up having a productive day. Age Wise manage to put us in touch with five further possible travellers and a collection of tweets have sent out a flurry of excitement and intrigue, meaning we now have a further ten old people as potentials. On top of that the last half of the afternoon is spent in the boardroom with Real Brett looking through Lonely Planets and Rough Guides – dreaming up the perfect excursion that will make great TV, both visually and emotionally.

  Before we know it, it’s half six and most of the office have left for the evening.

  ‘Wow, is it that late already?’ I ask, looking at my phone.

  ‘Time flies when you’re living in travel books,’ he grins.

  ‘Nice to be thinking about somewhere hot and sunny,’ I agree. ‘We should probably stop for tonight, though. Before we end up staying here all night.’

  ‘Good plan,’ he nods, closing the books and placing them in a neat pile on the shelf behind us.

  ‘Come on, then,’ he says, opening the door for me. We both walk back into the main area of the office and over to our desks.

  ‘What are you doing tonight?’ I ask Real Brett as I grab my colourful scarf and loop it around my neck, throw on my coat and do up the buttons.

  ‘Nothing much. You?’ he asks as he shuts down his computer.

  ‘Nothing either,’ I shrug, popping my moleskin notebook into my bag, happy with the progress we’ve made. I thought it was a great idea to start with – but now it’s fucking epic.

  ‘Oh. No plans,’ he answers, pursing his lips, before looking at me expectantly.

  ‘What?’ I laugh.

  ‘Well, just to give me a heads up here and to save me looking like an absolute twat, again – if I were to hypothetically ask you to maybe accompany me to the pub or to provide me with some company at dinner tonight – just so I’m not eating on my own like a loser, would I be shot down again? Or would I have better odds of a successful and less awkward response this time?’

  ‘Just hypothetically?’ I ask.

  ‘For now,’ he nods, raising his left eyebrow a fraction as he pulls on his dark grey coat and buries his hands in its pockets.

  I can’t help but smile at him for being cute and for not being put off after my appalling response the first time, and the second – heaven loves a trier, as my nan would say.

  ‘I guess it depends what sort of food you were after,’ I shrug. ‘I’m not into anything poncy or formal.’

  ‘Oh, definitely not. I wouldn’t want anything like that,’ he says, scrunching up his face and shaking his head as if the idea of us going somewhere lavish were absurd. ‘I was only thinking Wagamamas …’

  I can’t help but laugh. ‘In that case I would hypothetically be tempted if you were to ask me to join you,’ I smirk. I can never resist a Wagas – even walking past and not going in seems like a trial some days – that chicken katsu curry just calls out to me, demanding I go inside and stuff it into my face as quickly as possible.

  ‘Great,’ he says, nodding thoughtfully, looking around at the rest of the empty room.

  ‘Shall we, then?’ I ask with a grin as I motion towards the door, not bothering to wait for him to offer for the third time.

  ‘Let’s,’ he says with a decisive nod.

  We giggle our way out of the office and along the streets of Soho until we get to Wagamama on Lexington Street.

  ‘Ladies first,’ he says, opening the door when we get to the restaurant.

  ‘Thank you,’ I mutter, walking through and heading down the stairs into the seating area.

  If we were anywhere but the casual setting of Wagamama I’d start having regrets about agreeing to go to dinner as soon as we arrived in any sort of date-like-setting, but thanks to its dining style of long banquet tables (you’re basically sat side-by-side with strangers) it feels less intimidating than it could. Esp
ecially when we’re wedged in between a chaotic family of six and two girls in their early twenties who’ve obviously not seen each other in a while and have a lot to catch up on (‘Did you know Shelley’s been having it off with Johnny’s dad for the last six months?’ ‘What, no way …’). Non-stop noise comes from either side, leaving any quiet moment between the two of us almost unnoticeable.

  Neither of us bothers to turn over our menus, something I can’t help smirking over.

  ‘Not looking?’ I ask.

  ‘Already know what I’m having.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘Katsu?’ he says with an eyebrow raised.

  ‘Standard go-to dish,’ I nod.

  ‘Me too – it feels wrong coming here and having anything else.’

  ‘Couldn’t agree more,’ I laugh – thrilled that he’s not about to go for some healthy option and make me feel uncomfortable about going for a dirty curry. I’ve started to refuse coming here with Natalia for that very reason – she usually opts for a chicken salad and I can’t deal with eating my katsu while feeling guilty. Takes all the fun out of it and makes me feel like a fat beast.

  ‘Oh. My. God – don’t look now but Bryan Cranston is sat to your right,’ he mutters under his breath, while playing with the chopsticks that have been placed on the table.

  ‘Who?’ I ask, recognizing the name but not able to pinpoint where from.

  ‘Breaking Bad’s Walter White …’ he whispers, trying to be inconspicuous while talking out of the side of his mouth. ‘Heisenberg.’

  ‘No way! Seriously?’ I gasp, tensing up and trying to resist whipping my head around to have a good old gawp.

  Carly and I were obsessed with Breaking Bad. The boys banged on about its brilliance for ages and we thought it was going to be laddy and crap so didn’t listen to them or bother watching it – even though they brought round the first series on boxset to tempt us. It sat on the side in our living room, unwatched, for a couple of years. Then one Sunday the only thing worth watching on TV was reruns of MTV’s Catfish or some crappy black and white films, so we decided to give in to the boy’s recommendations and see what all the fuss was about … we watched six episodes that day and whizzed through the rest of the series so that we were finally up-to-date before the finale aired.