Page 54 of Wish You Were Here
‘You never know,’ I say, and then I walk outside, and I feel like crying at the thought of Christmas without Lou, but I can’t because I’m at work. All I want to do is talk with Ben and hear his voice because then I know that everything will be okay. I can’t FaceTime because it’s the middle of the night in London, and so I send him a message instead.
Thinking of you. Weird day. FaceTime soon? S x
23
Ben
Simon and Abigail have made a real effort with the flat. They have bought a mountain of food, the fridge is stocked full of alcohol, and it seems the video viewing party is a big deal. It’s strange because Simon has made plenty of videos over the last eight years but has never had a viewing party before. Usually, he just sends me a link or casually mentions it in passing. He said this one is important, ground-breaking and maybe the start of something bigger. He’s been working with a YouTuber called Maddie Scott, and she’s the presenter of the video, while Simon is the creative director, editor and producer. The thing is, he explained, Maddie has more than two million subscribers on YouTube and many more followers on social media, so she’s a big deal in the influencer sphere. He says that together they want to create a series of videos showcasing London’s finest food and drink, which should generate plenty of income, while also giving them the opportunity to wine and dine at some of London’s finest restaurants and pubs. Unfortunately, Maddie can’t make it for the viewing party because she’s shooting in Ireland.
‘Can you help with the plates?’ says Abigail from the kitchen. They have set up a table in the living room with a buffet of delicious canapes.
‘Of course,’ I say, and she starts handing me plates. ‘You know this is about his hundredth video and the first party. I can’t help but think that you’re behind it.’
‘Pish,’ says Abigail.
‘Pish? Why pish?’
‘This has nothing to do with me, Ben. I’m just the lackey in charge of food and beverages.’
‘So, you’re his catering manager now?’
‘Something like that,’ says Abigail, as Simon comes wandering in, still dressed in his casual clothes, while Abigail is already in a stunning dress. We were told to dress up for the occasion, and I am in a smart shirt and trousers.
‘Something like what?’ says Simon.
‘Abs is now your catering manager,’ I say.
‘The best bloody catering manager in the world!’ says Simon. ‘This food isn’t rubbish. It’s allMarks and Spencer. Right, I have to get everything set up before everyone arrives.’
Simon walks off into the living and starts doing something on his laptop, while I help Abigail with the plates. Jemma will be here soon, and I am worried about breaking the Saskia news. When I woke up this morning, there was a message from Saskia that said she was thinking about me and was having a weird day. The thing is, Jemma was in bed next to me, and all I could think was, if she had read that message without context, she would probably have imagined the worst. The question is, am I cheating on her? I know I am not physically cheating on her – ten-thousand miles confirms this to be true – but am I an emotional adulterer? Is that the same? Worse? Better? Saskia and I are definitely involved with each other in some capacity, and Jemma deserves to know the truth, but I don’t know how to tell her. I also haven’t responded to Saskia because I’m not sure what to say to her either. My head is a mess.
After Simon gets everything set up in the living room, he wanders off to get himself all dolled up, while I help Abigail bring all the food into the living room. Simon was right. All the food looks incredible, and Abigail has done a brilliant job. Obviously, her career in the media has prepared her for the party planning game. As we bring in the last of the food, I have to get her take on my conundrum.
‘Abs, can I ask you something?’
‘Is it about the sandwiches? I did question myself over the egg and cress.’
‘No, it’s not about the sandwiches, it’s about me and Saskia.’
‘Your Australian “friend”,’ says Abigail, putting “friend” in air quotes.
‘You see, that’s the problem. I don’t really know how to describe my relationship with Saskia, and yet I need to tell Jemma about her, but what do I say? What do I call her?’
‘That is quite a conundrum. Fancy a beer while I think about my answer?’
‘Go on then,’ I say, and we walk into the kitchen. Abigail gets two bottles of beer from the fridge, and she passes one to me.
‘So, the problem is that you don’t know how to define your relationship with Saskia, but you need to tell Jemma about her before she finds out and presumes something dodgy is going on?’
‘Exactly,’ I reply, taking a sip of beer. Is alcohol the answer to the problem? Probably not, but you never know. Abigail takes a moment before she answers.
‘It’s clear what needs to happen, Ben. You need to sit Jemma down and explain everything. Be open, honest and tell her the truth.’
‘If you remember, Abs, the last girlfriend I was completely open and honest with hunted me down at an Italian restaurant in Fitzrovia with a ball of burrata.’
‘Yes, but that was psycho Saffy. This is Jemma, and she is lovely. I’m sure if you explain everything in a calm, clear manner, she will understand.’
‘Would you?’
