Pride, Prejudice and Jasmine Field

Chapter 14

Jazz got into work early on Monday morning. She had woken up at six and after twenty minutes of lying in her bed, fast awake, decided she couldn't get back to sleep. The thought of bumping into Gilbert in the hall again had actually invaded her dreams and roused her before the alarm went off. When she got there, she had only been slightly surprised to find Mark already there, tapping away furiously at his computer. She knew he was hungry, but hadn't realised how hungry. Another one on his way to the tabloids. Alison the secretary had put the coffee on and was already replying to readers' letters, while humming a Tammy Wynette number. Two years previously, when Jazz had started at Hoorah! she had been horrified to discover that Alison was only three years older than her. It was enough to make her want to cry. Alison wore little knitted cardis and put her long hair in a bun. Her stockings were never laddered and her eyeshadow was always blue.

“Good weekend?” Mark asked Jazz before she'd even taken her coat off.

“Oh, you know,” said Jazz, pouring herself a coffee. “Shite.”

She sensed Alison bristle in the corner. Tammy Wynette took a pause.

“Mine was amazing,” said Mark, leaning back from the desk and stretching out as if yawning. Jazz noticed he always did this when he was trying to hide the fact that he was feeling self-conscious. She cupped her coffee and watched him do his act.

“Got laid,” he smiled, and stopped suddenly when he realised he was starting to blush.

He looked at Jazz for a reaction. Jazz looked back at him for signs of a brain. Eventually, they both looked away, feeling lonely. Mark started typing again. God, he wished he worked at Loaded.

Jazz closed her eyes and started taking slow sips of her coffee. Suddenly, a voice interrupted her messy thoughts.

“Jasmin?”

Jazz opened her eyes to find Paul, the Art Editor, standing so near to her, he was actually blowing on her coffee. How did he always do that? She checked his feet for wheels.

“Hi,” she smiled, taking a small step back. Coffee was always better hot. And without an Art Editor's saliva in it.

“How's it going?” He cocked a lazy smile at her. He was feeling good today. He was wearing a new taupe shirt.

God help me, thought Jazz. One day I'm going to kill him.

“It's your My Breast Enlargements Didn't Work! piece. Um . . .”

Ah yes, my finest hour, thought Jazz. She raised her eyebrows encouragingly.

“Agatha wants to add a column of copy, so I'm afraid you're going to have to cut five hundred words.”

“OK,” she said. She didn't bother asking what the column was. She'd find out soon enough.

“I've got a purple head this week.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“A purple headline. Well, mauve actually.”

“Good.”

“Make a bit of a change. Wake the readers up.”

“Mm.”

“You know me, I like my colour.”

“Mm.”

“And if the head brings them in, they'll read your brilliant words.”

Jazz smiled weakly.

“Right,” said Paul, and then vanished as quietly as he had come in. Jazz looked at Mark and Alison to see if they'd also seen him. They didn't seem to have.

Half an hour later, Maddie, their boss, came in.

“Hi guys!” she said. “Good weekends?”

Mark sighed loudly. “Well, if getting laid counts in this creche of a features department, then yes, I had a good weekend.”

Maddie looked at him in surprise. “How lovely,” she said in a strained voice. “I went to IKEA. It was marvellous.”

It didn't happen often, but when Maddie was annoyed, you knew it. Her rosy red lips pursed together and she frowned very determinedly. Jazz was always surprised at how much Maddie hated it when anyone got too personal in the office.

“Jazz, can you come into the Editor's office, please?” The Editor's secretary bobbed up over the partition.

Jazz looked at Maddie questioningly but Maddie just shrugged. Jazz knocked on the Editor's door.

“Come in!”

Jazz always wondered what it was about the Editor's office that made her so nervous. Maybe it was the hundreds of vapidly smiling faces on the magazine covers spread all over the wall that made her feel ugly. Or depressed. Or invisible. Or something.

“Sit down Jasmin, we have some very nice news,” smiled Agatha.

Jazz sat down.

“You will be delighted to learn that your column has been shortlisted for the Columnist Personality of the Year Award,” announced Agatha. “We're all very proud.”

Jazz frowned. “Columnist Personality of the Year? I've never heard of that.”

“It's a new award, sponsored by the Evening Herald. Would you like to hear what they say about your column?”

The Evening Herald was massive and its assessment of Jazz was nattering. But she was confused.

“I didn't even know I'd been put forward for it,” she said.

“Well, I didn't want you to be upset if you weren't shortlisted,” said Agatha. “But you have been — so well done!”

“But I'm not a personality.”

Agatha smiled her fresh, immaculate smile. “No, but Josie - the character -who's your sister in it - is hugely popular,” she said, picking up the readers' survey. “It appears Josie is our readers' all-time favourite part of the magazine. Seventy-five per cent of the readers want to know about her happy, uncomplicated, family-based life. That's more than any other page, even cookery. Josie fits in with our readers' idea of the young, modern mother. She's got it all. Husband, sisters, parents, child, work, sex and happiness. She is the epitome of what our readers aspire to. In fact,” said Agatha suddenly, scribbling something illegible down on a scrap of paper, “we might make it her diary,” - as if Josie was a features idea that had come out of her head instead of Jazz's very real kid sister.

“No, I think we'll stick with it being by you,” Agatha argued with herself, “but we'd like a bit more of Josie in the column. Married life, the baby — are any more on the way? Her relationship with her mother, Martha.” Agatha laughed at a memory. “Martha's a wonderful character, by the way. Wonderful.” She continued with her list. Josie's lovely husband. What it's like to be her unmarried, slightly unhinged older sister. That kind of thing.”

Jazz smiled weakly at her boss.

Suddenly Agatha had an idea.

“Josie's Choice!” she yelled, her eyes sparkling. “That's what we'll call it! Perfect! We're always on about women not being able to have it all and here's one who has made her choice! Home-maker, wife, mother! I love it!” She smiled at Jazz, ignoring her horrified expression.

It had hardly been a choice, Jazz wanted to say. Michael had only been able to get two days' paternity leave, so Ben never got a chance to bond with him as a baby. So right from the start, Josie had been the only one who could stop him crying at night. She'd been getting two hours' stressful sleep a night at the same time as trying to prove herself a serious employee at the large international firm where she was a lowly auditor. After six months of hell, feeling she was doing neither job well, and wracked with guilt at leaving her new baby with an exhausted Martha or with extortionately paid young women who didn't seem to love Ben like she did, it finally all got too much for Josie. She had given up her job. The job for which she had spent more than three years training. The job she had won after revising non-stop for what seemed like years.

The job that meant she could buy her own clothes, her own holidays and her own food. The job she loved. Some choice, thought Jazz.

“The awards are next month,” continued Agatha, standing up and starting to pace with excitement. “So go out and buy your little black dress now! And make it a sexy one, because the awards are being televised. Well done, you deserve it. Oh, by the way, there is one tiny weeny stipulation.”

Oh dear. Agatha's tiny weeny stipulations included changing entire features minutes before going to press.

“Nothing serious,” she continued. “You'll have to do an itsy bitsy interview for the Herald. You know, Bright Young Thing on Her Way to the Top, that kind of thing. Just don't say anything stupid, dangerous or libellous, there's a good girl. Be careful - you know what journalists are like.”

Agatha looked at her watch, which meant Jazz was dismissed. Jazz thanked her boss and walked back to her desk, numbed.

“That's amazing!” said Maddie. “Well done, darling.” She hugged her. “Now all you have to do is that wretched feature I told you about - phone that woman whose sister tried to shoot her - and then you can celebrate.”

Jazz moaned. “What do I do if she's changed her mind about talking to us?” The last time she had spoken to the woman, she sounded petrified.

Maddie looked at her as if the answer was obvious.

“You tell her not to worry. And we'll send her the number of Victim Support, all the charities for depression and an update on the stalking laws. We're not hacks here,” she said snootily, before adding quietly, “Well, we weren't.”

It was the first time Maddie had ever openly betrayed her feelings about the new regime. She was fiercely loyal to her Editor, but Jazz had always known the new Hoorah! was as little Maddie as it was her.

Mark snorted very loudly, muttered something about the lunatics taking over the asylum and then left the room in disgust. Jazz knew better than to expect him to run over and congratulate her, but even she was a little hurt by him this time. She noticed that whenever Maddie praised her, he couldn't take it. Maddie chose to ignore him. Instead, she asked Jazz why she wasn't bouncing on her chair in delight.

“It wasn't meant to be about Josie, it was meant to be about me,” said Jazz in a small voice.

“Honeybun, if you win this, you'll be on the tabloids in no time and we can become drinking buddies instead of colleagues,” said Maddie kindly.

Jazz gave a small smile and wished that Mo would send her an e-mail.

“I'm the perfect woman?” snorted Josie. “Do they know I have piles?”

“I must have forgotten to mention it,” said Jazz.

Ben started wailing at the top of his lungs.

“I have to go and wipe my son's bottom,” said Josie. “Put that in your magazine.”

“It's not really our market,” said Jazz into an empty receiver.

Jazz dreaded going home now. She knew that even midweek, Mo would either be out at the gym or worse still in with Gilbert. She put the key in the lock and was pleased to find the door locked. She made herself a pasta dinner and was just about to sit down to watch Emmerdale when the door opened. Shit.

“Hiya!” bellowed Mo, as she rushed up the stairs.

“Friend or foe?” bellowed Jazz back.

“Ha ha, very funny,” said Mo, taking her coat off as she came into the lounge.

“Have you chucked Lizard Man?”

“Why would I chuck someone who makes me happy?” asked Mo angrily.

“For me?” said Jazz innocently.

Mo sighed and looked pointedly at Jazz. Jazz took the point.

“So are you home tonight then or are you off to spend the night at his place?”

“I'm home.”

Jazz felt happy like she hadn't in days.

“Can we have chocolate?” she asked like a child would ask its mother.

“I've got to go to the gym,” said Mo sadly. “I haven't been for ages. I've put on loads of weight.”

Jazz could only see the thinnest Mo she'd ever seen. She said nothing.

It worked. Mo grinned at her. “But sod that for a laugh,” she said and rushed to the fridge to get the Giant Galaxy bar.

They watched an evening of crappy TV together and ate chocolate till they felt sick. But somehow it wasn't special like it used to be. Jazz knew Mo's heart wasn't in it and yet at the same time, she noticed that Mo ate much more than usual.

“You know I dreamt of you last night,” said Jazz slowly. “I kept calling out your name but you couldn't hear me. It was horrid.”

Mo was very interested. “Did I look fat?”

Jazz stared at her old friend. “I'm not answering that, Mo.”

Mo took another bite of chocolate. Her very, very last.

When she was in bed, Jazz managed to pinpoint what it was that had spoilt an otherwise perfect evening. She had felt as though Gilbert was with them the whole time. Shit, she thought as she drifted off to sleep. Thank God she hadn't based her column on her best friend.