Penny Smith - After the Break

‘Yes, I know I did the dirty on Bob first,’ said Katie, taking an accidentally noisy slurp of her tea. ‘He lied to me, though, for months. And that is unforgivable.’

‘To be fair,’ said Dee, ‘you probably wouldn’t have told him about that bloke, Krishnan Casey, if it hadn’t been in the papers.’

‘How on earth can you remember his name?’ asked Katie, impressed.

‘He was very good-looking and I always remember very good-looking men.’

‘Well. Anyway,’ said Katie, ‘the point is, I only kissed him. And kissing someone is not the same as going to bed with them. Not in my book.’

‘But you’d split up. Bob was a single man to all intents and purposes. He thought he could go at it with impunity.’

‘Her name was Clare.’

‘Sorry?’

‘You said he was at it with Impunity’

‘If you don’t want to discuss it, then tell me to shut up. I don’t feel like dealing with your crap punning today.’

‘Oooh,’ sang Katie, lips pursed.

‘No. Really. I’m knackered. Simon’s being a total tit and keeps hunting me down in corridors to tell me I’m shit and that he doesn’t know why I bother. Why can’t they get a different editor? I don’t believe the entire success of Hello Britain! rests on his skinny arse.’

Simon had been one of those responsible for Katie leaving the show. He was a vindictive man with sparse hair and a penchant for weak tea with sugar.

‘Try not to worry too much,’ said Katie, immediately solicitous. ‘He can’t get rid of you, you’re too popular.’

‘You know that’s only as true as my last press cutting,’ Dee responded. ‘The only reason he wouldn’t sack me is because he sacked you. If he got rid of another presenter, it would look bad.’

‘To lose one presenter is unfortunate. To lose two is careless.’

‘Exactly.’ Dee smiled, reaching back to untie her dark hair from the elastic band she had shoved it into for the alleged workout. ‘It’s exhausting. I say something on air, then wait for him to come and tell me how rubbish it was. It’s doing my head in. It’s got to the stage where I start a sentence and then, because I’m worried, I don’t finish it. So it actually is shit. As he says it is.’

They sipped their infusions, contemplating the man they both disliked.

‘Which flavour is this?’ asked Katie.

‘Passionfruit and vanilla, I think. Why?’

‘They all taste the same. Like tangy hot water. They always smell nicer than they are. What’s yours?’

‘Mandarin and grapefruit.’ Dee offered it, and Katie took a sip.

‘Yup. Tastes like mine.’ She put down her own cup, pondering the infidelity question. ‘It’s about honesty. At any stage, Bob could have told me he’d shagged that woman. But he didn’t.’

‘He only lied by omission.’

‘No. He lied. I asked him what he’d got up to while we were in limbo–’

‘Separated,’ corrected Dee.

‘Whatever. And he said he’d missed me–and that’s mostly what he did. Pined. Or some such tosh.’

‘You can miss someone and sleep with someone else, can’t you? To get over it, perhaps?’ asked Dee, raising her eyebrows questioningly.

‘In that case, he should have told me,’ said Katie, emphatically.

‘Maybe he thought you wouldn’t understand. You can be a bit, erm…’

Katie smiled at her friend as she searched for the right word. ‘Yes, I know I can be stroppy. But he should have tried. It was much worse the way he did it. Anyway. It’s all over. For ever,’ she said, standing up and draining her cup.

Dee reached for her bag and sighed. ‘Well, I think it’s a crying shame. You two were brilliant together.’

Katie looked arch. ‘I’ve got a date tonight.’

‘Oh, yes?’ asked Dee, her eyes alight with enquiry.

‘With Matt Damon.’

‘No . Really?’ Dee demanded disbelievingly.

‘No. Not really,’ Katie agreed. ‘The next best thing, though. Adam Williams.’

‘Oh, God, he’s gorgeous,’ said Dee, elongating the word, and trying to zip up her overflowing gym bag.

Adam Williams and Nick Midhurst were co-owners of Wolf Days Productions, the company that had produced Start the Weekend in Dorset.

They were both extraordinarily handsome. If Adam looked like Matt Damon, then Nick bore more than a passing resemblance to Ben Affleck.

‘He’s not only gorgeous, he’s also very nice,’ said Katie, running both hands through her long hair, bringing it forwards over her face and peeping seductively through the strands. ‘And he isn’t a lying toe-rag,’ she added provocatively.

‘Bob isn’t a toe-rag,’ Dee asserted, rising to the bait. And this is all a bit quick, isn’t it? You finish with one, and another pops up before you’ve put the lid on the pen, or whatever the expression is.’

‘Bonnet on the pig?’

‘Whatever. So how did that happen?’

‘He phoned me.’

‘And?’

‘And asked if I was free tonight.’

‘And this was?’

‘This morning.’

‘And you’ve waited until now to tell me?’

‘I was building up to it.’

‘You were toying with me, is what you were.’

‘I admit to a certain amount of toyness,’ said Katie, with a laugh. ‘And now I’m going to spend the rest of the day getting ready. Should I have my legs waxed and my bikini line done?’

‘Absolutely not,’ said Dee, horrified. ‘Go out with your legs like a plucked chicken and walking in a funny way?’

‘I don’t walk in a funny way after my bikini wax.’

‘Well, they aren’t doing it right, then.’

‘How can they do it in the wrong way?’

‘Not taking enough off.’

‘This is not ,’ said Katie, ‘a top-trumps to see how much of a trim one gets. I refuse to have it bald, like some pre-pubescent schoolgirl. I’m an adult, with body hair. One doesn’t have to have an entire bush under which to shelter when it’s raining but one does need a little tidy-round from time to time.’

‘All right,’ said Dee. ‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist. Talking of which, do you have to wear awfully big pants to cover up the, er, hedgerow?’

Katie smiled. ‘Enough already. If I can’t wax, I’ll have to go out as a scary hairy Mary. Which means trousers or a skirt and boots.’

‘Well, while you spend many happy hours pondering your outfit, I’m going home to kip. Oliver and I are off to the cinema tonight.’

Oliver was a proctologist, and a great friend of Katie’s doctor brother Ben, who was now a consultant anaesthetist at a large London hospital.

‘Well, wish me luck, then,’ said Katie, putting on her coat and pushing the chair in towards the table.

‘Good luck–as if you need it.’

Katie was glowing. Her hair was shining, her green eyes glittering with anticipation.

‘How the bloody hell do you look so good, considering your vast age?’ asked Dee.

‘Oi. I’ll have you know that early forties is the new early thirties. And, in all seriousness, not getting up at sparrow’s fart every morning is one of the greatest aids to youth. I’m finally getting my beauty sleep. In fact, the only fly in my ointment is the lack of a job, and therefore a certain restriction on my spending.’

‘Oh, OK,’ said Dee, with exaggeratedly weary acceptance. ‘I’ll stump up for the tea.’ She made a slow move towards the till, shoulders slumped.

‘Cheers,’ said Katie, picking up her sports bag. She caught up with Dee, gave her a kiss on the cheek and left her. As she got to the door, she turned. ‘Give my love to Oliver,’ she called. ‘I’ll ring you tomorrow and give you a blow-by-blow account.’ She made a suggestive face.