Famous Last, page 25
“Not that you need to worry. Now that you’re finally moving on from Blackmore,” said Blake, grabbing Spencer’s attention.
“Who told you?” asked Spencer, wondering who had betrayed his trust. The last thing he needed was to have Blake bleating to his mother before he’d had a chance to speak to her.
“I have my sources. And don’t worry, I’ve not breathed a word to my mother, or Ms Salvatore over there. Or anyone else, come to that. Your secret’s safe. Killian’s husband, who is a good friend of mine, told me. I’m the one who got Killian onboard to write the column for Collective. Not sure how much you know about him, but although he’s a naturally gifted, eloquent vlogger, he’s not only mildly dyslexic, but his eyesight’s failing. Cameron, his better half, who works as an editor for Tandem House publishers, helps ghostwrite his column. Cameron is the one who reads aloud your comments and suggested edits to Killian. They both adore you, by the way and, without my approval, Cameron went behind my back and recommended you to Ed Coleman at the Herald, the one who told me after the deed that you were wasted at Blackmore.”
Spencer nodded slowly. Killian’s partner, someone Spencer had never met, had seen enough in his work to recommend him to Ed. The thought left him feeling stunned but grateful for the good people in the world.
“In the meantime,” continued Blake, pushing away from the wall, “I need a refill. I won’t offer you one, because I imagine you need to get back to your nutjobs.”
“Are we going to see you in the office tomorrow?”
“Mother asked the same thing. She’ll be in. Offered me a lift. “
“And?”
“Maybe,” said Blake, his back to Spencer. “Maybe not.”
Perhaps he should despise Blake more, but all he could feel at that moment, watching him stumble unsteadily away, was pity. Spencer returned to his group, where he noted Nile several feet away ordering drinks and chatting to a bartender at the bar. Prince sat almost sullenly by Bev’s side while she spoke to someone standing over them, a stranger who had his back to Spencer. Only as he got closer did he recognise the profile of Joey Hollingbroke. Prince’s eyes landed on Spencer and widened, and he shook his head slightly. Joey, who had clearly noticed, turned around at that moment, an unpleasant smirk on his face.
“Here he is,” said Joey, giving Spencer a dismissive once-over. “The man of the moment. Your ears must be burning.”
“Joey,” said Spencer, deciding he would not be intimidated. “To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?”
“Saw you over here earlier. Thought you’d like me to come over and say hello.”
“Hollingbroke’s been telling us all about himself,” said Prince, the disdain in his voice plain. “Even though we didn’t ask. He seems to have a very high opinion of himself.”
Of course, thought Spencer. Bev would have told Prince all about Joey’s stunt at the Bangladeshi restaurant and shown him the freebie newspaper’s news article about him. Prince would be firmly in Spencer’s corner.
“Prince, behave,” said Bev, smiling and nudging him, before addressing Joey. “Sorry. My boyfriend never watched your old show, not even the re-runs.”
Joey appeared happy to dismiss Bev and Prince and turned his full attention to Spencer.
“How are things going with my Marshall?”
Spencer wanted to tell him that not only was it was none of his business, but Marshall was not his. Prince would have probably done precisely that. Bev even rolled her eyes. Spencer would not give Joey the satisfaction of reacting.
“Things are going extremely well.”
“In which case, why is he not here?”
“He has an overseas assignment. We’ll see each other Saturday when he gets back.”
Joey’s gaze hardened. Something in Spencer’s last statement had ruffled his feathers, maybe because he was no longer in the loop on Marshall’s life and whereabouts.
“I’d watch your back if I were you, mate. Associating with someone like him.”
A little voice in Spencer’s head wanted to tell Joey not to call him his mate.
“This should be good,” said Prince, folding his arms. “Why does my friend need to watch his back around a national treasure like Marshall Highlander?”
“I bet Marshall never told you,” said Joey, his attention still on Spencer. “He has a price on his head? You want to be careful you don’t end up being collateral damage.”
“What?” said Prince, followed by a barked laugh.
“Of course he told me, Joe,” said Spencer, straight-faced, deciding not to let Joey get to him. “Along with the traumatising story about his alien abduction, and the time he was almost run over by the ghost of John Wayne on a Harley-Davidson.”
Prince tilted his head back and laughed loudly again, this time making Bev and those sitting at nearby tables laugh along, much to Joey’s irritation.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” said an unsmiling Joey. “Why don’t you ask that useless bitch Darcy if you don’t believe me? Marshall has interviewed a number of dodgy personalities during his career, including businessman Roberto Fiorelli, back in 2018, who was alleged to be associated with the mafia and supplying drugs to various European nations. Marshall did his usual job of putting the man on the spot, and stupidly backed him into a corner on live television. Afterwards Fiorelli went apeshit and, if rumours are true, threatened to put a hit out on Marshall. You should be careful getting into any cars with him, or being seen out anywhere in public. Otherwise, as I say, you might end up being caught in the crossfire.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“Really? You don’t come across as a toughie. The bow tie and specs don’t exactly scream street smarts.”
“Like you, you mean?” said Prince. “Someone who’s spent his whole life pretending to be other people? You wouldn’t know street smarts if they bit you on the arse.”
Spencer noticed Bev pull her glass to her mouth, trying to suppress a laugh, something Joey noticed too and that irritated him even more. Once again he attempted to ignore them and keep his attention fixed on Spencer.
“Don’t say you haven’t been warned—”
Joey had been about to step into Spencer’s space, but Prince sprang up from the table in between them and almost snarled.
“Why don’t you fuck off and play with the traffic, has-been.”
“Prince!” said Bev, grabbing Prince’s arm, shocked but grinning. The words had been enough, though. Joey backed off slowly before turning and heading into the crowded bar.
Spencer had noticed Nile remaining a few feet away, his eyes glued on them, eavesdropping on their conversation. As soon as Joey left, he moved back, handed out drinks and took his seat.
“That guy is such an asshole,” said Prince, shaking his head as he glowered at Joey heading off. “Sorry, team, this has to be the last one. Enough excitement for one afternoon. I’m ready to drive back to civilisation.”
“That was Joey Hollingbroke? Aka Donkey?” said Nile, also watching him go. “False advertising, by all accounts. Rumour has it he’s hung like a squirrel. No offence, Spence.”
Bev finally burst into fits of giggles she had clearly been holding in. No doubt the alcohol helped, but she seemed to be enjoying the show.
“None taken,” said Spencer, grinning at Nile. “How did that nickname come about, anyway? I never watched the series.”
“Waterloo Lane?” said Bev, getting herself under control. “They had him kitted out in a donkey jacket no matter the weather. In the beginning they wrote him as a simpleminded lad, shouted at by his dad, pushed around by his brothers. Audiences really sympathised and grew to love him—well, the character. And eventually he got to shine with his own monologues. I almost hate to say it, but he wasn’t half bad back in the day.”
“Now let me get this right, honey,” said Nile, his hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “Because this is just too delicious not to pass comment on. In one afternoon, you’ve faced off with the entitled prick, Blake—yes, I saw you outside the loo. And now you’ve been confronted by Donkey, who is your new man’s ex?”
“That’s about it, yes.”
“And they’re both dickheads?”
“That is something I can now definitely verify,” chipped in Prince.
“Spence, honey, you do know some interesting people, don’t you?”
“Strictly speaking, I don’t really know Joey,” said Spencer, grinning at the gentle ribbing. “But I know what you mean. In my defence, though, I think I’m doing a lot better lately, don’t you? In my choice of friends?”
“If you mean us, then hell yes,” said Prince.
“Fuck, yeah,” said Nile, at the same time.
“Come on,” said Prince, finishing his cola. “If you want the designated driver to give you a lift home, drink up while I head to the john.”
“In which case, we’ll both meet you all out front,” said Nile. “I also need to use the designer washroom one last time before we head off.”
Outside in the car park, Bev and Spencer stood huddled together. Initially the chill evening air provided a refreshing contrast to the bar’s muggy warmth, the wind whipping around their legs and promising a night of frost. But in very little time, coldness began to seep into Spencer’s bones.
Even after meeting Blake then Joey, Spencer felt in an upbeat mood, the drinks and aimless chatter having relaxed and warmed him through. Before entering the bar, he had texted Marshall to let him know his plan. When he checked now, he had received a simple soundbite in response, requesting he enjoy himself and behave. Somewhat cryptically, Marshall had also quipped about them needing to sit down once he got back and have a chat about a brilliant idea he’d had. His tone sounded upbeat and endearing, nothing to worry about. Spencer thought about calling him once Prince had dropped him back at the Tube station, but realised with the time zone difference, that Marshall would likely be sleeping.
“Thanks for the invite,” said Spencer, nudging Bev’s shoulder, after noticing her look back at the bar doorway. “I was going to head home for a night in with Tiger. Even with the unscheduled entertainment, I’m so pleased I came out to play with you guys.”
“That Joey Hollingbroke truly is a piece of work, isn’t he?” she said, with a scowl. “Thinks he’s God’s gift. I honestly thought Prince was going to lose his temper at one point. What on earth did Marshall see in him?”
“It’s a long story best told by Marshall. But let’s just say he’s a friend of the family.”
“Okay, I’ll take your word for that. At least Marshall’s come to his senses now.”
“I think we both lucked out there, Bev. Like you and Prince.”
“Yes, he’s amazing, you know. We’re going to miss having you around at work.”
Spencer remembered something that Blake had said.
“And on that note, Muriel’s coming into the office tomorrow. Looks like Thursday might be D-Day.”
“Well, if you need a coffee afterwards, you know where to find me,” said Bev, before staring past Spencer and looking relieved. “Oh, here they are. Finally.”
Spencer turned to see Nile and Prince strolling towards them together, a conspiratorial smirk on each of their faces. Funnily enough, the way they moved and grinned, Spencer could see the family resemblance as clear as day.
“Where on earth have you two been?” said Bev, stamping her feet in the tarmac of the car park. “We were about to send in a search party.”
“Sorry, boys and girls,” said Nile. “My fault. Your Auntie Nile has just been doing a little bit of troublemaking, otherwise known as matchmaking. Don’t know about you, but I noticed Blake looked a little lonely, and thought that he and Joey would make the perfect match. So I went over and hooked them up.”
“You did not!” said Spencer, his mouth falling open.
“He bloody did,” said Prince, impressed and chuckling. “As we left, I peered down the bar and saw the two of them chatting together.”
“A match made in hell,” said Nile.
“Nile, darling,” said Bev, kissing him on the cheek, “you are officially a legend.”
“And don’t you forget it. Today’s lesson, people, is that you do not ever mess with my friends. Let’s go.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Spencer sat at his desk, staring at his email inbox, picking at small items of work to keep him occupied and psyching himself up for his meeting with Muriel. He knew he ought to be feeling something akin to relief, but anxiousness weighed on the pit of his stomach like too much pepperoni pizza.
The night before, he’d signed and posted the employment contract back to the Herald recruitment team. That very morning he had brought a copy of the agreement into work with him, together with the covering offer letter. As soon as he had logged on, he had written, printed, and signed a resignation letter ready to hand to Muriel. The good-luck soundbite he had picked up from Marshall—Spencer had naturally texted him about his impending meeting with Muriel—telling him to be brave, then going into lurid detail about how he planned to reward him on his return, had made Spencer smile all the way to the station. By nine o’clock, he’d had everything ready to go, but he had to hang around until he heard from the woman herself.
Clicking through news channels to pass the time, he came upon a site showing preparations for the presidential inauguration in Kryszytonia. The whole square in front of the parliament building had been sectioned off. Three banks of empty seats around rows of seating on the ground faced the stage where the new president would be sworn in. Regimented rows of the national flag in blue, gold and ochre hung at regular intervals. Another site showed an ornate hall in the presidential palace where the formal dinner would be held, with an impressively long table of silverware, crystal glasses and elaborate flower arrangements in the national colours, the event catering for at least a sixty.
Right then, Spencer’s desk phone rang.
“Morning, Spencer,” came Alice’s voice. “Muriel asked me to call you about your ten o’clock appointment. She wants to know if it’s urgent. Told me to tell you she’s extremely busy today. Between you and me, Spencer, I believe she thinks you want to see her about the staff Christmas party.”
“It’s not about that, Alice. This is about me?”
“I see. And—um—anything you can share?”
“Not really. This matter is personal and a little delicate, if you know what I mean?”
“Of course. Yes. No, I see. Sorry, you know what she’s like. Asked me to try and find out before you got here. And she’s in one of those moods this morning, I’m afraid. Okay, sorry, I’ll let her know. Come over just before ten.”
Almost exactly a month to the day, Spencer found himself once again seated opposite Muriel, in the chair that sank lower as he sat there. On the last occasion, he had been hoodwinked into taking on Clarissa’s responsibilities. Digging his fingernails into the fleshy part of his thighs above each knee, he made sure he would stay focused this time.
“Can we make this quick, Spencer?” said Muriel, snapping down the lid of her laptop. “I’ve a lot on my plate today and I need to get cracking.”
Spencer smiled, settled back and decided to wade in gently.
“The client party went rather well, don’t you think? I know it was only last Friday, but I’ve already heard a lot of positive noises from clients. Particularly about the interview with you and Lord Moresby.”
Muriel appeared to relax. No doubt she had heard many good things, but Spencer figured that dishing out a few compliments of his own couldn’t do any harm and might even soften the news of his resignation.
“Have you?” she replied, looking out of the window. “That’s good to hear. Yes, I’ve had some lovely messages. I was extremely pleased with the outcome, considering everything. Ms Salvatore did a sterling job. As did Prince, given the amount of time they had to bring everything together.”
Spencer didn’t expect to get any credit from Muriel but thought someone else ought to.
“Marshall Highlander recommended the company, you know? VIP? Don’t you think his involvement not only helped to save the day but took the event to a whole new level?”
Muriel’s gaze swung back then. In true Muriel style, she straightened up, pursed her lips and folded her arms.
“Mr Highlander did a very competent job. Apart from asking a few unscheduled and frankly inappropriate questions. Now what is it you wanted, Spencer?”
The moment of truth. He pulled the offer sheet from his inside jacket pocket and passed the paper across the desk. Muriel hesitated a moment before scooping up the letter and reading the contents.
“I’m here to hand in my resignation, Muriel. The National Herald has offered me a position at their newspaper. Starting as an assistant reporter.”
“I see,” she said in her usual haughty, waspish way. Without looking at him, she continued to read the letter. “And you consider this a good career move, do you? Why on earth would you want to jump into the lion’s den with these people?”
“Because that’s where my passion lies. And where I feel my talents might be recognised and appreciated.”
“They will eat you alive,” she said, passing the letter back across the desk to him. “Well, if that’s your decision, so be it. But I’m afraid you’re going to have to work out the full three months’ notice—”
“One month.”
Finally he managed to get her attention. She glowered at him as though he had just slapped her across the face.
“I beg your pardon?”
“My notice period is one month.”
“I think you’ll find you’re mistaken. The senior editing manager role carries a notice period of—”
