Jed. But I couldn’t not. For the last three years since Andrew and I split up I saw him in every square jaw and broad shoulders. Sometimes I’d see him in front of me on the tube escalator and I’d run to catch him up, my feet pounding on the wooden slats, my heart vibrating against my tonsils. And for that heady thumping moment I wouldn’t worry how I’d explain it to you. Or why I was forgiving him. I just wanted to heal myself by resting my eyes upon him. I thought then that the throbbing might go away. But it never was him. It was always someone less. Because everyone is less. Even you.’
How curious.
The audience knows that Andrew doesn’t deserve such devotion, but they are thrilled. Other than Susie’s very deep ugly sobs, you can hear a pin drop.
Tears are streaming down Fi’s face. ‘Aren’t you moved, Cas?’
‘Yes, I’m delighted there isn’t a dry eye in the house. It’s great television. What’s next?’
She hands me a clipboard.’ Interviews for next week’s show.’
I walk towards the interview room, ushering away a few giggling research girls who are cluttering the doorway. ‘What’s up with them?’ I ask Fi.
‘Haven’t you heard? Your thinking man, he’s a Greek god.’
‘Not very tall, then, and with several heads?’ I quip. But my sarcasm is whipped out of me as I open the door and see Darren. I can understand why Marcus is insecure. I met Marcus this morning. He is fine. He is bright enough, more interesting than most, average-looking and extremely wealthy. He obviously adores Claire. Claire realizes this is not a bad deal and I figure she adores him back. However, besides my personal belief that everyone will have an affair given the opportunity, Darren is breathtaking.
He’s tall, about six foot two, with long, gypsy hair touching his chin. I don’t normally go for long hair. Because, more often than not, it is accessorized with an entirely denim wardrobe and a Meatloaf album collection. But, right now, all I want to do is lose my fingers in his locks. More, I want to lose him in my Conran bâteau wooden bed. He has wide shoulders that taper to slim hips and the cutest bum. He is wearing a pale grey sweater and some old Levis. Just the right amount of effort, without suggesting he is conceited. His eyes are huge, deep brown and framed with the most stunning Bambi lashes. And best of all is his smile. He has the cheekiest smile that provokes his entire face. His eyes, his cheeks, his laugh lines.
He’s a babe.
For a moment I am at a complete loss. I don’t know what to say, what to do or how to stand. I am absolutely dispossessed of common sense, thirty-three years of precedent, or even a simple grasp at etiquette. I can no more think of the correct words than I could bungy jump from… God I can’t even think where people bungy jump. My mind is blank. He smiles and I think I can hear music, which is such a cliché that I’m ready to shoot myself. My nipples are getting hard, which I think is a filthy betrayal. Can he tell? I’m literally salivating. Get a fucking grip, I instruct myself.
‘Jocasta Perry,’ I say in a confident, don’t-think-I’m-going-to-be – impressed-by-your – stunning – good-looks-I’m-impenetrable voice. It’s entirely fictional.
‘Jocasta, how Oedipal.’ He smiles, taking my hand and shaking it very firmly. I’m amazed not at the firmness of the handshake but at the reference. ‘Jocasta or Ca—’
‘Cas,’ I confirm. Is this man psychic?
‘Darren Smith.’
‘Yes, I know.’ I indicate the clipboard, which has all his personal details. Telephone number, address, date of birth. I wonder if we should start including some more intimate questions in the briefing session. Like favourite sexual position, which side of the bed he sleeps on. Mentally I pinch myself. He’s just a man. I quickly draw attention to his short-comings. We both need to be aware of them.
‘Daz or Dazza?’ I smile icily.
‘Darren,’ he confirms without the slightest hint that he’s taken offence. I wonder if he realizes that I am trying to be rude. He doesn’t seem stupid. He grins at me. Exposing a row of teeth which the Osmonds would be proud of. How can anyone be this gorgeous?
‘Well, Darren, to business.’ I sit next to him and accidentally bang my knee against his. His touch blisters through my Joseph trousers. I actually flinch. Shaking, I reach for a