Eve. I reminded her that he never called. ‘So why are you going to Whitby, if you think it’s going to be so dour?’
‘I explained, Issie, I have to get him to agree to be on the show. It’s a matter of professional and personal pride.’
‘Nothing more than pride?’ I’ve been asking myself exactly the same thing all night.
‘I’ve explained, he’d make a great show. He’d silence our few lingering critics.’
‘Nothing more than a great show?’ asked Issie. She didn’t sound as though she believed me. I admit Darren is interesting and funny and ridiculously fanciable. I admit that if Issie were choosing to travel halfway across the globe to visit some guy’s family I’d think it was because she’d fallen for him. But the same can’t be said of me, can it? I’m only doing this for the good of TV6.
‘What else is there?’ I asked, slipping my Manolo Blahnik lilac open-toe shoes into my bag. I would have been extremely grateful if Issie could have answered me; however, she just scowled.
‘It doesn’t sound like you have the faintest chance of getting him to change his mind.’
‘I don’t know, I might have. After all, he agreed to let me shadow him.’
‘Yes, I wonder why he did that. Does he fancy you? I expect he does.’
‘More likely wants the opportunity to save my soul.’
‘Oh lord. His chances are poorer than yours,’ laughed Issie as she walked me to my waiting cab.
Yes, Issie was extremely irritating all round.
*
‘I’ve bought your ticket. Come on, the train is in. Platform Three – we have to run,’ urges Darren.
Despite the fact that we are travelling zillions of miles to (practically) Scotland, the timetable tells me that we will arrive in Darlington in two and a half hours’ time. I’m incredulous, but Darren explains it’s the electric line. I’m still incredulous. What about the obligatory leaves on the track and the right and wrong types of snow? My heart plummets. Even if by some miracle the train does arrive on time, two and a half hours is going to seem like ten and a half. What will I say to Darren? It was OK chatting in the restaurant last night, but I’d had a shedload to drink. But now, in the cold light of day, I’m beginning to regret volunteering to shadow him. I know my chances of persuading Darren to appear on Sex with an Ex are slim. I could be on a wild goose chase! What will I do with myself outside London? How will the studio manage without me? Will Bale buy my reasoning for shadowing Darren? Besides all this, sitting on a train with a moralistic do-gooder is not my idea of fun. Even a devilishly attractive one.
The train journey is awesome.
Besides buying the ticket, Darren also had the foresight to buy up half the magazines and sweets in WH Smith’s. I can’t remember the last time anyone bought me sweets. Big fancy boxes of chocolates, yes, I get those by the dozen. I just pass them on to my mum. She eats some and gives the other boxes to local geriatrics (cellulite not being a major concern of theirs). But Darren hasn’t bought me chocolates in a box. Instead he’s bought the sweets of our childhoods: Jelly Babies, Liquorice Allsorts, Flying Saucers and Sherbet Dib-dabs. Undoubtedly I’ll feel sick by the time the journey is over. Even so, it’s a good call. Instead of the slow and stilted conversation I feared, we have an unlimited avenue in discussing childhood. What were your favourite sweets as a kid? (He remembers Spangles, Space Dust and Cream Soda, he agrees that Snickers definitely used to be bigger and anyway they were Marathons.) What was the first book you read? (Neither of us is sure but, satisfyingly, he’s clearer on his TV viewing habits; he recalls every episode of Mr Ben and swears his sister looked the image of the girl who sat with the clown when there was nothing on TV.) So what was your favourite TV programme? (We agree Mark from EastEnders will always be Tucker from Grange Hill.) When did you learn to swim? (He learned after seeing the advert with the fairy godmother. I learned after seeing Jaws.) And whilst I remember all this I completely forget to uphold my icy reserve. Trivia, but this and reading magazines together mean that the journey to Darlington flies past.
Reluctantly I acquiesce: he does a great line in small talk.