“I knew it wouldn’t work!”
“It might have done!” says Suze defensively.
“It should be four digits, anyway,” I say, having a sudden flash of memory. “I had to phone up and register it… and I was standing in the kitchen… and… yes! Yes! I’d just got my new Karen Millen shoes, and I was looking at the price tag… and that was the number I used!”
“How much were they?” says Suze in excitement.
“They were… ?120 reduced to… to ?84.99!”
“Punch it in! 8499!”
Excitedly I punch in 8499—and to my disbelief, the voice says, “Thank you! You are through to the Endwich Banking Corporation. Endwich — because we care. For debt control, press one. For mortgage arrears, press two. For overdrafts and bank charges, press three. For…’’
“Right! I’m through.” I exhale sharply, feeling a bit like James Bond breaking the code to save the world. “Am I debt control? Or overdrafts and bank charges?”
“Overdrafts and bank charges,” says Suze knowledgeably.
“OK.” I press three and a moment later a cheerful singsong voice greets me.
“Hello! Welcome to the Endwich Central Call Center. I’m Dawna, how can I help you, Miss Bloomwood?’’
“Oh, hi!” I say, taken aback. “Are you real?”
“Yes!” says Dawna, and laughs. “I’m real. Can I help you?”
“Erm… yes. I’m phoning because I need an extension to my overdraft. A few hundred pounds if that’s all right. Or, you know, more, if you’ve got it…”
“I see,” says Dawna pleasantly. “Was there a specific reason? Or just a general need?”
She sounds so nice and friendly, I feel myself start to relax.
“Well, the thing is, I’ve had to invest quite a bit in my career recently, and a few bills have come in, and kind of… taken me by surprise.”
“Oh right,” says Dawna sympathetically.
“I mean, it’s not as if I’m in trouble. It’s just a temporary thing.”
“A temporary thing,” she echoes, and I hear her typing in the background.
“I suppose I have been letting things mount up a bit. But the thing was, I paid everything off! I thought I’d be able to relax for a bit!”
“Oh right.”
“So you understand?” I give a relieved beam to Suze, who offers me thumbs-up in return. This is more like it. Just one quick and easy call, like in the adverts. No nasty letters, no tricky questions…
“I completely understand,” Dawna’s saying. “It happens to us all, doesn’t it?”
“So — can I have the overdraft?” I say joyfully.
“Oh, I’m not authorized to extend your overdraft by more than ?50,” says Dawna in surprise. “You’ll have to get in touch with your branch overdraft facilities director. Who is a… let me see… Fulham… a Mr. John Gavin.”
I stare at the phone in dismay.
“But I’ve already written to him!”
“Well, that’s all right, then, isn’t it? Now, is there anything else I can help you with?”
“No,” I say. “No, I don’t think so. Thanks anyway.”
I put down the phone disconsolately.
“Stupid bank. Stupid call center.”
“So are they going to give you the money?” asks Suze.
“I don’t know. It all depends on this John Gavin bloke.” I look up and see Suze’s anxious face. “But I’m sure he’ll say yes,” I add hastily. “He’s just got to review my file. It’ll be fine!”
“I suppose if you just don’t spend anything for a while, you’ll easily get back on track, won’t you?” she says hopefully. “I mean, you’re making loads of money from the telly, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I say after a pause, not liking to tell her that after rent, taxi fares, meals out, and outfits for the show, it doesn’t actually amount to that much.
“And there’s your book, too…”
“My book?”
For a moment I stare at her blankly. Then suddenly, with a lift of the heart, I remember. Of course! My self-help book! I’ve been meaning to do something about that.
Well, thank God. This is the answer. All I have to do is write my book really quickly and get a nice big check — and then I’ll pay all these cards off and everything will be happy again. Ha. I don’t need any stupid overdraft. I’ll start straight away. This evening!
And the truth is, I’m rather looking forward to getting down to my book. I have so many important themes I want to address in it, like poverty and wealth, comparative religion, philosophy maybe. I mean, I know the publishers have just asked for a simple self-help book, but there’s no reason why I can’t encompass broader questions too, is there?
In fact, if it does really well, I might give lectures. God, that would be great, wouldn’t it? I could become a kind of lifestyle guru and tour the world, and people would flock to see me, and ask my advice on all sorts of issues—
“How’s it going?” says Suze, appearing at my door in a towel, and I jump guiltily. I’ve been sitting at my computer for quite a while now but I haven’t actually turned it on.
“I’m just thinking,” I say, hastily reaching to the back of the computer and flipping the switch. “You know, focusing my thoughts and… and letting the creative juices meld into a coherent pattern.”
“Wow,” says Suze, and looks at me in slight awe. “That’s amazing. Is it hard?”
“Not really,” I say, after a bit of thought. “It’s quite easy, actually.”
The computer suddenly bursts into a riot of sound and color, and we both stare at it, mesmerized.
“Wow!” says Suze again. “Did you do that?”
“Erm… yes,” I say. Which is true. I mean, I did switch it on.
“God, you’re so clever, Bex,” breathes Suze. “When do you think you’ll finish it?”
“Oh, quite soon, I expect,” I say breezily. “You know. Once I get going.”
“Well, I’ll leave you to get on with it, then,” says Suze. “I just wanted to borrow a dress for tonight.”
“Oh right,” I say, with interest. “Where are you going?”
“Venetia’s party,” says Suze. “D’you want to come too? Oh, go on, come! Everyone’s going!”
For a moment I’m tempted. I’ve met Venetia a few times, and I know she gives amazing parties at her parents’ house in Kensington.
“No,” I say at last. “I’d better not. I’ve got work to do.”
“Oh well.” Suze’s face droops briefly. “But I can borrow a dress, can I?”
“Of course!” I screw up my face for a moment, thinking hard. “Why don’t you wear my new Tocca dress with your red shoes and my English Eccentrics wrap?”
“Excellent!” says Suze, going to my wardrobe. “Thanks, Bex. And… could I borrow some knickers?” she adds casually. “And some tights and makeup?”
I turn in my chair and give her a close look.
“Suze — when you decluttered your room, did you keep anything?”
“Of course I did!” she says, a little defensively. “You know. A few things.” She meets my gaze. “OK, perhaps I went a bit too far.”
“Do you have any underwear left?”
“Well… no. But you know, I feel so good, and kind of positive about life — it doesn’t matter! It’s feng shui. You should try it!”
I watch as Suze gathers up the dress and underwear and rifles through my makeup bag. Then she leaves the room and I stretch my arms out in front of me, flexing my fingers. Right. To work.
I open a file, type “Chapter One,” and stare at it proudly. Chapter One! This is so cool! Now all I have to do is come up with a really memorable, striking opening sentence.
