Page 71 of Jessica Beam is a Hot Mess
‘Oh, you havesucha lot to learn, dear,’ I say in a hammily imperious impression of her. ‘Seriously, though. I’ll show you how to do it. It’s super easy, and it could maybe ward off the bailiffs, at least until we finish the project.’
Grandma takes a deep, quivering breath, her chin sinking to her chest. ‘I have rather been burying my head in the sand.’
I shrug. ‘Don’t worry, shit happens – sorry –rubbishhappens. But we’ve opened the letter now and that was the worst bit. We’ll get it sorted, all right? It’s going to be OK.’
In response, Grandma leans across, puts her liver-spotted hand on my cheek and gives me a small smile. ‘Precious Jessica. Thank the heavens for you.’
* * *
The day whistles by in a series of archaic behavioural lessons from Grandma. Because of the date with Leo tomorrow, and the likelihood that he’ll take me somewhere mega fancy (see: pretentious), Grandma insists that I ‘learn how to conduct myself at the table’. According to her, I ‘eat like a rabid caveman’. Which is just not true. I eat like an adult human being. Who sometimes accidentally spills a bit of food on her boobs. But apparently I’m supposed to take tiny, delicate bites, like I’m some kind of fragile sad-act bird or a French woman. It’s ridiculous. When we move onto ‘correct use of cutlery’, I tell Grandma that I’ve seenPretty Womana gazillion times and know all about the ‘knives and forks from the outside in’ rule. But she is insistent that we work from her guides which, of course,alsoinstruct that ‘cutlery should be taken from the outside, working inwards’.
Some of the more absurd tips we go through include:
Preserve a Good Man’s pride by allowing him to pay the bill.
Wait to be seated by your dinner companion or the waiter. A Good Woman never seats herself.
Never engage with the waiter. Keep your eyes on your date and allow him to order on your behalf.
All of which make me laugh out loudandsnort with rage in equal measure. At about five p.m., and satisfied that she has filled my head with more than enough useless information on how to make Leo Frost fall in love with me at dinner (because obviously it’ll be boner city once I reveal to him my extensive knowledge of fucking spoon etiquette), Grandma glides off to finish her skirt sewing, and I set my laptop up at the big kitchen table.
Opening up a new word doc, I type out ‘How to Catch a Man Like It’s 1955’ and underline it.
And then I stare at it.
For quite a while.
I haven’t written anything other thanSummer in the Cityblog posts in two years. When I was travelling I wrote rambling journals and essays and short stories at the drop of a hat. But writing about nothing but cocktail recipes and boutique hotels and Summer’s Top 5 Skirts … Ever! has left me woefully out of practice at anything more, well,meaningful.
Twenty thousand words in less than four weeks is quite a massive commitment when you think about it. Do I even know twenty thousand words? What if by some outlandish miracle I actually have to write the rest of the book? That’s at least another sixty thousand words. How long willthattake? Will I have to stay here? Wearing the corset every day until my ribcage gets smaller and smaller, until it eventually disappears and I die? Living with my watery-eyed Grandma and all of her many feels? Being reminded of my mum? My stomach churns nervously and I push the questions away into the farthest corners of my mind.
I change the font on the document title five times, eventually settling on good old Times New Roman.
Then I make a pot of tea really slowly.
Then I do my singing impression of Shakira just for my own amusement.
Then I look out of the window for a bit and think about Summer’s TV show and if she will become the new Lena Dunham.
As I’m pondering this, Peach clomps into the kitchen, Mr Belding clasped to her chest. His tiny head is nestled cosily against her large T-shirt-clad bosom. She gazes down at him with a doting smile. They’ve bonded. He’s going to be well peeved when he has to go back to Manchester and all that dressing-up for the Internet. Maybe I’ll hold off telling Summer I nicked him for just a teeny bit longer …
‘Hey, Jess,’ Peach squeaks.
I practically fall on her in an effort not to have to return to the computer screen just yet.
‘Hey, lady P. What’s occurring? Tell me all your gossip. All of it. Do you want a brew? A jammy dodger? What did you get up to last night?’ I pour out another cup of tea.
Peach sits down at the table and arranges Mr Belding in her lap. ‘I, um, I watched a movie. It was a shame you didn’t get back home in time. I was really looking forward to watching it with you.’
Huh?Oh. I said I would watch a DVD with her last night!Thatwas why I smelled popcorn when I got home. I bet she got us face masks as well. Crap, I completely forgot! Should have written it on my hand.
‘Shit, I’m sorry Peach.’
She turns red, waving away my apology. ‘Oh, don’t worry. I know how busy you are with the project … I was hoping you might be free this evening?’
I side-eye the word document on my laptop . ‘Hmm …What did you have in mind?’
‘I don’t know, maybe we could go out for a coffee? Like they did in the popular TV showFriends. They drank a lot of coffee together and always seemed to have a whole lot of fun and hijinks.’
