‘What do you mean?’ I ask, glancing back to the dozen people who just so happen to have super important jobs to do within earshot of our argument. Those bastards. Oh andhere’s Alessandro, joining the group. I will him not to listen while also hoping he sticks around long enough for me to talk to him when Violet is done shouting at me.
‘Don’t play the innocent! Are you seriously trying to pretend that you just so happened to be on a date with an Italian prince, who just so happens to be super famous, when a photographer just so happened to pop up and take pictures of you? Jasmine, I wasn’t born yesterday. You set those pap shots up because you were desperate for your own moment in the spotlight.’
‘I. . . wait, what?’ Violet thinksIwas behind those grainy shots online today? I shoot a horrified look at Al and all I can see is disappointment flashing across his face. He turns on his heel and marches out of the villa before I have the chance to call after him.
Shittingshit.
‘This week was meant to be about my big news, Jasmine,’ Violet has balled up her fists as she gets more annoyed. ‘Just look at this, your story has already had way more shares than mine and it’s only been up for a couple of hours.’
‘Violet this is so frustrating, I honestly had no idea that someone would follow us and take pictures.’
‘Like I believe that. You were just jealous of my relationship with Chip that you desperately tried to bag your own celebrity boyfriend. It’s pathetic. Alessandro is a sweet guy, he must have been feeling sorry for you and taken you out on a pity date. Why else would you manage to bag a date with an Italian prince? I mean, look at you! You are literally hopeless in the love department. You’re a disaster, Jasmine.’
I’M NOT A DISASTER! WHY ARE YOU SO MEAN? AND HOW DID THIS COVERSATION GET SO PERSONAL?! All of these thoughts are screeching through my mind but I just can’t say them out loud. I cannot afford to jeopardise my job like that. So here I stand, sad at thesituation and cross with myself while Violet rages on. ‘Do you know what, I think I can spare you for the rest of this trip. We’ve got plenty of blog material already, so I suggest you head home and take a break. I’ll call you when I’m back.’
Mila is away for work so I’ve taken the next best option in a crisis and holed up at Ben’s house. I couldn’t even face going back to mine to pick up emergency essentials when I landed and so I’m currently slumped down at his kitchen table wearing a pair of Ben’s old joggers and a t-shirt with the words ‘this guy needs a beer’ written on it, an arrow pointing up to my face. I’ll be honest, this guydoesneed a beer.
‘Remind me again why you’re wearing my clothes when you have a suitcase full of stuff?’ Ben asks, pointing towards my luggage.
‘I didn’t have time to pack any pyjamas for Italy and this feels like a pyjamas kind of moment,’ I sniff.
‘Come here kiddo,’ he says, pulling me in for a big fat bear hug. I nestle into his armpit, which makes me feel even more emotional than when I turned up on his doorstep earlier this evening.
‘What am I going to do? Violet hasn’t been in touch yet and now I’m convinced she’s going to sack me when she gets home. I can’t afford to be jobless.’
Ben stuffs a tissue into my face and tries to wipe my snot off his work shirt while making sympathetic noises.
‘Jas, you went on a date in your own time. That’s not a sackable offence, okay? Violet’s behaving like a maniac. It’s bad enough that she treats you like her personal butler as well as her photographer, but to have a go at you for taking some time off? That’s completely unprofessional.’
‘Iknow but. . .’ I stutter.
‘But nothing. She’ll get back in touch, you just wait. And she’d better have a bloody good apology ready when she does.’
‘BUT WHAT IF SHE DOESN’T?’ I’m aware that I sound a bit hysterical right now, but the prospect of losing my (mediocre) income is terrifying. Ben thinks about this while I work my way through half a box of tissues.
‘Then you’ll be fine. You’re a great photographer, Jas. You’re bound to find work.’
‘Ben, it took me forever to find this job with Violet. I’d almost given up hope, remember? No one wanted to take me on with no qualifications. . .’ I’d carry on but I’m swamped in the memories of why I didn’t go to New York to study photography. Why I jacked in my place to stay at home and pick up the pieces around my mum. I’m properly crying now, fears about my job intermingled with the most painful memories from my past.
‘Hey, come on,’ Ben says softly, pulling me back up and steering me towards his giant, American-style fridge. I perk up the tiniest bit. Maybe there’s the beginnings of a tasty meal in there? He cranks open the door to reveal nothing but shelf upon shelf of alcohol. Unless you count the out of date lump of cheddar cheese on the top, which I most certainly do not. Who owns a piece of cheddar for long enough that it goes out of date? My best friend Ben, that’s who. He probably keeps his box fresh trainers in the oven too, such is the amount of use his kitchen gets. Ben’s an advertising exec which means he can afford to eat out for every meal and suggest bottomless brunches on the weekly. He owns a snazzy garden flat with a spare bedroomandhas a Soho House membership.
‘Drink?’ he asks.
I plumped for a bottle of rosé and proceeded to drink the majority of it while lying on my back in Ben’s living room. It feels quite nice down here, like having a different perspective not just on Ben’s flat, but on life in general. Or maybe that’s the rosé talking?
Meanwhile Ben is doing a sterling job at perking me up and, hang on a minute, I realise it might sound a bit like we’re having sex right now. We categorically are not doing that. Vom. I can remember Ben serenading girls with guitar ditties at school. I can remember Ben sicking all down himself after a rugby tour. I can remember Ben wiping the snot from my face after the whole Dad shit storm and, apparently, he still has to do that to this day. He was and always will be my bestest boy friend.
Right now, he’s reminded me of a little old thing they call the internet and is asking why the eff I still haven’t got my own website. It’s exactly what Al and I were talking about the other day. Al.
‘I know you’re busy with Violet but, mate, just look at you recently. You have found the time to do more stuff, right?’
‘That’s true. Though the dates haven’t been a roaring success. Too Much Thierry went from cute to sex pest, Pie with The IT Guy was completely spark-free and Alessandro Al Fresco was really lovely until we made the papers, my boss accused me of stealing her limelight and I got sent home from work. I’m almost half way through Mila’s challenge and feel like I’m getting nowhere.’
‘Sod the dates,’ Ben says dismissively. ‘I’m not talking about that shit. I’m talking about your photography, kiddo. You’ve been working on your own portfolio so now you should be showing those pictures off.’
‘I’m not sure where to start, though?’
‘Whydon’t we look through those photographs and put together an edit. Your absolute favourites. . . the ones you’d like to showcase on your website.’
