Pride, Prejudice and Jasmine Field

Chapter 20

“You're leaving me?” said Maddie, her eyes wide with disappointment.

“Oh, please don't make me feel guilty,” said Jazz keenly. “You'll be snapped up within weeks. I saw how the Editor of the Reactor was looking at you at the awards.”

She knew that would work. Maddie's little mouth turned up slightly at the edges. They were sitting on the table in the tiny area next to the coffee machine. Since they'd gone open-plan, private spaces were a thing of the past. They had to be quick.

To Jazz's amazement, Brigit Kennedy, Commissioning Editor of the News, had phoned her first thing the morning after she'd sent in her columns. She hadn't heard anything from the Daily Echo and hoped Sharon Westfield had forgotten her.

“Love your style,” Brigit had said. “It's so rare to get a column that's about a marriage that's working nowadays. Of course, it's a risk because today's readers only want to read about others' troubles, but we think you're a risk worth taking. We'd be delighted to have you on board.”

Jazz was over the moon. “Thank you,” she breathed. “You won't regret it.”

“I'm afraid we can only offer you five hundred pounds a column—”

“I'll take it,” Jazz said quickly, and the two women laughed. Contracts were faxed over to her and she'd signed that afternoon. She'd been absolutely staggered at how fast newspapers can move if they really want you.

After the call, Jazz had felt wonderful, ecstatic, elated, over the moon, tearful, relieved and special. Her dream had finally come true. Until she remembered she'd have to break the news to Maddie.

“You're leaving me alone with Mark?” repeated Maddie.

“Oh, you know how to deal with him,” said Jazz sympathetically. “Anyway, you might find he really lightens up once I've gone.”

“And Angry Alison?”

“I thought you liked Alison.”

“And Mad Miranda?”

“Yes, I'm beginning to see your point,” said Jazz. She hadn't realised Maddie would take it quite so badly. So she explained that she still wanted to do work for Hoorah! either on a freelance basis or possibly as a part-timer.

“I'll tell Agatha,” said Maddie. “Let's hope I come out alive.”

They both smiled weakly.

“I can't believe you're leaving me,” Maddie said once more, her little red lips starting to tremble slightly. They walked back to the office and Maddie told everyone Jazz's news. She'd have to tell Agatha tomorrow; she was in meetings all day.

Mark came over immediately. Miranda continued tapping.

“Say congratulations to our columnist for the News, Mark,” said Maddie, as sternly as Jazz had ever heard her speak.

“So are you fucking off then?” he asked instead, leaning back against the empty desk and crossing his arms. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows and Jazz noticed that the sun had brought out the fine auburn hairs on his forearms.

“Yup. You can talk about shagging now as much as you like in the office,” said Jazz. “As long as you mention IKEA a few times.”

Mark stared hard at Maddie.

“Don't think this means we won't still come and see you in your play,” said Maddie, veering off on another subject. “We'll be there with the banners.” Oh God, the play, thought Jazz. She'd actually managed to forget about it.

The next morning, Jazz was staggered to open the Daily Echo and see a double-page spread headed IS THIS THE LAST HAPY FAMILY IN THE COUNTRY? above a massive picture of her smiling family. Quickly scanning the piece, she could see that it was mostly hearsay and speculation with one or two quotes from Martha, whom they had obviously spoken to for two minutes on the phone. At the bottom, in bold, were the words You can read award-winning Jasmin Field's regular column starting next month. Only in the Daily Echo. Weren't they at all concerned that she hadn't even sent them her first column yet? Maybe they expected columnists to miss deadlines.

Jesus Christ. She hadn't even sent them her fax yet. And Maddie hadn't told the news to Agatha yet. She certainly hadn't signed anything with them yet. What's more, she wasn't going to write for them, she was going to write for the News.

She phoned her mother straight away. “Have you read the Daily Echo?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Martha.

“When did you speak to them, Mum?”

“I hadn't realised I had, dear,” answered Martha, mildly flustered. “Someone phoned me to ask how I felt about you winning the award and how I felt about having three famous daughters. They said they were the award organisers and this was for their internal journal. Anyway,” she scoffed, “I didn't say I was "over the moon". I never talk in such ridiculous cliches. Perish the thought.”

Jazz was furious. She had half a mind to phone Sharon Westfield and complain. But what was the point? It was much more important for her to phone Brigit Kennedy and explain that it was all a horrible mistake and then apologise to Agatha before she was sacked.

Brigit Kennedy was surprisingly phlegmatic about it. She knew Sharon Westfield of old - “She was my Deputy at Smile!” she told Jazz. “Morals of a dog on heat. Knows her stuff though. Don't give it a moment's thought.”

Brigit gave Jazz her first commission there and then. If anything, Jazz felt it had worked in her favour.

Then it was off to Agatha's office. The door was open and Jazz could see Agatha at her desk, reading the Daily Echo. Smiling out at her was Jazz's entire family. She knocked feebly on the door. Agatha looked up at her. She said nothing. “I can explain,” said Jazz. Agatha crossed her arms and waited. “I'm not going to write for them. They asked me to and I hadn't even sent them my provisional fax yet. It's a horrible mistake.”

Agatha started to look slightly more human again.

“That's all right then,” she said. “Otherwise I'd have had to fire you.” And she turned the page over and ignored Jazz.

Jazz didn't think it was the right time to mention the News.

She started her first column for them at midnight when she couldn't sleep. It was full of bile. At 1:30 am she e-mailed it and made herself a Horlicks. She slept very peacefully until 6.30 am.

The next morning she got a call from Brigit.

“Thanks for the column. Really nice. Loved the nostalgic bit about you and Josie arguing about Euro '96. You telling her that football had nothing to do with reality and her pointing out that it had become political because even John Major had told Gareth Southgate he had nothing to be ashamed of when he missed the penalty.”

Jazz smiled over the phone. This was a good start. But Brigit went on. “And then you saying that Gareth Southgate had never returned the compliment,” she finished, as though Jazz didn't remember the cadence and rhythm of every single one of her beloved jokes. The Commissioning Editor laughed loudly. “Politics, humour and sport. Keep it coming, gal.”

Brigit told her it would go in as soon as possible, and gave her her direct line. That meant Jazz had to pluck up the courage to tell Agatha very soon. She tried not to think of Sharon Westfield.