Necker Island, Here I Come

I’m lying in bed reminiscing about the weekend and feeling just a bit chuffed; maybe this is my thing? Perhaps I could have been a hot-shot entrepreneur if I hadn’t got married or poured all of my now obvious talent into Alan’s business. As I savour my coffee and toast, I imagine my ascension to Richard Branson’s inner circle and the fame it brings. I’m profiled in all the top business magazines, the former stewardess who turns around high street travel. I’d be photographed in my old uniform – or maybe the title of the article would be ‘From Stewardess to Captain of Industry’ and I’d be in a pilot’s uniform. I’d look assertive and serious – no maybe not, maybe the exact opposite of that – I’d be relaxing on Necker Island, cocktail in hand, enjoying the fruits of my success. Perhaps both; after all, it’d run to more than one page. In the interview, I’d make very pertinent points:

I like that last line and say it over and over again in my head, just to get the perfect tone. Of course they’ll profile me, say I have a daughter and that I’m divorced. Now, shall I tell them Alan dumped me for a younger model or should I stay magnanimous? Definitely magnanimous; in fact I won’t mention him at all.

Ooh, now there’s an idea. I grab my phone and search for the local business awards; I remember Zoe saying Alan was entering them this year. What if I entered too and beat him? They say that the best revenge is a life well lived, but sometimes it’s also nice to take a swipe at your ex along the way. I find the Entrepreneur of the Year awards and see that Amanda has been a runner-up three years running. I feel vindicated for some reason (cruelly thinking that she always seems to end up with seconds) and know that I have to enter and I have to win. The A-team with their black-tie dinners; I’ll show them. I can see myself floating between the tables, getting to the stage to rounds of applause. It’s just like the Oscars and I look fabulous in a full-length gown, the type Julia Roberts would wear. I look intelligent and classy. My nemesis will have to grin and bear it as Richard Branson congratulates me on my achievements and wishes every community had someone as dynamic as me. I raise a toast to thank those who’ve helped me along the way:

‘To Caroline for believing in me and to Charlie – for helping me take those first steps...’

As I thrust my imaginary champagne glass up for a toast, I forget that I’m holding a rather full mug and so manage to throw tepid coffee all over myself and my favourite jammies.

‘Aargh.’

Naturally, I leap up causing the plate to overturn and buttered toast to smear all over the duvet – it couldn’t fall dry-side down, could it?

Award ceremony over I guess as I extract myself from the mess. My spirit is not dampened, though.

I’m going to win this.

I don’t have to persuade Charlie as last week’s success has given him a new lease of life, too. When I walk into the shop today, I can see he’s been dying for us to get there. He has transformed himself into the host with the most with a new blazer, buttonhole and if that isn’t a dab of fake tan, he must be extremely flushed with excitement.

‘My Angels,’ he declares, ‘we know we can just make it up and make it happen; we can give people a good time.’

All of a sudden we’re his Angels and he’s a visionary leader but nothing wrong with that.

‘We’ve seen that if we have an idea, we can get people booking those holidays, soooo...’

Quiet anticipation from Josie and me.

‘I hereby announce the very first Big Ideas Night. We’ll get together after work, I’ll supply snacks and brain juice, then we’ll come up with loads of great ideas for trips.’

I don’t like to point out that his brainstorming acronym is BIN as I’m quite happy to have something to do in the evening and who knows, it might get me closer to Richard.

For the rest of the day, Charlie and I manage to talk about everything but Peter and then just as we shut up the shop he breaks.

‘Come on, ask me.’

‘Ask you what?’ I say innocently.

‘You know full well and the answer is yes – I called him.’

Josie’s ears prick up and she joins us. ‘Called who?’

Josie baulked at the idea of spending a weekend talking about books, but if she’d thought there could be romance on offer she might have taken up the invitation to join us.

‘Charlie picked up a hot date at the weekend,’ I tell her, ‘a twinkly-eyed Irishman.’

‘Good one, boss,’ she high-fives him in appreciation.

‘He’s invited me round for dinner next week.’

Josie squeals, ‘A dinner party? Charlie, he’s your magic wand man, he must be.’

‘What will you wear?’ she adds in a serious tone.

This is the most important question of the day and with the gravity of debate that now ensues, I’m surprised Radio 2 haven’t debated it on the Jeremy Vine show: ‘Call in and tell us what you think. It’s a first date scenario, do you go casual or smart?’

I leave them to it and decide it might be useful to invite Patty and Caroline to the BIN. I’m just about to do so when Patty must have read my mind. My mobile starts singing ‘Material Girl’ (I’ve surprised myself by learning how to change ringtones and this is especially for Ms P).

‘Patty, I was just about to call you. Do you fancy coming to a brainstorming we’re having for work?’

‘Never mind that; we won’t have time for such trivial matters soon. You’ll never guess what’s happened,’ she gushes.

‘George Clooney has declared that his human rights lawyer wife is too intense for him and he’d rather spend his life with a karaoke singer?’ I suggest.

‘He might just say that in a few months’ time. Go on – guess,’ she urges.

‘I can’t – just tell me.’

‘You and I are going to be famous,’ she gushes. ‘We’re re-forming the Granny-Okes.’

After our drunken performance, the karaoke club had lots of people asking when we’d be back. They got hold of Sheila and Kath through their Facebook pages and have asked us to do a few sessions to get the crowd singing.

‘They’re going to put a banner up to advertise us, too.’

I’m truly horrified at the very idea.

My first thought is, ‘What will Richard Branson think of that?’

I don’t want to see myself plastered across a banner. A few hours ago I was an award-winning entrepreneur and now I’m a karaoke attraction?

Zoe will definitely disown me this time.

‘Why don’t I just stay backstage and manage you instead?’ I proffer. ‘After all, the highly successful Bananarama were a trio.’

There are howls of protest from Ms P.

‘Noooo...I have big plans for you. Don’t worry, it’ll be fabulous.’

My heart and soul plummet.