‘What sort of crisis?’ says Bonnie doubtfully.
‘I don’t know! They could pretend they’re going bust, or make up some sex scandal … anything! Just to keep him occupied for a few hours. Tell them that anyone who comes up with any ideas should call you and you can coordinate them.’
One of his clients will come up with something clever. I mean, if they can make videos then they can invent a crisis, surely?
Already my phone is ringing again and I glance at the ID as I answer, but it’s not a number I know.
‘Hello?’
‘Rebecca?’ booms a jolly voice.
‘Yes,’ I say cautiously. ‘Who’s this?’
‘Eric Foreman, Daily World. Remember me?’
‘Eric!’ I exclaim in delight. ‘How are you?’
Eric is a journalist at the Daily World and I first met him when I was a financial journalist. I use to write pieces for him, in fact, but then I gave that up and we lost touch. How come he’s tracked me down?
‘I’m good, my beauty. Just putting together a piece about your husband’s birthday for the City diary and I was after a quote from you. Or even better, him. Is he around?’
‘What?’ I stare at the phone, aghast. ‘Why are you doing a piece about his birthday?’
‘Are you joking? Prime bit of gossip like this? Have you seen YouTube? Have you seen how many hits he’s got?’
‘I know,’ I say desperately. ‘But that wasn’t supposed to happen. It was supposed to be a secret!’
Eric’s guffaw of laughter nearly deafens me. ‘Is that your quote?’ he says. ‘ ”It was supposed to be a secret?” I’ve been emailed about it eight times today already. I thought this was your own viral campaign, my love.’
‘No! I want it to stop!’
He roars with laughter again. ‘You can’t control it now. It’s all over the place. Even people who don’t know him are passing it on. You know the marketing team from Atlas Fund Management are on retreat in Kent? They’ve written “Happy Birthday Luke” with their cars in the car park. Just sent me the picture. I’m going to print it tomorrow unless I get a better one.’
‘No!’ I nearly shout in horror. ‘You can’t! I’m throwing Luke a surprise party! Which means he’s supposed to be surprised.’ I feel hot with frustration. Doesn’t anyone get this?
‘Oh, this gets better and better. So he has no idea, does he?’
‘None!’
‘And the party’s tomorrow night?’
‘Yes,’ I say automatically, then curse myself. Eric might be my friend, but first and foremost he’s a tabloid journalist.
‘Don’t let him near the Daily World, then.’ Eric gives a laugh. ‘I’ll be featuring this as my main story. The City needs a good cheer-up after all that’s happened recently. You, young lady, have given everyone a reason to have a bit of fun. I’m not spiking that. General features editor’ll be on to you too, I’m sure.’
‘But—’
‘And we won’t be the only ones, either. So you’d better keep your old man away from the press.’
‘No! You can’t!’
But he’s gone. I stare dumbly at the phone. This can’t be happening. My top-secret, surprise party which no one was supposed to know about … is being printed in the newspapers?
By the evening, I’m just about holding it together, even though there are now twenty-three YouTube tributes and Eric has already put a piece about Luke’s party on the Daily World online City page. I’ve sent a desperate email out to all the guests and Brandon Communications clients, telling them the party is still a surprise and asking them please, please not to try and contact Luke.
Bonnie has biked round a big pile of paperwork to distract Luke tonight, and a couple of friendly clients have agreed to try and occupy him tomorrow with various made-up issues. But none of them sounds that convincing. To be honest, I’m stressed out. We still have a whole night and day before the party and the whole world knows about it and there’s a massive great marquee flapping next door. I mean, how am I going to keep this a secret?
‘Don’t worry. Not long now.’ Suze gives me a kiss, her coat and scarf already on. ‘I’ll be off now. See you tomorrow for the big day!’
‘Suze.’ I catch her hands. ‘Thanks so much. I don’t know what I would have done without you, and Tarkie and … and everything.’
‘Don’t be silly. It’s been fun! Anyway, Elinor did most of it. And Bex …’ She pauses, suddenly more serious. ‘Luke will be blown away. He really will.’
‘You really think so?’
‘I know it. It’s going to be sensational.’ She squeezes my hands. ‘I’d better run, or he’ll see me.’
As the front door closes, my phone rings yet again and I look at it wearily. I’ve been on the phone so long today, I feel like my vocal cords are wearing out. At last I summon the energy to pick it up. I don’t recognize the number, which is no surprise.
‘Hello? Becky here.’
‘Becky?’ comes a soft, female voice. ‘You don’t know me, but my name is Sage Seymour.’
What?
A huge spurt of adrenalin shoots through me, like three cans of Red Bull and winning the Olympics, all at once. I’m talking to Sage Seymour? She knows my name?
Sage Seymour is sitting somewhere, holding a phone, talking to me. Ooh, I wonder what she’s wearing. I mean, not in a pervy way. Just in a—