CoS - 01-11 | Текст песни

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• CoS
• 01-11

As the press conference is about to start, Elly and I sidle toward the back and grab two seats together. We’re in one of the bigger conference rooms and there must be about a hundred chairs arranged in rows, facing a podium and a large screen. I open my notebook, write “Brandon Communications” at the top of the page, and start doodling swirly flowers down the side. Beside me, Elly’s dialing her telephone horoscope on her mobile phone.
I take a sip of champagne, lean back, and prepare to relax. There’s no point listening at press conferences. The information’s always in the press pack, and you can work out what they were talking about later. In fact, I’m wondering whether anyone would notice if I took out a pot of Hard Candy and did my nails, when suddenly the awful Alicia ducks her head down to mine.
“Rebecca?”
“Yes?” I say lazily.
“Phone call for you. It’s your editor.”
“Philip?” I say stupidly. As though I’ve a whole array of editors to choose from.
“Yes.” She looks at me as though I’m a moron and gestures to a phone on a table at the back. Elly gives me a questioning look and I shrug back. Philip’s never phoned me at a press conference before.
I feel rather excited and important as I walk to the back of the room. Perhaps there’s an emergency at the office. Perhaps he’s scooped an incredible story and wants me to fly to New York to follow up a lead.
“Hello, Philip?” I say into the receiver — then immediately I wish I’d said something thrusting and impressive, like a simple “Yep.”
“Rebecca, listen, sorry to be a bore,” says Philip, “but I’ve got a migraine coming on. I’m going to head off home.”
“Oh,” I say puzzledly.
“And I wondered if you could run a small errand for me.”
An errand? If he wants somebody to buy him Tylenol, he should get a secretary.
“I’m not sure,” I say discouragingly. “I’m a bit tied up here.”
“When you’ve finished there. The Social Security Select Committee is releasing its report at five o’clock. Can you go and pick it up? You can go straight to Westminster from your press conference.”
What? I stare at the phone in horror. No, I can’t pick up a bloody report. I need to pick up my VISA card! I need to secure my scarf.
“Can’t Clare go?” I say. “I was going to come back to the office and finish my research on. .” What am I supposed to be writing about this month? “On mortgages.”
“Clare’s got a briefing in the City. And Westminster’s on your way home to Trendy Fulham, isn’t it?”
Philip always has to make a joke about me living in Fulham. Just because he lives in Harpenden and thinks anyone who doesn’t live in lovely leafy suburbia is mad.
“You can just hop off the tube,” he’s saying, “pick it up, and hop back on again.”
Oh God. I close my eyes and think quickly. An hour here. Rush back to the office, pick up my VISA card, back to Denny and George, get my scarf, rush to Westminster, pick up the report. I should just about make it.
“Fine,” I say. “Leave it to me.”

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