CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I needed a lot of help setting up the podcast. Mimi came over at the weekend and we brainstormed the format it would take and all the equipment I’d need. I was nervous to tell her my idea: that maybe as well as doing some freelance writing, I could launch a celebrity podcast. She thought it was genius and offered her help right away with getting it off the ground. I already knew all the right people and I believed that enough of them trusted me to be a part of it at the beginning, then hopefully it would grow a big enough audience for others to gain interest and put their clients forward for it when they had something to promote. I would essentially be doing what I love—talking to those in the public eye and hearing their stories—without having to fight Cosmo for the front page. I would have to learn how to edit in an entirely new way, but I was ready for the challenge.
I floated the idea to Isabella Blossom when I visited her beautiful West London town house on Friday and she agreed without hesitation to be my first guest. She finally disclosed the full name of the baby to me in strictest confidence, having done an extraordinary job of keeping it from the press so far: Ryan Daryl Harper Blossom.
“Daryl after my dad, and I couldn’t not name him after the two people who delivered him into this world,” she said with a grin, gazing down at him as he slept cradled in my arms. “Do you think Ryan will mind?”
“I think he’ll be very touched,” I whispered, my eyes prickling with tears.
“Good.” She smiled. “I could tell he has a gentle soul, your Ryan. I liked him.”
I nodded and the conversation moved on. I know she only said “your Ryan” to differentiate from her Ryan, but the phrasing still stung.
A couple of days later, when the equipment had all arrived and I’d gotten the software sorted, I returned to Isabella’s house and we recorded the pilot episode of What You Don’t Know, which the blurb describes as “the brand-new podcast where your favorite celebrities sit down with host Harper Jenkins to cover everything you think you know about their careers and personal lives—and a few things you don’t, including what they’ve learned along the way and where they’re headed next.”
Isabella gave a fantastic interview, and I knew as soon as we’d finished that, whether or not the podcast would be successful, this particular episode was going to be a hit. We were in hysterics as she discussed the details of the birth and we recalled the poor taxi driver’s reaction. But when she talked about the trials of single parenthood and how scared she was, I got a lump in my throat. She described feeling like she had no idea what she was doing—crying tears of despair one minute because baby Ryan wasn’t sleeping well and tears of happiness the next simply because he smiled—and I knew listeners would find themselves easily relating to this Hollywood star whose life might have otherwise seemed a million worlds apart.
We also talked about her career and the pressure she’d felt when she was starting out to look a certain way and be a certain way. She was both critical of the industry and adoring of it, acknowledging the important changes it was making in how it treated women and minorities and what more needed to be done, while also describing how she fell in love with making movies and the magic of slipping into a character.
It was interesting, it was sad, it was happy, it was real.
It was a lot of editing.
But so worth it. After Mimi listened to it, she gave me a giant hug—and when she told me I’d done something special, I could feel it in my bones.
That gave me the boost of confidence I needed to start spreading the word. I wanted to record a few episodes before launching so I wasn’t scrambling once we were live. I contacted agents to pitch my new venture, carefully noting that the pilot episode was an exclusive interview with Isabella Blossom, and I had excellent responses straightaway. Shamari called me the same day saying she had a great lineup of guests for me.
“Let me guess, that sexy up-and-coming actor Julian Newt?” I said, smiling into the phone.
“He is fascinating, Harper, and can talk about starring alongside Audrey Abbot in the play. Not just that, but—hot-off-the-press news—he’s landed the lead role in another romantic Netflix movie. A London high-flyer whose distant aunt leaves her a pub in her will moves to the tiny village in the countryside where it’s located and falls for the brooding local guy who works behind the bar. You know it’s going to be a hit.”
“I have no doubt.”
“Let me send you some of the interviews he’s done for others. He’s a funny guy, full of personality, and he has some great stories about breaking into the business. Plus, he’s got some interesting views on pressures on men in the industry, too.”
I rolled my eyes and smiled. “Okay, send the articles over and I’ll give them a read.”
“Excellent!” she exclaimed. “And to thank you for that, I would also like to suggest Dylan Knox of Artistry fame for your consideration.”
I almost dropped the phone. “W-what?”
“Oh yes, Harper, you heard that right.” She chuckled, sounding very pleased with herself. “I persuaded him to talk to you for the magazine, but I will let him know that the podcast will be better. I imagine that’s more his style anyway. He does like the sound of his own voice.”
“Dylan Knox will be on my podcast?”
“We’ll have to go over the questions, Harper,” she informed me sternly, “because he won’t go into the recent fallout with the band and why the reunion tour got pulled. Saying that, I will reveal to you—strictly off the record—that they are back in discussions. If you’re lucky, by the time you record, he might be able to reveal some news about it on your podcast. But more importantly, it looks like he’s about to land a role in a big prison-drama TV show, and it would seem he’s had a fresh boost of confidence in his acting abilities … largely thanks to me, of course. I think it might work out this time. Sometimes you just need the right role at the right time, as I said to him.”
“Shamari, how can I ever thank you?” I said, gripping the phone.
“You can keep giving my fabulous clients publicity on your podcast,” she replied matter-of-factly. “It’s always been a two-way street, darling. And you know I can’t resist your charm and the way you stalk me on my coffee runs. Anyway, I must dash. One of those fabulous clients I mentioned has just turned up at the office, and judging by her evil glares through my glass door, I’m about to get a bollocking about putting her up for a gigantic flop. I’ll email you to arrange dates for recording! Bye now!”
Dizzy with excitement, I hung up the phone and started dancing around my kitchen floor. Thanks to Shamari, I managed to record two more episodes in quick succession, and then Isabella Blossom contacted me to say it was time to release the podcast—she was worried one of her untrustworthy acquaintances had gotten details of the birth story and was going to blab to the press.
It was now or never.
The day the podcast goes live and Isabella’s episode becomes available, it’s an instant hit. I knew she was going to go down well, but I had no idea the episode would take off like this. I’m astonished by the response, sitting at home on my laptop, watching the number of downloads shoot through the roof, scrolling through the mentions on social media. The story of Isabella giving birth in a taxi goes viral—people love it. They love her. And they love me. I suddenly gain hundreds of new Instagram followers and the inbox I’d set up specifically for the podcast explodes with guest requests and pitches.
Isabella and my podcast are all over the showbiz headlines, and the attention gets even more frenzied when I post that the next episode will be an interview with Dylan Knox of Artistry.
I sit alone in the flat, letting it all sink in. My phone vibrates with messages and calls from friends congratulating me. A huge bouquet of flowers arrives from Isabella and Ryan Blossom. Another bouquet of flowers is delivered, and I laugh as I read the message attached to it from Juliet. SCREW MUM AND DAD, it reads. YOU DID IT FOR YOURSELF.
And then I get a message that I’d been hoping for, but not expecting. A WhatsApp from Ryan. My Ryan:
I knew you could do it. This is just the beginning. Congratulations x
That night, Mimi and I go out for a very boozy dinner. It’s nowhere fancy, one of our favorite places in Brixton Village where you have to queue for ages and then sit on a makeshift chair of stacked wooden crates and drink wine from tumblers. When we’re done eating, we’re moved on quickly by the staff, who are trying to get the queue down as much as possible, and head to a cocktail bar a few doors down where we continue to drink from tumblers, but this time sitting on a wooden bench.
“A toast to you!” Mimi declares, holding up her glass. “Harper Jenkins, who has turned redundancy into an absolute triumph!”
I laugh, knocking my glass against hers. “It’s still early.”
“The podcast is already a smash and you’ve released one episode. One. Everyone already knows that it’s here to stay,” she tells me. “They were all talking about it in the office today. Your ears must have been burning.”
“Really?” I say nonchalantly, like it’s no big deal. “What were people saying?”
“How amazing it is and how you’re going to be famous.”
I wave that off with my hand. “No thanks.”
“You’re going to be like this host extraordinaire. One day, you’ll have a show like Graham Norton, I just know it.”
I burst out laughing. “Okay, that’s a stretch, but I appreciate your belief in me.”
“Oh, and you should have seen Cosmo. Ha!” Her eyes widen with glee. “He knows he’s made a big mistake. At first he was up in arms about you getting the Isabella Blossom exclusive, kept shouting that it was the magazine’s, but Ryan set him straight on that one, reminding him that Isabella entered into no such contract with Narrative. Then when he realized that Ryan was right, he switched tactics and became your biggest fan. The response you’ve got, the interaction online—he’s already scrambling about, trying to work out a way to get you to write for the magazine again. He’s desperately trying to capitalize on your popularity. Did you see all the posts from the magazine’s social media today about the Max Sjöberg piece that you and Ryan wrote? It was in the magazine over the weekend.”
I blush, thinking about the Manchester trip. “I saw it.”
“Cosmo has been yelling about making sure your name is included in every post we put up on socials. Apparently, the powers that be are not happy about the fact they’ve just let go of their star journalist. You really have made them sorry.”
“I wish I was the kind of person who could be mature about this, but I’m not.” I grin. “Hearing that makes me very happy.”
“May they rue the day.”
“Absolutely.”
“Ryan is very proud of you.”
I snap my head up. She smiles into her drink, pleased at my reaction to her comment.
“He said something to you?” I ask eagerly.
“He said something to everyone,” she informs me. “You’re one of the most talented journalists he’s ever met, and he had no doubt that you’d be a success. He said he knew that the moment he met you.”
Nodding, I look down at the table.
“He also told me the moment he met you was when he fell head over heels for you,” she continues casually.
“What? He said that in front of everyone?”
“Have you met Ryan? Of course not,” she snorts. “He told me that back before you went to Florence.”
“Wait, what? I’m confused.”
“Before the press trip to Florence, Ryan confessed his love for you,” she says. “It was very sweet. He made me promise not to tell you, though. He said you likely already knew, but you would probably be embarrassed about me knowing. So I kept schtum.”
“But … why would he tell you that?” I ask, aghast.
“He had to tell me so that we could concoct our little plan for the two of you to end up on the press trip together.” She sighs, setting her glass down. “You didn’t really think you ended up on that trip together by coincidence, did you?”
“But … you pulled his name out of the hat. I saw you! We all saw you!” My brain is clouded by alcohol, but I distinctly remember there being multiple pieces of paper in that hat.
“That was all down to me being a genius magician,” she declares proudly. “I’ll let you in on the secret behind that clever trick. Every piece of paper in the hat had ‘Ryan’ written on it. Sneaky, right? It was a bit mean on the other members of the team, but I’ll make sure they get nice press trips at some point. You know I’m fair about these things, usually.”
“Mimi,” I say, reaching out and gripping her arm, “please explain to me how and why this all happened.”
“It’s very simple. I made the announcement about there being a spare place on the Florence weekend, and Ryan asked if he could have a word, so off we went for a coffee and he told me about his feelings for you and offered to do whatever work that I needed doing if I gave him the place on the trip. He said he’d work weekends, evenings, whatever. But I’m an old romantic, so I said that wasn’t necessary. I knew how you felt about him—everyone knew how you felt about each other—and, considering the hot kiss you’d had in his flat and how flustered you’d gotten composing that message to him after breaking up with Liam, I thought it would be a gentle nudge in the right direction for you both. And I was right.”
“You never … I didn’t … Wait, what do you mean everyone knew how we felt? You’re not talking about … you don’t mean people in the office knew?”
She cackles with laughter. “Jesus, Harper, the way you two look at each other? Nothing has ever been more obvious. From the very first week that Ryan started at the magazine, the art team had a bet on how long it would take you to end up together.”
“The art team had what?”
“Nobody won. It took you two idiots a bit longer than they were expecting. If only they knew the whole story and that it actually took you more than ten years to work it out.”
“I don’t understand,” I say, shaking my head. “We were always fighting.”
“Undeniable chemistry.”
“Everyone knew we hated each other.”
“Everyone knew you loved each other.”
I blink at her.
I haven’t said it out loud, but the moment she says it, I know she’s right. I do love him. Deflating, I close my eyes. It could be the cocktails speaking, but it suddenly feels that no matter what’s happened between us, it doesn’t matter, because I was wrong. I can trust Ryan. I do trust him.
More than anything, I don’t want to be without him.
“I said some horrible things to him. What do I do?” I whimper, opening my eyes and looking at Mimi pleadingly.
“You’re Harper Jenkins. You’ll think of a way to get what you want.” She smiles. “You always do.”
When I stumble home that night, it hits me.
I set my alarm for 5:55 A.M., 5:57 A.M., 6 A.M., 6:03 A.M., and 6:05 A.M.