Page 56 of Shout Out To My Ex

‘Allo, Poppy, Cassie.’ She lifts her chin and blows a plume of actual – not imagined – cigarette smoke, then looks into the camera.

‘Bonjour, Marie,’ I say.

‘You are hoping for an update,non?’

‘Oui.’ Having beenbonjour-ing andoui-ing for five days now, it’s hard to stop, especially when speaking to my French colleague. Marie expels a puff of air the way the French do – it sounds like ‘pfff’ and could mean a million different things.

‘Is that “pfff” good or bad?’ I ask, doing my best to mimic the sound.

She shrugs. ‘Bof.’ So far, this conversation is about as illuminating as stars on a cloudy night. Cassie sighs beside me, indicating she’s in agreement.

‘What’s the bad news then?’ I ask. May as well get right to it.

‘I am still working on Leo’s relationship with the supermodel.’

‘Okay, so you’re not sure if that’s legit or not?’

‘Non.’

‘Sorry,’ says Cassie. ‘Does that mean they’re not really a couple or you don’t know if they’re really a couple?’

Marie’s shoulder lifts in another shrug. ‘No word yet.’

‘But someone’s on it?’ I ask.

‘But of course.’

Oops – she seems offended.

‘Who?’ asks Cassie and I poke her. We’ve already caused offence and Marieneverreveals her sources. I thought Cassie would have learnt that during our initial briefing with Marie back in London.

‘I know a guy,’ Marie replies – just as expected. ‘He works at Franzia’s modelling agency.’ This is new – insight into one of Marie’s connections! ‘This is where the good news arrives.’ I don’t correct her use of the English idiom. ‘Franzia, she is…’ Marie’s face screws up tightly with distaste. ‘How do you say…une salope.’

My French is as limited as all my other European languages, but I know that word. (Okay, I know a lot of the swearwords.) The feminist in me wants to call Marie out for calling Franzia a bitch, but the agent in me is far more interested in hearing the details.

‘Tell us more,’ I prompt.

‘She is rude – always late, all the time, to everything – late, late, late. But, of course, she is Franzia,non? Everyone will wait. Today, she was due on set in Paris to film aparfumcommercial for Adore –late.Twohours. ForAdore. And? They wait. But this… pfff… this is nothing. She is very badly behaved – throws the most enormous tantrums. Like a baby, a toddler. And she is cruel – to the other models, to makeup artists, to her agents…tout le monde. Like I say,quelle salope.’

‘So, if Leo’s actually in a relationship with her, then she probably treats him badly as well,’ says Cassie.

‘Wait.’ Marie holds up a finger, then taps away on her phone, her finger appearing huge onscreen. ‘I just send you a video. You watch it now or later?’

‘What’s it of?’ I ask.

‘Franzia at the Lorenzo show.’

‘We’ll watch it now and call you right back,’ I say.

‘D’accord.’

She ends the call. I open the video and Cassie leans in. It’s in portrait and has obviously been filmed on a phone. Franzia, her hair and makeup done but wearing only a thong, is stomping about, screeching about how hideous her outfit is and how it makes her look like some ‘hick from Nowheresville’.

And wouldn’t you know it? Not even ahintof that hodgepodge Eastern European accent from last night. Our supermodel isn’t just a B-I-T-C-H, she’s as British as they come. A text pops onto the screen over the video:

Meet Karen Whitehead from Shropshire.

I type a reply:

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