Conversations with my bailiff: 15th October

Last night, I dreamt of George Clooney.   He was being sworn in as President of the United States, but the ceremony was on the edge of Lake Garda in Italy, and Silvio Berlusconi was holding the Bible!

And now its morning, the daughter has gone to school and I am about to call Barry.   I do have some news for him.  My visiting order has arrived from Pentonville.   I know what I am going to wear.  I sorted all that.  I am taking a notebook.  I hope that will be in order.  I have never visited anyone in prison before.  I not quite sure what the form is.   I ponder over my pencil.  Could a pencil be classed as a weapon?”  

Pierre is comforting.  He is sure I will get an advance.   “He is a generous man” he tells me, his nose just visible above the choux pastry concoction that will eventually be a wedding cake. 

Now I am actually going to Pentonville, I am quite excited.

Barry, however, is not pleased!

“Pentonville? The nick?  No, you are definitely not going there!”

“I will get money.  Money for you!  The visiting order is for tomorrow so…..”

“I am not happy about it, not at all.  Frankly Madelaine, I hate to say this, but you are being irresponsible.  You have a daughter.   You can’t get mixed up with armed robbers”

“I am not getting mixed up with armed robbers.   I am going to write an armed robber’s memoir and the armed robber is going to give me an advance.”

“And what, if I might ask, is going to happen to the advance if you don’t get a publisher!   You won’t be getting a visit from someone like me!  Someone with patience and understanding…  “

“Barry you are frightening me now.”

“I mean to frighten you!   You are giving me a lot of stress Madelaine, I am having to lose your file on a regular basis now.  Oh damn it, I’ve got to go.”

“Barry, you can’t go!”

“I’m after this geezer’s jaguar.  Call me in the morning, we’ll have a proper talk!”

I slam the phone down.  I call Barry every bloody morning.   The rest of the country is sitting down cereal and toast, and I sit down to Barry!   And now he’s got me scared!    I am not going to listen to him.   I know that I can handle this. It might even be something “big” for the Daily Mail.   “Armed robber’s confession, I am a reformed man.”    But what if he isn’t a reformed man?  What do I do if I am offered an advance?   I need that money!   But, supposing Barry is right and on a dark night a big man in leather comes round for the money…!

 My novelist friend has just returned from New Zealand.  She calls.  I blurt it all out, the whole sorry story, from the moment Harriet fired me.   I think I have been very concise. 

 “Who is Barry?” she asks, confused.  Clearly I have not been as concise as I thought.

“The Bailiff”

“The Bailiff.  Maddy what is going on?   I go away for a couple of months, look at some nice scenery and a lot of sheep,  and I get back to find that you’ve fallen in love with a Bailiff”

“Fallen in love!   Of course I haven’t fallen in love with the Bailiff.”

“Well, it’s Barry this, and Barry that.”

“Because Barry rules my life, Barry wants his money and I speak to him every morning to give him an update on my financial affairs.”

“Are you sure this is legal?” she asks.

 The daughter is at a friends.   I am in no mood to worry that it is now two weeks since I last saw Michael.  I am too busy worrying about what I should do about the advance that Pierre is sure I will be offered.   An advance that could buy me a night or two of sleep.