a friend
Frank wondered if he should mention in his reply that he’d never been in that branch of Oddbins. He wondered if that mattered. Did it alter the central premise of the correspondence? Was there a central premise? He thought about the shabby man who had been followed in error. He liked the idea of having a double out there absorbing the sidelong glances and the harmful thought waves. He imagined the man as his tireless protector, his clothes shabby from pounding the city streets 24/7 as Frank, taking the odd drink to fortify himself against the baffling comments people shouted out to him.
As well as respecting her work in its own right, Frank valued Julia because he knew how much worse the alternatives could be. There had been several short-lived co-presenters before Julia started on the programme. The first was Suzy Pickering, who had worked alongside Phil for many years. Smethway and Pickering represented a nostalgic golden era of the show for many viewers and would be the faces forever associated with the programme no matter how many successors came and went. If Phil was a suntan with white teeth then Suzy was a haircut with impeccable knitwear. She had hit on a pageboy bob sometime around the heyday of Purdey and stuck with it throughout the ensuing decades, with the obligatory nod to Diana in the early eighties. Her discreet jewellery was provided exclusively by a boutique named Sally Anne in Knowle in what was a blatant exercise in sponsorship, but went unchallenged. Suzy was old school through and through. A beautiful broadcast voice, a wonderful after-dinner speaker and a marked lack of interest in local news and current affairs. She loved to talk about the old days where everything was marvellous and everyone was a real character. She adored Phil, falling for his faux reverence and delighting in his gentle teasing. The undoubted highpoint of her career was an interview with Telly Savalas when he had made an unlikely promotional film entitled Telly Savalas Looks at Birmingham. In it Savalas spoke of the wonders of the second city in his trademark honeyed growl: ‘I walked on the walkways, sat on the seats and admired the trees and the shrubs in the spacious traffic-free pedestrian precincts.’ In fact the actor was somehow able to resist the allure of the precinct shrubbery and never set foot in Birmingham, recording the script in a studio in London instead. In Suzy’s repeated telling of the tale, a twenty-minute Q & A session conducted in a London hotel lobby had expanded to become an entire afternoon of almost unbearable sexual tension and unspoken longing between herself and Savalas. Phil needed only to waggle his eyebrows and mutter, ‘Who loves ya, baby?’ and Suzy would dissolve into fits of girlish giggles.
Frank got off on the wrong foot with Suzy from the start. In their first week presenting together she had regaled him with story after story from the good old days, most of which he had heard before. After telling the Telly Savalas story she concluded in a studiedly wistful way, ‘I often think of how of all the cities in the world something, something perhaps we’ll never understand, drew an international superstar of the stature of Savalas to Birmingham, and, well, I suppose in a funny way, to me.’
In retrospect Frank realized that the required response was to say that it had been kismet, or some mysterious transatlantic catnip operating on the bald-headed actor, but instead he said, ‘I suppose desperate times, desperate measures. Kojak was axed the year before. He did Telly Savalas Looks at Portsmouth and Aberdeen as well. He would have advertised Don Amott caravans if they’d have had him.’
Despite his best attempts to make amends it was clear that Suzy always considered Frank a very poor substitute for Phil and altogether lacking in old-world charm. After a few years of working together she opted to go part time and remained as one of the seven-strong presenting team, usually doing the early morning bulletins. Julia maintained that Suzy’s continued presence was due more to her devotion to Sally Anne’s pearl studs than to her career.
After Suzy there was Nicki, who was smiley and petite and in a short space of time became very popular with viewers. She had a natural warmth and vivacity that burned through the screen, and after Suzy’s hauteur Frank found her a joy to work with. Because of her popularity Nicki received a particularly large number of invitations and requests for PAs, which she showed no inclination to decline. The weekly society page of the local paper rarely failed to carry a picture of Nicki at a charity dinner, or the opening of a new restaurant, or an awards ceremony for industrialists. As the months passed, she became less petite, her brightness seemed to fade and her slips whilst reading the autocue became more regular. Frank remembered the day he finally reached across and pushed the lift button for her rather than have everyone watch her struggle to control her shaking hands. She resigned due to ill health after just four years.
After Nicki came Lisa, who Frank had found strangely absent and had a hard job remembering much about. She had worked on the show in pre-sofa days and the producer thought the fact that she was taller than Frank was disconcerting for viewers and so had her sit on a lower seat. Lisa never really forgave the producer or Frank for that. She stayed for two years before moving on to become sole anchor woman of the early evening news on a satellite channel. She was now enjoying, as far as Frank could tell, all the benefits of a full-height chair.
After Lisa was Joy, fondly remembered by all, even Frank’s mother, but who moved regions after only a few months. She was followed by the equally short-lived Erica, who collected lizards and was dismissed after an incident involving cocaine, the sports correspondent and the disabled toilets. And then finally Julia arrived.
He looked at his watch and wondered where she was now. He could do with some advice on how best to answer his mail. He gave up on the Oddbins sighting and moved on to the next one:
Allcroft, the programme would be a hundred times better if you were not on it. You are not funny. I like it best when you are on holiday. Also, how do you get a job in television?
He was uncertain about the last line. From the tenor of the mail he could assume that it was meant rhetorically, with the emphasis on ‘you’. But maybe it wasn’t. The ‘also’ suggested to him another tack, an unrelated point. He’d once sent as full and helpful a reply as he could to the request, ‘Where do you get your ties?’ Only to receive the response: ‘I was joking, you wanker. They make me want to be sick.’ He remembered Julia had laughed at that, for what he had thought had been an unnecessarily long period of time. As he sat and thought, a new mail appeared in his in-box and he opened it:
Dear Mr Allcroft,
I don’t know if this mail will find you or if you will have time in your busy schedule to read it. My name is Sidney Craven and I am currently enrolled upon a ‘Silver Surfers’ course at my local library which is trying to teach me and some other seniors how to use the world wide web. I think the teacher is finding it a bit of a struggle. It took us a long time to get the hang of the mice.
Last week we learned how to send email. To be honest I can’t see what use that will be as I don’t have a computer and don’t know anyone else who does either, but I think it’s good to keep the mind active and learn new things. Anyway I see your email address every evening on the telly and I don’t know if that’s just a gimmick but I thought I would try anyway.
My wife Margaret died late last year but we used to watch Heart of England Reports every evening together. She was a fan of yours and particularly enjoyed your jokes. She also thought you had a lovely smile. You reminded her of someone she used to know when she was younger and every night without fail she’d say: ‘Oh, he looks just like Charlie Stoker. I wonder if they’re related.’ Well, she had a real bee in her bonnet about it and would go on and on. Sometimes she’d say, ‘I’m going to write to the programme and ask him,’ and I’d say, ‘For goodness’ sake, Margaret, they’ve got better things to do with their time than answer silly questions.’ If I’m honest I was a bit short with her because I didn’t like her always mentioning this Stoker chap. It was jealousy I suppose as I’d never met the man, but I know that he had been sweet on her before I came along.
Anyway Margaret’s gone now and she
never did write, but when I watch the programme I always feel as if she’s still sat on the settee next to me. So I thought I’d send an email and maybe you would read it and I could tell you about Margaret and ask if I may: are you related to Charlie Stoker? If you send an answer, I’ll get the teacher to print it out and then I can put it on the sideboard next to Margaret’s photo. I think she’d like that.
Yours faithfully,
Sidney Craven
Frank sensed that someone was behind him and looked to see that Julia had arrived at work and was reading over his shoulder. They looked at each other briefly.
Julia rolled her eyes. ‘So this Charlie Stoker looked just like you?’
Frank nodded and said, ‘Apparently.’
Julia shrugged. ‘That would explain why she ditched him for old Sidney.’
23
Michelle was caught up in a discussion with her producer, so Mo excitedly dragged Frank around the Tough Love set while they waited.
‘Dad, look, look, this is the Mirror of Truth. That’s what Michelle calls it. When the people look in this, they see themselves the way other people see them.’
Frank frowned. ‘Isn’t that what all mirrors do?’
‘Yes, but this one’s really big! Michelle gets the people to stand in front of it in a bikini so we can see where they are fat and she tells them what she honestly sees and they cry. That’s the tough-love bit – but at the end they come back and stand in front of the mirror again, but now they have new hair and new clothes and intelligent underwear and they cry again, but this time because they’re so happy.’
‘ “Intelligent underwear”? What’s that?’
Mo shrugged. ‘I don’t know exactly. I think it might have a computer in it. It stops the fat escaping.’
Mo stood in front of the mirror and turned slowly with a crazed expression of ecstasy. ‘Tough love has turned my life around!’ she said, clapping her hands together.
Frank winced. ‘Is that what they say?’
‘Yes – because their lives were bad before, but after tough love they’re really good and all their friends come and clap and tell them how happy they are that they have had a haircut and the fat is hidden.’ Mo carried on staring in the mirror. ‘I wish Sinead could go on Tough Love.’
‘Who’s Sinead?’
‘She’s in my class. Sinead Rourke. Some children call her names because she’s fat, and she has asthma and she can’t run. They shouldn’t call her names, should they, Dad?’
‘No, definitely not. That’s horrible.’
‘That’s what I said. She just needs Tough Love and intelligent underwear. She needs to come on here and find out how to tuck the fat in her pants and turn her life around. She is stuck with a bad life, but she could have a good life.’
‘Mo, maybe her life isn’t bad. Maybe apart from the name calling she’s quite happy. Appearances aren’t the most important thing in the world.’
Michelle finally joined them. ‘Oh, Mo! What’s he saying? That’s what all those poor women say, isn’t it, at the start of the show? “Appearance doesn’t matter to me,” and I say, “The point is, love, it matters to everyone else, and yours is a mess.” Tough love, isn’t it, Mo? You understand.’
Mo looked awkward; she wasn’t sure who to agree with.
Frank looked at Michelle. ‘Mo was just talking about a classmate who’s being bullied for being overweight.’
Michelle was alarmed. ‘Oh, oh, I see. Mo, no, love, that’s different. It’s different for kiddies. The programme’s for grown-ups. Kiddies shouldn’t worry about their weight – your friend can go on a diet when she’s a teenager.’
Frank decided to change the topic. ‘Anyway – thanks for letting Mo come along today. As you can see, she’s a big fan of the show.’
Michelle smiled. ‘No, thank you, Frank, for agreeing to meet. I’m really sorry we’ve had to do it here. I’m behind schedule again – as usual – but at least it means Mo gets to have a look around.’
Frank wasn’t sure now that he shared that delight but he nodded.
Michelle beamed at Mo. ‘Hey, Mo – why don’t you go over to the clothes racks and pick out some clothes you think would be good for me. I’ve got to go to a party tonight – so you go and find something for me to wear.’
Mo was delighted. ‘What kind of party?’
‘It’s an opening.’
Mo frowned. ‘Is that like a birthday party?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘Is it fancy dress?’
‘No, not fancy dress.’
‘Will you be playing games?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘After you’ve had cake – will there be party games? Do you need to be able to run around?’
Michelle laughed. ‘No. No games. I just need to be able to stand, sit and drink.’
Frank could see from Mo’s face that she didn’t think much of the sound of the party, but she set off purposefully to the clothes racks. He felt a sudden pang of love for her as she went and had to fight the urge to run with her.
Michelle led him over to sit on a red sofa in the middle of the set. A couple of crew members moved pieces of furniture in the opposite corner.
‘Before I forget. You know you asked me about that photo?’
‘Yes.’
‘His name was Michael, wasn’t it?’
‘Yeah. Michael Church.’
‘Well, I’ve no idea if this is connected, but this is why the name Michael was vaguely familiar.’
She fished in her bag and handed Frank a note written on a small sheet of pale blue writing paper. Frank recognized the sloping shaky handwriting from papers at Michael’s house.
Phil,
I won’t be there next week. Sorry to tell you in a letter but I know if we meet you’ll try and talk me round again – like Elsie used to say, you always could charm the honey from the bees.
You’re my dearest friend Phil, but you’re wrong.
I hope I’ll hear from you soon.
Mikey
Frank read it through twice. He assumed it dated back some years.
‘Did you find this amongst his papers?’
‘No – it came by post a few days after Phil died. Well, actually it didn’t come by post – that’s how I remembered it amidst all the other letters that were turning up each day. Whoever sent it didn’t put enough postage on it so I had to go along to the sorting office to collect it and pay the extra. It would have been waiting there a few days before I got round to going to get it. I had so much going on I didn’t pay it a great deal of attention. Is that the Michael you were asking about?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What’s it about?’
‘I don’t know. A disagreement, I guess.’
Michelle pulled a face. ‘It’s strange that Phil never mentioned it. Strange that I never even heard him mention this Michael.’ She hesitated. ‘But that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t really know where to start – just lots of little things that maybe don’t amount to much. I haven’t spoken to anyone before, but now I think maybe I should say something.’
‘Say what?’
‘Okay – put at its bluntest – I just think there was something funny going on at the end.’
‘Funny?’
‘Suspicious, peculiar. Not ha ha. Definitely not ha ha.’ Frank waited for her to continue, but instead she changed tack. ‘When did you last speak to him?’
‘About a month before he died.’
‘And how did he seem?’
Frank remembered the phone conversation. ‘Fine, he seemed fine. I mean – the conversation was a little strange, but in himself he was fine.’
‘What do you mean strange?’
‘Well, he was ringing to apologize for the previous call when he’d had a bit to drink. I didn’t mind at all, but he was being really hard on himself, saying he’d behaved ridiculously – you know, obviously very embarra
ssed about his behaviour – which wasn’t really like him. Normally he’d just laugh something like that off, or deny it.’
Michelle nodded. ‘When he rang you drunk – had he ever done that before?’
‘God no, never. It wasn’t his style, was it? Not very debonair and classy. I was looking forward to getting mileage from that little slip for years to come.’
‘And when he was drunk, was he telling you he loved you?’
Frank looked at Michelle. ‘Yes, he was. I suppose every drunk says that – but that’s exactly what he was saying, and that he loved you too – he was full of love that night.’
Michelle sat back on the sofa. ‘So you had a glimpse of it.’
‘A glimpse of what?’
‘Of what life was like in those last two months.’ She hesitated. ‘This is really hard for me, because it feels like I’m talking about Phil behind his back – well, I am, but I have to talk to someone about it. He became a different person in those weeks leading up to his death. You know how easy going he was, how much fun – well, that changed. He was having these enormous mood swings. At night he’d tell me how much he loved me – I mean we’d always told each other that – but this was different, there was some kind of desperation there. He was drinking more – sometimes he’d actually be crying as he told me he loved me. It was frightening. I knew something was up, but he wouldn’t tell me what. Then in the daytime he’d often be tense and short-tempered, preoccupied and tetchy. Other times he’d seem utterly depressed and lifeless. It was crazy.’
Frank was shaking his head. ‘But that just wasn’t Phil. Do you think maybe he was ill?’
‘That’s what I thought. I thought it must be something neurological – this complete personality change. He agreed to be checked out, but they found nothing. The doctor said it could be stress, but he didn’t know Phil. He thought a seventy-eight-year-old man doing a weekly primetime television show was bound to be overdoing it – but Phil thrived on that.
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