by Jo Kessel
Whilst Claire would never admit it, she was on a minor high after completing the zip-line. There’s something to be said for challenging oneself from time to time and pushing limits. If she’d not done it then she would have regretted it. Now Claire had successfully completed that challenge, she felt she’d earned some chill time by the pool. But weirdly, another crazy plan was hatching in her mind.
“Tell you what,” she touched Jonah’s forearm. “When we get back home, I challenge you to a set of tennis. If I manage to win one point off you, you make dinner.”
“One point?” asked Miriam. “That’s ridiculous. Of course you can win one point.”
Martha laughed. She clearly knew the truth of it.
“He’s a man,” Claire explained. “Men are much stronger than women. Even the thousandth best male tennis player in the world would probably beat Serena Williams. I’m a rubbish tennis player. I’ve only won about five points off Jonah in my life, and most of those were because he made a mistake.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Jonah grinned.
He knew the odds were hugely in his favour. Claire was setting herself up for failure.
“I’m sure,” Claire grinned back.
“For dinner,” said Jonah.
“For dinner,” Claire agreed.
They shook hands on it.
“Girls,” he jibed, “this is going to be fun.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CLAIRE
You know you’re getting older when the people working with you start to look as if they’ve just graduated from high school. Despite the fact that Claire’s American TV Producer Chad and their cameraman Ben looked too young to legally drink champagne, she was having a blast. She felt way more relaxed out on location than in the studio. Her regime for Morning Cuppa had changed for the duration of her stay in the US. Instead of her usual Monday morning studio segment, she now had two weekly tasks. The first was a live outside broadcast via satellite link, which would be at some ungodly hour due to the time difference. The second was to make a short report featuring a Californian nutrition twist which she would present and Chad would produce. This week’s film was putting theme park food under the microscope. Miriam and Martha would be envious to learn that her morning had been spent at Legoland, filming holidaymakers tasting the park’s famous Granny’s apple fries and asking what, if anything, was healthy about them despite their promising title. Now they’d come to SeaWorld, together with, it would appear, the rest of the world’s press. SeaWorld was celebrating its 50th anniversary and the banks of microphones and cameras in the confined space of the restaurant where they were filming made it slightly claustrophobic.
Their focus was currently on the killer whale enclosure. Adjacent was a private outdoor patio where visitors could dine, choosing from a delicious buffet serving sustainable, responsibly fished seafood. A thin glass screen separated the restaurant from the whales, and animal trainers had just arrived poolside. The main attraction was killer whale Shamu and the unique selling point of the restaurant was that diners could eat their nutritious repast whilst watching a display of mind-boggling marine acrobatics.
“What we ideally want,” said Chad, “is for you to start speaking to camera just as Shamu leaps out of the water.”
“Yes,” cameraman Ben agreed. “Timing is everything.”
“No pressure then,” joked Claire.
It can take years of experience for reporters to perfect their timing, doing a piece to camera about an aeroplane just at the moment that a Boeing 747 takes off in the background.
“I’ll cue you in,” said Ben, focusing the camera.
“Ok,” said Claire, taking her position.
Despite several reporters jostling for space, Claire wormed her way into the prime position. She’d loaded up a plate with scampi, salmon, prawns, salads and vegetables and had worked out in her head what she wanted to say. A whistle blew and the whales swam up to the trainers. Claire cleared her throat and positioned herself in front of the camera. She waited patiently, following Ben’s eyes as they darted left to right, until eventually he raised a finger and nodded. That was her cue. She held the plate like a prop, just above waist level and started speaking to camera.
“Behind me is the killer whale enclosure and Shamu is the star attraction which means this restaurant has one of the most original views I’ve ever seen. It’s also got an impressive menu. Theme parks are notorious for selling unhealthy, overpriced food and usually there’s not a vegetable or a piece of fruit in sight. But here you can feed your family without taking out a second mortgage. Better still, the food is all sustainable, organic and locally sourced, right down to these fresh California salad greens and vegetables. So as well as being fresh theme park food, it’s carbon-footprint- friendly food too.”
Chad had taught her that whenever she’d finished speaking she should stay looking directly down the lens, preferably smiling, and count to five in her head. Only then would they stop recording.
“Cut,” said Ben, holding up his thumb.
“Great work,” praised Chad. “Shamu leapt out the water just as you said his name and then he leaped again as you were finishing. And you didn’t fluff once. Well done!”
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Chad and Ben wanted to scoot round the rest of the park to get some general shots. They didn’t need Claire for the next hour or so, so they left her to peruse the schedule for the following fortnight. She flicked through their upcoming programme. Next week they were filming at some local Californian vineyards and the week after they were doing a round-up on several farmers markets. Chad had given her the choice to either film each week’s report on a Sunday and do the live outside broadcast on a Monday, or they could squeeze everything into one mega long day. She’d discussed it with Jonah but in the end the decision had been easy. Nightmare though the mega days sounded, starting at 7 am and finishing around midnight was preferable to having work eating into two precious days. She was having too much fun and wanted to spend as much time with Jonah and the girls as possible. The holidays were already passing way too fast. In just over three weeks Anthony would be picking up Miriam.
Each fresh day somehow felt better than the last as the four of them got to know each other. Whilst the first twenty-four hours had been crazy, they’d since calmed down, spending time chilling by the pool or by the sea, flying kites, body surfing and enjoying long beach walks. Well, she and Jonah enjoyed the walks at any rate. The girls inevitably grumbled as they traipsed in their shadows, only cheering up when they found thick strands of seaweed with bulbous heads, which they used as toy microphones.
And then there was the tennis. Martha clearly took after her father with a natural, raw talent for the game and she was trying, sometimes not so patiently, to teach Miriam. She also had her beady eye set on Claire. Martha kept challenging her to a match and so far Claire had managed to avoid the issue. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for the humiliation of being severely beaten by an eight year old.
Claire chuckled as she remembered the other humiliation. When they’d got back after the zip-line adventure, Jonah had opened a cupboard that was literally so packed with rackets that several of them had crashed out of the door the second it was ajar. He’d handed one to Claire before selecting his own.
“I hope you’re giving yourself a dud,” Claire had said.
Claire was starting to regret opening her mouth. But then again, she only had to win one point.
“Just give me the green light, firecracker, and let the challenge commence,” Jonah grinned. “There’s a baseball game I want to watch at 7 pm.”
He clearly had every expectation of putting his feet up whilst she prepared dinner. Out they’d gone to one of the complex’s courts, armed with a basket of balls and two young spectators. The first game she’d lost to love. Then the second, then the third and by the end of the fifth game she still hadn’t managed to return one of his serves. “Come on Mummy, you can do it,” Miriam encouraged.
“Go Dad,” Martha batted for her team. Claire had imagined being drenched with sweat from the exertion, but there was no exertion. She simply couldn’t get her racket to most of his shots and every time she served he whopped a winner back. It was the last game, and she was already thinking about what she would cook later, debating posh macaroni cheese over egg frittata. She needed to check what Martha liked to eat. Concentrate. Jonah was serving. But before she had a chance to prepare herself, the ball was firing right at her. She instinctively raised the racket to protect her body like a shield and, as she did so, she managed by some miracle to miss-hit the ball. It spun back over the net, deep and long and Jonah didn’t even move to return it, he was so certain it was going to land out………………………..but, hell no. It landed unquestionably, indisputably and miraculously on the line. Claire had jigged about on the court, twirling around with delight. She’d done it. She’d got her one point.
Claire was smiling at the thought as a man approached. She’d spotted him earlier because he’d reminded her of a shorter, squatter version of Anthony. He was another member of the press.
“Forgive me for interrupting,” he said, offering his hand, “but I noticed you doing some nice presenting earlier and I just wanted to introduce myself. Will Ryan, Executive Producer at ABC.”
Claire shook his hand.
“Claire Jackson,” she said. “Channel Three, UK. It’s nice to meet you.”
“That’s a cute accent you’ve got going there,” he handed her his business card.
Claire smiled, and fished in her bag for her purse which had some freshly minted Morning Cuppa business cards in it. Georgia had told her that this, in the business, was called ‘networking’.
“I’m sorry,” she apologised as she handed him her card, “the telephone numbers are British, but my e-mail address is good.”
She didn’t know why she was bothering to explain. Her path and Will Ryan’s were unlikely to ever cross again.
“Tell me Claire, how does American cuisine compare to food in the UK?”
“Do you mean at theme parks or in general?”
“Let’s say in California.”
Claire considered and then remembered that there really had been something about American food which impressed her.
“What you do well in California are organic supermarkets. They’re everywhere and their produce is really good value. I can do the same shop in Whole Foods here as in a mainstream supermarket in the UK, and not only is everything organic but it’s half of the price compared to back home. It makes me angry that we lag so far behind in Britain. Organic food should be the norm and not a commodity that only the super rich can afford.”
Her answer seemed to please Will Ryan, who nodded sagely.
“There might be an opening at the network which I think would suit you,” said Will. “I’ll be in touch.”
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Shortly after six o’clock, cameraman Ben dropped Claire back home for a few hours rest before they’d return to SeaWorld for the outside broadcast. It was funny, she thought to herself, as she made a cup of tea. She’d only been here for a week and she already felt as if this was home. Steam wafted from the mug. She sipped gingerly. She was tired from the long day and desperately needed a pick-me-up. Natasha Richardson would be speaking to her live just after the 8 o’clock news on the next day’s Morning Cuppa, and even though it would be midnight her time Claire needed to look fresh as a daisy. Ugh. The tea was nasty. She checked the box to see whether she’d used Jonah’s American teabags by mistake. Nope, she’d used hers. Perhaps she’d make a coffee instead. The extra caffeine wouldn’t hurt.
She brewed some fresh coffee and took it to her room together with the tea, just in case she changed her mind. The girls were watching School of Rock and Jonah was in the shower. She set the cups down on her bedside table, found her laptop, kicked off her shoes and threw herself onto the mattress. Mm, that was nice. Perhaps she’d just lie here for the next few hours and not move. She turned the laptop on. She could hear Jonah humming the theme tune from School of Rock as he showered and it made her smile. He might be great at tennis but he was completely and utterly tone deaf.
The shower door opened and a minute later Jonah padded into the bedroom with a towel already crafted into a turban on his head.
“Hey babe, how are you doing?” he smiled and came straight to her side, kissing her lips tenderly.
“Exhausted,” she sighed, “but happy to see you. How was your day? What did you do?”
“We had a great time,” he said as he went round to the other side of the bed and lay down next to her. “We went to see the new panda cubs at the zoo as well as the polar bears. Martha wanted to show them to Miriam.”
“Oh,” said Claire disappointed. “I wish I’d been there. That sounds amazing.”
“What did you do? Did you get dehydrated or something?” Jonah asked as he caught sight of Claire’s two hot drinks lined up side by side.
“No,” said Claire. “I’m trying to keep myself awake, but the tea tastes horrible and the coffee smells funny.”
“Do you want me to get you something else?”
“A new face?” she joked
Claire knew Jonah hated her make-up, but she’d been instructed that she had to put on ‘her face’ whenever going in front of the camera. Before she’d left the UK the make-up artist had given her a lesson in how to apply foundation and the best shades of eye shadow to use to complement her colouring. She thought she’d not done too bad a job this morning, but it felt like the California sun had melted the products coating her cheeks.
“No babe, you look gorgeous,” said Jonah, lying down on the bed next to her. He took her hand. “The girls are watching a movie and you’ve got a couple of hours. What do you reckon?” he suggested, lifting her fingers to his lips before returning their clasped hands to settle on her right breast.
The sight of Jonah in a towel was arousing, but wouldn’t sex ruin her make-up? She so didn’t want to have to put on her face again. She was about to air these concerns when her laptop buzzed. It was Orlando Goodman calling on Skype. It was 2am in the UK, a weird time to phone.
“Shit, babe, I’ve got to take this, sorry.”
Jonah nodded. Claire had told him all about this client.
“I’m going to go,” Jonah mouthed at her as she answered the call. It took a while for Orlando’s picture to come up on the screen but, when it did, her heart leapt to her mouth. He looked wan and drawn, his cheeks were sunken hollows. And it had only been three weeks since she’d last seen him. Perhaps the pixels were distorting his features.
“Hello,” she said. “I’ve been thinking of you, wondering how things were going.”
She couldn’t bring herself to ask for his news. He’d obviously called for a reason. He never just telephoned for a chat about nothing. Especially not at 2 am.
“The test results came back this end. Not good I’m afraid.”
Claire kept quiet. Orlando Goodman, one of the country’s finest actors, was clearly struggling to compose himself and find the right words. She didn’t want to interrupt his flow. There was a long silence. She was about to say something to encourage him to continue but then he started speaking again.
“You were right to be concerned, because it looks like this old boy has got cancer.”
Claire felt as if she’d been thwacked over the head with a sledgehammer. If only her sixth sense had been wrong.
“Oh no, I’m so sorry, Orlando. At least we got you checked out early.”
What’s the prognosis? What kind of cancer? She was scared to ask.
“Not early enough it would seem,” Orlando was matter-of-fact in his delivery. “It’s pancreatic cancer and it’s already spread to the liver and kidneys according to the oncologist.”
Claire fought the urge to cry. The 19-9 test must have come back positive. She wanted to bash the computer, reach in to grab the image of Orlando and hug him. She felt so helple
ss. She was seven thousand miles and a glass screen too far away. Pancreatic cancer is about as bad as it gets. It’s virtually a death sentence. Hardly anyone beats it. Not Patrick Swayze, nor Steve Jobs, despite showing such determination.
“Do you think the right diet can help?” whispered Orlando.
“Yes,” said Claire firmly. “I can’t promise you that it’s a cure but we can get your body in the best possible place so you can fight the illness and cope with the chemotherapy. What’s your treatment plan?
“No treatment dahling. I’ve said no to the treatment. If the cancer doesn’t kill me then the chemo will. No, I want to fight this beast with food.”
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Three hours later, the girls were in bed and Jonah massaged Claire’s shoulders as she re-applied her make-up. So much for worrying about sex ruining her face – as soon as she’d finished talking to Orlando the tears had done it instead, leaving chalky streaks trailing her cheeks and black smudges under her eyes. She’d given Orlando his meal plan there and then, telling him what he absolutely must eat (lots of oily fish and vegetables) and what he absolutely must not (sugar and red meat).