“Is she in her office?” Gloria asked.
“Certainly is, I’ll just buzz her to let her know you are here.”
Pressing the intercom, connecting her to her boss’s office, she announced Gloria’s arrival.
“She said to go straight through.”
Thanking her, Gloria made her way into the spacious office, pictures adorning the walls, large photographs of the Liverpool Planets front page.
One wall, totally dominated by a huge window, overlooked the waterfront and the river.
“Gloria! Great to see you back. How did it go?”
Standing, Denise Blackwood walked around her desk, giving her a quick hug.
Aged in her fifties, tall, slim, wearing a sheer black pencil skirt and white blouse, unbuttoned slightly at the top.
The visible skin above her cleavage, tanned and wrinkled, betraying her love of sunbeds.
“It went great. I mean the incident itself was terrible, but I think I may have just done us proud with the interview.”
“I can’t believe you managed to get an interview so fast,” Denise said, smiling as she walked across to the sofa, situated against the backdrop of the dark Liverpool skyline.
Patting the seat next to her, she beckoned Gloria over.
“Chance and good fortune,” Gloria replied, sitting down, “oh, and hopefully a little bit of good journalism.”
“I am certain it is all down to the latter. Let’s hear what you have got then,” Denise said.
Gloria switched her phone onto loudspeaker and listening to the dialogue of the interview.
As soon as it ended, Denise smiled a broad, white smile at her.
“Excellent work!”
Gloria knew in her heart the day would come when she would report on a fantastic story. She would willingly stay in the office all night if need be, to get this story written.
“Can you ping the sound file across to me?” Denise asked, standing up and make her way across the room to her desk.
“Oh, and make sure it’s an MP3 file Gloria please, as I have a swine of a time opening up any other type.”
“Of course,” Gloria said, following her to the desk, whilst typing onto the touchscreen of her mobile to send the file across, “I can get the story typed up straightaway, ready for the website and for tomorrows’ first edition.”
“Don’t worry about that, I’ll get Mike in the newsroom to write it up, he’s here all night and is really good at the gritty and gruesome,” Denise replied, smiling.
“But I can get it all done in a few hours,” Gloria said, sitting on the seat facing her.
Denise looked across the desk at her, continuing to smile.
“Gloria Hunni, there is no way that you’re not getting the credit, so don’t worry about that. Mike is good at what he does and believe you me, he does a lot of this for the other reporters here.”
Gloria’s eyebrows rose, having no idea Mike did this.
As far as she was concerned, the stories were all her fellow reporters own words.
“I thought that the reports all belonged to the other reporters and were written in their own hands?”
“Gloria,” Denise replied, “it’s not a big thing honestly. We have some excellent journalists on our staff, but when we want to add a bit of, what’s the word am I looking for? You know? A bit of extra ‘drama’ to a story, not that this one needs it, but that’s where Mike comes in. In addition to which, sometimes, we are just too pushed for time.”
Gloria processed this information, as Denise leant across the table at her, her hands forming a pyramid beneath her chin.
“Gloria, your name will go on the story and Mike will get a bit extra in his monthly bonus, it’s the way it works around here. And truly, believe me,” she said, staring Gloria deep in her eyes, “it’s the best way.”
Gloria returned her bosses gaze.
“But I was going to spend this evening here typing it up. I don’t mind if Mike does his ghost-writer bit, but it sort of makes me feel redundant.”
Denise’s smile caused the dimples in her cheek to become even more pronounced, adding extra character to her looks.
“Well. If you are willing to work late, then there is something which you could do to really help me out.”
“Do you mean like helping Rory cover the train incident?” she asked, expectantly.
“No, no, nothing like that,” Denise laughed lightly, “I have something else in mind, which to be brutally honest, would really help me out, and I never forget a favour.”
Waiting for a moment, she wondered what she meant, whilst Denise called through to Tara to ask her if she would make them a couple of cups of coffee.
Anything apart from bloody traffic tweets and I will be happy.
“Do you like music?”
Gloria hesitated, not expecting a question on her musical tastes.
“Err… yes, mainly Coldplay, Rhianna, Ellie Goulding, things like that.”
“I’m a bit of a soft rock type of music fan myself,” Denise said, grinning, “you can’t beat a bit of Aerosmith or Bon Jovi, but each to their own as they say.”
“How do you feel about eighties music?”
“Not bad I suppose, some of the songs were okay.”
“You know Terry and Gillian, from the entertainment section?”
“Yes, Gill goes to the same gym as me. We attend the Insanity workout sessions there together.”
“So, you know they got married a while back, well you must do, as we were all there and I remember you and Rory made quite an impression when you were dancing together,” she said, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh god, I totally forgot about that!” Gloria said, laughing lightly.
“You had everybody up on the floor after your Dirty Dancing turn,” Denise said, laughing, “and Rory had us all in stitches when he started to sing. Jesus, he may be a good-looking bloke, but his singing is bloody awful!”
“I was devastated too when he started to sing,” Gloria replied, “yeah, he could dance okay, but when he got hold of that microphone!”
She laughed even more at the memory of Rory singing, in one of the worst voices she heard, ‘I will survive’, to which Gillian herself shouted across the expanse of the venue, “not if you carry on singing like that you bloody well won’t!”
They took a few moments to compose themselves, before Denise spoke again.
“Anyway, as I was saying. Terry and Gillian have decided to take their long overdue honeymoon now. I felt sorry that they could not have taken the time off earlier, but you know how manic it gets around here.”
Gloria nodded in affirmation.
“So, my two permanent entertainment columnists are both currently sunning themselves on their belated honeymoon in Mexico, whilst we, have a big review to write.”
“So, that leaves me with the biggest eighties revival concert this city has ever seen and I have nobody to go there, to cover it for me.”
“Unless,” she said, looking directly at Gloria, “you are willing to do me a huge favour and get down there to cover it.”
She indicated to the concert arena, clearly seen below, within the waterfront.
“You want me to cover the ‘Back to the Eighties’ concert?” She asked incredulously.
“I would love you too,” Denise replied, “hey, not only do you get your name on the story about the dreadful incident at the club, but you will also get your name on our pull-out feature at the weekend.”
“I don’t know what to say. I mean, I would love to.”
“Good. Now get your backside down to Paul, before he shoots off home and grab your press pass, whilst I ping this across to Mike. And hurry up over there before the doors start opening.”
She smiled again, her perfect white teeth gleaming, courtesy of a few trips to a cosmetic dentist out of town.
Tara came into the room, carrying a tray with a couple of cups of coffee on it, placing it onto the side of Denise’s desk.
“Th
anks Hun” Denise said. “Get yourself off home and thanks for all of your help today.”
Wishing them a good night, Tara left the room.
Gloria took a quick gulp of her coffee.
“I’ll have to take a rain check on the rest of this coffee, if I’m to get across to the concert in time to see if I can grab an interview or two before it starts.”
Denise gave her a quick hug and she returned to the elevator.
Whilst travelling down the few storeys to Paul’s office, she started to panic.
How much charge is in my mobile?
She checked it, to find the battery still displayed three quarters charge on it. She could not plug it into the charger in the car, as it was not worth taking it, the concert venue only a fifteen-minute walk away from the Planet office block, so it made perfect sense to walk there.
Reaching Pauls desk, he told her it would take about ten minutes as he left the passes in the mail box on Gillian’s desk, forgetting her and Terry were going on honeymoon.
Fortunately, Paul owned the same make of mobile as her, so he told her to feel free to charge hers.
Seeing the national news services website open on Paul’s computer, she quickly browsed through the ‘world’ section, already open showing the usual doom and gloom reports; economic global down turn, concerns over one of the euro member states not being able to come good on their bail out agreement, continuing unrest in the middle east, grumblings over Brexit.
The doors at the end of the office opened and Paul walked across to her with her pass badge. Thanking him for the loan of his charger, she made her way to the elevator.
Happy her phone possessed enough charge, in case she managed to get any decent photographs or, fingers crossed, an interview with one of the acts, she felt more at ease.
Her name now not only going on the front page of the Planet but also the in the entertainment section within the same week, it may bring an end to the confinement of the usual tweeting.
Things are starting to look up.
The receptionist usually seated in the main lobby, left for the evening, so Gloria popped across to the desk to inform the security officer there, she would be picking up her car later, after the concert finished.
Exiting through the sliding doors, she became immediately assaulted with the onslaught of the noise of the city.
The traffic extremely busy, she waited a good few minutes at one of the crossings leading across the road to the waterfront side. Eventually, the lights changed to the green ‘walk’ sign and the pedestrians made their way across the road.
The giant Ferris wheel located on the opposite side of the road, slowly rotated, its lights illuminating the evening dusk and adding to the charm of the waterfront with its shops, restaurants, clubs, museums, galleries, casinos and apartments, to name but a few of the attractions which assisted in gaining the city its ‘Capital of Culture’ award a few years previous.
Quite a few of the other people crossing the road, were heading to the concert venue, so she fell in with them as they walked and discussed the artists who were playing that evening.
She noticed the large queue outside and she felt saddened she could not have made it earlier.
Waiting patiently in the queue, she stood behind a couple, holding hands tightly as they waited in line.
“Are you sure that you are up for this Steve?” The girl asked.
“You really do look terrible love.”
The man turned to the girl. Gloria did not know what his normal complexion looked like, but he certainly looked ill, his face possessing a grey tinge and his eyes set amidst dark shadows.
“I’m fine Cassie,” he replied, before sneezing into a handkerchief. “I’ll try not to spread my germs over you.”
The girl laughed at him gently as she gazed up at him.
“Anyway,” he said, “I have a nice surprise for you later.”
“Oh, lucky me,” she said, giggling, placing an arm around his waist to pull him closer to her.
Gloria smiled, hoping the girl appreciated whatever her guy planned for her. They looked very much in love.
It took a while before she reached the concert venue staff, checking the tickets and instructing the concert goers to which doors to go through to find their seats.
She could have kicked herself when the girl she presented her press pass to, informed her of the fact she need not have waited in line.
The girl radioed through to one of her colleagues, asking him to escort Gloria to the allocated press area.
Well it’s my first time covering a concert, so I live and learn.
Chapter Nineteen
The several youths in the queue waiting to place their orders, comprised of six teenage lads and one teenage girl. Apart from the girl in the group, they all dressed identically, uniform-like, save for a corporate logo or two.
The lads wore grey or black baseball caps, baggy sweatshirts and baggy cotton tracksuit bottoms. Black running shoes completed their wardrobe.
The girl, hardly any different from them in their attire, her blonde hair in a baseball cap, the pony tail protruding from the rear of the cap with the diamante embroidered word ‘Bitch’ emblazoned upon it.
Laughing and cursing, they several glances of annoyance from the people already sat at their tables, eating their meals.
“Hey Maddy!” one of the lads called to her, “any more fags left?”
“Yeah Lewis lad”, she replied, staring at him, “managed to swipe two packets, before me old man went out.”
Lewis walked across to her, knocking into one of the men currently stood in the queue, holding the hand of his young daughter.
“Hey, be careful lad,” the man said.
“Yeah, fuck you too,” he responded.
The group of lads laughed and high fived him, as he walked passed them to the girl.
Rummaging in the pocket at the front of her sweatshirt, she retrieved a packet of cigarettes, passing them to him.
“See the Cage last night?” He asked her, taking a cigarette from the packet and placing it behind his ear, as he returned the packet.
“Yeah, me ma was watching some celebrity shit on the telly downstairs, so I watched him in me room.”
“Bet you wished he was in your frigging room,” another lad said laughing, now alongside them.
“Give us a cig,” he said, hand held out as he looked across to the others.
“Oi Dylan!” he shouted, “get us a chocolate milky will yer?”
The three of them walked outside to one of the tables. A bin nearby, overflowed with discarded rubbish, drink cartons and various other pieces of fast food detritus lay scattered around it.
Lewis took a lighter from his pocket and, after retrieving it from behind his ear, lit the cigarette. An overweight girl walked around the corner, wrinkling her face in disgust, as he blew a stream of smoke in her direction.
“Try and leave some food for the rest of us,” he said.
Her face reddening, as the three of them laughed at her, the girl hurriedly entered the building.
“Fat fucking bitch,” Lewis said, hawking a mouthful of phlegm against a window.
“The Cage was sick last night, wasn’t he?” the other lad, Tyler said.
“I thought he was going to play his old stuff, but those new songs were fucking it,” Maddison replied, sat on the table, her feet on the bench, taking a drag on one of the cigarettes stolen from her Father.
“That one about beating his ex-wife was fucking sound,” Tyler replied.
Adopting a boxing stance Lewis danced, shadow boxing.
“Gotta get in fucking low. Fucking low with the blow. When you know. How be sortin’out yo Ho.”
The others laughed with him, Tyler giving him another high five.
The automatic doors whooshed as they opened, one of their companions walking through the doorway.
“Foods done, you want it in there or out here or what?”
“I’m having mine inside,
getting fucking cold now and it looks like it’s going to piss down,” Maddison said, flicking her cigarette into the air.
Her companions flicked their own cigarette butts in the same direction as hers, before entering the building.
Joining the rest of the group, they made their way to one of the unoccupied tables near the rear.
A couple sat at the adjacent table, stood and left as the group started sitting down.
“Did you see that shit on telly earlier about the Venue?” Tyler said, picking a burger from the tray in front of him, taking a mouthful from it.
“Fucking weird,” he continued.
“Didn’t some old bird go fucking mental or something?” Maddison asked.
He produced his mobile telephone from his pocket, flicking through the icons on the screen, before passing it to her.
A news report played on the screen, containing footage of the shopping centre, before a report of a savage attack on a bus, followed by a story about the children’s club amongst several others.
“Fucking crazy,” she said, returning the phone.
“Fucking crazy that he watches news and shit like that,” one of the other lads said, laughing, a few of the others joined him.
“Scary shit though,” Tyler said, “fucking mental some of those attacks. They reckon that fucking bus driver was ripped apart for fucks sake.”
“Some right fucking weirdos out there,” the girl said, shuddering.
Suddenly, there came a dull thud from the window at the opposite end of the restaurant to them, loud enough for them to hear even from this distance.
A couple of women sat at one of the tables nearest to the window shrieked, and a pair of young girls grabbed at their father as they moved away from the window crying.
“What the fuck?” A man’s voice called, as the opposite end of the restaurant seemed to be scrambling from the window.
“Woah, the fuck is that?” Lewis said, jumping and rushing to the window, quickly followed by the rest of the group.
“Wicked!” One of the lads exclaimed.
“Fucking gross!” another added.
They moved closer to the window, alone, as everybody else in the restaurant congregated near to the counter or at the opposite side, as far away as possible.
The Infected Chronicles (Book 1): Origin Page 15