Letters to the Editor
Page 1
LETTERS TO
THE EDITOR
Mo McDonald
First published in Great Britain in 2018 by
The Book Guild Ltd
9 Priory Business Park
Wistow Road, Kibworth
Leicestershire, LE8 0RX
Freephone: 0800 999 2982
www.bookguild.co.uk
Email: info@bookguild.co.uk
Twitter: @bookguild
Copyright © 2018 Mo McDonald
The right of Mo McDonald to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This work is entirely fictitious and bears no resemblance to any persons living or dead.
ISBN 978 1912881 086
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
To my husband, Richard, my rock.
Contents
JACK
JACK
MARIAN
JACK
MARIAN
JACK
MARIAN
JACK
MARIAN
JACK
MARIAN
JACK
MARIAN
JACK
JACK
JACK
JACK
JACK
JACK
MARIAN
JACK
MARIAN
JACK
MARIAN
JACK
JACK
MARIAN
JACK
MARIAN
JACK
MARIAN
JACK
JACK
JACK
JACK
MARIAN
JACK
MARIAN
JACK
MARIAN
JACK
The paragraph was not quite right and I struggled for the word to conclude it.
‘Go away, woman!’ I shouted.
From the corner of my eye, annoyingly, I noticed Hannah’s name light up on my iPhone. The ringtone was on silent but the vibrator made it hop slightly, in an irritating electronic way. I held it in my right hand, undecided whether or not to answer, as my thumb slid across the answer tab.
‘Jack, can you talk? I must speak to you.’
‘What’s up? I’m in the middle of a chapter and the publisher is banging on about the deadline.’
‘Do you remember Marian?’
‘Marian?’
‘Yes, Marian Davies. The woman you had a bit of a thing with.’
‘Eh, I don’t know, did I?’
‘Yes, it all got nasty and—’
‘Marian Davies! What about her? Why would I remember her after all this time?’
‘Because, Jack, I think the past is coming to haunt you and you need to be ready.’
I laughed at this.
‘Haunt me, what on earth do you mean? Hannah, what are you on about?’
‘I have just been on Twitter and then on Facebook and your name is being passed around in a frenzy. You don’t use social media, do you?’
‘No, I do not. I keep my distance from all that stuff. What’s that got to do with Marian? I don’t understand. Is she on there about me? Don’t get me involved in any messaging; I learned my lesson years ago. Fan mail is for my agent to deal with.’
‘It’s not her, it’s her fifteen-year-old-granddaughter, Heather.’
‘Why, what am I to her? I can hardly remember the bloody woman, let alone know her granddaughter!’
‘She is saying that she got some files from Marian to help with her baccalaureate papers and she realised that you and Grandma had a falling out back in ’84. She’s doing what all youngsters do, sharing her findings online.’
‘So why tell me? There’s nothing for me to concern myself about, Hannah, so why mention it?’
‘Because, from what I gather, Marian kept a detailed account and I think that you ought to be aware that you’re going to be pestered by journalists knocking down your door, trying to get you to answer some tricky questions.’ Hannah sounded stern in her warning.
‘Young Heather has found it a surprise that her grandma has a past and that you featured in it. She probably thinks it’s acceptable to tweet about a skeleton in the cupboard from so long ago. To her, the last century is history. I just feel that you need to be on your guard and don’t answer the phone even. Not until you reflect on what went on with you and dear old Grandma. You are respected; Jack, you have become a national treasure and reputation is paramount, especially with all the investigations into the men of your age from the celebrity culture. A story like this will be seized on as another exposé. So, heed my words.’
‘This all seems very odd and you are making a fuss about nothing, surely? I don’t see how there is anything to worry about, really I don’t.’
‘Jack, I’m telling you, if this gets taken up by the media, you will be roasted alive. I beg you to take it seriously and think about what you are likely to be confronted with. Pauline is away, isn’t she? Please take a couple of hours to think it through before you are approached – and believe me, you will be approached.’
‘Erm, well if you think so. You’ve been my PA for as long as I can remember. I take your point. What do you suggest?’
‘Stay home, ignore any callers and go through your archived correspondence. I filed and dated everything in A–Z in box files and they are stacked on the top two shelves in your study. Go through it regarding Marian. You need to be ready by the morning with confident answers to the awkward questions that will be fired at you once the news channels get buzzing from the tweets.’
‘Okay, I suppose so. If you say so. You have been my Florence Nightingale thus far.’ I gave a nervous laugh.
‘So much for a quiet evening to write my novel. You’d better be right about this or no bonus for you this year for wasting my time, old girl.’
‘Trust me, Jack. This is serious stuff.’
I ended the call by reassuring her that I would leave my paragraph unedited so as to find the necessary box file. I wasn’t too keen on attempting the task she had set, but I trusted her judgement because she always had my best interests at heart. Hannah had been with me from the very beginning, taking care of my diary and replying to my correspondence. I am one of those dinosaurs who resist the instant communication of the modern world, employing Hannah to carry out secretarial skills on my behalf.
Back in the millennium plus fifteen, I received a lot of mail congratulating me on the great job I had done in bringing the Arts to such a wide BBC audience. Previously, it had only been aimed at, what had been perceived as, a privileged few. Going through the memorabilia from my TV programme, The Show of Shows and in amongst the many boxes of fan mail, I found what I was looking for. It was a bundle marked ‘Marian Davies’. I had kept various devoted fans’ letters, as many writers do, per chance posterity required it. Being a writer is my true vocation, dating a long time back to the days before I left Ireland. I am a writer; broadcasting gave me the bread and butter, but words were my true vocation. My passion for t
he written word started as a boy, long ago.
I looked at my watch; it was 5pm so I decided to make myself a mug of coffee before settling down to read through the old correspondence. I was surprised how seeing her writing brought back the memory of her and how close we had been. I had also kept a diary of current affairs, along with my reaction to her comments, so I allowed my memory to wander back over the years between 1979 and 1983 with ease. I didn’t have a clear picture in my head of what she looked like, though; time had squeezed that almost from my mind.
JACK
As I said, The Show of Shows finished in 2015, I was happy to end my career as a broadcaster in Britain on a high. The plan now was to finish my latest novel before starting a new career as a TV host in New York, so time was pressing and I didn’t want bother from any silly gossip. But I knew better than to ignore the warnings of my trusted confidante, Hannah. So, as I sat at my desk about to plough through the old correspondence, I noticed the day’s post unopened in a pile in front of me. On opening a handwritten envelope, I was taken by surprise yet again. It read as follows:
Dear Jack,
I read the articles and the many congratulations that the press has awarded you upon your farewell, before venturing to pastures new abroad. I would like to add my thanks for the unforgettable experience that you afforded me too. I spotted that you said that every single person who had ever been involved in your programme was responsible for the success of the award-winning series and also every artist who had ever been included. It made me wonder where I ought to send the invoice, for my contribution to the programme?
Kind regards,
Marian
I picked the letter up and read it through several times, feeling bemused and a little shocked as I hadn’t received a letter from Marian for what seemed about thirty years. I recognised her handwriting immediately and assumed it was a joke – but was it? We’d had a long, intense relationship back in the early years of the programme and I didn’t know whether there was a sense of menace there or not. I put the letter in my pocket to consider later. It would be no easy task winning an American viewing public, but it was a new challenge that I looked forward to and I wanted to draw a line under my past without allowing any skeletons to come out of any cupboards. If an intention to blackmail was being threatened, going through the memorabilia from the programme would indeed be of great importance. And was the plan for the timing to coincide with the granddaughter’s tweet?
I returned to the bundle marked “Marian Davies”; as ever, Hannah had been very efficient. The editing room was as far as my technological expertise lay, so she had not scanned and copied such things, knowing my desire to move to social media was negligible. I mused over Marian’s meaning in her letter and as I read through the old correspondence, dating back to the early eighties, it again brought back the memory of her and how intense things had been.
I turned to the very first communication from her, comparing notes in my diary from that time, too. I always have been like a trainspotter, using my writer’s notebook to comment in, like a detective, just in case. Hannah had numbered each piece of correspondence in red ink enclosed in a circle, making my task easy, as was her thoughtful way.
Dear Jack,
I feel that to be writing my first fan letter at the grand old age of thirty must be a bit silly, but over the past few months I have come to know and to admire you through your novels. I find great delight in the characters you bring to life for me. It is a curiously new experience to read the words written by a man that I see on the television. In a strange way, I am having a beautiful adventure with you. When I pick up one of your books, I think to myself: I will just sit down with Jack for half an hour. Then, of course, I look forward to our weekly date. I enjoy your programme very much.
Thank you for the many hours of pleasure you have given me. We have a special relationship. If you have time, I would love a signed photo – my children really would think Mum had gone quite mad then! I only wish that I was clever enough or interesting enough to merit a Jack interview, then we would meet. Your interview concerning the romantic novel interested me. When you asked, ‘Is the love affair considered to be the most important thing in an artist’s life?’ and the reply was, ‘Yes, I do’, I was captivated.
Love,
Marian Davies
PS I think you should be interviewed about your books – your fans would love to know more about the man behind the characters and how much of you is really in them. Please do think about it. I am willing and able (ha-ha) to give a Marian Davies interview with Jack Kelly – how about it? What a novel idea, the fan interviewing the novelist.
Bye, Marian
I must confess to having been amused by this and rather taken by the openness of her letter. I was flattered to be complimented on my books; it meant even more to me than the programme that I was so proud of. I replied immediately.
Dear Marian Davies,
Thank you very much for your letter. It is fun to make yourself look like a teenager in your children’s eyes, so I enclose a public relations photo of me looking rather smug and silly. The fact that you found me through my books is very rewarding because it is a harder medium than television, but your idea to interview me would seem quite outrageous to my production team!
Best wishes,
Yours sincerely,
Jack Kelly
By return of post came…
Dear Jack Kelly,
I am sensible enough to realise that I cannot keep up a correspondence with you but I must thank you for bothering to answer my letter and enclosing a photograph, which, I have to admit, makes you look like an apostle, with your shoulder-length blond hair and new beard. Thank you.
However, please allow me to disagree with you when you say that it’s far more difficult to reach people through books than television. I have known you as a personality for years but was not interested in you as a man until I started reading your novels. A novel says so much more about the real person than his television image ever can. Since my first letter, I have read The Needle; it is compelling in a very different way from your earlier stories. What excites me, yet disturbs me, is the fact that for the first time I am able to relate to the novelist who is also a visitor to my home. I have admired the words of many great writers, most of whom are dead. Many have made an impression on me. It is quite a different experience with you being so near and yet so far. I would love to think that one day I will meet you, not because you are famous, but just because I like you. I am a member of a readers’ club. Dare I ask if a group of us could have a look around the studio sometime in the future? I should be far too shy to embarrass you with any schoolgirl-like behaviour.
I hope that the lorry drivers’ strike won’t last too long. We are getting very low on oil for the central heating. I am feeling a bit chilly as I write this because we are only switching the heating on for a few hours a day, so as to conserve the fuel. We need it for hot water too.
Oh, I am rambling on…
Love & best wishes,
Marian Davies
I remember being surprised by her request. It was not usual for the public to visit a recording studio, but I had to admit to being intrigued by her remarks about the novelist as a household visitor. I was reminded of the opinion of a man whose views I valued above all others, Carl Jung. Jung’s teaching on the anima and the animus was what my work of late was based on. I had studied his theory on the woman within the male psyche from my own point of view. The man within the woman’s psyche I had not explored, but after being approached by this woman from the audience, my pursuit of understanding the human condition became even more interesting.
So, with Jung’s thoughts in mind, I pondered on her request for a month or two before answering her letter. I’d had many a muse in the past, but not one attracted by my work; I felt interested by this concept.
Dear Marian Davies,
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Thank you for your letter. If you would really like to join us one Monday to look around the studio, I suggest that you contact Bill Bruce – he organises these things. He will do all he can to help you if you mention that I told you to get in touch with him. I assure you that I will make every effort to meet you. I certainly hope that you did get a delivery of oil before your tank was completely empty. There have been too many strikes since the beginning of the year and the rail workers’ 24-hour strike meant that we had to cancel a couple of interviews. There is always a knock-on effect to such action. It’s not great to see Britain in a state of industrial unrest, with tens of thousands of workers feeling, what has become known as, the winter of discontent.
Best wishes,
Yours sincerely,
Jack Kelly
Dear Jack Kelly,
As per your letter, I contacted Bill Bruce, as you suggested, over a month ago, but I haven’t heard from him as yet. I have only recently found out that your current affairs programme is on the radio. I must tell you that my sister-in-law is only just recovering from standing for selection to become a candidate, as a Member of Parliament, for the Labour Party in last year’s General Election. She has been treated dreadfully, by groups of both men and women running the local machine on behalf of the national party. She tells me that the process is totally undemocratic and poisonous, allowing only tribal cronies any chance of getting selected. They allow little cliques to manipulate and bully members into voting for who they have already decided should stand. Not for the greater good, but for the good of following the status quo and to keep themselves in power. Nicknamed the ‘status crows’ by Melanie! Apparently, local councils are mostly run by self-interested psychopaths or egos, who gain fulfilment by making decisions on behalf of the apathetic public. I mention this as I know that you are a champion for the underdog, whichever party.