by Paul Ilett
Sam returned to the reassuring seclusion of his own office and sat at his desk with his head in his hands. He knew another exposé was due that evening and he knew his father would be expecting Sam to quickly and effectively deal with whatever it was. In fact, the world would be watching to see how he handled it. He stood and walked to the window, looking at the grand view up the Thames to Canary Wharf. “All those people,” he said to himself, “all those people waiting for me to fail.” It suddenly felt as though the rest of the day was just going to evaporate and he would find himself rushed towards 9pm without feeling in any way prepared. Project Ear was counting down to victim number three and even though Sam had been briefed about the many secret shames of his newspaper and its staff, he had begun to genuinely worry that his own name could be next on Adam Jaymes’ hit list.
CHAPTER 13
There was an obvious shift in the atmosphere of the Daily Ear’s newsroom as 9pm approached. The staff busied themselves with an intensity that had more to do with dread than workload. Keyboards were typed ever so slightly harder and phones were answered ever so slightly quicker, snatched up before they were able to ring more than once. But despite the frenetic tension, the enormous area was quieter than normal. Apart from business-as-usual phone conversations, the routine banter and chit-chat had dried up. Each and every member of staff was focusing on their work, nervously wondering if they could be the recipient of Adam Jaymes’ next phone call. The indiscretions of an entire newsroom of reporters were as plentiful as they were varied. No one felt safe and everyone hoped it would be someone else who got the call. But every now and again, the reality of the situation became too great and each member of staff would glance up at the screen that was streaming Adam Jaymes’ website and its ominous countdown clock. And it felt as though it was counting down just for them.
Leonard Twigg’s office seemed tranquil by comparison. He had gathered the key players together as he wanted to make sure they were all in one place so they could quickly work together to dismiss the next exposé, no matter who received the call or what the scandalous story entailed. Valerie was reclining in a leather armchair, quietly drinking tea and reading 50 Shades of Grey. She had decided to write an article criticising the author but thought she should at least read it first. Colin sat angrily, arms crossed, muttering under his breath. Sam was doing a sweep of news websites and social media on his iPad, assisted by Oonagh. Felicity was making herself useful, delivering refreshments around the office, and Jason was slumped on one of the larger chairs, chin on his chest, snoring.
Twigg was pacing the room, anxiously staring through the glass wall at the enormous screens hanging over his newsroom, waiting for any change that would indicate who at Harvey News Group was next. Once again it was the lead story on Sky News and the BBC News channel with the usual mix of media experts and tarnished celebrities airing their views. With Valerie and Colin out of the way, Twigg knew he was now the bookies’ favourite to receive Adam Jaymes’ call, with Jason a close second and Howard Harvey third. As he looked around his office, he suddenly realised someone was missing. “Where’s Toulson?” he asked. There was a group shrug. “Oh, give me strength. The man spends all his bloody time trying to be involved and then doesn’t show up when he’s actually needed.”
“Shall I get him on the line for you, Mr Twigg?” Felicity asked. “I think he was dealing with some staffing issues.”
“Staffing issues?” Twigg bellowed. “Nothing is more important than this.” He realised he was shouting at the wrong person and so found a kinder tone for Felicity. “Yes, please, get him on the line.”
Derek was rushing to the newsroom from the HR department, having spent the previous five hours sacking three members of his team and bringing disciplinary action against four others. The red mist had got the better of him after his humiliation at the hands of Jason and he’d had to punish those who’d failed to help, or smirked, or just watched. As he hurried into the lift and the doors closed in front of him, he could feel his Blackberry vibrate in his jacket pocket. “Oh shit!” he muttered, knowing full well it would be Twigg screaming at him for being late. He wondered for a moment if it would be best not to answer it, and to just arrive at Twigg’s office in the hope that the inevitable pandemonium of Adam Jaymes’ call would deflect attention from his tardiness. But he knew Twigg’s memory was long and a bollocking was on the cards either way, so he bit the bullet and answered his call. “Derek Toulson,” he said, and braced himself. But the voice at the end of the line wasn’t angry. It was calm and polite. And it certainly wasn’t Twigg.
“Hello Derek Toulson, this is Adam Jaymes.”
Derek’s blood ran cold and he stood absolutely still.
“I just called to let you know it’s your turn.” And then the line went dead.
Derek heard the lift hum into life as it began its descent to the newsroom. His mind was racing, a blur of questions and images and voices. “What was that?” he gasped. He looked at his phone to check he hadn’t imagined the call. But it was still lit-up. Adam Jaymes had called him. As he continued his ascent to the newsroom, he prayed it was nothing more than one final, malicious prank by one of the employees he had just fired.
“I’ll try again, he was engaged,” Felicity said, but before she could dial there was a roar from the newsroom and the entire floor took to its feet to look at the screens above.
“What’s that? What’s happened?” asked Oonagh, as everyone in the office looked through the glass wall. “No one’s phone has rung. Have they? Has everyone got their phone turned on?”
Twigg opened his office door and marched out into the newsroom, pushing his way through the crowd and looking aloft to see what was going on. The others followed, apart from Jason who remained dozing in his chair. The Project Ear website was showing a humorous picture of a horse’s face with the headline “Naaayyyy! I’m not gaaaayyy!!” and underneath the more damning sentence, “Bungling Ear exec shuts ‘gay horse’ sanctuary.”
“It’s Derek,” Valerie gaped, recognising the top of Derek’s head poking out from the bottom of the screen.
“Who’s in charge of that screen?” Twigg hollered. “We need to scroll down.”
A young technician waved at Twigg, and quickly vanished into a small alcove at the edge of the room. They all looked up again as the technician brought the rest of the page into view.
“But that doesn’t make sense,” Colin said. “He wasn’t even here back then. He’s no one. Why would Jaymes bother with him?”
And then, at that exact moment, the lift pinged and the silver doors slid apart. All heads turned as Derek stepped from the lift to see his name and face presented for all to see across Adam Jaymes’ website. “He ... he just called me,” Derek said, almost proudly. “I got the call.”
With that, Twigg grabbed Derek by the arm and marched him into his office. And then the phones started ringing like they had never rung before.
Derek sat in Twigg’s chair with the entire senior team in front of him, staring down at him. Even though the situation was far from perfect, a small part of him was thrilled. He was finally part of the Ear’s inner sanctum. He was with all the big hitters – Twigg, Sam Harvey, Valerie, Colin, Oonagh. He was part of the fire and heat that would bond them all forever. After all these years, he had finally arrived. He didn’t even care that Jason was lurking in the background, grinning at him. “It’s a simple scheme,” he said. “We put up £50k and they put up £50k. That’s all. It’s win-win. We get publicity, they get investment.”
“Oh Derek, you fool. That’s not all,” Oonagh said, reading the full story from her iPad.
“Perhaps Oonagh can tell me the whole story,” Twigg said, and turned his back on Derek. “Oonagh?”
“According to Project Ear we’ve only ever invested in Tory-run councils. They have no money to match our offer of fifty thousand pounds so Derek gives them a list of local charities the council supports. These are charities that, apparently, the Daily Ear doesn’
t approve of. The Council cuts its funding and uses the saving to match our fifty grand.”
“And why is that so unreasonable?” Valerie enquired.
“Because,” Oonagh said, “all the projects on Derek’s list are aimed at ethnic minorities or single parents or gay teenagers or families living in poverty. We are responsible for the closure of more than 100 charities across the country which supported some of the most vulnerable groups in society. People living in the most deprived areas have lost vital support so residents in more wealthy areas can have a hundred grand invested in their local swimming pool, or park.”
“I still don’t see the problem,” Valerie said, and then shrugged. “Maybe it’s just me.”
“And the gay horse sanctuary?” Twigg asked.
“Well, clearly Derek got his wires crossed. He thought it was some sort of animal sanctuary for gay horses and so had it closed. But of course it’s not a gay horse sanctuary. It’s Gay’s Horse Sanctuary. It was named in honour of Sally Gay who built the sanctuary up from scratch during the 1980s.”
Valerie pulled a face and shrugged again, to reinforce how little she cared.
“Sally Gay died of cancer 10 years ago,” Oonagh concluded, “and we closed her horse sanctuary.” And then she gave Valerie an old-fashioned look in return.
Sam sighed. “That’s going to be our duck house, isn’t it?” he said.
“The problem,” Oonagh continued, an angry tone beginning to strain her usually composed demeanour, “is that it reinforces an image of the Daily Ear as a racist, homophobic newspaper that despises the poorest families simply because they are poor. Not only is our reporting on these issues now going to be called into question, but we are going to be seen as having actively campaigned to have services for these groups cut in a most underhand manner.”
Valerie was beginning to get cross that Oonagh’s view was proving so central to the conversation and so decided to interject. “Why is this a problem?” she asked, loudly. “Honestly? Is anyone going to be surprised, really surprised, that we don’t want public money wasted on these types of services? It’s bad enough when loony left-wing councils are giving our money hand over fist to every black, lesbian, disabled, unemployed, single teenage mum who comes along. But it’s downright shameful when its Tory councils doing it. We shouldn’t be embarrassed by this. We should stand up and be counted. Frankly, I think Derek deserves a pat on the back.”
Derek, although still slightly dazed, smiled at Valerie and nodded to show his appreciation but felt it best not to add his penny’s worth at that point.
“Colin?” Twigg said. “Do you have anything to say? Do you think we’re in the clear on this one?”
Colin had stayed by the entrance to Twigg’s office and was leaning against the door with his arms tightly folded across his chest. As all eyes fell on him, he rolled his eyes and groaned out load. “Oh for fuck’s sake,” he said. “This is absolute bollocks.”
“Not helpful,” Twigg snapped. “I want your opinion. Do you agree with Valerie? Do you think we have nothing to worry about?”
Oonagh went to speak again but Twigg raised his hand to make clear he did not want her opinion. Colin looked at Valerie and remembered what a good friend she had been. Not just over the past week, but over the years. She had been one of the few journalists who’d been respectful to him from the start. She had been one of the few women who’d never had the slightest interest in him sexually, who had always treated him like an equal and given him good advice when he’d needed it (which he often did). He wanted to support her and agree with her, to back her up in such an important meeting. But he also knew, on this occasion, that she was entirely wrong. Colin was experienced enough to see beyond the walls of the Ear and how the story could easily steam roll out of control. This wasn’t a simple tale of infidelity or a secret marriage. This was something that affected real people, out there in the real world.
The tabloids would have fun with the ‘gay horse’ sanctuary, but the BBC and the broadsheets would push the broader issues. It would lead to investigations, and enquiries, and Panoramas, and Prime Minister’s questions. And beyond the national media there would be a thousand local newspaper reporters following up the story in their patch. There would be endless dissection, analysis and comment. Local authorities would be inundated with Freedom of Information requests and the drip-drip-drip of detail and new angles would keep the story going for months. If Derek’s scheme wasn’t seen as corrupt, it would certainly be seen as unethical and dishonest. More than that, Colin knew how he would cover the story if he worked for another paper. He knew how relentlessly he would pursue the Daily Ear until someone, anyone had been fired and he could claim their scalp as his own. The Daily Ear needed to act swiftly.
Colin unfolded his arms and the look of anger on his face gradually faded and for a brief moment he looked genuinely remorseful. He looked at Valerie, gently shook his head, and then gazed at Twigg. “Derek has to go. Straight away,” he said. He looked at his editor and tried to work out from his expression whether he agreed or not. There seemed to be a hint of a smile on Twigg’s face as though Colin had just passed a test. He looked beyond Twigg and noticed a few nodding heads that seemed to indicate everyone else had acknowledged the need for a sacrifice. And then his eyes dropped back down to Derek, who was still smiling and looked somewhat tickled at being centre of attention.
“I agree,” said Sam, the first to speak up. He was taking a chance by voicing his opinion ahead of Twigg’s, but had never felt comfortable with Derek and was pleased to have a reason to fire him. “On this occasion, I don’t see we have a choice.”
“Agreed,” said Twigg. And Derek’s fate was sealed. “I’ll have a car ready to take you home, Derek. Felicity will clear out your desk and we’ll send on your personal possessions. Sam will organise an exit package for you. But I hope I don’t need to remind you that if you break the confidentiality clause in your contract, you will leave with nothing.”
Derek nodded. “No, no, you’re right. I should take some time off. Maybe a few weeks. Just while this all dies down.” In his head, Derek was still in the inner sanctum, still one of the key players. It simply hadn’t registered that he had just been sacked.
“What?” Twigg snapped. “What’s wrong with you, man?”
Oonagh reached down and gently helped Derek to his feet. “Come with me, Derek. I’ll see you out and I’ll explain on the way down what’s going to happen next. Have you left anything in your office that you need urgently?”
With the penny finally dropping, Derek looked around at his former colleagues, suddenly feeling very alone. They were not his friends. They were getting rid of him. He was not one of them, and never had been. He was disposable, and Jason was still sitting in the corner of the room and was still grinning at him. “My coat. My briefcase,” he said meekly. “I will need my briefcase.”
“I’ll fetch it for you, Mr Toulson,” Felicity said and followed Derek and Oonagh from the office.
Standing at the glass wall, Twigg and his remaining colleagues watched as Oonagh and Felicity escorted Derek to the lift. The staff in the newsroom watched silently as though a funeral procession was passing by. Few really knew who Derek Toulson was or what he did at the Daily Ear. They certainly didn’t understand why an industry no-one had been targeted by Adam Jaymes, but they all suspected they would learn an awful lot about him over the coming days.
CHAPTER 14
the most disgusting hypocrisy. In March last year, Valerie Pierce used her Daily Ear column to grandstand on the issue of knife crime. Whilst not identifying black communities directly, she attacked ‘inner city families’ and lambasted them for failing to tackle the problem. However, the article was illustrated with a picture of a black youth. But unbeknown to her readers, at the exact same time the Daily Ear was working behind the scenes to have funding cut for vital youth mentoring schemes in those very inner city areas. Charities like Start Again, which had an incredible success rate in g
etting Black teenage boys off the streets and back into education or training. This was one of the schemes axed so the local Tory council could, instead, spend £100k installing a coffee shop in a local library. A coffee shop!
I don’t have a gay horse, but I have suspicions about my dog. Anyone know of a gay kennel that #TheDailyEar hasn’t shut down? #ProjectEar
“has been blamed for the closure of more than 100 charity-run services across the country, services – according to the actor Adam Jaymes – which were aimed at helping the country’s poorest and most vulnerable families. The Daily Ear released a statement a few hours ago, stating it had suspended the Pound-for-Pound community investment scheme and launched an internal investigation. And the Today programme has learnt that the man behind the scheme, Derek Toulson, left the Harvey News Group last night shortly after the story was uploaded to Adam Jaymes’ now infamous ‘Project Ear’ website. Joining me in the studio to discuss the implications for the councils involved, I have the chairman of the Local Government Association”