by Paul Ilett
“We didn’t find anything at your offices when we searched the other day,” he said. “Everything we’ve got on Jason Spade is personal to his home computers. Apart from the spy-cam, he didn’t use any Daily Ear facilities.”
Twigg was grateful for the information. He knew it wouldn’t make a great difference straight away, as Jason’s exposé had already been extremely damaging. But at least the level of blame against the Daily Ear would lessen once the case was in court. “That is good news. Thank you. I appreciate the call.” Twigg had intended to follow his comment with an olive branch of his own. Perhaps an invitation to drinks or dinner or, if Lackie was still shying away from a face-to-face meeting, a simple suggestion they keep in touch for the time-being.
But Lackie beat him to the punch. “I have to say goodbye now, Twigg. Obviously, we won’t be speaking again,” he said.
Twigg’s blood ran cold as Lackie delivered the news with an offhand quality that caught him completely by surprise.
“I’m retiring,” he continued. “It’s been fast-tracked, for reasons you can probably imagine. Tomorrow’s my last day. It’s all been kept quiet for now. Everyone thinks I’m just going on holiday. But there’ll be a press release next month, long after I’m gone. Shirley’s decided she’s had enough of London, so we’re going to stay with her sister and brother-in-law. They live in Portugal. Shirley says if we like it she wants us to buy an apartment nearby.”
Twigg was overwhelmed by a profound sense of loss, a realisation that another constant in his life was about to vanish and it left him unable to speak.
“Whatever happens,” Lackie continued, “we won’t be coming back to the UK. And, like I said, you won’t be hearing from me again. So I just wanted to have the opportunity to say thank you for everything. And I’m sorry for the way this has turned out. I don’t think it’s what either of us would have wanted.”
Lackie paused just long enough for Twigg to offer a compliment or fond farewell, or to simply acknowledge his acceptance of this situation. But there was no sound from the other end of the line.
“I wish you all the best, Leonard,” Lackie concluded and the line went dead.
Twigg sat for a few moments, with the phone pushed against his ear as though waiting for the conversation to resume. But with each second that ticked by, he became more aware of the emptiness at the other end of the line. He placed the receiver back in its cradle and wondered if he should ask Jeanette to call him back. Perhaps, he thought, if Lackie had received a less frosty reception it might have changed the outcome of the conversation. Perhaps he might not have been quite so clear-cut with Twigg, and left some scope for future conversations or drinks. Twigg picked up the receiver and called Jeanette, but had a last-minute change of heart and so quietly asked her to make sure he wasn’t disturbed for the next hour. He then took himself off to his private bathroom and locked the door.
Colin sat alone in the snug at the Cock and Bull and was so distracted by the news coverage on the large, wall-mounted television that his pint of ale had sat in front of him, untouched, for almost an hour. He was engrossed in the countdown to Adam Jaymes’ next exposé and had become increasingly unhappy with the tone of the reporting. The light-hearted banter and eager sense of anticipation seemed more fitting to a child on Christmas Eve than professional broadcast journalists. But then Colin had never liked TV reporters, and Project Ear had done little to change his mind.
Hopping from one rolling-news channel to the next, it became clear that Adam Jaymes had started a feeding frenzy which none of them could satiate. During the previous 60 minutes, Colin had watched a revolving door of talking heads, industry experts, commentators, ex-journalists, back bench MPs and former ‘Ear victims’. They’d all been interviewed countless times since Project Ear first started and no one had anything new to say. But Colin could tell they were all thrilled to have another opportunity to put the boot in, live on telly. And so he watched as they were each wheeled out and interviewed only to appear 15 minutes later on another news channel where they were asked the same questions. At least, he thought, the BBC had made an effort to find a couple of new people to add to the mix. There was a camp American business analyst who detailed, with great enjoyment, how the scandal had damaged Harvey Media International’s reputation around the world. And there was a bright man in glasses from Ipsos MORI who explained how Project Ear had brought public trust in newspaper journalists to an all-time low. The pollster, much to Colin’s annoyance, took great pains to distinguish between newspaper reporters and other journalists who rated far better. Colin took a mental note of both their names and filed them away at the back of his mind for future reference. As well as the guests, one other constant across all the channels was the choice of image used as a backdrop to the discussion. Leonard Twigg’s face was no longer his own, it was public property and for the past week had become little more than a logo for Project Ear. Throughout all the coverage and discussion, it was clear everyone thought it a foregone conclusion that Twigg would get the next call. And, in reality, even Colin thought Twigg was the most likely candidate.
But he had been around long enough to know there were others whose behaviour might have caught Adam Jaymes’ attention and, being conscientious, he had secretly prepared some background material on a number of his colleagues just in case. His alternative list was fairly short, but included the barely literate TV critic for whom no pun was too sexist, racist or homophobic, and the ever-smiling, name-dropping showbiz reporter who was every celebrity’s best friend until he filed his copy. But top of Colin’s alternative list was the Ear’s notorious fake Spanish prince who had carried out a number of high-profile stings the previous summer. One by one, he had lured kind-hearted celebrities to a posh London hotel suite so they could make a case for whichever charity they represented. Once there he plied each of them with charm and champagne and coaxed them into poking fun at Britain’s own royal family.
One great dame of the British theatre had gotten particularly sloshed and cracked a famously misjudged joke about Prince Charles’ penis which created such public uproar she’d had no choice but to renounce her dame-hood and leave the country. The name of the fake prince had never been released, but Colin had no doubt Adam Jaymes would have been able to identify him. His trail of thought concluded as a familiar voice purred, “Now, why did I think I would find you in here?” He swivelled on his stool and found Valerie standing in the doorway, a glass of red in her hand. “Hello stranger,” he replied with a smile. “I’ve been let out of the madhouse for a couple of hours. Oonagh wants me ready for action at nine.”
Valerie joined him at his table and grimaced. “And I hope by ‘action’ you mean ‘work’.”
“Of course,” he replied. “I think she’s aiming a little higher than a newsroom grunt like me. Anyway, you look well. Enjoy your time off?”
Immediately, Valerie felt troubled by Colin’s comment as she realised she was not the only person who could see Oonagh was closing in on Sam Harvey. But she decided that was a conversation for another time. “Yes, very nice,” she said. “I caught up with my friends who were all marvellously supportive and kind. It really helped put all of this Project Ear nonsense into perspective.” She noticed a mobile phone lying on the table, and recognised it was Colin’s personal iPhone rather than his work Blackberry. “Are you expecting a call?” she asked.
He sipped his ale and, with a degree of melancholy, shook his head. “Nah,” he replied. “I’ve sent her dozens of texts and she hasn’t replied to any of them. She was due today. Regardless of what I’ve done, I still think I have a right to know what’s going on. I could be a dad. I could have a son or daughter and not even know.”
“Darling, I realise the timing couldn’t be worse and I understand you want to speak to her. But it’s been less than a fortnight. She’s going to need some space.”
“She’s got space,” he replied, glumly. “400 bloody miles of it.”
“She’ll be back,” Vale
rie said, attempting to sound reassuring.
“No. No she won’t. She hasn’t just gone to stay with her family in Edinburgh. She’s moved back. It’s permanent.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I spoke to her dad yesterday. It’s permanent.”
Valerie wasn’t sure what to say. She wanted to offer Colin some hope but hadn’t really been left with anywhere to go. “How was Fiona’s father with you?” she asked.
“Oh, he’s great. Funny old boy. We’re basically the same age but he always plays the role of father-in-law. He’s always ready with the wise words and common sense. And in spite of everything that happened, he didn’t judge me or blame me. But he did tell me that Fiona wasn’t coming back and said, maybe, it had all been for the best.”
“What, that Adam Jaymes has done you a favour?”
“Well, I know it sounds a bit odd but I take his point.”
“I don’t,” Valerie snapped. “What a ridiculous thing to say.”
Colin sighed and glanced back to the TV. He knew Valerie would never allow a good word to be said about Adam Jaymes but perhaps, just perhaps, Fiona’s dad was right and it had all for the best. Perhaps, bizarrely, Adam Jaymes had done them all a favour. Fiona, clever sparkling Fiona, would have the baby she craved and the freedom to find a good man to love and care for her. Colin knew he could never be that man and not because he was twice her age. Their short relationship had been happy enough, but it was clear Fiona wanted to create a vanilla, middle-class home that would have been more of a prison than a life for Colin. She wanted play dates and John Lewis and theatre evenings, and highbrow holidays to grim-sounding destinations like Vietnam and Berlin. Colin wanted a wife and kids but with none of the trappings. His work would always come first, and he could never be loyal in the way a wife would expect. Indeed, since Fiona had moved back to Scotland it had become clear that his casual approach to sex hadn’t been tempered by marriage.
Without Fiona, his world had quickly jigsawed back into place and returned him to the familiar routines of single life. Once again his days were a rush of work, sandwiches, phone calls, coffee, trains and pints. He had enjoyed the company of a couple of random women during two particularly dark and boozy nights. They weren’t anyone he knew: a businesswoman in a hotel bar who said he looked sad, and an American who’d spent an entire tube journey staring at his crotch before offering to buy him a drink. The sex had been good, a welcome relief from masturbation, and he hadn’t felt any guilt afterwards. But then the only time he’d ever felt guilt was when he had been with Laura. For Colin, a one night stand was easily forgotten, but Laura had been much more than that. For more than 30 years they had skirted around their attraction for each other, kept at arm’s length by their mutual bond with Terry. But just a few weeks after Colin and Fiona’s wedding, there had been a chance meeting at a conference in Leeds and a few too many glasses of complimentary wine. Colin wanted to be faithful to his new wife, but the chance to finally be with Laura was a schoolboy’s dream come true. The next morning he and Laura awoke with hangovers and regrets and agreed it would never ever happen again, but neither really believed it. And as a few more trysts blossomed into an affair, Colin realised it had spiralled out of his control and he had felt powerless to stop it. If it hadn’t been for Adam Jaymes, he and Laura would probably still be seeing each other. “Laura and Terry are back together,” he said, with some small measure of happiness in his voice.
“Ah, the collateral damage,” Valerie said softly. “Every scandal has its Laura and Terry.”
“Terry’s been in touch. He sent me a long letter a few days ago,” Colin continued.
“A letter?” Valerie enquired, surprised. “How sweet. I didn’t know people still sent letters.”
“Terry’s a complete technophobe. No email, no Twitter. He still doesn’t have a mobile. Even his letters are handwritten.”
“A handwritten letter,” Valerie said and then sighed as though mourning a good friend who had been inexplicably lost to the past. “Good letter or bad letter?”
Colin shrugged, pretending it was much of a muchness and didn’t really matter but Valerie knew it mattered to him a lot. “Bit of both,” he said. “But I know Terry. Give him a few months and we’ll be mates again.” He checked his watch and realised it was time to head back to the office, and so downed his pint. “You coming then?” he asked.
Valerie shook her head. “Not this time,” she replied, as though Project Ear was a terrible palaver she had grown weary of. “I only popped in to see you. I’m going to finish this and then watch from the safety of my own home. I’m sure it will all be fine, but call me if you need any help.”
Colin kissed her on the cheek and headed off. “I will,” he said, and then hurried out of the snug. Valerie sipped her wine and watched as the countdown continued on Sky News. “And if there’s a God in heaven, Oonagh Boyle, you will be next,” she muttered to herself.
“It feels different this time,” Sam remarked, as the usual suspects gathered in Twigg’s office in preparation for the call. No one needed him to elaborate because they each felt the same way. Adam Jaymes’ first two exposés had been as ridiculous as they were dramatic, hitting Colin and Valerie on a very personal level but with little impact on the Daily Ear itself. In retrospect, they seemed little more than flirtation compared to what had followed. The stories about Derek and Jason had brought genuine disgrace on the Daily Ear and left a massive dent in the company’s advertising income. Those two exposés had forced dozens of councillors across the country to resign their seats, given opposition MPs the chance to score heavy political points during Prime Minister’s questions and forced the Met to launch a criminal investigation that would doubtlessly land Jason in prison. Adam Jaymes had proven he could up his game anytime and without warning, and so it did feel different because everyone realised his next exposé could bring Harvey News Group crashing to the ground. Sam stared at his phone, his mind whirling through all the possible targets and outcomes of the next call. He had spent hours poring over the reputation management documents with Oonagh and the lawyers but, through experience, he doubted their preparation would prove to be of any use. Adam Jaymes had the most amazing ability to reveal secrets about the Daily Ear that even the Daily Ear didn’t seem to know.
Sam sat with Oonagh and Colin at the meeting table with their mobile phones in front of them. Twigg chose not to join them. Instead he sat at his desk with his mobile phone, a little 10-year-old Nokia, tucked away in his jacket pocket and continued rattling away merrily on his keyboard as though he had little interest in what was happening around him. As 9pm approached, Sam could feel a heaviness in the air that hadn’t been there for the previous calls. The second hand on the wall clock seemed to tick with an unpleasant haste towards deadline, and as it did Sam could feel every iota of control slip from his hands. “He means business,” he eventually said, his mind racing through every file in his internet porn collection. “This is going to be a bad one.”
“Sam, we don’t know that,” Oonagh said. “Let’s just keep hoping. He might want to calm things down with something a little more - ”
“Be quiet!” Colin said suddenly and raised his hands slightly off the table. “What was that?”
They all listened for a noise, and amidst the muffled hum from the newsroom outside they could hear something quietly buzzing inside Twigg’s office.
“It’s a phone,” Oonagh said. “It’s on vibrate. Which one?”
They looked down at the table. None of the phones were lit or moving.
“Well, it must be one of them,” Sam said. “Where’s that buzzing coming from?”
The noise continued unabated and gradually Sam, Oonagh and Colin realised it was coming from the other side of Twigg’s desk. One by one they each turned to face him, but he continued to type as though nothing was happening.
“Twigg, where’s your phone?” Sam asked.
Twigg didn’t reply.
“Leon
ard!” Oonagh snapped. “Answer your phone.”
“No,” Twigg said. “I refuse to participate in his childish game.”
“Leonard, answer your phone,” Oonagh said again, this time with a firmness which made clear that she was his boss. But Twigg continued to ignore her and so she marched around the desk and pulled his phone from his jacket pocket. She looked at it for a moment, slightly puzzled by its antiquated design, but then she realised it still had the basic controls of a modern phone and hit the answer key twice. The phone stopped buzzing, the call had been answered. Oonagh held the phone towards Twigg’s mouth for him to say hello and start the conversation, but he pursed his lips and looked away like a toddler refusing a spoonful of medicine.
“Twigg, say hello,” Sam whispered angrily at him. “Say. Hello.”
Twigg stopped typing. He took a deep, irritated breath and turned towards Oonagh’s outstretched hand. He stared at his phone, its little square screen lit up with only the word ‘Unknown’ to indicate someone was on the line. Before he spoke, he glanced over to his glass wall and could see every journalist in the newsroom on their feet, staring intently back at him. “Twigg!” he snapped.
“Hello Leonard Twigg. This is Adam Jaymes. I just called to let you know it’s your turn.” And with that, the little screen on the phone went dark.
Oonagh gently placed the mobile onto Twigg’s desk and with an unexpected kindness in her voice said, “No surprises then, Leonard. We knew he would pick on you next. Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it together. All of us. You’re not on your own.”
Twigg scowled at her, rejecting her pity, and then looked back to his monitor and continued typing.
“We need to face this one head-on, see what it’s about,” Sam said, trying his hardest to sound commanding and in control, and not let slip any measure of his own personal relief. He knew, once again, that all the planning and guessing and preparing would be for nothing. He had a list of possible scandals next to Twigg’s name and most of them involved illegal payments to officials, blackmail or phone hacking. Any one of them could prove to be the final nail in the Ear’s coffin.