Behind Her Back

by Jane Lythell

  ‘She never has come back full-time, has she?’ I said.

  ‘That’s exactly my point. She gets the odd gig, but mainly as a replacement presenter.’

  Fizzy wrinkled her pretty nose in disgust at the thought.

  ‘But she was never as big as you, Fizz.’

  ‘Granted, but her presenting career is pretty well over now.’

  ‘You’re in a different league.’ I said it again to bolster her.

  She must have been thinking about this and worrying about it. This was what was driving her to come back in September.

  ‘Julius knows how important you are to the success of the show. I’ve always thought one of our unique selling points is that StoryWorld bucks the trend and has you as our sole anchor,’ I said.

  ‘We work in a ruthless industry. I have no illusions about loyalty from the station, none.’

  She filled my cup again and I added milk and leaned back against the sofa. I was glad I had broached the subject of Ledley. It was a pretty room, a reflection of Fizzy’s taste, feminine with vases of flowers and lamps on small tables and a lot of framed photographs of Fizzy at various stages of her career. There was a shot of a younger Fizzy standing in front of a weather map looking pert and pretty. Her first on-screen role at StoryWorld had been to do the weather and she had been an almost instant hit with the viewers. There was little evidence of a baby in the house apart from the Moses basket on the floor. When I had Flo our small house had overflowed with baby things and it used to irritate Ben. I guessed that Zachary had his own dedicated nursery and the toys and changing mats and other baby paraphernalia would be there with Loida keeping everything in perfect order. Fizzy poured herself more tea and gave me a guarded look.

  ‘So, strictly between you and me, Bob rang me a week ago. It’s the first time I’ve heard from him since the birth,’ she said.

  Mentioning Bob meant she was willing to treat me as her confidante again.

  ‘He said he wants to see Zac. What should I do?’

  I wasn’t going to give her any advice this time. Getting too involved before had made Bob my arch enemy. He had been very aggressive and told me to butt out of her pregnancy. My knowing he was the father made him fear me because I could spill the beans to his wife Pat and wreck his marriage. Not that I would do such a thing in a million years! I leaned towards her.

  ‘What do you want to do?’

  ‘I don’t know. He said he was sorry he hadn’t been in touch, that he’d been thinking about me all the time but didn’t know how to be around me any more.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure that’s true,’ I said.

  She tossed her head in a dismissive way.

  ‘Easy enough to say he’s thinking about me. I judge people on what they actually do.’

  ‘He must feel so conflicted. It’s a big secret.’

  ‘He’s scared; terrified Pat will find out and kick him out. But he’s also dead chuffed to have a son. I could tell that was the real draw, not me.’

  She took a biscuit and nibbled on it.

  ‘I love these biscuits. I know I shouldn’t but...’

  ‘They’re tiny,’ I said, and took another two to encourage her.

  ‘He’s got daughters, you know. He’s always wanted a boy. Anyway, I told him he couldn’t possibly come here. Most days there’s some paparazzi posted outside watching who’s coming in and who’s going out.’

  ‘Creeps, they should leave you alone,’ I said.

  ‘I know,’ she sighed. ‘It means I can’t go out without the full slap on.’

  Zachary started to stir and opened his eyes and slowly he came awake. Fizzy knelt down by his basket, lifted him up and cradled him in the crook of her arm. He was a pretty little baby, with her pointed chin.

  ‘He’s gorgeous, Fizz.’

  She smiled proudly. ‘He sailed through his six week check-up,’ she said.

  Loida came in with a bottle for the baby.

  ‘I’ll feed him this time,’ Fizzy said.

  I left soon after. Feeding her baby was a moment for her to savour without company.

  5

  StoryWorld TV station, London Bridge

  I was sitting in the gallery with the director watching Guy Browne do his fashion slot which was on ‘Dressing for the British Summer’. Guy had initially written ‘English’ summer in his script but thankfully I had spotted it in time and changed it to ‘British’. We get a furious response if we refer to our stories as being English rather than British and I’ve learned to look out for this.

  ‘Every year we have high hopes of soaring temperatures but the reality of the great British summer often disappoints. So I have a few simple rules,’ Guy said. ‘Invest in a lightweight trench coat. It’s by far the most elegant way to combat our unpredictable weather. I’m not talking of a dreary, detective trench. There are some playful versions out this summer.’

  Ledley was doing his best to look interested but he rarely comments, whereas if Fizzy was back she would have engaged far more. She loves talking fashion. Guy had told me he had to rush off after his slot so I didn’t mention the Lori Kerwell survey to him. Straight after was our interview of the day and this was with Jasmin, an actor turned activist who cared passionately about the fate of the bee. She wanted to ban the insecticide that was killing bees, had got a social media campaign going and had started a petition which had taken off. She was delivering this personally to Number Ten that morning. She and Ledley had a lively discussion and at the end she presented him with a jar of honey.

  ‘Bees are the good guys of our planet. Please help me save them,’ she said.

  *

  With Julius away I was chairing the morning meeting and Bob hated this. He had hardly sat down before he launched into Jasmin.

  ‘I mean, Jasmin and her bloody bees! She’s rent-a-gob and it’s well known she’ll go to the opening of an envelope,’ he said.

  Ledley protested. ‘That’s harsh. She really cares about bees and I thought she was great on that.’

  ‘She was,’ I said. ‘And she’ll be on the lunchtime bulletins delivering her petition to Number Ten and we had her on the sofa first. We might even be able to syndicate one of her quotes. Well done, Ledley.’

  Bob was so transparent in his hostility. It was strange how when Julius was away the importance of these discussions drained away. Lori was present but she didn’t say anything.

  Ledley walked back to my office and sat on my sofa. He had closed the door with a firm click, his expression puzzled and slightly pained.

  ‘Why is Bob being so aggressive towards you?’

  ‘Oh, he’s furious that Julius asked me to chair the morning meetings,’ I said.

  ‘That’s stupid. Downright petty. I thought there might be something else going on?’

  Ledley’s intuition was sound and Bob’s animosity went far deeper but I couldn’t explain any of that.

  ‘No, just the usual news versus features nonsense,’ I said.

  ‘Anyway, I wanted you to know that tomorrow I’m having lunch with Lori Kerwell and my food producers. She’s hoping she can do business with them,’ he said.

  Ledley has a deal with a food manufacturer who use his name on a marinade for meat and fish which is called Go Luscious with Ledley. He fronts their advertising campaign and we’ve been carrying the ads since January, which has been a good earner for the station.

  ‘Thanks for letting me know. Lori certainly has hit the ground running.’

  ‘Telling me. She gets in very early. I’ve seen her coming in when I’m heading for make-up.’

  ‘And she’s still at her desk when I leave,’ I said.

  Lori Kerwell had an office which was the mirror image of mine but was on the other side of Julius’s corner room. I’d been past it a couple of times and peered in. All our offices are glass boxes. She had a pink sofa and a shelf with colour-coded lever arch files running the length of one wall. When most of us left for the night you could see her desk light still burning. T
here was something alarming about the intensity with which she worked. It was more than working hard; she was a workaholic.

  ‘I heard you went to see Fizzy,’ he said.

  ‘I did. Yesterday. Zachary is gorgeous.’

  ‘Is she up for visits now?’

  ‘I think so, yes.’

  ‘Only she was cold when I rang her about two weeks ago. Gave me the distinct impression that my call wasn’t welcome.’

  This was odd. Fizzy had complained to me that she had heard nothing from Ledley. And she had asked me not to say anything about it either.

  ‘She’s under a lot of stress. There are paparazzi outside her house most days, which must be awful,’ I said.

  ‘They won’t leave until they know who the father is. They’re like a dog with a bone. I think I’ll send her a bunch of flowers and wait for an invitation,’ he said.

  ‘Good plan. And let me know how the meeting with Lori goes.’

  After Ledley had gone I felt low and I realised it was because I hadn’t been able to be straight with him, either about Bob’s aggression or about Fizzy. So often at work I can’t say what I think and have to be guarded in my choice of words. I once thought Ledley was someone I could have got close to but this gap between my real take on things and my diplomatic StoryWorld version can be a bar to true friendship. I sometimes worry that I’ve got into the habit of concealing my thoughts and feelings. My mum is a person who sets great store on telling the truth and she brought me up to think that was fundamental to a good life. But a lot of the time in television you can’t be honest. We all engage in a mixture of flattery, superlatives and half-truths and I still get these little stabs of self-reproach when I do it.

  I had stood Janis our childminder down for the day and Flo came into the station at four. She sat outside with Harriet and the team while I finished my emails. Flo has a thing about Harriet and thinks she is super cool. Harriet helped her last year on a disastrous night I still don’t like to think about and to her credit Harriet talks to Flo like she’s an equal. I know they keep in touch on WhatsApp.

  We took the Tube to Sloane Square and headed up the King’s Road to a dress-hire place I had researched. The walk took a while because Flo kept stopping at the shops on the way. The money Ben had transferred into her account was burning a hole in her pocket and she said she couldn’t decide what to spend it on. Finally, we reached the dress-hire shop which had a dark red interior and was heady with the fragrance of expensive candles. Jewel-coloured Tiffany lamps glowed on small tables. There were long rails holding every type of evening dress from elegant sheaths to Disney princess to Christina Aguilera vamp. Flo was impressed that as well as dresses you could hire jewellery, shoes, evening bags and even beaded hats and fascinators. The sales assistant said she’d be with us in a while and we should browse. She was dealing with a thin demanding woman with a loud voice and an expensive handbag on her bony arm.

  Flo was gleeful as she worked her way down the rails, picking several dresses for me to try on. I was drawn to the less ornate dresses and found a couple I liked. We carried our haul to the changing rooms. I tried each dress on and came out to the larger mirror to twirl for Flo. There was one I liked a lot, a simple cream satin sheath that was cut on the bias.

  ‘It’s too simple, Mum.’

  ‘I like simple,’ I said.

  The sales assistant had seen off her demanding client and joined us. She was a stylish middle-aged woman.

  ‘That looks good on you but with your dark bob I’m thinking you could go for a Louise Brooks look,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, I adore Louise Brooks,’ I said.

  ‘Who is she?’ Flo asked.

  ‘She was a star of the silent screen, darling.’

  The saleswoman returned with a beaded shift dress on a satin padded hanger.

  ‘This is one of our few vintage nineteen twenties dresses.’

  The dress was knee-length and the neckline a deep V. Silver, black and midnight blue glass beads had been sewn into a series of concentric circles and glittered dully under the changing room lights. She handed me the hanger and I was surprised at how heavy the dress was. She helped it over my head and as I looked in the mirror I shivered with pleasure. It was beautiful, exotic, and it made me feel glamorous.

  ‘Mum, you look gorgeous!’ Flo said.

  When you moved the dress moved with you and set up a gentle rustling of the tiny beads.

  ‘Oh yes, you have the face and the body for that dress. You’d think it was made for you,’ the saleswoman said.

  ‘Thanks so much for the suggestion. I would never have thought to try it on.’

  She slid the dress into a protector bag and zipped it up.

  ‘With a vintage dress you need to accessorise carefully.’

  She talked me into hiring a pair of 1920s-style black bar shoes with a small heel, and a metal mesh bag. I was on a high, had thrown my usual caution about spending to the winds and treated us to a taxi home with the precious cargo laid out on the back seat while Flo and I sat on the pull-down seats.

  ‘I’m going to have to take all this into work tomorrow. I won’t have time to come home and change.’

  Flo had been busy googling pictures of Louise Brooks.

  ‘Oh, Mum! I wanted to help you get ready.’

  ‘I guess you and Rosie could come to the station at teatime, if you think she’d like that. You can help me get ready there.’

  Chalk Farm flat, 7.15 p.m.

  Flo got on the phone to Rosie while I made us a salad niçoise. I hadn’t felt as excited about an event for ages. We aren’t up for any awards this year so I’ll be able to relax and drink the champagne and watch my industry at play. I was in such a good mood I decided we should eat outside so I gave our garden table a quick scrub and carried out two chairs. I opened a bottle of white wine and tossed the salad. Flo helped me carry out the plates and we sat across from each other.

  ‘Thanks for coming with me, sweets. I’m really excited about that dress.’

  She was picking out the black olives from her salad and putting them on my plate.

  ‘You looked different in it; different in a good way,’ she said.

  *

  Later, I went to my room and checked my home email. My neighbour upstairs had replied.

  No I’m sorry I don’t have Ron’s postal address. We did all our business by email. Is there a problem? Jason

  I was careful when I wrote back to him. He might still be in touch with Ron Osborne and I didn’t want that crook getting wind of my intentions.

  Thanks for getting back to me. There’s been a delay on my job but it can be resolved. All best, Liz

  I hope it can be resolved. I can’t afford to lose a thousand pounds. My finances are usually on a knife edge. When I separated from Ben I took on a larger mortgage than I can comfortably afford so that I could buy this two-bedroom flat. A great chunk of my salary goes on it every month. But my flat is my haven and I’m determined to hang onto it.

  6

  StoryWorld TV station, London Bridge

  I watched from the gallery as Gerry did his rundown on how different star signs view the issue of privacy.

  ‘The way I see it is that just as on Facebook you can choose the privacy settings you want, so with the star signs you will find a wide range of preferences on this. Sagittarians are happy for everyone to have access to news about their life. But those secretive Scorpios cringe at this openness and choose the highest privacy settings possible.’

  Gerry ran through the celebrities he had picked to illustrate his point and we flashed up their images as he spoke.

  ‘I get that, Gerry, but don’t you think that if you are a celebrity you can’t expect to put up these walls? I mean, you get all the advantages of fame and it’s your fans who put you there. Don’t you have to accept there’ll be interest in your private life?’ Ledley said.

  ‘Granted, but there needs to be limits, don’t there? No one can live their life under the spotlight
all the time.’

  ‘When I hear celebrities complaining about this it seems a bit rich to me,’ Ledley persisted.

  ‘But if your zodiac character is to be private you will find press attention more difficult to take. It has been known to make people ill,’ Gerry said.

  Ledley looked into camera. ‘We’d like to know what you think about this, and, tweeters, please include the hashtag StoryWorld.’

  God, we have an unforgiving audience sometimes. All the comments sided with Ledley and said why should overpaid celebrities have their cake and eat it. They got all the benefits of fame and should get over themselves.

  Later, I had a coffee with Gerry in the Hub.

  ‘That was a lively discussion this morning,’ I said.

  Gerry stirred a heaped teaspoon of sugar into his cappuccino and sprinkled more on top.

  ‘I was actually surprised at Ledley’s vehemence. It was almost like he was on his soapbox, wasn’t it?’

  ‘I haven’t seen that side of him before. He’s usually more laid-back. Our viewers were with him on the privacy issue though,’ I said.

  I could tell Gerry had something else he wanted to say but he didn’t want to be overheard. He scanned the café and took a sip of his drink. He moved closer to me.

  ‘I think Ledley is going to have problems returning to a weekly slot after all this airtime. You can see how he’s loving the limelight,’ he said in a low voice.

  Simon had said the same thing and I felt a stirring of unease. Ledley came to us as a chef with a weekly cooking slot. I had talent-spotted him and up till now had found him the most accommodating presenter to work with.

  ‘Maybe, but that’s the way it has to be,’ I said.

  *

  Around four, Flo and Rosie arrived at the station. Rosie hadn’t been there before and she was impressed by our large, light-filled atrium and by the Hub. She liked the lime-green and orange tables and chairs. She and Flo circled the food and drink bar which caters for all tastes and all types of allergies, but in the end they both settled for a pizza and a Coke. I treated them and went off to find Ellen in make-up to do my hair. The girls joined me there later while Ellen was starting on my face. Flo watched intently as she shaded my cheekbones and lined my eyes. We moved to one of the dressing rooms and the girls helped me into my dress and secured my shoes. I did a twirl for them and I felt excited, heady and giggly. As we left the room we encountered Henry, the floor manager.