Behind Her Back

by Jane Lythell

  ‘Fizzy is a pro to the tips of her toes so we’ll make it work,’ I said slipping into my work-Liz voice, the capable TV producer who sorted all the problems the programme threw at her. Ben had hated it when I used that tone with him and would say, ‘Don’t talk to me like I’m one of your team.’

  ‘I’m sure she will but won’t that put more pressure on you? I mean presumably you have to allocate the stories?’

  ‘Yes I do.’

  ‘Won’t that be a cause of conflict? I know how pushy presenters can be!’

  I didn’t understand why he was persisting with these questions. Couldn’t he see how uncomfortable it was making me feel?

  ‘It’s what I’m paid to do,’ I said.

  Douglas sensed the change in the atmosphere between us.

  ‘Sorry, we should probably have a rule that we don’t talk shop when we meet,’ he said.

  I was being touchy but I knew that if I started talking about work I would reveal far too much: how worried I was about the new double act, how I felt threatened by Lori bloody Kerwell and behind it all lurked the secret that oppressed me, that Bob was Zachary’s father. They were all things I couldn’t share with him. I tried to reach out to him again, to recreate the warm feeling we’d had earlier.

  ‘It’s difficult, isn’t it, because our work is such a big thing in our lives,’ I said.

  ‘Too big, I’ve been told, more than once,’ he said with a rueful smile.

  But our mood of intimacy had gone and I was panicking at the thought of going back to his flat. I felt too anxious and vulnerable to have sex with him. So I lied and told him that I needed to get home for Flo. We left the bistro and he hailed a taxi and opened the door for me.

  ‘Thank you for a wonderful evening,’ I said.

  We kissed quickly and I got into the cab. I was miserable as the taxi chugged along back to Chalk Farm. I was returning to an empty flat and tonight was not, after all, going to be the night I slept with Douglas Pitlochry. The driver tried to start a conversation but I gave him one-word answers and he gave up. I looked out of the window. Litter was piled around the Camden Town Tube entrance, empty hamburger boxes, greasy paper and crushed cans. I saw a man who was out of it on drink or drugs staggering down the steps of the Tube and nearly falling on his face. I pulled my mobile out of my bag and looked at its black screen. Could I bear to turn it on and listen to the message from Julius that I was sure was waiting for me? Douglas had invited me to his flat and taken me for a lovely dinner and I had scuttled away. Why did work always have to spoil everything?

  19

  StoryWorld TV station, London Bridge

  They say attack is the best form of defence and I was determined to have my say about the Lou Gibson piece. We were seated for the morning meeting in the same configuration as yesterday, Fizzy and her allies opposite Ledley and his. Lori was wearing a purple suit and her expression was grim. She and I exchanged icy looks and I could see that she thought I’d been stirring the media up against Ledley. I wondered if she had complained to Saul Relph about me again or if that was yet to come. Our rift was becoming a chasm. Julius entered the room and went to his chair at the top of the table, the place no one else ever took. The atmosphere in the meeting room was as tight as a drum. Julius cleared his throat and was about to start but I spoke up.

  ‘Julius, before we begin I would like to say something about the Lou Gibson piece which I’m sure you will all have seen.’

  He nodded his assent. He’d got my message and we’d spoken briefly early this morning about the poisonous article. I had told him again exactly what had happened.

  ‘I said nothing of what was reported by Lou Gibson; not one word. She called me on Wednesday and I gave her exactly the same script I gave all the other journalists. But she had it in her head to write the story she did. I warned Ledley about her that afternoon.’

  I was grateful when Ledley backed me up.

  ‘Yes, you did,’ he said.

  ‘As I was leaving the building she doorstepped me and tried to put words into my mouth. All I did was repeat the lines-to-take that we had agreed.’

  I took a breath and looked over at Julius.

  ‘I think it’s possible, however, that she picked up some intelligence from the station, possibly from one of the journalists.’

  ‘Are you accusing my team?’ Bob barked at me.

  ‘I’m accusing no one specific. What I am saying is that there was a lot of chatter and gossip in the station on Wednesday afternoon, after we issued the statement. Journalists know each other. There could have been some idle talk that she overheard.’

  Lori had the article printed out in front of her.

  ‘But she is very specific.’ She put on her glasses and read it out: ‘“It is believed that head of features, Liz Lyon, who has herself come up against the macho and bullying culture at the TV station, is horrified at the change in presentation arrangements.” You are saying she invented that point about your opinion?’

  ‘Yes. I have no idea where she got that from. I said nothing at all about the culture here. For heaven’s sake, do you think I would be so crass or so stupid? All I said was that we were all thrilled that Fizzy was returning and that Ledley was in a supporting role, as per the agreed script.’

  ‘Of course Liz wouldn’t have said that. She’s a highly experienced producer and she knows how this business works.’

  It was Fizzy and she addressed her remarks directly to Lori, emphasising knows how this business works, her implication being that Lori the newcomer did not.

  ‘So she invented that bit?’ Lori was not going to let it go.

  ‘Journalists invent stuff all the time,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, they do. I’ve had lots of experience of that,’ Fizzy said with a toss of her head.

  Finally, Julius said something.

  ‘But you think something might have come out of the station, Liz?’

  ‘It’s possible. There was a feverish atmosphere here on Wednesday.’

  ‘Wherever it came from it is damaging and has been picked up by other outlets,’ Julius said.

  A moment of quietness descended on the room as each one of us thought about that. The room was thick with suspicion and hostility.

  *

  I was meeting Gerry for lunch off-site. He had done his best this morning to include both Fizzy and Ledley in his discussion of compatibility and the zodiac. He had pointed out that they were both fire signs, Fizzy a Leo and Ledley a Sagittarius, and this meant that they were compatible. Both had played along and seemed, as with yesterday, to be the best of pals. Only those of us who knew them well might have spotted the tiny signs of strain: a minute tightening of a lip here, a dropping of the voice there.

  Gerry had booked us a table at a Thai restaurant and was already there when I pushed the door open. He stood up and kissed me on both cheeks.

  ‘Darling, it’s a car crash,’ he said as I sat down.

  ‘I know. I saw how you tried to make it work this morning, thanks for that,’ I said.

  ‘Of course, we have to make it work, but you should feel the atmosphere in the studio. Tense doesn’t even begin to describe what it’s like in there. When we went to the ad break she blanked him completely. They loathe each other now and it’s poisonous. All the crew know what’s going on.’

  I glanced around the restaurant to check that we weren’t being overheard. Our table was away from the occupied ones.

  ‘It is hugely difficult,’ I said.

  ‘I hope it’s worth it, Liz. It’s an unhappy show at the moment.’

  ‘Only time will tell,’ I said and picked up the menu though I had little appetite.

  We waited for our food and I pointed at the orchid in the vase on our table. It had a flat white face and a dark pink speckled centre.

  ‘Have you noticed how orchids have a front and a back? I mean, most flowers are kind of in the round, aren’t they, but orchids are directional, aren’t they?’ I said.

  H
e laughed at my observation for some reason. We had both ordered pad thai with prawns and our plates arrived. I like the peanut taste and I squeezed a lemon over the noodles.

  ‘I saw Lori Kerwell out with Saul Relph last week,’ Gerry said.

  ‘Where was this?’

  ‘At that big travel show in Olympia. I was there doing a book signing on the Yoga Holidays stand and I saw the two of them walk past with a couple of men. They stopped and said hello briefly but didn’t say who the men were. I wouldn’t have thought it was the kind of event that Saul Relph would attend.’

  ‘No, nor I,’ I said.

  That was an interesting piece of intelligence.

  Chalk Farm flat, 9 p.m.

  Flo is interested in a boy! This came out tonight while I was on my knees in front of the washing machine sorting out the whites from the coloureds. I overheard her discussing a boy called Ethan. His name has come up before. He’s at that school in Highgate and yesterday Flo and Rosie had bumped into him in Camden. He was with a mate and the four of them had walked to the Roundhouse together. Cue for huge excitement on Flo’s part and a reprise of what he had said, what she had said back, how she wished she had looked better when she met him, how she couldn’t wait to see him again and that she was glad that school was going back next week because they could go up to Highgate green and seek him out. I sat back on my heels recalling the joy and intensity of those first adolescent crushes. There was a boy I used to look for at the bus stop every morning. He went to the school near mine and if I saw him my day was made. I have no idea if he was aware of my devotion.

  I stood up and added fabric conditioner and selected and pressed the wash cycle. I put the kettle on. I was feeling angry with myself for my reaction to Douglas last night. Why had I pulled back because he had asked me a couple of questions about work? Have I really got to the stage where I don’t know who I can trust any more?

  Chalk Farm flat, Saturday

  I start cooking again in September. There is something about the beginning of autumn, about that nip in the air and the shorter days, that makes me want to make casseroles and soups and puddings.

  While Flo slept on I did an early visit to our local market and bought onions, carrots, parsnips and a bunch of parsley. I treated myself to a cappuccino. The café was full and the hiss of the coffee machine was a constant refrain. I had agreed we would go to Selfridges later to buy Flo a bra and panty set for the great teenage fashion makeover shoot which was scheduled for Sunday week. I’ve already been told by Flo that I am not to accompany her to the shoot. The location they are using is the Lock Tavern pub in Camden which has a roof terrace.

  Selfridges, Oxford Street

  Selfridges on a Saturday was a bad idea. We took the bus to Oxford Circus and had to push our way through the crowds to get to those famous doors. Once inside the store we worked our way through the cosmetic and fragrance section, swerving the hectic saleswomen who were clutching perfume bottles ready to spray us. We reached the lingerie department upstairs. Flo was measured up and told her cup size and she must have tried on a dozen different bras.

  ‘Harriet told me she only ever wears matching sets,’ Flo said.

  ‘You mean she has as many bras as panties? Surely not.’

  ‘Oh yes, she has about thirty sets and wears a new one every day. She has her favourites but she never ever wears non-matching underwear.’

  ‘If she bought several pairs of the matching panties she wouldn’t need as many bras,’ I said.

  ‘But she likes choosing a new set to wear every morning. She said she lays them out in her drawer by colour.’

  Flo spoke as if this was great and something to be emulated.

  ‘And when she goes on holiday she packs fourteen different bras and panties,’ she added.

  ‘That’s bonkers!’

  I had found a chair in the changing room and had to draw on my reserves of patience when Flo couldn’t decide between her two favourites and kept going back and forth on which one she should choose. The implication was that I should buy both sets and I flatly refused to do this. Finally, she made her decision. I was grumpy at the inflated price for matching pieces of lace and satin prettiness until I recalled that I had treated myself to a pricy red bra and panty set when I started dating Todd. Nice underwear does give you a boost and my girl was growing up fast.

  ‘Now I need some tea,’ I said.

  We went to the coffee shop. As I was standing in the queue I spotted a woman in the line in front of us who looked familiar. I watched her as she reached the cash register and, even though I had met her only the once, I thought she might be Pat, Bob’s wife. She had two girls with her and I knew they had two daughters. She paid and turned with her tray.

  ‘Pat?’ I said.

  She stopped and peered at me.

  ‘It’s Liz from StoryWorld,’ I said.

  ‘Of course. How nice to see you. Do join us. Girls, go and find us a big table,’ she said.

  I bought a pot of tea for me and a Coke for Flo and we joined them at a table by the window.

  ‘I haven’t been here for ages and it’s exhausting isn’t it?’ she said.

  ‘It’s a scrum,’ I agreed.

  I poured my tea and Pat leaned back with her mug of hot chocolate and took a sip. She was a nice-looking woman, simply dressed in a linen shift and with a trace of pink lipstick on.

  ‘It was a last-minute decision to come because of Bob having to go in to work,’ Pat said. ‘I know it comes with the job but it does bug me when he’s called in on a Saturday, even if it is for a news scoop. We’d planned a visit to Hampton Court today.’

  I wasn’t aware that there was any big news scoop. Nothing had been said at the Friday meeting about weekend working and as that entailed overtime rates Julius would have had to approve it. I looked down at my cup as the strongest suspicion grew in me that Bob had lied to Pat and that he was off meeting Fizzy and Zachary at the safe house, wherever that was. I didn’t know what to say but muttered something about it being a shame.

  ‘You’re on the features side, aren’t you?’ Pat asked.

  ‘I am, so thankfully it’s rare for me to have to go in at the weekend. Just as well, as I see little enough of Flo as it is,’ I said.

  ‘Bob doesn’t see nearly enough of the girls either. Hannah’s off to uni in October and we’ll only have her back in the vacations. Television is a demanding business, isn’t it?’

  She sounded fed up. We looked over at our girls. They were chatting happily and examining each other’s purchases. Her elder girl had Bob’s features, including his angry eyes. The younger girl looked softer and more like Pat.

  ‘It is extremely demanding and it kind of sucks you in,’ I said, and then I tried to think how I could change the subject and get away from such dangerous territory as the TV station and Fizzy Wentworth.

  ‘Does your work entail shifts?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, it does, but we know well in advance about weekend working so I can plan ahead,’ Pat said.

  She told me about it. She’s the administrator of a Well Women clinic that runs checks for breast and cervical cancer. She liked her work and it kept her grounded, she said. I found myself liking her and feeling uncomfortable about what I knew. Bob had cheated on her for months last year. He might even at this moment be cheating on her again.

  ‘You know Bob has always been restless at work, usually moving on after two or three years, but he seems to have settled at StoryWorld and that at least is a relief,’ she said.

  She was a nice woman who deserved better. Fifteen minutes later I said we had better be making tracks as I had a pile of housework to get through. The girls had exchanged their Instagram details and promised to follow each other.

  20

  StoryWorld TV station, London Bridge

  The conflict started early today, even before the morning meeting. Ledley grabbed me as I was heading for the stairs, after the credits on the show had rolled.

  ‘Liz, a quick
word in my room, please.’

  I followed him reluctantly along the corridor to his dressing room. It had to be something difficult if he wanted me out of earshot of the others. He opened the door and I looked around. His room smelled of a man’s cologne. He has made himself more at home over the last few days. There was a whole series of framed photographs on the wall. One showed him standing outside his restaurant, The Caribbean Shack, and there was another with Ledley and a well-known footballer. His sofa was covered with a brightly coloured throw in green, black and gold. He shut the door and stood opposite me with his arms folded over his chest, his face a picture of hurt outrage.

  ‘She did it again this morning and you’ve got to tell her to play fair,’ he said.

  I knew what he meant. This morning we had booked in another food story for Ledley to present and Fizzy had overrun her item so that his interview had had to be cut short.

  ‘She does it on purpose. Cuts into my time and I get little enough to do as it is.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Ledley. It’s still early days and she’s feeling raw about the change. Give it time and I’m sure things will settle down.’

  I hoped this would happen but wasn’t sure it would. Ledley saw straight through my weasel words.

  ‘She needs to be told now, before she thinks she can get away with it. She’s deliberately messing up the timings to push me out. It makes life hard for the crew as well as for me.’

  That was true. The director was finding it a nightmare to hit the ad breaks to schedule and Henry was having to hold guests back in the green room because Fizzy was deliberately ignoring their countdowns.

  ‘I’ll have a word with her after the meeting, but we need to remember that she’s had a baby and she may be tired and not at the top of her game.’

  ‘Sorry, but that’s bullshit. She’s at the top of her game and knows exactly what she’s doing.’

  As I looked at his angry face I wondered where the laid-back Ledley had gone, the one who used to be the easiest of all my presenters to work with. His complaints were legitimate but I hardly recognised this new, pushy Ledley.