Behind Her Back

by Jane Lythell

  ‘Is Flo still upset?’ she said as we went down to the edit suite.

  ‘I’m afraid she is. I wanted to check what it is that’s causing her so much anguish.’

  ‘I don’t understand it. She looked wonderful, honestly.’

  The shoot had been done as a series of freeze-frame stills rather than as moving footage. We saw the three girls arriving in their own clothes in a long room which had a clothes rail along one side with the makeover outfits hanging on it. Then Harriet spooled through the series of shots, showing each girl in her makeover outfit.

  ‘Guy had three themes, you see: Sport Luxe, Nineties Revival and Twisted Beauty.’

  She brought up the images of Flo. She was dressed in a high-necked black Victoriana blouse with a velvet bolero on top and black trousers finished off with lace-up boots. Her hair had been teased into extravagant curls and her make-up was dramatic, a pale face and dark plum lips. I hardly recognised her. But the make-up was not extreme and it was definitely not in horror movie territory, as she had claimed. She looked otherworldly, a fragile beauty and older than her fifteen years.

  ‘Doesn’t she look wonderful?’ Harriet said.

  ‘Yes, she does, but she’s convinced she looks like a freak. Can you show me the other girls?’

  They both looked far more contemporary. The Sport Luxe girl was wearing black leggings, a print jumper and a red puffa jacket. Her hair was in a high ponytail and there was a splash of blue on her eyelids. The Nineties Revival girl was in a pink slip dress with a white T-shirt underneath, a choker necklace and a washed-out denim jacket. Flo had been shot inside the building sitting on a chair with a high back and the lighting was moody, one side of her face in shadow. The other two girls were standing on the roof terrace. They looked more like teenagers out having fun. Flo looked striking and she stood out, and fifteen-year-olds do not like to stand out. This must have been what was disturbing her.

  ‘She’s begged me to get her edited out of the story.’

  ‘Oh, please don’t. It won’t work as an item with only two models and Guy adored the way Flo looked. He said she was the jewel in the crown.’

  She was right that the item wouldn’t work with only two makeovers. There wasn’t enough contrast without Flo. And could I really be so unprofessional as to insist that Guy edited out my daughter, having agreed that she would do the shoot? What possible grounds could I give him? That she looked too striking? No, this had to go out and I had to persuade Flo that it was fine. Which was not going to be easy to do. I felt a vein start to throb in my temple.

  ‘I’ll talk to her tonight. Hopefully she’ll have calmed down. Fifteen-year-old girls can be very up and down.’

  ‘She’s a real beauty but maybe that scares her,’ Harriet said.

  I found it interesting that Harriet had said that.

  *

  Mid-afternoon I got a second call from Ledley’s agent Angela Hodge. She had called that morning and left a message with Ziggy. I had been putting off calling her back, expecting a hard time from her. There was no opening greeting and she was extremely clipped with me.

  ‘We need a meeting at the earliest opportunity,’ she said.

  I find her abrasive and I didn’t want to meet with her.

  ‘Do we? What do you want to discuss?’

  ‘Ledley’s position on the show, of course; how you plan to develop his screen presence now he’s the co-host.’

  ‘We can meet in due course to discuss Ledley’s terms and conditions but I’m afraid I’m swamped this week.’

  ‘I’ll be blunt, Liz, we feel you are showing favouritism.’

  ‘I find your choice of words inappropriate,’ I said coldly.

  ‘And I find the way Ledley is being sidelined deeply disappointing,’ she fired back.

  ‘It’s early days. I suggest you wait and see how the show settles down over the next month.’

  ‘I cannot agree to that. I promised Ledley we would meet soon. I’ve got my diary open.’ Her voice was glacial.

  I agreed to a meeting next week but as I put the phone down I was cursing Angela Hodge and her persistence. I think I’m getting infected by the prevailing nastiness at the station. I’m not sure where nice, accommodating Liz has gone.

  Chalk Farm flat, 7.35 p.m.

  Flo pounced on me as soon as I opened the flat door, not even giving me time to take my jacket off or put my bag down which irritated me.

  ‘Did you see it?’

  ‘I looked at the rushes and you look wonderful. I can’t understand what the problem is.’

  ‘You’re just saying that. You know I look weird.’

  I filled the kettle and put out two mugs and she looked at me suspiciously.

  ‘You are going to cut me out of it, aren’t you?’

  ‘I need tea. Sit down and we’re going to have a proper conversation about this.’

  I made us tea and took the mugs to the table. I opened the biscuit tin and offered her a ginger nut. She shook her head.

  ‘OK. I agree that you look different from the other girls but that’s because Guy thought you could carry off that look. Harriet said he considers it the best look by far and he was so complimentary about you.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘They look normal. He made me look like something out of a horror movie!’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘Why can’t he drop the bits with me in?’

  ‘He wants to show three different looks and he needs the contrast. I can’t insist that he edits you out.’

  ‘Of course you can. You’re his boss. You pay him. You can tell him what to do.’ Her voice was rising.

  ‘It doesn’t work like that. It will ruin the item if we leave you out and—’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re putting the programme above me.’ She pushed up from the table and started to shout: ‘No, I can believe it, actually, because you always put your job above me!’

  ‘You wanted to do the shoot, Flo. I didn’t want to mix work and family but you pressed and pressed me. You have to learn that actions have consequences and anyway, I think you look lovely.’

  But she had gone, had hurled herself into her room and slammed the door so hard that it reverberated for a full minute. Mr Crooks had been heading to join her. He stared at the closed door then started to lick his front paw and clean his face.

  There was a letter on the table from the small claims court. I ripped it open and Ron Osborne has made a counter claim against me. I read his statement with mounting fury. It was full of lies. He claimed that I booked him in for four days’ work and then changed my mind about the dates at the last moment. This resulted in him losing four days’ work at a cost of eight hundred pounds to himself. He was therefore prepared to pay me back two hundred pounds of my deposit but not a penny more.

  ‘You liar!’ I shouted it out loud and Mr Crooks gave me a quizzical look. I dug out my mobile and my fingers were trembling as I spooled back through my texts to him. There had been some discussion about dates but no change initiated by me. How I wished now that I had put everything into writing more formally.

  ‘You lying bastard,’ I said.

  He wanted to fight and he was going to get a fight. I would reject his counter claim and see him at the small claims court. I opened my fridge. I was out of cheese and eggs and there was only a piece of soggy frittata and a bowl of green beans left over from Friday.

  I was in the bathroom when Douglas rang our landline. Flo picked up and I could hear that she was being far from friendly to him. I hurried out and grabbed the phone from her. He kept his call short. He must have picked up that Flo and I were at loggerheads. We arranged to meet in Covent Garden on Thursday. He said he fancied going to Joe Allen for dinner and would tell me why later. I wanted to say something warm and tender after our lovely weekend but Flo watched me the whole time I was talking to him, her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ I said crossly when I’d hung up.

>   ‘Do what?’

  ‘Listen in on my private conversations.’

  ‘You care more about him than you do about me,’ she said.

  ‘You know that’s not true.’

  ‘If you cared about me you wouldn’t let that shoot go out!’

  When Flo gets an idea in her head she won’t let it go. There is no way I can invite Douglas back to the flat on Thursday.

  Later, I heard her talking to Ben on Skype. She wasn’t making any attempt to lower her voice. I shouldn’t have listened in. I’d told her not to listen to my private conversations. But I was rooted to the spot outside her door. I seem to be doing this recently and it makes me feel bleak. Where were the cosy mother and daughter chats we used to have? Her complaints at my heartlessness over the fashion shoot were long and detailed. I wondered if Ben was putting up any resistance. I had to remember what friends had told me; that teenage girls pull away from their mums but come back eventually. Then Flo started in on my relationship with Douglas and it was clear how much she resented me seeing him.

  ‘Mum doesn’t care how I feel any more,’ she said.

  I had become the Wicked Witch of the West.

  25

  StoryWorld TV station, London Bridge

  Martine and I were sitting on the sofa in Julius’s office. I’d been called in at short notice. She had her pad open to take notes and he was pacing up and down his large office looking irritable.

  ‘We’ve heard from WayToGo; from their head of comms. He’s been very specific about what they want in the pilot,’ Julius said.

  ‘I bet he has,’ I said.

  ‘Each week we are to feature one of their twelve key destinations. They’re all in Europe. They want moving footage as well as stills. And, here’s the killer bit, a competition at the end so they can collect emails and mobile numbers.’

  I hated doing Phone-in competitions. There had been some scandals about the ones where viewers called in to answer a simple question and paid a premium rate to do so. The regulator had stepped in and on-air competitions were now hedged around with all kinds of regulations and required legal wording. We hadn’t run one for ages.

  ‘Competitions are a major pain,’ I said.

  ‘They are a major pain and are tacky, to boot, but the sponsor has spoken and it’s a requirement. The prize will be two WayToGo tickets to the featured destination.’

  ‘Who does Ledley speak to?’

  ‘That’s up to us, but not to viewers. We’re going to have to use footage from viewers so you need to find a tame expert who doesn’t expect a big fee. A woman would work better with Ledley. Lori wants to have something to show them in three weeks.’

  ‘That’s really pushing it! We’ve got to get the footage in,’ I said.

  ‘That’s the time frame and it’s non-negotiable, that’s the phrase she used.’

  I saw Martine stiffen at that. She gave me a tiny nudge with her elbow. She wasn’t used to having Julius dictated to in this way. Nor was I. She snapped her pad shut and we got up to leave.

  ‘A quick word about something else, Liz.’

  I sat down again. The thought of making the pilot was depressing me. What could I do so that it didn’t look cheap and dreary?

  ‘I saw Austin Lane last night. Said he saw you at a hotel opening with Douglas Pitlochry?’

  It was inevitable that word would get out but I resented Julius raising it.

  ‘Yes, a pleasant event. I would recommend the hotel, it’s a great location,’ I said, trying to sound blasé.

  ‘I’m sure it was but you need to be careful around him,’ he said.

  ‘For heaven’s sake!’

  ‘Don’t be offended. Well, you will be offended, but I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.’

  I stood up.

  ‘Stop it, please. I don’t ask you about Amber. Don’t ask me about him or we’re going to fall out.’

  ‘He’s an operator, Liz. Always has been. He has feelers out everywhere and would love to get one up on StoryWorld. You should ask yourself what his motives are.’

  ‘I’m not listening to any more of this. It’s frankly insulting and what I do in my free time is my business.’

  I left his office but his words had lodged with me and, like an annoying song that won’t leave your head, I felt unsettled for the rest of the day.

  I’d got into the habit of having a coffee with Henry and it was an oasis of calm and sanity in my day. We both felt the show was a car crash at the moment and it felt good to talk about it freely. We vented about how badly Fizzy was behaving and how much Ledley had changed for the worse. Timing discipline on the show is a thing of the past. This morning it was Ledley who ignored the timings on his slot with Betty. Henry and the director had to give him his countdown three times.

  We stood outside with our coffees and he smoked. Recently he had moved over to roll-ups. They were less toxic than ready-mades, he said. He knew he should stop and this was stage one of his mission.

  I told him Ziggy was about to lose her bedsit; that she was frightened and that it was affecting the whole team.

  ‘Simon and Harriet are looking on rental sites every day but no joy yet,’ I said.

  ‘Poor kid.’

  He blew smoke out and crinkled his eyes as the smoke curled up.

  ‘I might be able to help,’ he said.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘My sister Annie had a granny flat built for Mum at the back of her house. Flat is too grand a term for it. It’s a bed-sitting room with a separate galley kitchen and a shower.’

  ‘That’s exactly what she’s looking for.’

  ‘Annie hasn’t had the heart to do anything about it since Mum died. It’s taken her nine months to give Mum’s stuff to the charity shop.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘In Lewisham, a bit out but you can get here. I could have a word with her.’

  ‘Oh, Henry, would you? You’d be doing us such a favour.’

  ‘I’ll call her tonight.’

  *

  In my lunch hour I was eating a sandwich at my desk when Harriet tapped on my door. She hovered on the threshold looking awkward.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt your lunch,’ she said.

  ‘Is something up?’

  She finally stepped into my room and closed the door.

  ‘It’s kind of difficult...’

  Last year, when Harriet had that awful problem with Julius, she clammed up on me. It was weeks later that I found out what had happened and I could feel my anxiety rising now.

  ‘A problem shared,’ I said.

  She came further into the room.

  ‘It’s just that, well, Flo called me and she asked me to give her Guy Browne’s phone number.’

  ‘She did what?’

  I stood up immediately and Harriet flinched at the expression on my face.

  ‘She said she had to tell him how unhappy she was about the shoot and if only he understood...’ Her voice trailed away.

  ‘Did you give her his number?’

  ‘No, I didn’t, and she was nearly crying and I felt awful.’

  I was furious with Flo. She had never done anything like this before, crossed a boundary at my work.

  ‘Flo is so out of order. I’m really sorry, Harriet.’

  ‘I’m sorry I ever mentioned the fashion shoot to her. If I hadn’t done that...’ Harriet said.

  ‘Never mix work and family. Well, we’ve both learned that, haven’t we? Look I need to call Flo at once.’

  ‘Of course. I hope she won’t hate me over this.’

  Harriet left my room looking miserable and I punched in Flo’s mobile number. The fashion item is going out tomorrow and this was her last-ditch attempt to stop it. Her phone went to voicemail and I blurted out my anger.

  ‘Don’t you even think about calling Guy Browne! I am so angry about this, Flo. You’re way out of order.’

  She would be back in her class by now and our showdown would have to wait ti
ll I got home.

  *

  It was nearly five when Simon came into my office. He must have noticed how I’d been slumped at my laptop for an age, staring at the screen. I had been trying to think about the travel pilot and had not come up with a single good idea. Instead I had been rehearsing what I would say to Flo when I got home.

  ‘What’s up, Liz?’

  ‘I’ve got to make a bloody travel pilot in three weeks. The budget is zilch, the idea is tired and I don’t know where to start.’

  ‘Three weeks?’

  ‘Yes; as decreed by Lori Kerwell.’

  I shoved Martine’s typed notes at him.

  ‘Take a look.’

  He sat down and read the short document.

  ‘The tricky thing will be getting hold of viewers’ footage,’ he said. He took off his glasses and polished them. ‘I could run a campaign on our Facebook page. Ask viewers to send their videos in, digital files only. It might work,’ he said. ‘There’d need to be some kind of inducement, of course. What can we offer them? One of our delightful StoryWorld mugs?’

  I grimaced at the mention of the mugs which a previous marketing person had ordered in their hundreds and which took up valuable space in our prop store.

  ‘Have you ever used one of those bloody mugs? They chip so easily,’ I said.

  ‘Can we offer an on-air mention? Footage sent in by Harry Smith from Leeds. People love to hear their names on the telly.’

  ‘Or see it. That might work better as a caption,’ I said.

  ‘Leave it with me.’

  ‘Thank you, Simon.’

  It was the best thing I’ve done in years, making Simon my deputy. I called Janis and said she could leave early as I needed to talk to Flo and was on my way back.

  Chalk Farm flat, 7 p.m.

  Flo had decided to confront me head on and the minute I got in she came out of her room and started to shout at me.

  ‘I called Harriet because you don’t get it. I can’t bear it if those pics of me go out.’

  ‘Don’t you ever do anything like that again. You put Harriet in a really difficult position,’ I said.

  ‘I had to do something. You weren’t listening.’