by Jane Lythell
‘You were going to ring one of my presenters? You crossed a line, Flo, and I won’t have it.’
The landline had started to ring. I ignored it.
‘It’s my body and I don’t want your bloody awful TV station using those pics of me. Dad said I have the right of refusal.’
The reference to Ben was like a red rag to me and I started to shout. The phone was still ringing.
‘Oh, did he! Did you tell him you signed a permission form before the shoot started? You’re behaving like a totally spoiled brat and the shoot is going out tomorrow morning so bloody get over it.’
I went over to the phone and snatched it up. It was one of those stupid recorded calls about payment protection. I slammed the phone down. Flo had gone into her room and I heard her pulling her chair to wedge against the door. She was barricading herself in. Our relationship had come to that. I paced up and down the sitting room thinking I would phone Ben and tell him to butt out. He had asked me to let her do the fashion shoot, for chrissakes, and now there was trouble he was backing her; anything so he could be the good-time dad and I could be in the wrong. I went into my bedroom and called his number. It rang and rang but he didn’t pick up. Then I called Fenton at home. She didn’t answer either; probably still at work. I took off my boots and I felt like crying. I heard the front door slam and I rushed out. Flo had left a note on the kitchen table.
I hate you.
I’ve gone to stay with Rosie.
I did what I always do when I’m feeling stressed and turned to comfort food. I made myself macaroni cheese with an extra helping of Cheddar. It was death by cheese. My flat has always been my haven from work but at the moment it’s warfare at work and warfare at home.
26
StoryWorld TV station, London Bridge
The teenage fashion item went out this morning. I saw Guy Browne briefly before he went into the studio.
‘Your daughter has such a great look about her. Maybe we could use her again sometime,’ he said.
He thought this would please me but my toes were curling inside my shoes.
‘Thank you.’
I smiled back at him knowing that it wasn’t going to happen, ever. Fizzy’s discussion with Guy overran, but only by a minute. We’ve started to feel grateful if it’s less than a two-minute overrun. The director thought the item was well done and we’ve had a good response from our viewers, several saying who was the lovely young woman in the black blouse and how cool she looked. I’d like to show these comments to Flo but she isn’t talking to me!
I told Henry about it over our coffees.
‘What really bugs me is the role Ben played in this. He called me from Dubai saying you must let Flo do the shoot. I had reservations from the start. Then he tells Flo she has the right of refusal. I mean, that’s irresponsible, isn’t it? He should have backed me.’
‘Did he back you when you were together?’
‘Sometimes he did. But he always had this tendency to be the good-time dad. He used to bring little presents home for Flo several times a week. I know I sound curmudgeonly but honestly, Henry, it was too much.’
‘She’ll be home tonight, won’t she?’
‘I hope so.’
But I was going out and Flo would be asleep by the time I got in. There would be no chance of a reconciliation tonight.
‘You could do without this,’ Henry said. ‘Anyway, Annie is happy for Ziggy to come look at the flat. Tell Ziggy to give her a call.’ He pulled a piece of paper out of his back pocket with his sister’s number and address written on it.
‘That’s great. Thanks so much. I’ll tell her straight away.’
*
I wasn’t meeting Douglas till eight and had planned to work till seven but all afternoon a feeling of restlessness and anticipation had been growing in me. I decided to get the Tube to Waterloo and walk to Covent Garden from there. My team had left for the night when I met Julius at the top of the stairs. We walked down together.
‘Saul is taking Fizzy out to dinner tonight. He said she needed to feel more cherished by the station,’ he said.
‘I’m pleased to hear that. Where’s he taking her?’
‘The Dorchester; bit of a traditionalist, is our Saul. She’s been misbehaving but with Fizzy blandishments work better than rebukes.’
‘That’s true, and anyway, she had cause to feel aggrieved,’ I said.
We had reached the exit and he stopped and looked at me. I wished I’d bitten my lip. It was foolish to make a point about Fizzy’s grievance.
‘Where are you off to?’
He must have noticed my date dress and my touched up make-up and earrings. I was not going to mention Douglas after our last conversation about him.
‘A reunion with friends,’ I said.
‘Do you need a lift into town?’
Julius never gets the Tube. He drives in every day and parks his Mercedes in his designated spot on the forecourt.
‘Thanks, but I’m going to walk. I need the exercise,’ I said.
I watched him sweep out of the station as I headed towards London Bridge Tube. We were allies at the moment and I wanted it to stay that way. I got out at Waterloo and crossed by the giant IMAX cinema which sits like a great lit bowl on the approach to the bridge. It was a mild evening and halfway across the bridge I stopped for ten minutes. The rush of commuters was thinning and I watched the traffic on the river and felt myself unwind. When Fenton comes to London we come here sometimes because she loves the way so many landmark buildings rise on either side of the bridge. She prefers the view downriver with the brutal bulk of the National Theatre and the Oxo Tower and St Paul’s on the other bank, refusing to be overshadowed by later high-rise additions. Fenton looks at the view with fresh eyes and has made me appreciate it. One time she talked me into taking the river bus from Charing Cross to Greenwich and her enthusiasm was infectious.
I continued up to the Strand and turned towards the piazza at Covent Garden. A man on stilts wearing candy-striped trousers and a tall hat was entertaining a clutch of sightseers with a strangely graceful bending dance. The music was provided by his partner, also in motley, who played a mournful tune on an accordion. I was still early so I joined the ring of spectators until his dance ended with an elaborate bow. We clapped our appreciation. He loomed in front of us, whipped off his hat and presented it to us. Close up he looked older than I expected and his make-up was that of a sad clown. It was the kind of face that would have scared Flo when she was a little girl. I dropped some coins into his hat.
As I walked up to Covent Garden Tube my longing to see Douglas was growing in me. The last time was our delicious weekend. It was five to eight and he was already there. He hugged me.
‘I wanted us to go to Joe Allen because my boss took me there when I got my first big break. We sat at the bar and drank far too many martinis. I’ve had a soft spot for the place ever since.’
You enter Joe Allen by a staircase leading down to a large, well-lit basement, the walls covered with posters of theatre productions. The bar runs the length of the right-hand wall. We perched on barstools and he ordered and paid for two martinis. I rarely drink them. The barmen at Joe Allen are artists and use the bar as their stage and the bottles as their props, pouring the spirits from on high into the mixers. We watched ours mix the martinis and decant the clear liquid into two glasses. We clinked.
‘Cheers.’
You get a mighty strong hit from that small glass with its single green olive.
‘How’s your week been?’ Douglas said.
‘Awful, actually. Flo hated how she looked in that fashion shoot and we’ve had a bad old time over it. I’ll never mix work and home again.’
He smiled sympathetically. He was sitting facing the entrance and his expression changed as he spotted someone he recognised over my shoulder.
‘Ledley just came in with two women,’ he said, and I was surprised that he sounded put-out.
I looked over my shoulder. T
he maître d’ was showing them to a corner table in the second room.
‘Who are his two admirers?’
‘The woman in the orange suit is Lori Kerwell, our head of sales and marketing. And the other woman is Angela Hodge, his agent.’
He stood up.
‘I think we should eat somewhere else.’
‘Really?’
He took my hand, apologised to the maître d’ that something urgent had cropped up, and steered me up the stairs and out into the street. I was surprised that he was so eager to leave, even though seeing Ledley with Lori had taken the shine off the place for me.
‘We couldn’t have talked freely with them in earshot,’ he said.
We wandered around for a while, walking away from Covent Garden and towards the garish lights of Chinatown with eager proprietors urging us to enter their establishments. But Douglas paid them little attention. I could tell he was annoyed that our plan had been thwarted and I was asking myself why he had made us leave Joe Allen. Was it because he didn’t want to be seen with me? The idea made me miserable. He hailed a cab.
‘Let’s head back to Camden. Plenty of good gastropubs there.’
We ended up at the Lord Stanley off Camden Road and finally we were sitting opposite each other with our food ordered and a bottle of red between us. Something was bothering him and we skirted around a few topics. I updated him on Ron Osborne and my claim but he wasn’t really listening.
‘Look, I didn’t want to start the evening with this but there’s something about Ledley I need to share with you,’ he said.
‘Go on, I’m on tenterhooks.’
I had said it flippantly but he looked serious. He swilled the wine in his glass, drank it and glanced around the bar then back at me.
‘Ledley approached a journo at my station. Told him he knows the identity of Fizzy’s lover; Zachary’s father.’
I was frozen with horror. He didn’t take his eyes of my face as he said: ‘Bob.’
Now I looked down at the table. I was shocked at Ledley’s betrayal; to have gone to our rival station. I could think of nothing to say, had no idea how to deny it. The silence built between us.
‘I told the journo we don’t deal with tittle-tattle,’ he said finally.
That was why he had hurried me out of Joe Allen. But was Douglas trying to get me to confirm it?
‘This is so hateful,’ I said.
‘I think he might try to find another outlet, someone who is prepared to use the info. Fizzy is news, as you know.’
‘It’s pure speculation on Ledley’s part,’ I said. I felt that Douglas was digging for information and it disturbed me.
‘They might make a friendly duo on screen but this sure ain’t comradely of him!’ Douglas said.
‘He’s changed so much, and not for the better.’
‘Maybe you need to warn Fizzy,’ he said just as the barman arrived with our plates of steak frites.
He placed them on our table. We engaged in a stilted conversation about whether mustard or béarnaise sauce was better with them. We didn’t seem able to get back to the easy mood of the start of the evening. I chewed on my steak and swallowed with difficulty. We had been lovers that once and it had been lovely and I wanted to be able to open up to him and tell him what was going on at work and how miserable it was making me. But I could not do it. My loyalty to StoryWorld ran too deep and what I was thinking about was how I was going to confront Ledley with his treachery.
We left the pub before closing time.
‘I’m going to have to get back to my very angry daughter,’ I said.
We walked down to Camden Road but didn’t link hands and he flagged a taxi for me.
‘Sorry to have cast that shadow over our evening,’ he said.
I kissed him on the cheek.
‘I know you had to tell me.’
He opened the cab door for me.
‘Good luck with Florence,’ he said.
27
StoryWorld TV station, London Bridge
We had gone to an ad break when Henry’s voice came over my earpiece.
‘I need an urgent word about our next guest,’ he said.
I had booked in ageing rocker Paul Angel who was doing his final tour all around the UK. It was actually his second final tour but tickets were selling and he was a name. I told the director there might be a problem and hurried out.
‘He smells of drink. I think he’s drunk. Do we let him go on?’ Henry said.
‘Where is he now?’
‘In make-up. Ellen alerted me and it seems he’s been up all night.’
Henry waited outside the make-up room and I went in. Paul Angel was sitting back in the chair as if the lights around the mirror were too bright.
His dyed black hair was backcombed, his cheeks were sunken and his eyes were bloodshot. He sipped on a mug of coffee.
‘Paul, good to meet you. I’m Liz Lyon,’ I said.
‘’S’all my pleasure,’ he said.
He stood up and handed his mug to Ellen, winked at her.
‘Thanks, love. Where do I go now?’
I needed more time to assess how he was going to perform on the sofa.
‘I want to check the dates of your tour. Can you run through them with me?’
‘Me roadie does all that. He’s the man to ask,’ he said.
He wasn’t quite slurring and I decided we would risk it.
‘This way please,’ I said.
Henry led him to the studio to be miked up as I ran back to the gallery.
‘A guest who’s borderline drunk,’ I told the director.
I got on the earpiece to Fizzy.
‘Fizz, Paul Angel’s been up all night, and he’s a bit the worse for wear.’
She nodded and I watched as Henry placed him on the sofa next to her. Ledley was in the kitchen in preparation for his next item so there would be no help from that quarter if Paul Angel went weird on her. We came out of the ad break and Fizzy did the introductory link into camera.
‘If, like me, you’re a fan of rock and roll, my next guest needs no introduction. This morning we’re joined by the legendary Paul Angel. Welcome to StoryWorld, Paul.’
‘Good to meet ya, Fizzy.’
He was sitting with his legs spread wide and one arm looped over the top of the sofa grinning at her. His black shirt was unbuttoned to his breastbone. Strangely, he looked slightly better on camera than he had under the lights of the make-up mirror.
‘Fizzy, that’s a funny kind of a name,’ he said.
‘Oh, I know. My real name, which I’ve always hated, is Felicity. I mean honestly, Felicity.’
‘Felicity,’ he said, looking confused.
‘We’re going to keep this short,’ the director said to the crew.
‘You can see why I wanted to change it. Now, your many fans are thrilled about this tour, Paul. How’s it going so far?’
‘Going OK, ta.’ He leaned forward and looked into the camera nearest to him. ‘Hello, fans,’ he said, grinning.
‘We’re playing his track in thirty seconds,’ the director said.
‘I believe you’re taking in twenty venues, Paul?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And you were in Newcastle last night?’
‘Good town,’ he said and he pinched the bridge of his nose.
‘So there’s plenty of opportunity for your fans to see you live. Let’s watch now what is certainly my favourite Paul Angel track.’
The director let the track run for a minute and a half. Paul Angel was nodding his head along to it and Fizzy was telling him that when it ended she was going to ask him what his favourite track of all time was.
‘That was fabulous. We had the whole studio tapping along,’ she said. ‘Do you have a favourite track, Paul?’
It was the right question to ask because he talked for over a minute about how his first number one had come about. It was a story he had told many times.
‘And wrap it,’ the director said
.
‘If you go onto our Facebook site you can see all the dates and venues of Paul Angel’s Final Tour. Don’t miss it. And thank you so much for coming in today, Paul,’ Fizzy said.
The director mixed to the cameras trained on Ledley in the kitchen as Henry guided a dazed-looking Paul Angel out of the studio. We had got away with it, just.
As soon as the morning meeting was over I went down to Ledley’s dressing room and tapped on the door. I had been thinking about little else and knew he had to be confronted straight away. At the meeting Julius had thanked Fizzy for coping so well with a drunk guest. I had looked over at Ledley and thought, You swine. I shut the door behind me. He was on the phone and waved me in with great bonhomie but it felt false.
‘Lovely to see you but I’m rushing off to a PR event with Lori, literally in the next fifteen minutes. Can it wait?’ he said.
‘No, I’m afraid it can’t.’
He had picked up on my voice and threw his mobile onto the sofa.
‘Is there a problem?’
‘Yes, there is. I heard something disturbing last night, something about you which I find hard to believe.’
He rocked back on his heels and then stood very still. We stared at each other for a long moment.
‘I was told you approached a journalist at a rival station and offered them information about Fizzy’s private life.’
‘Says who?’ his voice was sharp.
I was pretty sure he hadn’t seen me with Douglas last night. We had left sharpish and they had been in the other room.
‘An impeccable source from that station. How could you do that?’
‘Don’t you dare get all high-handed with me, Liz.’
He was angry but he hadn’t denied it.
‘A rival station? Where’s your loyalty?’
‘Don’t you talk to me about loyalty. You never stick up for me.’
‘That’s rubbish. You wouldn’t have a TV spot without me.’
‘Which no doubt you’ll never let me forget!’
I was getting sidetracked.
‘You talked to the opposition. You crossed a line. This gets out and it hurts the show.’
‘The show!’ He was contemptuous. ‘That’s all that matters to you. Bob’s wife needs to know she’s being cheated on.’