Behind Her Back

by Jane Lythell

  ‘And of course that’s all that matters to you.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Fizzy. You don’t care that you’ll ruin Bob’s marriage and what that’ll do to his wife and daughters. You just want to get back at Fizzy.’

  ‘So I’m supposed to let her undermine me day after day? She’s hurting the show.’

  ‘What’s happened to you? This stinks, Ledley.’

  ‘Don’t play the guilt card. The woman’s a tramp.’ He spat the words out.

  I wasn’t going to shame him out of his determination to expose Fizzy. I would have to frighten him.

  ‘Drop it now and I won’t say anything to Julius. But if you carry on and approach anyone else I’m telling you now that you’ll be in breach of your contract. Leaking to a rival TV station is gross misconduct.’

  He smirked.

  ‘And?’

  ‘We can sack you for it.’

  His face shut down. He pulled on his jacket and pocketed his mobile.

  ‘It’s your word against mine and everyone knows know you’re on Team Fizzy.’

  ‘You forget I have an impeccable source,’ I said.

  There was a light tap and before I could say anything else Lori had opened the door.

  ‘Taxi’s waiting. Oh, hello, Liz. Are you finished?’

  ‘She was just leaving,’ Ledley said.

  I passed Lori, giving her the merest nod. Getting angry makes me feel ill and I had a fight on my hands. Ledley was going to brazen this out. Was I prepared to involve Douglas to make my case? I did not want to do that at all. I could imagine how Julius would react if I told him that Douglas was the source of my intelligence.

  The door to Fizzy’s room was open and as I went by she called me in. She was standing by a bouquet of red roses on her table.

  ‘These arrived from Saul, and in this lovely vase.’

  My row with Ledley was scouring my head. The roses were dark red and flawless and arranged in a crystal vase. I bent over them and they had a delicate scent. I had expected a richer, darker scent, given their colour.

  ‘You deserve these after this morning,’ I said.

  ‘Read his message.’

  She pulled the card from its holder and handed it to me. It said: A wonderful evening. We must do it again soon. Saul

  She took the card back and put it into her bag with a small satisfied smile.

  ‘He’s always fancied me. I have to tell you about my dinner with him last night. Sit down,’ she said.

  I sat on her chaise longue.

  ‘He took me to the Dorchester. The food was fabulous and they know him there. We got one of the best tables.’

  ‘What’s he like off-site? I find him difficult to talk to,’ I said.

  ‘Quite a sweetie. Kind of shy and finds it easier to talk about sport. Cricket especially. He went to Australia once to watch the Ashes tour.’

  I couldn’t imagine Fizzy enjoying talking about cricket. She sat down at her mirror and started to brush her hair.

  ‘He likes to travel. And it’s five star all the way.’

  ‘Did you find out anything more about his family life?’

  ‘Not to begin with but he opened up later. I’d heard his divorce was bitter so I didn’t probe too much. His two boys are grown up and I think he may be lonely, you know.’

  ‘But you enjoyed it.’

  ‘I did. He was charming and attentive. He’s kind of old-school gallant and he insisted on driving me home and opening the door for me. Rather nice to be treated like that.’

  Saul had to be in his fifties and he sounded conventional, even a bit dull. He was not Fizzy’s usual type who tended to be men who represented a challenge to her. She had told me once how much she enjoyed making a resistant man fall for her charms.

  ‘And will you see him again?’

  She smiled at me from the mirror.

  ‘I might just do that.’

  *

  I had agreed that Ziggy and Simon could leave work early as they had arranged to meet with Henry’s sister Annie to look at the granny flat in Lewisham. Ziggy was packing her rucksack. She was wearing one of the tops Harriet had given her and looked better turned out than usual. Every few months Harriet brought in a bag of clothes she wasn’t going to wear any more and Ziggy had been the recipient of some well-cut shirts and cashmere jumpers. She was thinner than Harriet so they tended to balloon on her thin frame. Ziggy was the least vain person I knew. I never saw her look in a mirror or put on make-up. Harriet would take her to the dressing rooms downstairs and insist she try on the things she had brought in. Ziggy would accept a few and the rest would go to our local charity shop. Harriet told me she wished Ziggy would take more; that she felt to take more than two or three things was excessive.

  ‘We’re off then.’

  ‘I hope it goes well,’ I said.

  I sat down with Molly and Harriet. Harriet keeps her desk pristine. Her research notes are filed away and her pens are corralled in a pretty container decorated with seahorses. Molly’s desk was covered in papers and pens and books. She’s a voracious reader and is always suggesting that we book in writers for the show. Her laptop had post-it notes stuck around its edges like a frill.

  ‘What do you think of her for the pilot?’ Molly said, swinging her laptop around to me.

  I had asked Molly to find us a travel expert. Images of a rather severe-looking woman filled her screen.

  ‘She does a lot of radio, doesn’t she? I’ve heard her,’ I said.

  She was an experienced broadcaster who did consumer investigations.

  ‘She’s good at holding travel companies to account over late take-offs or lost luggage, but that could be a problem.’

  ‘Why is that a problem?’ Molly said.

  ‘With WayToGo as sponsors? With their track record?’

  WayToGo had poor ratings on customer service. We had to make the travel slot pro-business and upbeat. They would want an uncritical expert, who was preferably pert and pretty.

  ‘She’s a pro but she’s not right for us,’ I said.

  ‘We won’t get anyone better-known, not for the fee we’re offering.’

  The travel pilot was proving a chore. Simon had been posting appeals for footage on Facebook but we weren’t getting a lot of response from our viewers.

  ‘Can we find an up-and-coming travel writer? Someone who is hungry to make their mark,’ I said.

  ‘There are loads of travel bloggers on Twitter,’ Harriet offered.

  ‘Time is short,’ Molly said.

  She sighed with frustration and Harriet rolled her eyes. Those two are an argument waiting to happen. I was glad it was the weekend, though I wondered what awaited me at home.

  Chalk Farm flat, Friday evening

  Flo had invited Rosie to stay over and Janis had fed them by the time I got in. The girls were in her room all evening and I probably exchanged ten words with Flo. The stand-off continues.

  28

  Chalk Farm flat, Saturday, 2 a.m.

  I heard a weird shriek from the sitting room and leapt out of bed, my heart galloping. I had been deeply asleep and got up so quickly that I felt dizzy and had to hold on to the door frame. That strange unearthly shriek again. I fumbled for the light switch. Mr Crooks was crouching by our TV stand in a state of high excitement, every limb ready to pounce. I caught a glimpse of movement among the plugs and wires as Mr Crooks leapt. But the frog out-jumped him and landed under the table by the sofa. I grabbed Mr Crooks and shut him in my bedroom. He yowled his protest and scratched at my door. I dug out a plastic measuring jug and a small plate and approached the table. It was a fully grown frog and it didn’t look injured but its body was all a-tremor. As I lowered the jug he caught my movement and leapt away towards a pile of magazines near the French doors.

  ‘Stupid thing! I’m trying to save you.’

  I moved forward slowly, got down on my knees and made myself be still. The frog was very still too now, playing dead. This time I got t
he jug in place and as it jumped up to escape I lowered the jug fast and trapped it. Gently, I pushed the plate under the mouth of the jug.

  ‘Gotcha.’

  I opened my French doors and there was the brightest moon shining into our garden. There was a clicking noise by my shed which slightly unnerved me. I went over and discovered it was the bamboo stick I’d used to stake my tomato plant. It had worked loose and was hitting the wall. I stood and looked round my little plot. It is walled all round and there was nowhere I could put the frog so that Mr Crooks wouldn’t get him again. It would be better to leave him out front. Holding the plate tightly over the jug, I pushed my feet into a pair of Flo’s slippers which she’d left by the door. I opened the front door and walked along to the third garden before depositing Mr Frog in a nice dewy clump of grass.

  Saturday, 11 a.m.

  Douglas had told me he was going to an away match with his son Stewart. I’ve taken to checking Norwich City Football Club fixtures and results, which I know is stalkerish of me but there you go. It was a bright blowy autumn day with clouds scudding across the sky. I’d already cleared the backlog of washing, deadheaded the flowers, restaked my tomato plant and swept our garden. I was itching to get out and do something nice with Flo, to heal our horrible breach. Maybe I could suggest we go out with Rosie.

  Teenagers seem able to sleep the sleep of the dead till lunchtime. I took in mugs of tea for them and they sat up.

  ‘Ta.’

  Flo’s face was puffy from sleep and her hair mussed up.

  ‘Thank you,’ Rosie said.

  ‘Did either of you hear me last night?’

  ‘No, nothing,’ Rosie said.

  ‘Mr Crooks brought in a full-grown frog. It made the most awful shriek, almost human-sounding.’

  ‘Did he kill him?’ It was Rosie again. Flo was sipping her tea and looking at me over the top of her mug.

  ‘No, I managed to get it out in one piece.’

  ‘He’s Hunter Cat,’ Flo said proudly to Rosie.

  ‘I was thinking let’s do something today. We could go to Regent’s Park and hire a boat again. And you’d be so welcome to come, Rosie.’

  ‘Thanks, but I’ve got to go. Mum has plans,’ she said.

  ‘Flo?’

  ‘A rowing boat, not one of those silly pedalo things,’ Flo said.

  ‘You’re on.’

  Boating Lake, Regent’s Park

  I rowed us away from the boathouse, the water dripping off the oars. We watched a mallard dip, his rear sticking up as he tugged at something below the water.

  ‘What do ducks eat?’

  ‘All kinds of things; snails, worms, even small fish and fish eggs,’ Flo said.

  ‘I thought they lived on weeds and algae,’ I said.

  ‘They eat that too. They have to forage all the time to get enough.’

  Flo knows a lot about birds and animals. It’s a major area of interest with her and I think in time she may study zoology.

  ‘Do you want a turn on the oars?’

  We swapped places and she rowed us round the lake. I felt a fragile peace growing between us. She went near the edge where a tree leaned its branches into the water and the leaves made their own little current. She rested the oars and we sat looking at the eddies in the water. There was a distant rumble from the traffic like a low bass accompaniment. A pair of swans glided past our boat.

  ‘Is it serious with that man?’ she said.

  It was a sudden change of topic but we needed to talk about Douglas.

  ‘We’ve been on a few dates. It’s early days.’

  ‘But you had sex with him?’

  ‘Yes, I did. I like him a lot.’

  ‘Are you going to have a baby with him?’

  ‘Oh, darling, whatever made you think that?’

  ‘When he calls you your face goes all moony,’ she said.

  She pulled a silly face and I laughed.

  ‘No babies planned at present.’

  ‘Good! There’s this girl at school and she went to fourth base and she may have got herself pregnant but she refuses to do a test.’

  ‘Poor kid, she’s probably frightened.’

  ‘You should hear the things the boys are calling her,’ Flo said.

  This must be the girl I had heard Flo talking about with a friend.

  ‘I hate that. There are such double standards, aren’t there? I mean, when I was your age a girl who had a few partners was called a slut or a slag but if a boy had several partners he was a bit of a lad and was sowing his oats.’

  ‘It’s rank. But she’s been an idiot, Mum. She should have known they would do that.’

  ‘She may have been mad about the boy. I bet she’s feeling very alone now. I think you should give her some support,’ I said.

  Later, I treated her to ice cream. She wanted three flavours and sprinkles on top and I think she has forgiven me for the fashion shoot.

  Sunday, 9 p.m.

  I was already in my pyjamas and on the sofa when Simon called me.

  ‘The granny flat was perfect. Ziggy loved it and we’re going to move her in next week,’ he said.

  ‘That’s the best news.’

  ‘Annie’s really nice. And have you seen the all-staff email from Saul Relph?’

  ‘No. I try to avoid work emails on Sunday.’

  ‘Sorry to bring it up then,’ he said.

  ‘What does it say?’

  ‘We’ve all got to go to a presentation by Lori Kerwell. Results of some big survey she’s done.’

  We said goodnight and I opened the email from Saul Relph which he’d sent that morning. We had all been instructed, presenters as well as journalistic staff, to attend a presentation in the atrium at twelve noon on Tuesday on the findings of a survey Lori Kerwell had conducted into the lifestyle and viewing habits of our audience. He believed that all editorial staff, including the news reporters, would benefit from knowing more about our audience. The last time we had got an all-staff email from Saul Relph it was to warn us about budget cuts and redundancies. This looked harmless in comparison but it hauled me back a few hours too soon into thinking about work.

  29

  StoryWorld TV station, London Bridge

  There was such a good atmosphere among the team this morning. It was relief all round that Ziggy has found a new home. She looked the best I’ve seen her in weeks and I heard Simon and Harriet offering to help her move in. I love it when the team pulls together like this.

  In my lunch hour I walked to London Bridge to a bakery that do a nice line in mini-cakes. I bought a box of little glazed fruit tarts and mini éclairs for the team. My next stop was an upmarket off-licence called Quaff. I was pleased that they stocked Bushmills Black Bush and bought a bottle.

  Back at the station I put the cake box on my desk and went downstairs. The floor managers have a designated space off the main studio. It’s a draughty nook because the giant studio door is usually kept open. Two battered tables have been placed end to end which the floor managers share. Henry was sitting at one end poring over a rota. I put the bottle bag down.

  ‘You are our man of the month,’ I said.

  He pulled out the bottle.

  ‘How did you know I like Irish whiskey best? Did I tell you?’

  I nodded.

  ‘My favourite brand, too. Thank you, Liz. You didn’t have to.’

  ‘Oh yes I did. I can’t tell you what a relief it is that Ziggy’s found a place, a place she loves.’

  ‘Annie is happy about it too,’ he said. He stood up. ‘Is everything else OK?’

  He was looking at me, really looking at me.

  ‘Flo is speaking to me again.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’

  ‘And Ziggy is sorted and that’s down to you,’ I said.

  ‘You’re still looking troubled.’

  I wondered for a moment if I could share Ledley’s treachery with Henry. I trusted Henry and knew he wouldn’t gossip. He was a discreet man, an honourable
man, and it would be a relief to share it. But my mother had always impressed upon me that gossip was toxic and that if you knew something unpleasant you should keep it to yourself unless the telling of it was essential.

  ‘It’s this place. The on-screen conflict is wearing me down and viewers are starting to notice that the chemistry is wrong.’

  ‘Knock their heads together,’ he said.

  I laughed.

  ‘Wish I could.’

  ‘Well, I shall open this tonight and toast you,’ he said.

  *

  Late afternoon I had my scheduled meeting with Angela Hodge, Ledley’s agent. We had agreed to meet at her office near Trafalgar Square. I was not looking forward to it and was preparing myself for a tongue-lashing about my ‘favouritism’ towards Fizzy. If she came on hard I would have to restrain my temper. My role was to reassure her that we were looking after Ledley’s screen presence and I had to be careful not to reveal my true feelings about him.

  The offices were in a Victorian red-brick building on Shaftesbury Avenue. Hers was on the fourth floor. I waited for the ancient lift which had one of those old grille doors and could fit four people in at a squeeze. I clanked the door shut and it ascended slowly. I checked my face in the lift’s speckled mirror. There were lots of small offices off a long corridor. I hadn’t rung in advance to confirm our meeting and when I was shown in Angela Hodge was sitting behind her desk and she looked rough. Her hair was lank and her face almost grey. It was as if she had forgotten that we were meeting. Her room had been carved out of a larger room. It had a high ceiling but was otherwise tight on space and there was a musty smell. Five minutes in she excused herself and said she would get us some water. She was gone for nearly ten minutes.

  When she returned with a bottle and two glasses she looked slightly less grey. I was going to ask her if she was feeling ill but there was something so forbidding in her expression as she poured me water that I didn’t. She sat back in her chair and took a sip.

  ‘What can you tell me about your plans for Ledley?’

  ‘We loved Ledley’s interview with Bethany Burton. He was relaxed as he cooked and chatted. So I’m developing a series with him doing his interviews from the kitchen, cooking a favourite dish for his guests.’