by Jane Lythell
I thought she might object. After all, Ledley had started out as our chef but now he was making the transition to being an anchor on the sofa. In a way this was returning him to his former role. But she didn’t object.
‘Noted. Look, I’m up against it today. You can email me the guests, OK.’
She stood up and saw me to her door. She wanted me out of there and I felt at a loss as I went down the four flights of stairs. I emerged on Shaftesbury Avenue opposite a theatre which was running a revival of a Noël Coward comedy. It had been the most peculiar meeting, or rather non-meeting.
There was time to go back to the office but I decided to walk home and get back early for a change. When I reached Heal’s I couldn’t resist crossing the road to look at the gorgeous furniture on display which was well out of my league. There was a sitting room set up with an elegant brass and glass drinks trolley as a feature. A drinks trolley was something I associated with my grandparents’ generation when they would serve up whisky sours and Singapore slings. Were drinks trolleys coming back into fashion? And then it came to me that maybe Angela Hodge had a drink problem. The only explanation I could find for how she’d been was that she was massively hungover. Had she been sick while I sat and waited for her? She’d been gone a while. I recalled her grey face with a stab of pity. She worked in a high-stress business and had to spend her time soothing egos and pushing through deals. You can’t get away from socialising and drinking in our industry. Maybe the pressure was getting to her. I had known more than a few casualties to alcohol over the years. Was Angela Hodge a high-functioning alcoholic?
Chalk Farm flat, 5.45 p.m.
Flo was sitting at the kitchen table and Janis was putting two pizzas into the oven.
‘Shall I put one in for you?’ she said.
‘I’ll eat later, thanks.’
There was a letter from Luton County Court on the table and I ripped it open. The date of my hearing is in November at eleven in the morning.
The kitchen was filling with the smell of dough and cheese and herbs and I wished I’d said I’d have a pizza with them.
‘I’ve got a date at last but I’ll have to take a day’s leave to attend,’ I said.
‘The man’s a menace,’ Janis said.
‘I’m not looking forward to seeing his nasty tanned face again.’
‘Will you have to swear on a Bible, Mum?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘“I promise to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth”.’ Flo intoned the words in a strangled theatrical voice and Janis and I laughed.
I sat with them while they ate their pizzas and told Janis she could go early.
Later, Flo joined me on the sofa to watch a rerun of Inspector George Gently. This is one of my guilty pleasures and Flo teases me about liking it. It is set in the 1960s and she always comments on the fashion. Tonight, a young female character was wearing a Mary Quant shift dress with white tights and bar shoes.
‘I like those white tights,’ Flo said.
‘That was the Mod look,’ I said.
I always admire the way the actor Martin Shaw, who plays the inspector, is able to convey disgust with a withering look. I’d love to be able to do that. My mobile buzzed and it was Douglas. Talking to him would break the cosy mood Flo and I had going so I let it run to voicemail. I would call back as soon as the drama was over.
I went into my bedroom and called Douglas and told him I had the court date at last.
‘I’m sure you’ll nail the bastard. But why Luton?’
‘It’s near where he lives.’
‘So you’ll have to travel.’
‘I know. That annoyed me too.’
He said that Norwich City had lost. I knew that already because I’d checked the score. But he’d had a good time with Stewart and he sounded upbeat. We arranged to meet on Thursday, which has become our night.
It was after eleven and I was turning in. Flo was in her bedroom and I wanted to kiss her goodnight after our lovely bonding session on the sofa. I tapped on her door. This is now a requirement. If I ever barge in without knocking she gives me merry hell. The room was dark except for the light of her phone and she looked upset. When she saw me she put the phone on the floor, face down. Her eyes were full of tears.
‘Darling, whatever’s wrong?’
She sniffed and shook her head.
‘Leave me alone.’
I came nearer.
‘Darling, tell me, please.’
‘It’s all your fault!’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Ethan. He liked me.’
She flung herself back on her pillow.
‘But now he’s dating someone else.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I just saw it on Instagram.’
I thought of sitting on her bed but there was a dangerous light in her eyes.
‘I’m sorry it hasn’t worked out, sweetheart.’
‘I know he liked me. But then he saw me looking like a freak! That’s when he went off me.’
‘You know that’s not true. I doubt any teenage boys watch our show, ever,’ I said.
She looked at me with such contempt then.
‘A girl who hates me posted it up on Facebook. The whole item. Everyone at school has seen it.’
‘But you looked lovely. I bet that girl was jealous.’
‘You don’t get it, do you?’ She was shouting now. ‘I looked bloody weird and he went off me.’
‘And it’s always my bloody fault, isn’t it?’ I shouted back, leaving her room.
I’d left the garden lights on and as I went to turn them off I stubbed my big toe and hopped around the room in agony. No one can press my buttons like Flo.
30
StoryWorld TV station, London Bridge
‘I’m not going. She can go and boil her head,’ Fizzy said as we walked down the stairs together and saw the rows of seats that had been laid out in the atrium. The meeting room upstairs wasn’t large enough to accommodate all the staff who were expected to attend Lori Kerwell’s presentation. A podium had been set up with a screen behind it.
‘Come in for a minute,’ Fizzy said.
I followed her into her dressing room.
‘It’s my second date with Saul tonight. He suggested the opera but I told him I have to be in bed by ten. Truth is, I find opera terribly tedious,’ she said.
‘So what are you doing?’
‘A cosy dinner for two at his club cooked by their top chef; much nicer.’
She picked up a perfume bottle and squirted behind her ears and onto her wrists. She was in a good mood. As far as I knew she was still meeting with Bob at Loida’s flat; taking Zachary along so that Bob could have some kind of relationship with his son. Fizzy had the chutzpah to juggle two men in her life.
‘Are you still seeing Douglas Pitlochry?’
‘I am, when he can get away from his bulletins and family commitments,’ I said.
‘I hope you’re being careful around him. This is a leaky ship and Julius has his suspicions about Douglas Pitlochry.’
I could not leave this unchallenged.
‘You’ve discussed it?’
‘Yes. I know Julius can be a bit of a control freak about stuff but he told me that Douglas Pitlochry is an operator. He stabbed his predecessor in the back to get the anchor role at News Nine.’
‘I never heard that. Are you sure that’s right?’ I said.
‘Julius has his sources and he said that under the charm he’s ruthless and not to be trusted.’
I shook my head in disbelief.
‘Are you serious about him, Liz?’
This was uncomfortable territory for me.
‘It’s early days. He’s good company when we do get together. Look, I’d better go and listen to Lori. Three-line whip and all that.’
She grinned mischievously.
‘They can whip away. I’m going home.’
I headed to the
atrium feeling troubled by what Fizzy had said. I did not see Douglas as a backstabber and I wouldn’t believe that. But the idea of them talking about me behind my back and that Julius saw my connection with Douglas as a possible source of leaks was unsettling. I stood and watched reluctant news journalists trickle down the stairs and choose seats at the end of the rows. They would consider this a chore and an irrelevance since news was news and why should you change it because of who the audience were? I didn’t want to attend any more than they did but I thought they were arrogant to think that. Bob had clearly instructed them to be there and he had seated himself in the front row next to Ledley. The first of my presenters to arrive was Betty.
‘This should be interesting,’ she said.
Simon found her a seat and sat next to her. Guy had sent his apologies. Gerry arrived late looking flustered but cheery. He has lost weight which is usually a good sign with him, a sign he is feeling happier. I gave him my seat and went and stood at the back of the gathering. Julius was standing there watching the atrium fill. I found a spare chair and carried it to the back, asked him if he wanted one. He said no and he stayed standing next to me.
‘She said half an hour. It better not be any longer.’ He spoke in a low voice so only I could hear him.
I had expected Julius to introduce Lori, but she was not a woman who needed any introduction. She was striding down the stairs dressed in her usual boxy suit, orange with an acid yellow blouse underneath, and her poodle hair was pinned up. As she took her place at the podium it struck me again how she was a person who did not suffer from self-doubt. She was in her element with her PowerPoint ready and a captive audience in front of her. She put on her glasses and started to speak.
‘I need your attention for thirty minutes and by the end of that you will know a great deal more about the people who watch StoryWorld.’
She clicked up her first slide, a graph showing the salary bands of our viewers. The next one analysed where they lived. She might have a captive audience but they weren’t a sympathetic one. Journalists do not like being told what to think by salespeople. The slides came in quick succession, outlining the leisure activities of our viewers and what soaps they watched. I saw some of the news journalists fidgeting at this. Why did they need to know if our viewers watched Coronation Street or Emmerdale? She had produced a comprehensive piece of work and I did learn something. Her last slide ended at exactly thirty minutes from the first one. She must have rehearsed and timed it.
‘I won’t keep you longer. I know how busy you all are. If you have any questions please email them to me. Copies of my survey are available,’ she said.
The screen behind her went blank and Ledley and Bob started to clap. Betty and Gerry joined in, as did a handful of others. Julius hurried away, taking the back exit through the studio as if he did not want to talk to anyone. I watched Ledley go up to Lori and congratulate her.
‘You nailed it, clever lady,’ he said.
They left the atrium together, heading for his dressing room. Everyone was filing out as I joined Gerry.
‘You’re looking great,’ I said, sitting down next to him.
‘Thanks, darling. I’ve taken up dancing. It’s such a fun way to lose weight and the pounds are melting off me.’
‘What sort of dancing?’
‘Zumba once a week and on Saturday I went to my first ever ceilidh. There’s a caller and a live band and you get to dance with all sorts. I loved it. You must come with me next time. So what did you make of that?’ He nodded towards the empty podium.
‘I guess it’s useful information for us all.’
He raised his eyebrows.
‘Well, it’s the first time I’ve ever been told to attend a presentation here. Lori has asked to meet with me. Is that OK?’
‘Of course, that’s fine.’
Lori should have cleared her meeting with Gerry through me but we had got beyond such courtesies.
‘But I’m asking my agent to come along. That woman has missionary zeal and if I’m honest I find her scary,’ he said.
I kissed him on the cheek.
‘Let me know how it goes.’
I went upstairs wondering how Lori intended to monetise his astrology slot. No doubt she had some plan for viewers to pay for phone-in predictions from Gerry. I heard Harriet telling Ziggy about the presentation because Zig had had to stay behind to monitor our calls.
‘I mean, the most ghastly people,’ she was saying, her pretty little nose wrinkling in distaste.
‘For heaven’s sake! They’re our audience. Stop being such a snob,’ Molly said.
I went into my office and spent longer than usual reading viewers’ comments about the show. They are definitely starting to notice that something is amiss. The chemistry between Fizzy and Ledley is all fake bonhomie and banter. Some viewers are seeing through it. And we’ve had a bit of a Twitter backlash, too, with viewers saying bring back Fizzy in a solo role.
*
Simon and Harriet were going to help Ziggy move into her new place that evening. I heard Ziggy insisting that they didn’t need a van; that a taxi would be enough for her stuff.
‘But what about your bed?’ Harriet asked.
‘I’m leaving my mattress behind. It’s a horrible old thing anyway and Annie has put a proper bed in for me.’
‘And your kitchen stuff?’
‘It’s all in a box.’
The three of them set off and I sat down with Molly. She had a packet of pistachios open on her desk and poured me a handful.
‘I found out something about Lori Kerwell,’ she said.
‘Really?’
‘I get this health magazine. Did you know she was fundraiser of the year for Cancer Research?’
‘No, indeed.’
‘Yes, she raised thousands of pounds.’
‘That’s impressive. Actually, I can imagine her being a formidable fundraiser.’
I threw the pistachio shells into the bin.
‘Have some more,’ Molly said.
She poured me another handful and we opened and munched the nuts.
‘And it’s something to be proud of, isn’t it? But when I mentioned it to her today it was like she was angry with me for knowing about it, which is odd.’
‘That is odd,’ I said.
‘I told her about the article. She cut me off literally mid-sentence.’
The bag was empty. Molly pushed the shells into a little pile.
‘But then I thought that maybe someone close to her had died of cancer and it was too painful for her to talk about.’
Last year Molly had made a short film with a young woman who was dying of cancer. It had been a powerful piece of film-making and had affected her deeply.
‘Good on her for doing something so positive,’ I said.
I recalled Fenton telling me that maybe Lori’s hard exterior was an armour she put on to protect herself. Perhaps I needed to think better of her. I had been out of sorts all day. The row with Flo last night had darkened my mood.
Chalk Farm flat, evening
Flo was not speaking to me. She was still brooding on Ethan and she rebuffed my attempt to make up with her. She was in her bedroom and I went to mine. I spent the evening watching a drama series on catch-up on my laptop, three episodes back to back. It was a dark drama and involving. I heard Flo go into the kitchen and make herself a drink; heard the kettle boil and her open the fridge. I stayed put. I didn’t even go into the sitting room to watch Douglas’s bulletin. I took ages to get to sleep as the drama I’d been watching had got into my head. One particularly disturbing scene kept playing behind my eyelids.
31
StoryWorld TV station, London Bridge
Flo had left for school still in high dudgeon. It has been going on for days now. I’d told her I’d be back late and all she said was ‘Whatever’, which I think is the teenage equivalent of ‘I almost care.’ I was seeing Douglas at seven-thirty and my anticipation at that was buoying me up.
>
Mid-morning, I got a call from Angela Hodge, Ledley’s agent.
‘Liz, have you heard the news about Magic on Ice?’
‘Sorry, Angela, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.’
She sounded impatient.
‘The ice show you got Ledley involved with? He was one of the judges of an ice-sculpture contest.’
It came back to me. Lori had got Ledley a gig on a panel of judges. The ice-sculpture contest, which had been filmed, was to launch a dancing on ice show in Birmingham.
‘Yes, I remember now. Actually, it was Lori Kerwell who got him that gig,’ I said.
‘Well, she should check out the companies she works with!’ Angela snapped. ‘The Serious Fraud Office has only gone and shut the event down. The organiser is wanted for money laundering and he’s scarpered with the proceeds. No customers will get their money back and Ledley won’t be paid.’
‘That’s not good,’ I said.
‘Not good! Far worse is that news companies are using a clip from the ice-sculpture contest to run the story. Everyone can see Ledley in the clip and this harms his reputation. I’m not happy,’ she said.
This was the old Angela Hodge, back on form. But as I recalled, she had been keen enough to let Ledley do this event. Maybe she was mortified that she had agreed to it. Maybe she had agreed to it on one of her bad days. I was still convinced that she had a drink problem.
‘As I said, I did not set up the event. I will let Lori Kerwell know about this at once.’
‘Tell her that in future I expect her to properly check out any companies she wants Ledley to work with. We expect due diligence from StoryWorld.’
Angela had clicked her phone off.
‘Rude woman,’ I said, but she had a reason to be cross. This was embarrassing for the station as well as for Ledley; one of our co-hosts associated with a money-laundering operation. That was what came of working with cheapskate companies. A small, mean part of me felt pleased that Lori’s work was at fault. I walked down to her office. She was out and the door was locked. I called her on her mobile and it went to answer machine. I left a quick message relaying what Angela Hodge had just told me. As I went past Julius’s office I decided he needed to know too.