by Jane Lythell
I walked through the flat and turned off the lights. I stood at the window that opens onto our little garden and could see the moon rising over the roofs and chimneys of my street.
CHAPTER SIX
StoryWorld TV station, London Bridge
The only presenter who is being difficult about wearing pastels is Sal. Sal is a stand-up comedian who does a weekly slot for us; a wry look back at the news events of the week. She’s funny, irreverent and spiky. When I raised the subject of the new pastel policy for presenters she got touchy with me and said there was nothing in her contract about the station dictating what colour she should wear. I agreed but said it was now station policy.
‘Station policy,’ she repeated, with an edge to her voice.
‘Yes.’
We were talking on the phone and her attitude was grating on me.
‘Julius policy, you mean,’ she said.
‘He’s the director of programmes, Sal, so if he says it’s policy then it’s station policy.’
I hoped I had said enough for her to fall into line.
When she came in to do her slot today Sal was wearing a dark green top and a string of large brightly coloured beads. She arrived late and there was no time to talk to her before she went into the studio, which I am sure she did deliberately. I was watching from the gallery and as she sat down on the sofa I saw Fizzy’s eyes flash with alarm. She knew at once that Sal was carrying out her own one-woman rebellion against Julius. The way it works is for Fizzy to feed a few scripted questions and this lets Sal launch into her script about the week’s news and topical events. She was especially funny today and there’s no question she’s a talented woman who brings a fresh element to the show.
It was lucky that Julius was away this morning. The post-mortem meeting was chaired by Bob, the news editor. There’s a more relaxed atmosphere when Julius is away. Bob lets us all pitch in and discuss the show freely. Fizzy was in a good mood and she was laughing at Bob’s comments. Her wardrobe has undergone an overhaul since the Great Pastel Colour Edict. She was wearing a pretty pale green dress with white daisies on it. It was a young look for a woman of thirty-eight but it suited her. No doubt all these new clothes of hers are being paid for by the station. There was only a passing reference made to Sal’s item and I thought we’d got away with it.
Around noon Julius came into the office. I saw him walk past my room and he looked irritable and his jaw was clenched. Twenty minutes later he called and said come to my office now. I knew from his voice that he was in a bad mood. Sometimes I play for time but today I walked straight over and I was hardly over the threshold before he barked at me: ‘Sal, does she know the new rule?’
‘Yes, I told her last week, but you know she’s being awkward about it. And it’s her thing isn’t it, being anti-establishment? Surely it doesn’t matter if a single presenter—’
He actually punched his desk with his fist.
‘It does matter! Who the fuck does she think she is? Does she think she’s bigger than the station?’
‘No but—’
‘Tell her to wear pastels next week or she’s out! I mean it.’
His voice was venomous. I am sick of being Julius Jones’s punchbag. He can be hateful. I turned on my heel and left his office before I said words I would regret about him being a bully; and over something so bloody stupid too. When I got to my room I shut the door, poured myself a glass of water and stood at my window looking at the activity in the street below. Everyone down there looked to be rushing to their destinations and their faces were strained and anxious. Most of the time I feel lucky to have my job but it is at moments like this when I think about leaving the station. I’ve been here a long time, almost as long as Julius, and he thinks I will never leave. I’m on a good salary and I need it to pay my huge mortgage. Golden handcuffs, it’s called, being paid so much money that you feel you can’t leave your job.
My fear of debt has got worse since Ben and I split up. Several times I’ve had the same dream about a starving naked woman standing outside a clothes shop as a woman in a fur coat walks past. I told Fenton about it and she said that maybe I was both the starving woman and the woman in the fur coat.
I sat down and called Sal. The phone rang and rang and I was about to hang up when she picked up.
‘Sal, Julius is not happy. Take it from me, he’s deadly serious about this colour thing. Please go along with it. After all, what does it matter? It’s only your clothes. It doesn’t affect what you say in any way.’
‘Sorry, Liz. You know I’ve got a lot of time for you. But Julius Jones is such an arse.’
‘He says you’ll be out if you don’t wear pastels next week,’ I said.
I had put it as bluntly as I could. She needed to know the score. There was a pause on the other end of the line.
‘That man must have a very small penis.’
It wasn’t Sal at her wittiest but I laughed to ease the tension between us.
‘Look, I don’t want to lose you. I love your item.’
‘Then let me go on being me,’ she said.
‘We all have to make compromises, you know.’
I left it there, hoping she would see sense. I had to make compromises every week. Honestly, there are times when I feel like slapping the presenters!
*
After lunch Julius sauntered into my office.
‘Did you speak to Sal?’
‘Yes. I made it clear.’
‘Good. She’s a stroppy cow. I need one of your researchers to come to a meeting with me now to take notes,’ he said.
Julius has a PA, Martine. He’s the only one of us who does these days and I didn’t see why one of my team should do this for him.
‘I thought Martine took notes for you?’
‘She’s on leave today.’
‘We’re very busy. Is it essential?’
‘Yes it is; a potential new sponsor. Let Harriet take the notes.’
‘I was going to suggest Ziggy. I’m trying to give her more to do,’ I said.
‘No way. She’s far too scruffy.’
‘She’s very bright, Julius.’
‘No. Let Harriet come, she’s well turned out.’
I stood up and called Harriet into the office. I explained she was needed to take notes at a sponsor meeting. I saw her flush with pleasure as she followed Julius out of my room. I stood at the threshold and watched the two of them walking away. Molly stopped her typing.
‘Where are they off to?’
‘A meeting with a sponsor; Julius needs a note-taker.’
‘Only we were right in the middle of doing work on the hospital shoot,’ she said.
Molly can be abrasive at times but she has a good sense of humour when she relaxes. She has a broad flat face and dark blonde hair which she gets from her Dutch father. She wears jeans and Converse sneakers to the station most days, works hard and has a lot of integrity. I rarely put her on the celebrity interviews, though, as they don’t interest her at all.
‘How’s Harriet getting on?’ I asked.
‘She’s struggling. Did she have any experience of this work before?’
‘She worked in papers but never in TV. I’d appreciate it if you’d give her your support. I can see she needs some hand-holding.’
‘Sure. Is she going to be made permanent?’
‘Too early to say. Where’s Simon?’
‘He’s gone for a coffee with Betty. They’re doing her mail.’
Betty adores Simon and always asks for him to go through her mail with her. She puts a lot of effort into her weekly advice slot and her stories come from viewers’ letters and emails. I went in search of them as I needed to build bridges with Betty after our last tense conversation. They were sitting in the Hub with a sheaf of printed emails on the table between them.
‘Can I get you guys anything?’ I asked.
‘I’d love another hot chocolate,’ Betty said.
‘Can I have a sparkling water please?’
Simon said.
I queued for the drinks. Bob the news editor was sitting at a table by the window with Fizzy and she was laughing at something he was saying. I have my suspicions about those two. I think it more likely Fizzy is having a secret affair with Bob than with Julius. She claims they are good friends because they both come from Burnley. You would never guess that Fizzy was from Burnley, though she does mention it on air from time to time; talks about her love of the Football Club and how her dad took her to the games. Bob is married and has two teenage girls and you can tell straight away that he is from Burnley. He will make a point of showing he is a northern man in what he considers to be a southern softie set-up.
I know a lot of people have this idea that TV stations are cauldrons of lust and sex with the presenters and journalists and technicians always at it. There is a grain of truth to this idea. We all spend long hours at the station and there is often a febrile atmosphere around the place. I’ve known of several liaisons between colleagues in my years at StoryWorld, and of course I met Ben here. But it does grate on me when I come up against the assumption that I’ve held onto my job all this time because of some sexual shenanigans. Yet here I was thinking the same thing about Fizzy. I joined Betty and Simon at the table with their drinks.
‘We have a few crackers this week,’ Simon said.
‘Tell me.’
‘A woman who is pregnant by her married boss and can’t decide whether to have the baby or a termination. Her biological clock is ticking and she’s desperate to have a child, but she’s afraid of doing it on her own. He’s made it clear that if she goes ahead she’ll get no support from him,’ he said.
‘That’s tough,’ I said.
‘What would you do in that situation?’ Betty asked as she sipped at her hot chocolate. She is a large woman and has a sweet tooth. Her being large seems to enhance her status as an agony aunt. There’s comfort and reassurance in her bulk.
‘Wanting a child is such a powerful thing and if I was in my mid-thirties I might go through with it and sod the man,’ I said.
‘This woman is in her mid-thirties,’ Simon said.
‘Yes, but the child won’t get the best start in life if the mother has no partner and no financial security,’ Betty said.
‘Lots of women have done it on their own successfully,’ I said.
‘Long-term research shows a child does better if there are two parents,’ Betty asserted.
I bristled at this.
‘Not if the parents are warring all the time.’
Simon jumped in. ‘We’ve also got a sixteen-year-old boy who wants to know how he should tell his parents that he’s gay.’
Betty put her cup down.
‘That was a heartfelt email. The poor troubled lad, his parents sound uptight and I’ll need to go carefully with that one.’
‘I look forward to hearing it tomorrow,’ I said.
My one criticism of Betty is that she takes a conventional approach to most issues. I wish that sometimes she would be more subversive in her advice.
*
In the evening I was taking Gerry and his partner Anwar out to dinner to celebrate his new longer contract with StoryWorld. I had arranged for Janis to babysit. I must stop using that word babysit; Flo gets insulted when I do. I wanted Gerry to feel cherished and had asked him where he wanted to go. He said Anwar was raving about a place in Soho called the Social Eating House so I booked us into there. After the team had left for the night I changed into a dark red velvet shirt and put on my silver drop earrings with the ruby stones; not real rubies, of course, semi-precious stones, but I like the way they catch the light. I brushed my hair. My hair is black and I’ve worn it in a short bob, without a fringe, for years. A bob is nice and low maintenance and I pay Ellen in make-up a small fee to cut it for me every two months. I peered in the mirror and saw a few more grey hairs at the parting. I applied dark red lipstick and was squirting perfume onto my hair when Julius walked in unannounced again.
‘Nice smell,’ he said.
‘Jo Malone. Wood Sage and Sea Salt.’
‘Very you; nothing conventional for Liz Lyon.’
‘How did your meeting with the sponsor go?’
‘Pretty good; I think I’ve landed them.’
Julius is brilliant at getting sponsors on board and it is one of the reasons his position at StoryWorld is unassailable.
‘And was Harriet helpful?’
‘She was like a rabbit caught in headlights.’
‘That’s strange. I find her rather poised and confident,’ I said.
‘It must be the effect I have on her,’ he said with an annoying smirk.
I turned to pick up my handbag.
‘Where are you off to in your glad rags?’
‘I’m taking Gerry and his partner out to dinner to celebrate the new contract.’
‘Where are you taking them?’
‘This place in Soho Gerry wanted to go to: the Social Eating House.’
‘Mind if I join you?’
I was surprised at this.
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Gerry’s a lot of fun and the food there is sensational.’
‘I heard he did your chart for you,’ I said, arching my eyebrows.
He gave me a surprisingly sweet smile. I reached for my phone and called the restaurant and changed the booking from three people to four. I knew Gerry would be flattered that Julius was joining our dinner.
‘What’s his partner called?’ Julius asked as we drew up outside the restaurant in a taxi.
‘Anwar, he’s an actor.’
From the street the restaurant looked more like a commercial building and its name was a battered street sign. Inside it was all warm reds and browns with banquette seating and subdued lighting. There was a separate cocktail bar on the first floor, The Blind Pig, and Julius took over and insisted we have pre-dinner cocktails. I hadn’t met Anwar before. He has beautiful dark eyes, is well-toned and expensively dressed and he must be at least twenty years younger than Gerry. He’s not had much acting work from what I can tell. His last job was a walk-on in Casualty two seasons ago.
We went downstairs and Julius was charm itself as we ordered our dishes, and he couldn’t have been more different from the man who had bawled me out about Sal earlier that day. He ordered an expensive red wine, more than I would have gone for. Julius signs off my expenses so I didn’t worry about that. The food was outstanding. Gerry chose the five course sampler menu which had a procession of dishes: prawns, foie gras, hake, duck and chocolate. He must have decided to ditch his diet for one night and he can’t have any scruples about eating foie gras either!
As the night wore on and we had started on our third bottle of wine it was clear to me how much more in love Gerry is with Anwar than vice versa. I’m sure Gerry bankrolls the relationship and the way he looked at Anwar all evening made me feel a bit sad. There is often this inequality in love relations. And then Gerry asked me about my love life. It was an awkward moment as I didn’t want to talk about it in front of Julius.
‘Forget love life, Flo is my priority,’ I said.
Julius’s interest was piqued and he pressed me.
‘Oh, come on, Liz. You’re an attractive woman. Who’s the fella?’
I took a sip of the red wine.
‘Why should there be a fella?’
‘Stop holding out on us,’ he said.
‘Well, sometimes, when Flo is in Portsmouth with her dad, I see Todd. He’s a director.’
‘Todd Fisher?’
‘Yes.’
‘He works for us, doesn’t he?’ Julius said.
‘Not on a regular basis; he’s a freelancer.’
‘But you met him at the station?’ he persisted.
I was finding this more and more embarrassing.
‘Yes.’
Julius was not going to let it go.
‘And how does your daughter feel about him?’
‘I don’t invite him back to my flat w
hen Florence is there.’
‘Ahh, he’s your fuck buddy, is he?’ Julius had emphasised his words.
‘I hate that phrase!’
‘I think I know who you mean. He’s the guy who did last year’s outside broadcast? He’s Australian, isn’t he?’ Gerry asked.
‘Yes, he’s directed several OBs for us,’ I said.
‘He’s quite a hunk,’ Gerry said, grinning at me.
‘Let’s leave it please,’ I snapped at Gerry.
There was a moment of strained silence.
‘And what about you, Julius?’ Gerry asked.
‘I’m on my own; Amber and I parted company six months ago.’
Amber was a fashion stylist he had been dating for a few years. She was a high gloss, high fashion woman and I hadn’t seen her smile once. Simon and I had nicknamed her The Pouter. So he was on his own again and this would explain his appearance at our dinner tonight. He is forty-five years old, has never married, has no children and StoryWorld is his life.
Chalk Farm flat, 11.15 p.m.
Flo was asleep when I came in and Mr Crooks was curled up at her feet. I paid Janis and saw her out. I should not have snapped at Gerry at his celebration dinner and I rang him.
‘Sorry I was sharp with you, Gerry. I snapped at the wrong person.’
‘It was a lovely evening and I was being nosy.’
‘You’re a mate and I don’t mind you asking, but he’s got no right to keep on probing.’
‘He did seem awfully interested in who you were dating.’
Gerry was fishing again and for a second I wondered if there was any way he could know about what had happened between Julius and me. No, it wasn’t possible, but I could feel embarrassment and irritation rising again.
‘It’s hard to have a private life at StoryWorld, isn’t it?’
‘Tell me about it, darling; it’s impossible for any of us to keep secrets,’ he said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
StoryWorld TV station, London Bridge