Three Way

by Daniel Grant

  ‘Ready now,’ Phil says.

  ‘Okay,’ Marcus replies. He pulls out his phone and makes a call. ‘They’re ready here.’

  ‘Can you give me a white balance?’ asks Phil, handing me a sheet of paper. I hold it in front of the camera. ‘Thanks.’ I feel the expectation in the air. From the road you can’t see the Prime Minister’s official country manor house, just the grounds.

  ‘So just to confirm, this won’t be live. Just a pre recorded statement,’ says Marcus. I nod.

  ‘Yep,’ I say.

  ‘Good.’

  We wait. I walk back to the satellite vehicle.

  ‘You guys ready?’ I ask.

  ‘We’re always ready,’ says glasses engineer, think his name is Henry. I’ve worked with him before, just can’t remember his surname.

  I walk back to Phil. We both look back down the private driveway. I breathe in, trying to calm my nerves. Mustn’t screw this up. I walk back and forth along the road. Five minutes go by. Then another five. The clouds are starting to look threatening.

  ‘How long?’ I ask Marcus.

  ‘Soon,’ he replies. I nod and start pacing again. Suddenly, I see two Range Rovers and a Jaguar driving towards us.

  ‘Here he is,’ I say. The Range Rovers get to the end of the driveway and stop. Four big guys in suits get out, then I see him. The Prime Minister and a female press officer who looks tired and stressed. The PM is shorter than I remember from our last encounter but has the air and authority of the most powerful man in Britain. His hair is slicked back and his suit is perfectly pressed. The bags under his eyes make him look older than he is. The strain of the job, I guess. They walk up to us. Marcus does the formalities.

  ‘Prime Minister, this is Ollie from TBN.’ The PM offers his hand. I shake it.

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ the PM says. Not sure why but I’m disappointed he doesn’t remember me. Suppose it’s a bit much to expect him to remember everyone he meets. I was only with him for five minutes, I guess.

  ‘You too. If you don’t mind standing just here, sir,’ I indicate where he should stand. He looks distracted or maybe he’s just focused on what he’s going to say. I stand as close to the camera as I can, looking at the PM. The female press officer is not far away, making sure she hears every word he says. The PM looks at me as Phil gets ready.

  ‘Okay, we’re rolling,’ says Phil.

  ‘Prime Minister, what’s your reaction to today’s events in North Korea?’

  ‘Well the first thing I want to say is we believe North Korea should stand down its nuclear missiles on the border and re-engage with the talks that myself and the US President attended only last week. And…uh…shit can we go again.’ I glance at Phil then over to the female press officer.

  ‘Of course, no problem,’ I reply. Phil puts his hand in front of the camera then says,

  ‘We’re still rolling.’

  ‘When you’re ready,’ I say. The PM clears his throat and licks his lips, repeating to himself quietly what he wants to say.

  ‘Okay,’ the PM says, ‘Ready.’ Phil nods.

  ‘What’s your reaction to today’s events?’ I say.

  ‘North Korea has to stand down its nuclear missiles and reengage with the talks that the President and I attended last week. This act of aggression will not be tolerated and I urge Kim Jong Un to come to his senses and enter full negotiations with us and the South Koreans to prevent this situation spiralling out of control. They have a choice, more isolation from the international community or reengagement with us. It’s in their hands. I hope they make the right decision. Thank you…okay?’ I look at Phil who checks the recording back.

  ‘Yep, good,’ Phil says. The PM shakes his head and turns to the female press officer.

  ‘Next time can we make it a little snappier, I’m not going to learn these massive paragraphs you come up with, I’m not an actor Anna.’

  ‘Of course sir,’ she replies. He walks back towards the Range Rover, Anna in tow.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ I call. He turns back to me and waves, insincerity painted all over his face. What a piece of shit. That ladies and gentlemen is the man leading our country, God help us all. The motorcade moves off back towards the house.

  ‘Okay, thanks guys,’ says Marcus. He walks over to his car and drives back down the driveway towards Chequers. Phil hands me the SD card with the interview on it. I take it to the engineers.

  ‘Here you go guys. We’ll need to play this out on a clock start so everyone gets it at the same time.’ I take out my phone and call Paul.

  ‘Newsdesk,’ Paul says.

  ‘It’s Ollie, we’ve done it and it’s ready to go. Playout in ten?’

  ‘Yep, what did he say?’ My mind goes blank. What did he say? I was so busy concentrating that I didn’t hear what he was saying. Something about North Korea reengaging?

  ‘He said he wanted North Korea to reengage with South Korea and the West and to stand down their nuclear missiles to prevent the situation spiralling out of control.’ I hear Paul typing what I’m saying. ‘It wasn’t very long maybe, twenty seconds?’

  ‘Okay, playout in ten. Good job Ollie.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  The guys on the truck cue up the SD card.

  ‘There was a false start so make sure you just feed the second answer,’ I say. Henry nods. We wait for the clock to hit three-twenty exactly then, making sure all the other broadcasters can see the paused image of the PM, we hit play. The clip starts playing, well done me. Except…for some unknown reason I realise it has jumped to the very beginning and starts to play the PM’s first answer. The one where he says ‘shit!’ Oh fuck no. TBN, SKY, BBC all cut to the feed live as it comes in.

  ‘NO! That’s the wrong clip!’ I shout. Too late, every broadcaster has cut to our feed transmitting the PM saying ‘shit, can we go again.’ I close my eyes. My phone starts ringing. It’s a car crash and I’m in so much trouble.

  ‘You have any idea the shitstorm that rains down because you can’t cue up a tape and press play at the right time?’ says Jonathan Crawley, Head of Home News. He’s wearing an expensive suit and looks like the Fat Controller. I stand in front of his desk, head down.

  ‘I’m sorry, we did cue the card correctly but the machine reverted to the beginning and by the time we realised, it had already played out,’ I say.

  ‘By the time you realised? You should have pulled it off the air the moment it started playing. If I wanted a fuck up, I’d have sent my four-year old son. We send you because you’re supposedly one of our best producers. All of us here expect simple things like this to go smoothly. When they don’t Oliver, I get fucked up the arse. And I hate getting fucked up the arse by anyone except my wife. I don’t send monkeys, I send producers who are supposed to know what the fuck they’re doing.’

  ‘You’re right, it’s my fault. I can only apologise.’

  ‘Are you a monkey Oliver?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You sure? People will understand if they thought a monkey was sitting in that sat truck pressing play at the right time. Because monkeys are a lesser species, incapable of organising pool playouts. You sure you’re not a monkey?’

  ‘No,’ I reply, looking down. Jonathan huffs.

  ‘You know why it took so long to call you in here? Because I couldn’t get Downing Street off the fucking phone. I had to sit and listen to that prick Adrian Short give me lecture after lecture on how biased TBN is towards the opposition and how this episode proves it. How we deliberately stitched up the Prime Minister to make him look like a dick and how they will make sure we pay. They’ve been chewing my arse for two hours, I’ve got nothing left to sit on.’ I nod slowly and go to respond when suddenly the mobile on his desk starts to ring. He picks it up and looks at the display and rolls his eyes skywards.

  ‘Fuck me,’ he says, showing me the display. ‘My wife. And here I was thinking the day couldn’t get any worse. Get out of my sight, Hayward.’

  ‘Sorry,’
I say. He waves me away in disgust.

  ‘Darling, it’s daytime, this is an unexpected pleasure…’ he says.

  I open the door and step out, red faced. I breathe out and walk towards the newsdesk. I feel the whole newsroom watching me.

  ‘You okay, Ollie?’ Julie asks.

  ‘Not really,’ I reply.

  Saturday. I’ve had time to recover from the bollocking of a decade and I want to move my life in a more positive direction. No point in dwelling on the negative even if every newspaper did splash my screw up all over the front pages the next day. Nightmare. Anyway, let’s just pretend that it never happened and that my prospects for promotion haven’t just been dealt a fatal blow. What the hell, at least I still have my health, right? Although that mole on my hip looks like it’s getting bigger…

  So it’s dinner with Lauren tonight at mine. I tell Ashley and Parker not to be in, which is a better conversation than I expect. Ashley is seeing what’s-his-face. Damn, what is his name? Norman, that’s it. Norm. Brilliant. Anyway, Parker wasn’t originally seeing Nicola but when I told him to not be in this evening he gave her a call and now they’re going to Pizza Express - he’s even printed off a voucher. He’s so classy, I totally get what she sees in him.

  So first things first, I need to decide what the hell I’m going to cook tonight. As I’ve said before, cooking isn’t exactly my strong point. Not sure what is but it’s not cooking. I’m standing in the Asda cooked meat aisle, staring at a long chorizo sausage, unsure of what I’m doing. Maybe I should have looked up a recipe. Yeah, that would have been better.

  I walk round looking for inspiration. Pasta? No, too simple and I don’t know any pasta recipes other than spaghetti bolognese and I have to do better than that. I don’t know what to cook. I whip out my phone and call Parker. It rings then,

  ‘What do you want, dickhead?’ Parker says.

  ‘I need a recipe for tonight. What’s easy to cook but will be, you know, impressive?’

  ‘Why don’t you just take her for a McDonalds, that’s more your speed, isn’t it?’

  ‘Funnily enough we did actually talk about fish and chips-’

  ‘Christ, you are such trailer-trash.’

  ‘Not in a serious way, dickwad. Come on, I need help here.’

  ‘Okay…what about Chicken Cordon Bleu.’

  ‘Cordon what?’

  ‘Fuck’s sake. I’ll email you a list of ingredients. What are you doing for a starter?’

  ‘I was going to do garlic bread.’

  ‘No. You’re going to do scallops and chorizo.’

  ‘Ooh good, I’m standing right next to the chorizo,’ I say.

  ‘That’s great, Ollie. And for desert…uhh, I dunno, homemade brownies?’

  ‘Sure, sounds good.’

  ‘Ok, check your email in a couple of minutes and I’ll tell you what to get. Amateur.’

  ‘Thanks mate, really appreciate it.’

  ‘Yeah whatever. Bye.’

  ‘Bye.’ I hang up and await Parker’s email which is in my inbox faster than a Cheetah on speed. I move around the supermarket picking out the ingredients as I go. Of course, I get lost and I can’t find breadcrumbs to save my life. Eventually however, I source them all. I am the epitome of male hunter/gatherer.

  I get back to the flat around one. I see Tristan outside, smoking another (perfectly legal) cigarette. I can barely move for the amount of shopping I’m carrying. Tristan merely watches me unswayed (again) by the load I carry.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got it,’ I say. Tristan looks at me.

  ‘Should have taken my advice about Tesco delivery.’

  ‘Why would I need that when everyone pitches in and helps?’ I reply.

  ‘I don’t lug other people’s shit.’

  ‘Right, okay,’ I say, getting up the final step and pushing past Tristan as I go. I dump the bags outside the front door and try to find my keys.

  ‘What you making?’ Tristan asks, glancing down at the bags.

  ‘Chicken Cordon Blue,’ I say.

  ‘Cordon Bleu,’ he replies.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s Cordon Bleu, not Blue,’ he states, inhaling on his cigarette. I stare at him.

  ‘Thank you for correcting me on that.’

  ‘Welcome,’ he replies, with zero irony in his voice. I locate my keys and open the door, pulling in the bags. I glance up at him and frown. He gives a little wave as I close the door. Tristan definitely does not know more than me about cooking. It’s not possible. Unless you count hash cakes. His words unsettle me nonetheless.

  I drop the bags onto the kitchen floor and set about putting things away. Ashley walks in.

  ‘Hey,’ she says.

  ‘Hi,’ I reply, placing the loaf of bread next to the sugar jar.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re cooking for this girl.’

  ‘I cook and stuff.’

  ‘I think you’ve cooked once the entire time I’ve been here.’

  ‘Well you haven’t been here very long so…’ I say. Ashley watches me unpack the food from the bags. I look up at her. ‘You going to watch or do you want to give me a hand?’

  ‘Sure,’ she says, bending down to help me.

  ‘Aren’t you supposed to be at work?’ I ask.

  ‘Day off,’ she replies.

  ‘Huh,’ is all I can think of in response.

  ‘So what are you making her then?’ Ashley asks. I pull out some chicken breasts.

  ‘Chicken Cordon Bleu,’ I say, correctly this time.

  ‘Nice.’

  ‘Hopefully,’ I reply, placing the chicken breasts in the fridge. ‘So you seeing Norm tonight?’

  ‘Norman, his name is Norman,’ she says, repeating the name deliberately slowly.

  ‘Sorry Norman.’

  ‘Yes, he’s taking me out to Giovanni’s on Lavender Hill.’

  ‘Nice.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘How’s it going with the Nor-man?’ I accentuate his name.

  ‘Good. Yeah. He wants to introduce me to his mum to which I just said no.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We only just started going out. And it probably won’t last anyway. Rebound guys never do.’

  ‘Is he a rebound guy?’

  ‘What do you think, he’s called Norman for God’s sake?’

  ‘Right,’ I say, chuckling. I catch her watching me in a funny way. Suddenly the atmosphere feels mildly awkward. ‘So, you going to start playing the piano in public?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why? Seriously, what I heard was really good.’

  ‘I just do it for fun. Not really a career choice.’

  ‘You wanna work in a bar for the rest of your life?’

  ‘No,’ she replies.

  ‘If you’re scared about what other people will think-’

  ‘I’m not scared. It’s my choice.’

  ‘Well, then it’s a waste of a great talent, which is even worse.’ I place the apples next to the sink. She thinks for a second then says,

  ‘I need to get ready, we’re going out early for drinks.’

  ‘Go, thanks for your help,’ I say. She walks to the door, stops and turns, leaning against the frame.

  ‘You really think I was good?’ she asks. I stop unpacking and look at her.

  ‘Yeah, I really do. It sounded like a professional song. I’m not just saying that either, it really did.’

  ‘Hmm,’ she replies, taking in my words. She pushes herself off the door frame and leaves.

  Lauren arrives bang on seven-thirty which on any other day would have been perfect. With my cooking as it is, however, it’s the last thing I need. I run to the door and open it. She stands in front of me, wearing a tight-fitting black dress and strappy high heels. Her hair’s in ringlets which changes her appearance dramatically. Honestly, she looks like a model and I suddenly feel that familiar feeling of intimidation. She carries a black holdall bag, I guess she’s staying over…which is nice.
/>   ‘Hi,’ I say.

  ‘Hi,’ she replies, smiling. She takes a step in, hands me a bottle of wine and kisses me on the lips. In her heels, she’s almost as tall as me.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say.

  ‘For the kiss?’

  ‘No…well yes, and the wine.’

  ‘It’s one of my favourites.’

  ‘Come in, come in. Let me take that,’ I say, taking the black holdall and nearly doing my back in. ‘Jesus, what’s in here?’

  ‘Everything a girl needs for the night,’ she replies.

  ‘Are we going to be weight lifting?’

  ‘You’re a funny guy,’ she says, smiling. I close the door as she walks past me. I tidied up as best I could but I’m still self-conscious. I lit some candles to distract from what I’m sure she regards as a dated paint job and wallpaper effect. We walk into the living room. I head over to my iPod and hit play. Adele’s tones immediately fill the air and soften the atmosphere.

  ‘So, this is the living room,’ I say.

  ‘Nice,’ she replies.

  ‘Shall I give you a quick tour? Won’t take very long.’

  ‘Sure,’ she says. We walk back to the corridor.

  ‘I know it’s small and nothing like James Kennedy’s place-’

  ‘It’s really nice, Ollie,’ she says.

  ‘Yeah well…it’s a foot on the ladder anyway,’ I say as we walk into the kitchen. ‘Here’s where the magic happens.’

  ‘Ah yes. And I was thinking it only happens in the bedroom,’ she says with a naughty smile. I smile back, embarrassed.

  ‘Well anyway,’ we walk back to the corridor and past the bathroom. ‘Bathroom is there. Parker’s room,’ I say, pointing out the closed door. ‘He’s out with his girlfriend tonight.’

  ‘Ah, so we have the place to ourselves?’

  ‘Oh yes, and uh…this is my room.’ We walk in slowly, I place her bag down on the floor. She looks around, spots the double bed in the centre and the floor to ceiling wardrobe.

  ‘Very nice,’ she says. She presses the bed. ‘How much action has this seen?’

  ‘Oh every weekend. And normally it’s someone new each time, I’m just that good,’ I say. She chuckles and walks towards me placing her arms around me. ‘Well if the barbeque was anything to go by, I don’t doubt it.’ I lean over and kiss her, breathing in her perfume. I feel her grip tighten around me. She breaks the kiss. ‘Maybe we should have some dinner before we…move on,’ she says, smiling. I nod.