Nothing But Trouble

by Matt Cain

  The worst thing was, her mum was bound to find out what she’d said – that was assuming she hadn’t watched the interview on TV last night. The two of them hadn’t spoken for months and Lola had no intention of calling her now that she felt so guilty. At least there was no chance of her mum speaking to the press, seeing as Lola’s regular handouts were her only source of income. They’d originally been given on the understanding that her mum would seek treatment for her addiction, but Lola had given up on that hope long ago and by now was resolved to the fact that she used the money to buy more drugs. Oh it was all so sad and depressing – and Lola had only gone and made it even worse by making out her mum was some kind of slapper who’d got pregnant on a one-night stand.

  There’s a fine line between being honest and being undignified, she told herself. And clearly I still haven’t worked out exactly where it is.

  She took a deep breath and downed a swig of her hangover remedy.

  ‘Next!’

  *

  ‘OK so the top story’s the earthquake in China,’ Hugh Badcock bellowed at the assembled Channel 3 News team. ‘The death toll’s ten thousand and we’ve got footage of cute kids being pulled out of the rubble. Bomber Bancroft’s all over it – and it’s great picture.’

  His assessment was met with a chorus of approval from most of the staff. They were seated on sofas in the soft area of the newsroom, surrounded by clocks showing the time in various cities around the world and screens broadcasting the mute output of a selection of rolling news channels. Nestled somewhere in the middle of the team was a disgruntled Freddy, hoping he could escape being put on a story so he’d have time to recover from his early-morning disappointment.

  ‘Next up is this newly discovered paedo ring in Dundee,’ Hugh rattled on, his eyes widening. ‘Suggsy’s already on a plane up there. And it’s a big, juicy story – ten kids raped and abused for years.’

  Freddy watched as everyone’s faces lit up around him. He couldn’t help being repulsed by their enthusiasm.

  ‘Fantastic,’ he heard someone gush.

  ‘What a brilliant story,’ agreed the producer next to him.

  ‘Can we blame the government?’ broke in deputy editor Janine Jury, a haggard-looking thirty-something who, as far as Freddy could tell, seemed to spend every minute of the day manically chewing gum and knocking back Diet Coke. ‘Surely we can find someone to say they’re not doing enough to catch paedos?’

  ‘Great idea!’ barked Hugh. ‘Someone call the Home Secretary’s office and see if she’ll come on to disco with the do-gooder. We could have a brilliant ding-dong.’

  ‘And if she won’t do it we can always empty-chair her,’ added Janine.

  Freddy bristled at her aggression. If Hugh Badcock was the alpha male of the office then there was no question that his deputy was the alpha female. Freddy looked at Spike sitting opposite and roofed his eyes in exasperation.

  As Hugh carried on running through the day’s stories, Freddy zoned out and glanced around the room. At times like this he always felt like the odd one out, like an alien who’d somehow landed in the middle of the newsroom. Everyone else looked gripped by the stories on offer – and chomping at the bit to start work. Maybe Hugh’s right. Maybe I just don’t have the aggression it takes to be a great journalist after all.

  The problem was, he wasn’t sure he wanted to force himself to feel that kind of aggression. All right, he loved his job, but what he really enjoyed about it was interviewing singers, actors and entertainers, asking them about their work and then sharing what he’d learned with the programme’s viewers. Was that really such a bad thing? All the audience research showed that the viewers loved him – so why should he be treated like some kind of failure?

  He suddenly realized that his disappointment at Hugh’s criticism had ended up distracting him from what had been on his mind all night – Lola’s comment about him being handsome. He still couldn’t work out whether she was just pissed and flirtatious, turning on the charm to deliver a good interview, or actually flirting with him because she liked him. Come to think of it, he didn’t even know if she was single. But then again, she had thrown him her sunglasses when she had a whole army of assistants standing by to hold them for her. All he had to do now was come up with a way of returning them personally – and then he’d be able to work out exactly how she felt.

  And not only that, but if Trouble was doing well in the midweek charts, Freddy was sure there’d be an appetite for following up his interview with a second on-screen instalment. He could suggest filming an exclusive report from the set of Lola’s next video or a rehearsal for that massive tour she’d mentioned – and tell Hugh that this time he’d push her much harder.

  Yeah, that’s the way to do it. He’d line up a professional meeting and a personal one too. And in the process he’d hopefully be pleasing both himself and his editor.

  *

  Sitting opposite Freddy, Spike Adebayo was trying to focus on what was being said in the meeting. Ever since the new editor had started a few months ago, the office had buzzed with anxiety and insecurity. Correspondents and producers had been fired, new faces had been brought in to try and boost ratings and everyone on the team had been left fearful for the safety of their job, including Spike.

  But the truth was that today Spike was having trouble concentrating on work. He couldn’t stop thinking about Lola Grant’s manager, the good-looking older geezer who’d chatted him up then carded him at the launch party last night. Harvey Sparks, Harvey Sparks, Harvey Sparks . . .

  Sure, Harvey was probably ten years older than Spike – and not his usual type. He tended to go for gym bunnies or go-go dancers he met out clubbing, usually while both parties were off their faces on mephedrone or crystal meth. But the truth was that this policy hadn’t exactly worked out for him in the past – and had left Spike trapped in a soulless cycle of wild partying and pointless, fleeting flings. There was obviously more to this Harvey Sparks: he seemed sensitive and intelligent and work obviously played a big part in his life. And crucially they’d met when both of them were totally straight-headed, which had to be a good start. You never know, thought Spike, maybe it’s time for me to give it a go with someone completely different.

  ‘Now what about this hot weather?’ Hugh Badcock interrupted his thoughts in his comically posh voice. ‘Surely this has to be the hottest June on record?’ He turned to face Dolly Dawson, the show’s mild-mannered and perpetually pregnant weather presenter. She shook her head apologetically.

  ‘One of the hottest Junes on record?’

  She carried on shaking her head.

  ‘Probably going to be one of the hottest Junes on record?’

  She shrugged her shoulders in resignation.

  ‘Well, come up with some kind of topline – there’s got to be a news story in there somewhere.’

  ‘Can we blame the government?’ spat Janine Jury, her eyes blazing as she chomped furiously on her gum.

  ‘Brilliant idea!’ beamed Hugh. ‘I’m thinking hosepipe bans, water shortages, global warming . . . Let’s make some noise. Dolly, we’ll have you in a live two-way next to a sandcastle on a beach somewhere. I’m sure by tonight you can come up with something to kick up a fuss about.’

  ‘Oh right, OK,’ she bleated. ‘I’ll do my best.’

  Spike felt sorry for Dolly and shot her a look of solidarity. As he listened to Hugh drone on about hospital closures and benefit scroungers, he found his mind wandering back to last night – and the connection he’d felt when talking to Harvey. He was pretty sure he hadn’t imagined it but why would a high-powered music manager be interested in a lowly young news producer like him? Unless he was one of those white geezers who got turned on by the idea of re-enacting a Benetton advert, or creating what Spike always jokingly referred to as a chocolate and vanilla swirl.

  But no, he didn’t get that impression about Harvey. He’d seemed sincere and genuine. And if he’d given Spike his card he obviously wanted him t
o get in touch. So why should he hold back just because Harvey wasn’t his usual type? He took out the card and ran his finger along the edge.

  Harvey Sparks, Artist Manager.

  He thought about texting him and programmed his number into his mobile. Well, what did he have to lose? He could always start by saying something professional and see how things went from there: even though Barbara Bullock had arranged the interview it wouldn’t be ridiculous for Spike to text Harvey a quick thank you.

  ‘What up,’ he began typing. ‘Cool to meet you last night. Interview with Lola was sick. Hope you not feeling rough today. Spike’

  As Hugh Badcock was busy whipping up outrage about some low-ranking politician no one had heard of until he’d been accused of a minor act of molestation by an intern, Spike read the text back to himself. All right, it wasn’t the most professional thing he’d ever written but at least he’d mentioned the shoot. And he hadn’t put a kiss at the end or anything. Oh it’ll do. At least it’ll get the ball rolling.

  He pressed Send.

  ‘Well, that’s everything on the list,’ Hugh boomed, rubbing his hands together in delight. ‘What else is out there?’

  As his colleagues fell over themselves to suggest potential stories, Spike did his best to refocus on the meeting. He was just about to open his mouth and make his own contribution when he felt his phone vibrate on his lap. As he unlocked the keypad the chatter around him faded into a low hum. He searched for the message and looked to see who’d sent it.

  It was Harvey.

  *

  ‘So when are we going out then? What you up to this weekend?’

  Harvey had been texting Spike for hours now but knew he didn’t have long till he’d have to end the conversation to introduce Lola to her band. If he didn’t strike soon then he might miss his moment. He reread the message and hit Send.

  ‘Who are you texting?’ Lola whimpered from behind a pair of face-swallowing sunglasses. The two of them were sitting in the back of a car on their way to Musicmaker rehearsal studios in Bermondsey. She’d somehow made it through a full morning of promo but by now the hangover was really starting to show – hence the sunglasses. Harvey wondered why she wasn’t wearing her favourite pair and remembered that she’d thrown them to Freddy last night. ‘And don’t pretend it’s business,’ she croaked, ‘I can tell from that grin on your face it’s some bloke.’

  Harvey knew there was no point lying. And he didn’t want to anyway – he told Lola everything, including every last detail about his love life. But it had been a long time since he’d felt this excited about a potential date and he didn’t want to jinx things.

  ‘For your information,’ he began slowly, ‘I have met someone, yes. But we haven’t even been on a date yet so I don’t want to make a big thing out of it in case it doesn’t work out.’

  ‘Shit the bed!’ Lola squealed. ‘You really like him, don’t you?’

  ‘Lola, stop it! That’s all you’re getting for now!’

  Just then his phone pinged and his fingers glided over the keypad to open the reply.

  ‘Busy Friday but Saturday good,’ he read. ‘We keeping it chilled or getting wavey?’

  Harvey looked at the message, perplexed. It was taking him a while to decipher Spike’s street speak but at the same time he found it quite charming: it transported him back to his own twenties, when he too had cared about being at the height of cool. And while he was happy to have left all that behind, he sometimes worried that as he’d matured he’d become jaded and weary, particularly when it came to mustering up enthusiasm about potential dates. Although hopefully Spike would be the one to end all that.

  ‘So come on then,’ broke in Lola. ‘Have you got yourself a date or what?’

  ‘I told you already, that’s all you’re getting for now.’

  She pulled a sulky pout. ‘Well, all I can say is, it’s about time. You know you spend way too long looking after my life and nowhere near enough on your own. I think it’d be wicked if you got yourself a new fella.’

  He smiled at her as he typed his reply. ‘Saturday good. Let’s keep it chilled. Fancy lunch in the sunshine?’

  As he pressed Send he felt a flutter of nerves. Ever since he’d given up drinking, he’d found dating a big problem. If he told his date he was teetotal, they thought he was either a boring stiff or a complete alcoholic, which wasn’t too far off the mark but not the kind of detail he wanted to divulge when he was trying to impress someone. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of his wild, drink-fuelled past but it took some time to explain properly without putting men off – or scaring them into thinking he still had a problem with booze and was only going to be trouble. And besides, he’d learned from experience that most people needed to take the edge off their nerves on a first date by knocking back a few drinks – and instantly felt uncomfortable if he didn’t do the same. In the past it had only led to tension and a series of dating disasters. And he wasn’t going to risk that happening with Spike. No, he thought, I’ll arrange something low-key during the day, just to get the ball rolling.

  As he waited for the reply he remembered that Lola was scheduled to take part in a live Twitter chat. The journey across town would take about an hour, so Barbara had wanted to make the most of the dead time, especially after last night’s live broadcast on Channel 3 News had earned Lola another hundred thousand followers, instantly expanding the market for her album and tour. He looked at his watch: they were five minutes late.

  ‘Lola, I’m really sorry but we have to do this Twitter thing.’

  ‘Oh no, you’re not serious?’

  He wrinkled his nose. ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘But can’t you do it for me? Then I can have a little kip?’

  ‘Don’t be daft. Can you imagine what your fans would say if they thought your manager was tweeting for you?’

  ‘Oh come on, what’s the big deal? You know you can do me as well as I can. Didn’t I say that in my speech last night?’

  He knew she was trying to win him round and his eyes sparkled fondly. ‘And what happened to me looking after my own life for once?’

  ‘Well, get on with it then,’ she joked, giving him a playful elbow in the ribs. ‘How long does it take to arrange a date?’

  Just then his phone pinged to tell him he had a reply. ‘Genuine,’ he read. ‘See you Saturday. Stay cool. Spike.’

  He couldn’t stop himself from breaking into a wide grin. Flippin’ ’eck! I’ve met one of the fittest guys ever and we’re actually going on a date!

  He looked at Lola but saw she’d already fallen asleep. Never mind, it was probably better if he tried to keep the news to himself anyway. But she was right – he should look after his own life more often. And that was exactly what he was planning on doing this weekend.

  *

  By the time she woke up, Lola was over the worst of her hangover – and was gradually starting to feel human again. When Harvey told her the midweek charts had come in, she removed her sunglasses so she could look him in the eye. ‘Is it good, darlin’? Please tell me it’s good.’

  The news was even better than either of them had been expecting. Not only was the album predicted to hit number one but in just a single week it looked like it was going to become the UK’s fastest-selling album of the year. The news instantly eradicated the remnants of Lola’s hangover but also made her feel a little scared. From now on, she knew everything she did would be scrutinized that little bit more and the pressure on her was going to rise. She took a deep breath and stepped out of the car.

  She told herself to focus on the task in hand. She was about to meet the various members of the band who’d be accompanying her on the Trouble tour of the UK and Europe in just a few months’ time. If all went well, the same band would be following her out to the States in the spring, where the plan was to launch her career with a handful of exclusive live shows as well as performance slots on TV and radio – before hopefully announcing a full US tour later that year. Of cou
rse, as a solo artist Lola knew that she’d be the focus of attention on stage and many of the band wouldn’t even be visible. But she also knew that they needed to gel as a group for the music to sound good – and impress both the critics and her growing army of fans.

  She was painfully aware that the break-up of her last band had been entirely her own fault. Her affair and subsequent split with guitarist Fox Marshall had caused tensions to rise within the group until eventually things had become unworkable. She’d been so distraught about being dumped that she couldn’t even think straight and once the musicians’ contracts had expired, Harvey had been forced to step in and take the decision to start afresh with a new band for the second album.

  Of course that particular disaster had been splashed all over the press. But what the press didn’t know was that the same thing had happened with her previous backing band, when Lola had tumbled into a torrid affair with the knee-bucklingly handsome keyboardist Nicky Finn. Pale-skinned with jet-black hair and a soft Irish accent, she’d instantly fallen for his easy manner and laid-back sense of humour, despite the fact that he had a cocksure charm that should instantly have rung warning bells. By the time she’d discovered he had a girlfriend back home in Dublin it had been too late – she’d been so in love with him that her only option had been to pathetically reassure herself that eventually he was bound to leave the other girl for her. But it soon became obvious that he wasn’t going to leave her. And when the girlfriend was told about what turned out to be his third major infidelity, she’d given him an ultimatum – and he’d promptly dumped Lola seconds before she was due to skip onto the set of some upbeat, jolly kids’ TV show.

  Even now, when she thought back to the break-up, she couldn’t help feeling heavy-hearted. She’d been so overwhelmed by what had felt like a bottomless sorrow, it had cast a dark shadow over the launch of her debut single – and taken the shine off her happiness as her career finally took off. But then she’d only gone and made a total fool of herself by repeating the same mistake with Fox Marshall. Well, she was determined that it wasn’t going to happen for a third time.