by Susan Lewis
‘Is completely wrong for the new image we’ll be aiming for.’ He paused a moment. ‘I’m sorry, I know she’s a good friend of yours, but we need to move with the times, and Allyson Jaymes is simply too old for the direction we need to take.’
Shelley lowered her eyes. His determination, tinged with ruthlessness, was pushing her loyalty to Allyson into a distant second place. Then her head came up as he said, ’I’m afraid we’ll have to postpone the details of my proposals to another time.’ He was taking out a credit card and signalling to the waiter. Then looking across the table he let his gaze rest on hers. His eyes were so intense that the pressure felt almost physical and as she looked back she felt a stab of pure lust cut through her.
‘I’ve a feeling we’re going to get along well,’ he said. ‘I’m certainly looking forward to finding out.’
The evening was chill and dark as Allyson tramped through the drizzling rain from her car to the flat. Rumours of Stella Cornbright’s early retirement, and Mark Reiner’s takeover, had already made the papers, the Standard was full of it tonight, along with all the speculation she’d got wind of in the office earlier. So now everyone thought that, on top of everything else she’d been through lately, she was about to be removed from her job. If she didn’t have such great faith in Shelley she might have been more worried about that, but Shelley was perfectly capable of mounting a winning campaign when necessary, and if there really was anything to be concerned about, then Shelley would have called her straight after the lunch, before going on to meet Stella. Allyson’s heart gave a sickening thump of doubt. Or would Shelley have called? She certainly hadn’t let Allyson know that one of Tessa’s film inserts, with Tessa appearing, was being aired tonight. It would be Tessa’s first time on screen and Allyson wanted to do all kinds of drastic and violent things to the girl – and to herself for the intense stupidity of ever suggesting Tessa should be promoted instead of pulverized. However, there was a certain comfort to be gained from the fact that Bob was going to be with her this evening, instead of out celebrating with Soirée’s very own Tellytubby – at least there might have been, were she not being so mercilessly buffeted about by nerves.
Opening the front door, she dumped her shopping on the floor, and scrabbled for the light switch as her mobile phone started to ring inside her bag. Finally locating both, she prayed hard that it wasn’t Bob calling to say he’d changed his mind, and bravely pressed the button.
‘Hi it’s me,’ Shelley said. ‘Where are you?’
Relief expelled Allyson’s pent-up breath. ‘Just got in,’ she answered. ‘Where’re you?’
‘In a taxi going round Piccadilly.’
‘How’s Stella?’
‘Pretty up, considering. I’ve left Art Gulliver from Current Affairs holding her hand.’
Allyson pushed the door closed and began to shrug off her coat. The flat was cold and cheerless. She’d forgotten to set the heating. ‘How was lunch?’ she asked, her voice sounding deadened by all the layers of dread.
‘I’ve got a lot to tell you,’ Shelley answered.
At that Allyson’s imagination erupted through the inertia and within milliseconds she was being dumped from her job, divorced from her husband, rejected by the public and utterly destroyed by a killer nervous breakdown.
‘What time’s Bob supposed to be getting there?’ Shelley asked.
‘In about an hour. You know, I was thinking, you don’t have to come. I’m sure I can handle it.’
‘I’ll come,’ Shelley said. ‘If it’s a reunion he’s after and you find you’re interested I’ll leave. I don’t want to take the chance of him hitting you again, and if he turns up drunk …’
‘OK,’ Allyson said, cutting her off. She didn’t want to think about Bob being drunk. ‘Was Stella’s monitor on while we were recording?’ she asked.
Shelley’s hesitation was answer enough.
‘So who authorized Tessa’s report?’ Allyson wanted to know.
‘Alan. But he checked with me first. It was the right bridge to get us from the Hobsons to Josh Burrows tonight. I’m sorry, I should have warned you.’
Allyson’s voice was devoid of emotion. ‘She was good,’ she said. Her mouth was dry, her face felt numb.
‘She learned from you,’ Shelley replied. ‘Listen, we’re about to go into the underpass, so I’ll lose you. I should be there in half an hour. Maybe less.’
Allyson rang off and went to put on the kettle. Then smothering her face with her hands she fought back the sudden urge to weep, most of all in that moment for her father’s loss of mind. In the past he’d always been the one to make things better. Now he barely remembered who she was, and her mother was so upset by Bob’s desertion and the terrible exposure they’d all suffered in the press, that Allyson was usually the one to comfort her. She felt so isolated, so utterly adrift, for she couldn’t even say, thank God she had Shelley, because after today … Except she had to remember that it had been her decision to keep Tessa on the programme, and Shelley had a lot on her mind right now, with Mark Reiner taking over and Stella leaving … From there it was an easy leap to wondering how it would be if things worked out with Shelley and Mark Reiner, the way Shelley wanted them to … Allyson was so used to having Shelley all to herself, it would be strange sharing her with a man. But with Shelley’s track record there wasn’t too much danger of that … Horrified by the cruelty of the last thought, she dug her fingers into her face. How could she be so mean as to wish Shelley more bad luck with men than she’d already had, especially now she’d had first-hand experience of how appallingly painful and destructive it could be.
Forgetting about the kettle she went to put on the heating, then still wrapped in her coat she lay down on the bed. The phone rang several times, but she let the machine pick it up, as she sank deeper and deeper into despair. She had no energy, no fight, no will to carry on. Things weren’t going to work out with Bob tonight, she just knew it, and she wished to God now that she hadn’t agreed to see him.
However, by the time Shelley arrived she’d managed to force herself into the shower, which had somehow manoeuvred her out of the bleakness towards a few daring rays of hope. It was possible that Bob might be wanting a reconciliation, and Shelley wouldn’t really allow her to be thrown off the programme, and demented with grief as she so often felt, she was still a long way from howling at the moon. In fact, she was coping quite well, really, considering, and to prove it she was even able to laugh at Mark Reiner’s Country and Western song titles when Shelley repeated them as she poured her a generous glass of Merlot. Shelley had let herself in while Allyson was still in the shower, so was already halfway through her own glass by the time Allyson put in an appearance. Not that Allyson was surprised to see her, feet up on a thickly padded kitchen chair, the latest copy of Broadcast spread open on the table. They’d always had keys to each other’s flats, in case of emergencies.
‘You’re not serious!’ Allyson said. ‘Someone actually wrote a song called “I Flushed You from the Toilets of my Heart”?’
‘So he claims,’ Shelley laughed.
Allyson laughed again and drank some more wine. Then, sitting down in a chair opposite Shelley she said, ‘Sounds like you two hit it off.’
‘We did,’ Shelley confirmed.
Allyson looked up and felt her heart contract at the glimmering light in Shelley’s eyes. ‘So do you think …?’
Shelley nodded. ‘Mmm, it’s possible.’
They smiled, knowingly, and Allyson drank some more wine.
After a while Shelley said softly, ‘You’re upset about Tessa being on the programme.’
‘It was a bit of a shock,’ Allyson confessed.
‘I know. I’m sorry.’
Allyson forced a smile. ‘I should have been expecting it,’ she said. Then, attempting an objectivity she was far from feeling, she added, ‘It was a good piece. Interesting and funny. She looks good on camera. Well, we knew that already.’
Shelley loo
ked at her as she bowed her head and could almost feel the depth of her pain. ‘Ally,’ she said.
But Allyson spoke over her. ‘So tell me more about lunch,’ she said.
Shelley’s eyes moved to her reflection in the night-blackened window. Allyson was bound to have heard the rumours, or read the paper, by now, so there wasn’t much doubt about what she was really asking – and Shelley couldn’t have felt worse, for she knew that Allyson would be trusting her to keep the programme format exactly as it was. Were it not for the fact that Mark’s vision of a younger, more upbeat style of programme chimed so perfectly with Shelley’s own, then Shelley would indeed be fighting, but how could she when it wasn’t a fight she wanted to win? However, she reminded herself that nothing had actually been decided yet, so there was no point running with the fear that Mark’s plans could prove an end to their friendship as well as to Allyson’s position on the programme, they’d just have to cross that bridge when they came to it.
So, prevaricating, she said, ‘There’s not much to tell. We mostly talked generally. You know, about TV in the States compared to here, that sort of thing.’
‘Nothing about the future of Soirée?’
Shelley continued to avoid her eyes. ‘Only in the abstract.’
Allyson was quiet, and Shelley felt a crippling guilt when she looked up and saw the fear on her face. ‘Which of the rumours is true?’ Allyson said.
‘I don’t think …’
‘No, it’s OK. I can tell by the way you’re holding back. He wants to replace me.’
Shelley reached for Allyson’s hand, but Allyson moved it away. ‘It’s not as bad as that,’ Shelley said. ‘He wants you to continue with the Night Cap.’
Allyson felt sick. ‘And the Cocktails?’ she said.
Shelley was searching desperately for a way to postpone this, but it seemed her hesitation had already answered.
‘He wants someone younger, doesn’t he?’ Allyson said.
Shelley nodded.
Allyson stared at her, ready to crumple beneath the horrible weight of rejection. Then a sudden anger and bitterness swept into her heart, reminding her she was a fighter, not a loser. She wasn’t just going to sit here, getting bashed to a pulp by a fate that deserved, at the very least, to be battled, and in a burst of feverish resentment she cried, ‘Of course, we’re in a youth culture and at forty I’m past it. How could I possibly have thought I could carry on, when I’m crashing through the doors of middle age and embarrassing the life out of those who go gently.’ She snatched up the bottle and splashed more wine into her glass. ‘You know what’s so damned cruel about this?’ she demanded, only dimly aware of how badly she was shaking. ‘What’s so damned cruel is that I feel twenty-five. Don’t you? I never think of myself as forty. Forty isn’t an age that applies itself to me, in my head. I don’t even know what it feels like to be forty. Except used up. Over the hill. A waste of good air space. At least that’s how it feels for me. Not for you though. It’s different for you, isn’t it? You’re not getting pushed aside to make room for some airhead with tattoos where I’ve got cellulite, and stardust where I’ve got wrinkles. Did you fight for me, Shelley? Did you tell him it’s my show?’
Thrown by the outburst Shelley said, as calmly as she could, ‘We didn’t have time to get down to specifics. He just gave me his thoughts and then he was gone.’
Allyson started to speak, but seizing the ground Shelley stopped her, ‘Listen, I know it hurts to hear you’re too old, but if we can think of a way to make your age work for you, instead of against you … I believe he’s a reasonable man. If we can come up with something, he’ll at least give us a hearing. I’m sure of it.’
‘Soirée is my programme!’ Allyson cried. ‘Why the hell should I be trying to come up with something? Did he look at the ratings? Does he know how much publicity I get?’
Not wanting to get into an argument about whose programme it actually was, Shelley said, ‘He’s looked at everything, and the ratings, Ally, are starting to drop again.’
‘And that’s my fault?’
‘No. I don’t know. We’ve been using this format for eight years, without a change. Maybe it’s getting tired and we didn’t notice. Maybe what we need is a new concept.’
The doorbell sounded, announcing Bob’s arrival.
‘Oh God!’ Allyson cried, as a whole other fear sprang up inside her. ‘Just what I need.’
‘Shall I tell him to go?’ Shelley offered. ‘You don’t have to see him.’
‘No. I do.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know!’ Allyson snapped angrily. ‘Maybe to get it all over with at once,’ and getting up she went to the entryphone and buzzed him in.
As she opened the front door she could hear his footsteps coming up the stairs, but by the time he came in she was back in the kitchen. From where she was sitting she could see him, and suddenly she wished Shelley wasn’t there. He’d never liked Shelley, and right now she didn’t either.
‘Hello,’ he said. Though he was still in shadow, she could see he looked terrible, but then she probably did too.
She attempted a smile. Her defences were in chaos, not knowing where they were needed, and so terrified they might miss their cue that there was every chance they’d put in a wrong appearance and blow everything to pieces. For the moment, though, they seemed content to wait in the wings, as he closed the door and looked uncertain about taking off his coat. In the end he seemed too uncomfortable to do anything, which was horrible, because it made them seem like strangers, when he was her husband and this was their home. This was where they had shared everything of each other’s lives, and now he was too nervous even to look at her. She wanted so badly to walk out into the hall and into those arms that she knew so well, but it might not be what he wanted, so she stayed where she was, listening to the unsteady thump of her heart. ‘It’s still raining out,’ he said awkwardly.
She nodded.
‘Is it OK if I take off my coat?’
That made her want to cry, but all she did was nod.
It was bewildering, trying to match this man and his humility with the drunken, abusive voice on the phone, or with the easy confidence and humour she’d known for so long.
‘Are you going to say anything?’ he demanded.
She jumped at his tone, but realizing his belligerence was caused by nerves she said, ‘How are you?’
He came forward. The light moved across his face and her heart twisted. His belovedly familiar features were ravaged with exhaustion. She wanted to sit him down, soothe him and tell him it would be all right, yet somehow she knew already it wasn’t going to be.
‘It is money, isn’t?’ she said. ‘That’s why you’re here.’
His eyes went down and she wondered how much pride he had left. She guessed she was about to find out.
‘I think the BBC are going to drop me, permanently,’ he said.
It was probably the wine that almost made Allyson laugh, for she wouldn’t normally find their imminent state of unemployment funny. But she didn’t want to tell him about her, so all she said was, ‘I’m sorry.’
He waved a dismissive hand, then came on into the kitchen. He was almost at the table before he saw Shelley, and the aggression and anger that leapt into the air the instant he did told Allyson that she had made a disastrous mistake in asking Shelley to be there.
‘Well,’ he snarled, ‘I suppose I should be thankful it’s her and not some beaten-up bimbo and her snot-nosed kids.’
Knowing he was referring to the shelter for battered women and children she’d recently been photographed coming out of, Allyson didn’t respond. Nor was she offended, for despite the way he was behaving, she knew that the real Bob could summon up a compassion for others that was easily as great as her own.
‘Hello Bob,’ Shelley said mildly.
He turned to Allyson. His face was twisted with rage. ‘You do it to spite me, don’t you?’ he sneered. ‘It’s all done just to piss
me off or make me look bad. Cosying up with those dykes at the shelter, making out like you’re some kind of battered wife yourself. And now here you are with your great dyke friend. Can’t make a move without her, can you? You never could.’ He pushed his face up to hers. ‘I thought we were going to talk?’ he hissed.
Allyson wiped the saliva from her face. None of it felt real. Her emotions were distant, her reactions felt like those of somebody else. ‘What do you want to talk about?’ she asked.
He turned to Shelley. ‘Not with her here. Either she goes, or I go.’
‘You don’t get to make any demands,’ Allyson told him. ‘She’s here because I asked her to be. Because the last time I saw you, you hit me.’
‘And now that makes you a battered wife?’ he scoffed. ‘So you call on your lesbian chum for protection.’
‘Stop talking about her like that!’ Allyson cried. ‘She’s done nothing to you, so …’
Shelley stood up. ‘I’m going to wait in the sitting room,’ she said to Bob, ‘because I can see that as long as I’m here you’re going to carry on behaving like the asshole you are.’
Allyson saw his fist tighten and grabbed it with her hands. As soon as Shelley was gone she let go and picked up her glass. ‘What do you want to talk about?’ she said, as calmly as she could.
He slumped down in the chair Shelley had vacated, but she could see his temper was still raw. ‘Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?’ he said.
‘No.’
He picked up the bottle anyway, and refilled the glass Shelley had left. ‘Why did you ask her to be here?’ he said. ‘It would have been all right if it was just me and you.’
‘Would it?’ she said. ‘Did you read the Standard tonight?’
He seemed thrown for a moment, then said, ‘No. Why? What are those bastards saying about me now?’
‘Actually, it wasn’t about you, it was about me. And the programme.’
‘So what’s new? The darling of the press gets herself a few more pages of free publicity?’
Allyson looked at him and through the muddle of hostility and confusion she tried to find the man she loved. She was sure he’d come in here, had been there at the door, but where was he now?