The Talk Show: the gripping thriller everyone is talking about

by Harry Verity

  The gallery was also no longer the preserve of Edward and Violet, it was awash with people. The techies had taken up seats on the complicated-looking deck and the studio below was all lit up.

  ‘Here, put these on and sit down,’ Violet said, handing Edward a chunky headset. ‘I’ll be backstage, tending to the guests. Your job is to sit up here and make sure everything’s going smoothly. Press the red button and you’ll get through to me.’ Edward noticed there were a series of buttons down the side of his microphone. ‘If it looks like it’s getting out of hand then you give me a shout and I’ll try to cool them down, off stage.’

  ‘Right. Thanks, Violet.’

  From above, Edward could see the audience filing in, awe-struck at what they saw before them: O’Shea in an open-necked blue shirt and Liv in a cream cardigan, awaiting instructions.

  ‘Twenty minutes till we start the recording,’ said the technician next to Edward. They were both observing a screen that was split into four. One for every camera.

  At five minutes to, Braithwaite – complete with a clipboard and his own set of notes – took up the seat in the corner. Edward noticed he didn’t have a headset and so would be unable to hear what was happening below. Edward acknowledged him and Braithwaite gave him a small flicker of a smile back.

  The chattering in the audience died away and the techies surrounding O’Shea and Dessington-Brown crept off the stage. The lights dimmed and then, when the countdown had concluded, the projector screens lit up with the new title sequence. Michael O’Shea walks down a rundown street where he bumps into a busking saxophonist who is blaring out the opening riffs of the theme tune. As he continues in his stride, he bumps into Liv and a montage of them both, gesticulating and lecturing guests, intercuts with them shaking the hands of the neighbours on the street, before they both come to rest on the same lamppost used in the Spice article.

  The audience rose like puppets, right on cue, and their applause drowned out the coda of the theme tune as Michael O’Shea leapt onto the stage arm in arm with Liv.

  ‘Thank you, thank you. Welcome! And we’re starting off our new series with a bang. Not only do I have a new set, but I also have a new co-host. Yes, I will be joined by none other than Olivia Dessington-Brown. With no shortage of life experience that I’m sure you’ve all no doubt read about, Liv is the perfect host to help me untangle the crazy lives that come before me.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. I’ll be here every day with Michael, getting to the heart of our guests, really trying to understand what makes them tick and then telling them how I see it.’

  ‘So,’ Michael said, rubbing his hands together, his eyes flickering in the studio lights, ‘shall I bring my first guest out?’

  There was silence.

  ‘Well, shall I? Come on!’ He wanted the audience to play along but they weren’t really interested in a pantomime and only a few of them shouted back.

  The techie next to Edward seemed to be panicking.

  ‘Roll the tape before you introduce the guest. Roll the tape.’ He was clearly speaking to Michael over his earpiece.

  Michael did not react but remained straight-faced as he spoke to the audience.

  ‘Not good enough I’m afraid, folks, going to have to try harder than that. Guess we’ll have to watch this clip instead. Here is a little bit about my first guest.’

  And a montage of backstage footage, a short interview with Minnie, Jo and Stan and the occasional image of Dessington-Brown laying into them both, intercut with tabloid-style captions, flashed onto the screens built into the back of the set.

  Then out came the three of them, accompanied by a shorter, more menacing arrangement of the show’s theme tune. Jo, already wound up and determined to play up to the audience, sluggish Stan, with his hands in his pockets and small, timid Minnie, unable to hide her worn-out expression; she clearly wished she was somewhere else, as did Edward…

  ‘Shush!’ O’Shea said, pathetically, only properly trying to silence the room after a good few minutes of booing and unashamed retaliation from Jo.

  ‘Oi!’ he said, as Jo continued to wag her fingers and use language that would no doubt give the editors upstairs a field day. ‘Be quiet and let’s get to the bottom of this.’

  ‘You’re here to get the results of our surveillance aren’t you, Jo?’ Liv probed, calmly. Was this good cop, bad cop? Edward thought, though he soon realised it was more like bad cop, bad cop.

  ‘Yeah,’ Jo started ‘because that PRICK…’ this time she was given a warning by Dessington-Brown who promptly told her to wash her mouth out, ‘has been cheating on me.’

  ‘Cheating on you? Bit of a hypocrite aren’t you, love?’ Michael said.

  There were pantomimic gasps from the audience and Edward too could not help admitting to himself that he too found the accusation curious: they had found evidence of Jo cheating.

  ‘We asked some of your friends and they didn’t paint you as a paragon of virtue, love, believe me,’ Michael continued.

  Violet, who had remained silent up to then, watching the show from backstage, clearly felt she had to step in; her voice appeared in Edward’s ear.

  ‘This could explode if we’re not careful…’

  ‘Do you want me to speak to Liv?’

  Unlike Edward, Violet could not contact Michael or Liv through her own earpiece, only Edward could do that. The procedure was supposed to safeguard the authority of those in the gallery, who had a better picture of what was going on.

  ‘Keep an eye on it. Tell her to pull back if it goes further. If worst comes to worst tell the cameramen to cut away at any sign of a punch up.’

  But although Violet sounded fairly calm about the situation, Braithwaite seemed to be having a fit of hysterics.

  ‘No- no- she can’t say that.’

  Edward looked at him and caught his glance.

  ‘I do hope you’ve told them to pull the plug, Ed.’ Edward winced. A few close friends from college called him Eddie but nobody ever called him Ed. ‘I’m responsible for the well-being of the guests and I won’t have it.’

  ‘Er…’

  ‘I’m going to speak to Mags.’

  The gallery door opened and in walked Mags.

  ‘Seems my ears are burning again.’

  Braithwaite went silent, his tongue clenched firmly between his front two teeth, his forehead wrinkled with rage.

  ‘Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off,’ Mags shouted.

  ‘B- but surely you understand, with all due respect, I do have a duty of–’

  ‘Yeah, you have a duty all right, a duty to FUCK OFF!’ Mags spat.

  Edward turned his attention back to the show. They were about to film the cliffhanger where the ad break would go when the show was edited. Violet jogged briefly onto the stage to pass O’Shea an envelope.

  ‘And so here it is,’ he said, ‘the results of our surveillance. This is what you wanted, ’ey, Jo, justice?’

  ‘Don’t forget, everyone,’ Liv added, ‘she said if he hasn’t been cheating she’ll let this waste of space walk right back into her house. Hardly great for her daughter, is it?’

  The audience claps.

  ‘Yeah, hang on a minute, Liv. What does Minnie think?’

  O’Shea made his way to Minnie. ‘Do you think your stepdad’s going to pass the test, honey?’

  ‘Dunno,’ came the reply, ‘guess so.’

  ‘And standby to pause so there’s space for the ad break,’ said the techie next to Edward.

  ‘Let’s find out’! O’Shea opened the envelope.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ O’Shea smirked. ‘Time for an ad break.’ The audience groaned and he relished in their disappointment, appearing to lick his lips. ‘You better not go anywhere!’

  Edward opened a packet of Worcester Sauce flavoured crisps from his bag. As the show was recorded, the ad break would be added in later but everyone took a two-minute breather anyway. The tech guys remained where they were, using the interval to speak to the ca
meramen. The first half had been nowhere near as bad as Edward thought it might be but it was still incredibly strenuous to watch. Violet had explained that much of his task was to keep Braithwaite quiet and make sure he didn’t disrupt the show. So far he’d hardly needed to do anything. Since Mags had put him firmly in his place, Braithwaite seemed to have shrunk into his chair like a naughty schoolboy. Not that Edward didn’t sympathise with him, somewhat. He was, after all, trying to moderate and stop the guests being exploited, a noble cause. In fact, in some ways Braithwaite made Edward feel guilty for not exerting himself more forcefully, though whether anybody would have taken any notice of a word he’d said, he highly doubted.

  In no time at all, they were back.

  O’Shea manoeuvred himself so that he was in much the same position as he was before, at the front of the set, with his card close to his chest.

  ‘The results of our surveillance…show that Stan HAS been cheating.’

  There were gasps from the audience and a sudden fit of swearing from the stage.

  But there was more…

  ‘Our surveillance also showed Stan regularly visiting women’s houses, even on several occasions meeting with them behind the bushes in a park. And to top it all off, ladies and gentlemen, our good friend was also caught buying drugs.’

  The audience erupted into boos and Jo stood up.

  ‘I KNEW IT! You lying cheating bastard. Got ya, haven’t I?’

  Sluggish Stan seemed to have life in him yet: he got up from his chair and fought back, throwing all manner of insults and accusations at Jo and then at O’Shea himself. It was chaos. In fact, the only person in the entire room who did not seem to be shouting, gloating or indeed trying to pick a fight was Minnie. The poor girl looked frightened. At one point she placed her hands over her ears and closed her eyes. But nobody seemed to have noticed her. Liv was busy pointing her fingers at Jo and trying to explain to her that she was no better than her husband and that it was absurd that they were here for a show about cheating when Stan’s drug taking, alcoholism and lack of income had destroyed her relationship with him and her daughter long ago. She was, according to Liv, ‘a worthless, feckless, lazy and irresponsible mother who should be ashamed of herself…’

  Edward could see Braithwaite wiggling once again. He was tempted to side with him. He didn’t understand why Minnie had to be on stage for the results, in fact, now he thought about it, Edward didn’t understand why Minnie had even been included in the show in the first place.

  Eventually, Stan saw fit to walk off the stage… surely the sensible option, though not according to O’Shea who taunted him for being a coward.

  Now it was two-on-one. Liv and Michael levelled on Jo.

  ‘So, what’s it going to be then? Are you going to go home to him? Bet you are, aren’t you? Just going to carry on playing happy families. Go on then… you’ve had your fifteen minutes of fame, taught him a lesson on national telly, punished him, so why don’t you head back home and carry on fighting?’

  She looked resigned, as if it was her only choice; despite the bravado, there was little fight in her now.

  ‘…or,’ Liv piped up. So, this really was bad cop, bad cop, Edward thought. ‘…or you can take the hard option, you can leave him. Come on. You know he’s not worth it. You need our help, and we can give it to you. We can make sure he leaves, get you a proper job, build you a life again.’

  The grand mansion in Florida, the peace, the tranquillity, the birds, the palm trees, it fluttered to the forefront of Edward’s mind and he knew Jo was thinking the same. Liv was subtly reminding Jo that for all the abuse she’d been forced to face on stage, there would be a reward: it would definitely be worth it.

  ‘Now, do you want our help? We have the best people. Don’t worry about him,’ Liv said, referring to Michael.

  ‘Come on, give her a big round of applause, ladies and gentlemen…’ Edward had to hand it to them. Somehow, in the space of a couple of minutes, Michael and Liv had transformed the entire show and managed to make the audience forget about Jo’s misjudgments, turning her into a victim.

  ‘Right, I do hope Jo and Stan sort out their differences. Now, my next guests, Annabel and Tiffany are twins and exotic dancers and adult movie stars.’ Michael pulled a strange expression with his face, clearly trying to overemphasise his displeasure. ‘But since Tiffany got pregnant and had her first baby and Annabel began dating the man who coaxed them into these X-rated shenanigans, the two have been at loggerheads. Now Annabel is accusing Tiffany of cheating with her boyfriend, can they resolve their differences and get back together or have they let their lust for men destroy their relationship? Let’s bring them on.’

  The twins were brought out together. Clearly enraged, Edward could only guess at what had been said to them backstage, though from everything he had seen from that day at Deacon Court, they needed little encouragement. Of course, nothing was to get resolved during the show. The surveillance that had been placed on Tiffany had proved inconclusive, there was no evidence either way that she had been cheating with Annabel’s boyfriend, who incidentally walked onto the stage only to be showered with abuse by O’Shea. When he went to lunge at him, O’Shea retreated quicker than Edward had ever seen him move before, though all the cameras cut away. Security carted him off and he never got to have his say.

  ‘He acts the big man, but men like him are scum and you can never trust him, you understand that, right? Liv, help me out here.’

  ‘You have to think logically. Here are the facts: you met him in a rundown nightclub and he has encouraged you to enter this seedy, dirty world. So why would he give that all up for you? He’s stringing you all along. He probably has half a dozen girls on the go that he is seeing.’

  ‘No he hasn’t!’ Annabel said. ‘And if he did cheat on me… why didn’t the detective see him?’

  Liv took hold of her hand whilst Michael shook his head.

  ‘Sweetheart, he probably suspected we were tailing him if he knew he was coming on the show and our expert says it was inconclusive.’ She did not seem happy with the explanation, so Michael jumped in and did something that made everyone, including the techies in the gallery, gasp.

  ‘Tiffany, I’ve got a question for you. I want you to answer it, honestly. Did you sleep with him? Did you have it off with your sister’s boyfriend? You’ve told us you haven’t before but here’s your chance. If you want your sister back, away from that man for good…’

  Annabel went pale and looked into her sister’s eyes but Tiffany hesitated.

  Liv got down beside Tiffany and grabbed her hand as well.

  ‘The truth is important, girls, don’t you think? How can you have any sort of meaningful relationship going forward if you don’t tell each other the truth? She needs to know, Tiffany, she needs to know…’

  Michael asked her again.

  This time Tiffany’s response was definitive.

  ‘Yes!’

  The studio erupted in shock and Annabel walked off stage.

  Tiffany sat quite still, unmoving but it didn’t matter. The show was at an end.

  Annabel, apparently locked in one of the toilet cubicles, told Violet – who had chased after her with a camera crew – that she never wanted to speak to her sister ever again.

  ‘Sometimes people just want to go their separate ways,’ Michael said, ‘we can try to help but I still believe the truth is the most important feature in all our stories. You can’t hide from the truth. It will all come out one day. And the truth is we’ve run out of time, it’s the end of the show. Join me tomorrow, same time, same place…’

  Braithwaite, shaking his head and muttering to himself, left the gallery.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Mags shouted, as the door to the gallery blew shut. ‘Cat got your tongue?’

  He didn’t reply.

  ‘Fucking strange, that one,’ Mags said to the remaining members of the gallery. ‘Bloody red tape, forcing us to employ nutters like him.’


  10

  ‘Our contestants tonight all have one question for our judges, “will you make me a star?” But what does it take to make it on this show? What are our star judges looking for?’

  ‘Looking at what the rest of the panel put through last week, seems all you need to do is dress up in a costume and blurt out a good sob story and you’re in.’

  The audience in the stadium burst into laughter and some began to clap.

  Michael was being his blunt self but that was what people paid him to do, that was why people liked him. He was in the middle of a live recording for Make Me a Star. The talent show contest on which he was a judge – a gig his agents had lobbied hard to get him for years – was beginning its eighth series. The premise of Make Me a Star was simple. Anyone of any age could come from anywhere in the world and perform, present or persuade the judges to invest in them or their project. The investment could take the form of money or sponsorship, setting up a meeting with the right people or signing them up to a record deal. There was even a pot of money supplied by the channel to fly people out who could not afford to get to London. The most common contestants were singers or members of a band but people had also come on the stage and pitched charities they felt needed funding. On one notable occasion an amateur theatre troupe had asked for permission to put on their play: producers had worked overnight to completely transform the stage into their set.

  They were currently at the audition stage. The contestants would come in and make their pitch usually in the way of a performance and then Michael and the others would have three options: make them a small offer there, which the contestants had the choice of accepting or trading in to go forward to the next round – though they might be sent home at a later stage with nothing – send them straight through to the next round or send them packing.