The Dead Dog Day (2 page)

Sam and Cora nodded.

Christina rubbed her eyes. ‘Jeanette's not happy, but what can you do? We're going to launch the pet competition tomorrow instead – there's a cat that woke its owner up after a gas leak or something that should be able to come in. I'm going to be cacking myself tonight – Jeanette will fire me if anything else goes wrong. I've only been here for three months, I'll never be able to get another job if I'm sacked …'

Her voice tailed off and a fat tear rolled down her cheek. Cora felt a sudden massive wave of sympathy, and slipped her arm round the younger girl's shoulders.

‘Don't cry, Christina. You won't be sacked, it wasn't
your
fault! I remember what these nightshifts are like – they're hell, and being so tired just makes everything seem worse. It'll be OK, you'll see – Jeanette will have forgotten all about it by tomorrow.'

Christina wiped her eyes and managed a little smile. ‘Thanks. But she won't, you know that. I hate that woman. I really, really hate her. Anyway, I'd better go … I have loads of stuff to do before we go on air. See you later.'

Shoulders hunched, she picked up her coffee with a shaky hand and slipped out of the room. Cora and Sam looked at each other and smiled ruefully.

‘I have to agree with Christina. Jeanette will get her comeuppance one of these days, mark my words. Karma and all that,' said Sam.

Cora nodded, and headed for the door. ‘Just another night at the Fun Factory, eh? Right, I'm going back – coming?'

‘I'll be right behind you when I've made my tea, my little news bunny. Want to chat you through the six o'clock bulletin. Dead dog or no dead dog, the show must go on.'

The person who would be the real star of today's show looked down at slightly shaking hands and took a long, deep breath.

Sod the dead dog. There was only one dumb animal who deserved to be dead today.

And that was Jeanette Kendrick.

How lucky, then, that she soon would be.

2

Morning! Rodders in orange trousers 2day like gangly satsuma. Want us 2 hunt down n kill bastard boyf? L8R. N x

Cora grinned as she caught up on her text messages. Settling into her chair in the cosy make-up room, she reached over and pulled the blinds so the early morning window cleaners couldn't sneak a peek later on. Then she took a bite of the bacon roll she'd snaffled from the green room, wiped her fingers on a nearby towel, and tapped a slightly less than honest reply into her BlackBerry.

Don't worry Nathan, over him already! Nice and cosy in here … ha! Love C xxx

She took another mouthful, watching the three make-up artists buzzing around laying out their brushes and tubes, and wiped ketchup off her chin. It was freezing outside and Nathan Nesbit and Rodney Wood hall, her usual camera and sound crew when she was on roving reporter duty, were up in Nottingham with one of the other reporters this morning, on a prison overcrowding story. As a white gown was whipped around her, Cora smiled, her difficult past few days forgotten for a while. Much as she enjoyed being a reporter it was, she thought, very nice to be indoors for a change.

‘Cora, darling, it's been ages! What are you wearing today?'

The cheerful Scottish burr of Sherry, her make-up girl, broke into her thoughts.

‘Got some gorgeous new colours this morning, you can be my wee guinea pig!'

‘Lime suede jacket.'

Cora peered at the fantastic line-up of bottles, powders, and eyeshadow palettes in front of her.

‘Wow, Sherry, I wish I had you on the road with me. You've got stuff here I've never even seen in the shops. I love that one.' She pointed to a soft brown shadow with iridescent green flecks.

‘Well that will go perfectly, especially with your green eyes.'

Sherry set to work, pulling Cora's straight shoulder-length brown bob back into a hairband and running a critical eye over her skin as she began applying powder and concealer. Cora watched her in the mirror, grimacing inwardly. These early mornings, most of which were spent outside in all weathers, were taking their toll. Half-listening to the early news on the TV in the corner of the room, she shut her eyes and relaxed as the make-up artist's experienced fingers patted and smoothed. She adored this ritual, the soothing minutes before she entered the pressure cooker of the live studio. The magic of the make-up room never ceased to amaze her, taking in as it did weary, baggy-eyed people and, without fail, spitting them out again a short time later looking like polished professionals.

The peace was shattered suddenly as the door was flung open.

‘Oh, hell! How long are you going to be, Sherry? I need you to dry my hair and
everything
this morning!'

Cora opened her eyes at the familiar, whiny voice. Alice Lomas was standing in the doorway, a petulant expression on her beautiful face. Her long, poker-straight blonde hair was damp, making dark stains on the tight navy T-shirt that clung to her voluptuous chest.

‘Well, good morning to you too, Alice,' Sherry said primly. ‘Come back in fifteen minutes, I'll have Cora out by then.'

Alice pouted and walked off, swinging her hair. She'd totally ignored Cora, as usual. Thirty-two, but claiming to be just twenty-nine, Alice had already been a national newsreader for six years, making her one of the youngest news anchors in the country when she'd started. With no university degree, and distinctly average A level results to her name, she had still somehow managed to land a job as a weathergirl and occasional features reporter on a regional news programme after leaving school. But exactly why Jeanette had taken her on to present national news had long been a puzzle to the
Morning Live
staff, who had finally concluded that the editor, along with men across the UK, must simply have fallen for her stunning looks. It was a view reinforced by the fact that, despite having limited journalistic experience, she'd recently started filling in on the sofa when Jane, the main presenter, was away. The Lomas ego, always big, was becoming massive, and Cora couldn't stand her.

‘Cow. Nice of her to say hello!' she said, shutting her eyes again as Sherry started to apply her eye shadow. ‘Ben and Danny aren't doing anyone at the moment – why can't she just have one of them do her?'

‘Och, she's alright really. You just have to know how to handle her,' Sherry replied soothingly. ‘She's just used to me, that's all, I do her nearly every day. It's all insecurity, you know – you're a way more experienced journalist and she feels threatened when you come in to read the news – probably scared Jeanette's gonna put you on the sofa instead of her.'

‘Seriously? Do you think so? Gosh, there's no chance of that. I mean, I'd love it – being on the road is so utterly exhausting, and being in the studio is SO much easier – shorter hours, no driving, more money, it's a no-brainer really. But Jeanette would never replace a babe like that with me! I mean, look at me, Sherry. I look like a right old dog first thing in the morning. No wonder Justin dumped me.'

Sherry squeezed her shoulder. ‘I heard earlier – sorry about that, Cora. But you'll find someone else, gorgeous girl like you. Now shut up so I can do your lips.'

Cora adjusted her earpiece as the PA in the gallery began the countdown to the opening titles. She felt the usual little surge of adrenaline as she straightened the scripts on the news desk in front of her. Grant, the weatherman, poised by his map, winked at her, fiddling with the orange tie that matched his slightly overdone fake tan. On the big yellow sofa to his right, Alice, looking stunning in a taupe Donna Karan trouser suit, simpered at her co-presenter Jeremy and then turned smartly to Camera One as the music died and the red light came on.

‘Good morning, it's six o'clock on Monday the eighteenth of December, and you're watching
Morning Live
. A great show lined up for you this morning …'

‘Coming to you in fifteen, Cora.' The director's voice rumbled in her ear.

‘… all that coming up shortly, but first let's go over to the news desk for the rest of the day's stories, and we've got Cora on the desk this morning, how lovely! In from the cold, Cora?' Alice smiled amiably across the studio.

Two-faced cow! Cora thought. She smiled sweetly back. ‘Yes, good morning, Alice, it's very nice to be here!'

She turned to the camera in front of her, and the autocue rolled. ‘And good morning to you too! Our top story this morning …'

The show whizzed by. Floor managers, flustered beings whispering urgently into headsets, whipped the usual mixed bunch of guests in and out of the studio, among them Christopher Biggins promoting his Christmas panto, and the Defence Secretary talking about festive gifts for troops on missions overseas.

Cora had a bulletin to read every quarter of an hour, and by the time she'd finished the 7.30 news she was feeling decidedly shiny. Making sure she wasn't in shot, she slipped quietly from behind the news desk, pushed open the heavy studio door and headed for make-up.

‘Hey, Cora.'

‘Scott! Hi, babes – forgot you were here today. The old disciplinary, eh? How did it go?'

The burly six-footer grimaced, and Cora reached up and pecked him on a slightly sweaty cheek. Scott Edson was her usual satellite engineer, number four in the on-the-road quartet she spent most of her time with. He'd been called to London today too, for an early morning telling-off from Jeanette for falling asleep on the job.

‘Not too good. On a written warning,' Scott muttered in his broad Bolton accent.

‘Oh hun, I'm sorry. Don't worry, you know what Jeanette –'

Cora stopped abruptly as Scott brushed roughly past her and headed off up the corridor.

‘It doesn't matter. See you on the road,' he said over his shoulder, and disappeared round the corner.

Puzzled and a little hurt, Cora stared after him for a moment, then wandered into the make-up room. Scott wasn't normally so off-hand, although he hadn't been himself recently. No wonder he was grumpy though – who ever heard of a 7 a.m. disciplinary hearing for goodness' sake? But that was Jeanette's style – she was at her desk from three, so everyone else simply had to fit around her schedule. The editor was on exceptionally fine form this morning though. How many other people was she going to upset?

As if on cue, Christina hurried into the room. If anything, she looked worse than she had earlier. Still red-eyed, she now had a slightly manic expression on her face and beads of sweat on her forehead.

‘Tissues!' she said frantically. ‘Tissues! I need tissues for dressing room three!'

Sherry opened a drawer, pulled out a packet and thrust it into Christina's shaking hands.

‘There you go sweetie. Anything else you need?'

‘No … no … that's fine. Thanks,' Christina stuttered. She stumbled back out into the corridor and vanished.

Sherry shook her head and caught Cora's eye in the mirror.

‘Now, that looks to me like a girl on the edge.'

‘I know.' Cora plonked herself into the chair for her touch up. ‘Poor Christina. I'm not sure she's going to last the course, to be honest. Not tough enough, bless her.'

She closed her eyes as Sherry got busy with the powder puff, suddenly feeling exhausted.

‘Not even eight o'clock and we've already had tears, tantrums, and a dead dog,' she thought. ‘Good old
Morning Live
!'

And, freshly powdered and glossed, she headed back to the studio.

Usually, as the clock ticked towards the
Morning Live
closing titles, Jeanette Kendrick would be fiercely scribbling on her pad, ready to savage a few producers at the post-programme debrief.

There was still an hour to go, but in the newsroom several were already nervously gulping coffee and swapping anxious glances, steeling themselves for the completely unjustified mauling they would all shortly receive over the dead dog debacle.

They would have been greatly relieved to know that right now, a deceased canine was the last thing on the editor's mind. Jeanette was rarely fazed by anyone or anything, but as she listened to the quiet words being directed at her, fear twisted her stomach.

‘I didn't know … I had no idea … I'm so sorry. So terribly, terribly sorry. Please, if …' she stuttered.

For once, though, the boss's words were being completely ignored. And minutes later, it wasn't just the unfortunate dog that had passed away on that chilly December morning.

Jeanette Kendrick was quite, quite dead.

3

Three days earlier

Friday 15
^th
December

@srharrison65
@CoraBaxterMLive I like to draw picshurs of allien animals. I am drawing u an allien hors and will post it 2day. Luv Kevin. PS. I luv u.

Cora laughed out loud. Alien animals indeed. She thoroughly enjoyed getting Twitter messages from
Morning Live
viewers, but there were some real crazies out there, bless them. She shoved her BlackBerry back into her coat pocket then jumped as a large, yellow shape loomed out of the darkness to her right.

‘These feet are ridiculous,' said the man in the chicken suit. ‘I'm surprised hens don't fall over more often, really I am.'

Cora tried to look sympathetic. It was just before 6 a.m. on a freezing Friday, and she was standing in almost total darkness on a roundabout in the middle of a Devon A-road, surrounded by chickens – and people dressed as chickens.

‘And then there was light,' muttered Nathan, and Cora winced as two hefty spotlights popped into life, illuminating the scene. The hens that had been pecking quietly around her feet jumped in fright and scattered, and the man in the yellow costume tugged his over-sized beak further down over his eyes and groaned, his breath hanging in the air like ghostly candy floss.

‘Bloody bright, those lights, aren't they? How long till we're on, Cora? There's a few not here yet – need to go bang on some doors.'