Woman of the Hour (21 page)

I came out of my office and Simon was sitting on his own with a pile of printed-out emails on his desk.

‘How are you getting on?’

‘OK, but I wanted to ask your advice on which letters we should go with.’

Betty was launching her Focus on Life Crises series with an item on coping with a new baby.

‘It’s not my greatest area of expertise,’ he said.

He pushed three letters over to me.

‘I’ve got it down to these three. They’re interesting in different ways but we can’t do them together. You’ll see when you read them.’

I sat down next to him in Harriet’s chair and read the letters. The first two dealt with straightforward new baby problems. The mums who had written to Betty described the challenges of feeding and sleeping routines, sore nipples, exhaustion, a reluctance to have sex, a tendency to weepiness as well as fierce joy. They were vividly expressed and reminded me of my first weeks with Flo. In the third email a young mum had written about her post-natal depression and it was on a different level altogether. She wrote how she had no feelings for her baby whatsoever and she asked Betty if she was a monster to feel like this. It amazes me how candid some of our viewers are with their problems and it is a big responsibility for us.

‘We
have
to do this one, don’t we?’ I said, handing him back the post-natal depression email. He read it again.

‘She’ll have to take up the whole slot if we go with this one,’ Simon said.

‘You’re right. We couldn’t put a happy mum and baby letter next to it.’

‘That’s what I thought.’

‘If she thinks it’s too dark she can go with the other two, which are good letters. It’s her series, after all. Where are the others?’

‘They’re downstairs in the guest dressing room. Harry brought in a bag of clothes for Zig, stuff she doesn’t wear anymore, and Zig wanted to try them on.’

‘That was nice of her. She dresses beautifully, so lucky Ziggy.’

Ziggy was the last person in the team that I had expected Harriet to make friends with because they come from such different worlds and have such different expectations of what they are entitled to. There was something going on between those two that I couldn’t quite fathom. Had Harriet confided in her? Later, when they came back to their desks, I could see that Ziggy was wearing one of her new acquisitions, a pale grey jumper with a boat neck that looked big on her with her thin little neck and shaved head. Simon must have made a comment because I saw her smile shyly.

Ledley has asked to see me tomorrow, said he’d give me lunch at his café and that there was an issue he needed to discuss with me. He wouldn’t be drawn on what it was but said it was something good.

There was no sign of Julius this afternoon so Harriet has been spared an encounter with him. I feel the trouble of it bubbling under the surface all the time.

Chalk Farm flat, 8 p.m.

Flo had period pains this evening and she was grumpy. I filled her Peter Rabbit hot water bottle and took it through to her.

‘Put this on your tum, it might help.’

She lifted a tragic face towards me.

‘Thanks, these are the worst cramps I’ve ever had.’

‘Poor baby.’

I sat down on the edge of her bed.

‘Things aren’t so hot at work at the moment,’ I said.

‘Why, what’s happened?’

‘They’re cutting all the budgets and some of the reporters will have to leave.’

She looked alarmed.

‘You’re not going to get the sack, are you?’

I had forgotten how much of a catastrophist a fourteen-year-old can be.

‘No, not me; but it shook me up all the same. It’s a difficult time to be made redundant; two months before Christmas. And there aren’t the jobs in TV out there.’

‘Is Harriet staying?’

‘For the time being she is. She’s on a three month trial.’

‘I like Harriet.’

Flo wriggled down under the duvet clutching her hot water bottle.

‘I
wish
I could have my Doc Martens before Christmas.’

‘Honestly, Flo, I just told you people are losing their jobs and you want a pair of hundred quid boots early!’

She looked aggrieved.

‘I want to go to sleep now.’

I hurried out of her room and closed her door too sharply.

‘Now who’s slamming doors?’ she shouted from her bed.

My feelings for her are often this weird mix of irritation and love.

I got the ironing board out and started to press Flo’s school shirts. Ironing calms me. When hers were done I started on my tops. Red is my colour, usually the darker shades: burgundy, aubergine and crimson. I occasionally splash out on something scarlet; usually when I’m feeling excited or happy. When I started going out with Ben I was on a high and I bought myself a bright red leather biker jacket. God, I loved that jacket. It was the most I had ever spent on an item of clothing and now it’s tucked away at the back of my cupboard. I’m not light-hearted enough to wear it at the moment.

I sat in bed later and wrote a long email to Todd which was mainly about what was going on at work. I made no reference to Harriet’s allegations though it was the thing that was worrying me the most. Nor did I mention the death of Naomi Jessup from cancer. I told him I was missing him too and I was. Having him in the background of my life during the last two years had brought me more comfort than I had realised. I have all these people relying on me who I have to guide and comfort but no one other than Fenton who I can turn to. But that’s just the way it is. My mum would say that I made my bed and I have to lie on it.

StoryWorld TV station, London Bridge

Betty had decided to discuss the two happier mum and baby letters which surprised me. Baby talk is not Fizzy’s thing but this morning she made an effort to engage with the advice Betty was giving.

‘A new baby can feel like a thunderbolt in your life, a complete transformation of what went before,’ Betty said.

‘A nice thunderbolt though?’ Fizzy asked.

‘It’s like a watershed; life before baby arrives and life after. It changes you.’

I wondered for a moment if Fizzy was getting broody and I felt vaguely sad for her because at thirty-eight and without a settled relationship I doubted if she would be a mother now. The item finished and I went out to thank Betty. She told me she had written back to the depressed mum saying she most definitely was not a monster and enclosing a list of forums that offered support to mothers with post-natal depression. She is good like that.

*

I caught the Tube from London Bridge and arrived at Ledley’s café in Balham around one. He was in a buoyant mood and took me upstairs to his flat. He had prepared us a large platter of jerk chicken with rice and peas on the side. Ledley doesn’t drink but he wanted me to have a glass of rum punch. Slices of orange and a large cherry floated on the top of my drink.

‘This is gorgeous. So what did you want to discuss?’

He smiled broadly.

‘I’ve been offered a deal by a food manufacturer. They want to use my name on a marinade. They’re gonna call it “Go Luscious with Ledley”!’

‘That’s terrific news.’

It was a long name for a product but maybe long names were in vogue.

‘You can use it with meat and with fish. They told me it’s gonna be stocked in supermarkets and they want me to front up their ad campaign.’

‘That’s great, Ledley.’

‘Yeah, and they’ve asked me to come up with ideas for giveaway menu cards and I thought I should clear it with you.’

There had been that trouble with the cooking oil product placement and it hovered in the air between us.

‘Sounds brilliant and the more coverage you get the better. But we will need to be careful that we don’t use your marinade on the show.’

Ledley looked disappointed.

‘What, never?’

‘We have to keep a clear line between editorial and advertising,’ I said.

He picked at the chicken on his plate.

‘Are you having a launch?’ I asked.

‘Oh yeah, they’ve got big plans for a launch.’

‘Fantastic. We’ll get Fizzy and Gerry along to that and there’s no harm in you mentioning the launch on air, only the once, mind,’ I said.

*

When I got back to StoryWorld I put in a call to Julius to tell him about the Ledley deal. In the past I would have walked down to his office and told him face to face, but not now. He said fair play to Ledley and our conversation was over quickly. Outside my room I saw that Harriet was typing on her laptop. She peered at her screen and chewed on her nails and her whole demeanour was troubled. I came out of my office.

‘Is everything OK?’ I asked.

She turned a strained face to me and immediately I thought about Julius. Had they had an encounter while I was out?

‘I’m struggling with this brief,’ she said.

‘What’s it about?’

‘Brad Robinson, Friday’s guest. I don’t know why we’re interviewing him.’

Harriet had a point. Brad Robinson is an actor in a long-running soap but there was no real reason to be interviewing him this week, except for the fact that his wife left him recently in the most public way to go off with a younger man on a rival soap. The tabloids had been running the story all week, as they do when they scent pain and humiliation in a celebrity life. I had been approached by his agent to have him on the show. I’d asked if we could talk about the marriage breakdown and she’d said approach it discreetly and don’t make it the first question. Harriet said she didn’t know how to phrase a question that would allow Fizzy to do this.

‘You start off with a question about his soap role and how it has developed over the years; maybe even run a clip of his finest hour when he won an award,’ I said.

‘I saw he’d won an award. It was ages ago though.’

‘Doesn’t matter. It was a storyline about his character fighting alcoholism and it was powerful stuff. Then you put in a question like: You’ve had years of being in the spotlight, Brad, but have the last few weeks been especially difficult? That gives him an opening if he wants to talk about it.’

‘But what if he doesn’t?’

‘I think he’s coming on our show precisely to get sympathy from the viewers but he doesn’t want to look too overt about it,’ I said.

Harriet nodded slowly.

‘So it’s a kind of game?’

‘Sort of...’

I had a guilty pang as I recalled that last week Gerry had analysed the breakdown of Brad Robinson’s marriage from an astrological point of view.

‘He’s the wronged party here. I don’t think he’ll dish the dirt on his wife but I’m sure he’ll reveal his torment,’ I said.

‘I see. OK.’

I didn’t want Fizzy bawling her out over her brief again.

‘And make sure you list the more lurid claims from the tabloids about the break-up, for background. Fizzy understands the rules of the game.’

‘I will. Thanks for the help.’

There has been a significant change in Harriet’s behaviour. I’ve noticed that she stays physically close to the team these days. She lunches with Ziggy or Simon most days and there is no more of her roaming around the building which she did when she first came here. I hope I’ve done the right thing by staying quiet about her allegation. Yet again Julius is getting away with his vile behaviour. Molly looked up at me.

‘Liz, Naomi’s funeral is next Tuesday. I’d like to go and her mum said they’d be happy for me to be there. Can I take a half day’s leave?’

‘I wouldn’t hear of you taking leave and it’s a credit to you that they want you there.’

It was around four when I got a call from Gerry. He has got into the habit of checking in with me regularly since he broke up with Anwar.

‘Liz, did you get my script?’

I could tell from his voice that he was feeling low.

‘Yes thanks; it’s a good topic.’

His topic of the week was about how resilient different star signs are when confronted with emotional difficulties.

‘Glad you liked it. You know we Pisces are the most sensitive in the Zodiac,’ he said.

‘How
are
you doing?’

‘I can get through the weeks OK, work and stuff you know, but the weekends are absolute torture. Everywhere I go I see couples doing stuff together; being happy together.’

I recognised that feeling, the conviction that other people had made a better job of relationships than I had and the sense of failure.

‘You’re bound to feel like that for a while but it won’t last.’

‘Doesn’t feel like that.’

‘I’ve been there. I promise you there comes a point when you start to feel good about being on your own rather than trying to make a relationship work that just couldn’t.’

‘I’m so sad. We did have our good times, you know.’

His loneliness was thrumming down the line at me and I wondered if I should offer to see him on Saturday as Flo was due to be in Portsmouth with her dad. He’s a friend as well as a colleague and the split was recent. But I didn’t suggest it. My reserves of compassion had run dry and I needed a weekend on my own with no demands from anyone.

*

Two hours later I locked my office and saw Harriet in front of me heading home. She reached the top of the stairs and was walking down to the exit as Julius was starting to walk up. They saw each other and she stopped in her tracks. Then she continued down the stairs with her face turned conspicuously away from him. This was the woman who when she arrived had been skipping down to his office at every opportunity and who showed boundless confidence. Now she looked positively cowed by his proximity. They passed each other without a word and he continued up the stairs, though more slowly. He saw me standing at the top and our eyes met and held. He knew I had seen their encounter on the stairs and I was at a loss at what to say.

‘Good night’ was all I could manage to gasp out.

Something has happened between them. There can be no doubt about that.

Chalk Farm flat, 7.30 p.m.

When I came out of Chalk Farm Tube the wind was up but at least the rain had stopped. There’s a red-brick Victorian church at the bottom of our road which has stood empty for years. As I walked past tonight I saw a sign saying that the church was going to be developed into flats. I gazed up at the building which has always dominated this area. It has arched windows running down both sides and a huge wooden door covered with graffiti. I wondered if the developers were going to pull the church down or transform it internally and leave the exterior intact. I didn’t like the idea of the church being demolished.