Woman of the Hour (4 page)

‘What was that like?’

‘Cold and smelly most of the time. We prepared the fish in this shack out the back and had to wear wellington boots and PVC aprons. But it was interesting too. They have big oyster beds there, you know?’

‘I don’t know the place. Did you say Mersea
Island
?’

‘Yes, it’s one of those places people don’t know about; an estuary in Essex and a beautiful peaceful spot. You should take your daughter there.’

He rarely talks about his past, though I had heard he was from Essex. We walked back to the station along the riverside and stopped to look at a brightly painted barge which was making its way up the river. He pointed it out to me and I was thinking it made a pleasant change to be with him when he was in this more collaborative mood. I didn’t let my guard down though. I know how quickly his mood can change.

Chalk Farm flat, 9 p.m.

Flo was feeling low tonight. She was lying on her bed stroking Mr Crooks. He’s a large scruffy tortoiseshell with a black and orange striped face and golden eyes. He joined us when Flo was nine. She’d been nagging me for ages about having a cat and I kept resisting. In the end, thinking that she was an only child and probably felt lonely at times, I agreed and we went to a cat rescue centre. She fell in love with him at first sight and was determined to call him Crookshanks after Hermione’s cat in
Harry Potter
. Hermione was her heroine then. We brought him home and he soon became Mr Crooks and he’s a fixture on her bed at night. She said she didn’t want anything to eat and she hauled Mr Crooks onto her stomach and tickled him under his chin.

Later, I was sitting at the kitchen table cleaning my jewellery with a silver cloth. One of my weaknesses is earrings and I have a lot of silver pairs, some plain and some with semi-precious stones. I find the task of cleaning them a calming thing to do even though you end up with black fingers. I asked Flo if she wanted me to clean her necklace. She has this silver chain with charms which is special to her. I gave it to her on her thirteenth birthday and plan to buy a new charm for it every year. To my surprise she got her chain and joined me at the table, watching as I used the soft cloth to shine up the silver. I made us both a hot chocolate and we didn’t talk at first, we sipped our chocolate and after a while she started to talk about her weekend and I found out what was making her feel low.

‘Dad’s got this new girlfriend,’ she said, and her face was a picture of absolute disgust.

‘Really?’

‘Yeah; he met her in a casino.’

The minute she said the word ‘casino’ my heart started to beat fast but I tried not to show my unease.

‘Does she work in a casino?’ I asked.

‘I think so. She was there
all
the time. Granny said she was all over him like a cheap suit.’

I smiled inwardly. It was such a Grace thing to say. Grace is Ben’s mum and she has a way of taking the measure of people and putting them in their place with a few well-chosen words. We have stayed close in spite of the break-up and she once told me I am like the daughter she always wanted. That made me feel happy because I love her dearly, but it also made me feel a bit sad that my own mum is a distant figure.

‘We didn’t get a chance to talk alone, not even once,’ Flo said.

‘I’m sorry, darling, but you’re still his number one girl; always will be. He’s told me many times that you’re the best thing in his life.’

*

As I got ready for bed I thought about it. Ben had to be gambling again. He has an addiction to poker and it is this which finally broke our marriage. We had two good TV salaries coming in to our joint account but I had noticed that Ben was running up big overdrafts most months. I would ask him where all the money was going and he could never give me a convincing explanation.

‘Presents for you and Flo,’ he would say.

It was true he often came home with these little loving gifts for one or other of us. Flo loved these surprise gifts but I was far more ambivalent about them. They were things we didn’t need. I know it sounds churlish but I was already worrying about how money ran through Ben’s fingers. I didn’t make a firm enough stand when he was evasive about where all the money was going. One evening he brought back a beautiful art deco figure of a woman and handed it to me. She was about fourteen inches high and made of green metal and standing on a black base. She was naked with her head thrown back and was holding a ball aloft.

‘She’s
Luer
by Max Le Verrier. The base is marble and the ball is onyx. She’s vintage art deco,’ he said.

I could tell straight away that the figure must have cost a lot.

‘She’s beautiful, stunning in fact, but my birthday is months away...’

‘I wanted you to have something beautiful,’ he said.

What I didn’t know then was that Ben had had a good win that day and on his way home, and in his euphoria, he had gone into an antiques shop and bought me the little figure. I thanked him as sincerely as I could though my insides were churning. Beautiful though she is, that little figure makes me feel sad because she represents the time when Ben was slipping ever deeper into his addiction to poker.

He left StoryWorld when we split up and he works now as an aerial photographer. The work is highly skilled and well paid, but if he’s gambling again he will burn through his cash in no time. He pays a small amount of maintenance each month for Flo and it barely covers her childcare costs. I don’t push for more because what matters to me is for her to see him regularly. I found myself getting worked up at the thought he hadn’t spent any time alone with her all weekend. I picked up my mobile and punched in his number.

‘Is something up?’ he asked.

He sounded sleepy.

‘I have a sad girl here,’ I said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Flo said she hardly had a moment alone with you this weekend.’

‘That’s not true.’ I heard the defensive edge in his voice.

‘She looks forward to her weekends with you. Please make her your priority when she comes down.’

‘Fuck’s sake, Liz, what is this?’

He was angry immediately and that made me angry too. We always could fire each other up in an instant.

‘And you’re back in the casino?’

‘Get off my back,’ he said, and hung up.

Now I was furious and knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep.

StoryWorld TV station, London Bridge

I was standing in the atrium reading the links into the show when Gerry came out of make-up. He was wearing a jaunty primrose yellow shirt but his face was serious and he indicated we should find a quiet corner to talk. My heart sank. I knew he was being courted by the opposition. Were we about to lose him? He is a ratings puller and I was thinking fast about what I could say to persuade him to stay with us. We found two armchairs tucked behind a potted palm in the atrium.

‘Liz, darling, I cast your chart last night.’

‘Oh, thanks, that was so kind of you.’

‘I’m actually quite concerned. There are some difficult transits in your chart. And you must beware Scorpio women for the next few months. Really. There could be trouble ahead!’

I thanked him for doing my chart and for the advice and hoped that I sounded as if I meant it, as Gerry gets riled when he thinks people dismiss astrology. It was gratifying to be given this bespoke reading by a celebrity astrologer, however nonsensical it was. I knew that people paid well to have dedicated chart readings from Gerry. I told him he was very important to our show; our viewers loved his broadcasts and I wanted to extend his contract for a further two years. He was thrilled at this and as I accompanied him to the studio door he gave me a big hug before he went in.

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ he said.

I watched Gerry and Fizzy from the gallery and noticed how the camera crew shoot Fizzy from her best angle. Fizzy has always had the sense to keep the camera crew and the floor manager onside. Her predecessor was a woman who treated the crew like an underclass well beneath her notice. They got their own back and would make a point of shooting her from the most unflattering of angles. Fizzy would never make that mistake and the technical team at StoryWorld like her.

*

After the morning meeting I called the team in to discuss the outside broadcast. Molly offered to do the location research and we discussed the kind of hospital that would work best.

‘Human scale and community based is what we’re looking for,’ I said.

I made a point of explaining to Harriet how an outside broadcast works.

‘We go out with the cameras and capture the action as it’s happening so we’ll be filming live on the wards. We make sure we line up good guests beforehand for Fizzy to talk to. But it needs to look spontaneous, as though she’s popped in to see them for a chat. And we’ll have some pre-recorded stories, too, which we play in throughout the show. It’s high risk and high energy and you’ll learn a lot from it.’

‘Liz loves doing OBs,’ Simon said.

‘I do.’

I saw Fizzy standing at the threshold to my office and beckoned to her to come in.

‘Sorry to interrupt but can we have a quick word later?’ she said.

‘It’s fine. We’re coming to an end. Come on in.’

Fizzy entered and I saw her dart a glance at Harriet.

‘This is Harriet Dodd, our new researcher,’ I said.

Harriet got up and shook Fizzy’s hand. Today Harriet was wearing a tailored white shirt and high-waisted grey trousers. A gold chain nestled at her throat. That girl can dress. As the two women surveyed each other I sensed a competitive charge between them.

‘I met your father at the Children of Inspiration auction,’ Fizzy said.

‘Oh, I was there. It was a great evening, wasn’t it?’ Harriet said.

‘It’s a neat idea for sure; get the audience to cry and they’re bound to dig deep in their pockets,’ Fizzy said.

It was an aggressive comment to make and at best implied cynicism at how Harriet’s father ran his Children of Inspiration nights, which are the flagship event of his newspaper.

‘It raised a record amount of money this year so I guess Dad is getting it right,’ Harriet said.

Fizzy’s eyes flashed and Simon, intuitive as ever, stood up quickly and said: ‘We’ll leave you to it.’

Molly and Harriet followed him out of my room and closed the door behind them.

‘How can I help, Fizz?’

Fizzy watched through my window as Harriet seated herself next to Simon and tossed her head, saying something to him we couldn’t hear.

‘I heard you’d taken her on,’ she said.

‘Yes. She’s here on a trial for three months.’

Fizzy perched on the arm of my sofa.

‘I’ve heard through the grapevine that she’s trouble and I thought I’d better give you a heads-up.’

‘Trouble?’

‘She was given a job at her daddy’s paper. Friend of mine works there. She got off with the married features editor. Went after him from day one and it caused a right old rumpus.’

‘What happened?’

‘Oh, you know, features editor loses the plot, distraught wife, weeping children, the usual.’

Fizzy was examining her fingernails as she said this. Her nails were immaculate with a French manicure.

‘I’m not sure what to say,’ I said.

‘I thought you should know. Store it away and keep an eye on that one.’

‘OK. Have you heard about the outside broadcast?’

‘Yes, Julius told me.’

‘I thought we could get Ledley involved. Maybe get him to cook for the patients.’

Fizzy laughed. ‘You want to kill them off?’

‘You two are great together and the patients would love it.’

She jumped up. ‘You know best. I’m off for a fitting.’

After she had gone I thought about what Fizzy had said and wondered why she had made a point of telling me that story about Harriet. Fizzy has that syndrome, limelight syndrome; you know, the one Princess Diana had. She craves the limelight and wants to be the centre of attention all the time. She can tolerate male stars alongside her so she gets on fine with Gerry and Ledley. But try to promote any woman and she doesn’t like it. She is such a driven person and I guess it’s why she’s so successful. She comes alive in front of the camera and her face is transformed and as long as I give her the big interviews she’s as good as gold. But if I don’t, or if she thinks any other woman is being promoted, she can be incredibly difficult. I’ve come to the conclusion that being on camera, being in the limelight all the time, is corrupting.

*

This afternoon I was walking across the atrium to the reception desk when a motorbike courier arrived. He handed over a small Jiffy bag to the receptionist and it was addressed to Julius.

‘Thanks. We were expecting that,’ the receptionist said.

Next minute, I saw Harriet approach reception. She must have overheard and she asked for the Jiffy bag. I followed behind her as she skipped up the stairs and carried the package over to Julius’s office. I saw her tap on his door and go in, closing the door behind her. There’s a rumour in the station that Julius gets his cocaine delivered by courier and I wondered why Harriet was running errands for him. It rang a slight alarm bell after what Fizzy had said. And it is not Harriet’s but Ziggy’s job to deliver packages.

Ziggy is my runner and she’s nineteen years old. She was given her name by her spaced-out mother. She has been working at the station for two months, both as our runner and as general assistant to my team. I set up a scheme two years ago with Southwark Council. We offer a one-year paid internship to a young person who has been in care. To my surprise Julius was behind the scheme and backed me all the way when I presented the idea to the MD. The scheme was approved and now I meet every year with the child protection team at Southwark Council. They identify possible candidates for the internship. Then we spend a day interviewing the shortlisted youngsters. It is always tough having to choose a single candidate when I know that the scheme would help each one of them. I mentor the interns during their year and give them references when it ends. My last two interns were young men who have both gone on to get full-time jobs in the media and this has made me even more committed to the scheme.