Woman of the Hour (7 page)

*

In the evening I was taking Gerry and his partner Anwar out to dinner to celebrate his new longer contract with StoryWorld. I had arranged for Janis to babysit. I must stop using that word babysit; Flo gets insulted when I do. I wanted Gerry to feel cherished and had asked him where he wanted to go. He said Anwar was raving about a place in Soho called the Social Eating House so I booked us into there. After the team had left for the night I changed into a dark red velvet shirt and put on my silver drop earrings with the ruby stones; not real rubies, of course, semi-precious stones, but I like the way they catch the light. I brushed my hair. My hair is black and I’ve worn it in a short bob, without a fringe, for years. A bob is nice and low maintenance and I pay Ellen in make-up a small fee to cut it for me every two months. I peered in the mirror and saw a few more grey hairs at the parting. I applied dark red lipstick and was squirting perfume onto my hair when Julius walked in unannounced again.

‘Nice smell,’ he said.

‘Jo Malone. Wood Sage and Sea Salt.’

‘Very you; nothing conventional for Liz Lyon.’

‘How did your meeting with the sponsor go?’

‘Pretty good; I think I’ve landed them.’

Julius is brilliant at getting sponsors on board and it is one of the reasons his position at StoryWorld is unassailable.

‘And was Harriet helpful?’

‘She was like a rabbit caught in headlights.’

‘That’s strange. I find her rather poised and confident,’ I said.

‘It must be the effect I have on her,’ he said with an annoying smirk.

I turned to pick up my handbag.

‘Where are you off to in your glad rags?’

‘I’m taking Gerry and his partner out to dinner to celebrate the new contract.’

‘Where are you taking them?’

‘This place in Soho Gerry wanted to go to: the Social Eating House.’

‘Mind if I join you?’

I was surprised at this.

‘Really?’

‘Yes. Gerry’s a lot of fun and the food there is sensational.’

‘I heard he did your chart for you,’ I said, arching my eyebrows.

He gave me a surprisingly sweet smile. I reached for my phone and called the restaurant and changed the booking from three people to four. I knew Gerry would be flattered that Julius was joining our dinner.

‘What’s his partner called?’ Julius asked as we drew up outside the restaurant in a taxi.

‘Anwar, he’s an actor.’

From the street the restaurant looked more like a commercial building and its name was a battered street sign. Inside it was all warm reds and browns with banquette seating and subdued lighting. There was a separate cocktail bar on the first floor, The Blind Pig, and Julius took over and insisted we have pre-dinner cocktails. I hadn’t met Anwar before. He has beautiful dark eyes, is well-toned and expensively dressed and he must be at least twenty years younger than Gerry. He’s not had much acting work from what I can tell. His last job was a walk-on in
Casualty
two seasons ago.

We went downstairs and Julius was charm itself as we ordered our dishes, and he couldn’t have been more different from the man who had bawled me out about Sal earlier that day. He ordered an expensive red wine, more than I would have gone for. Julius signs off my expenses so I didn’t worry about that. The food was outstanding. Gerry chose the five course sampler menu which had a procession of dishes: prawns, foie gras, hake, duck and chocolate. He must have decided to ditch his diet for one night and he can’t have any scruples about eating foie gras either!

As the night wore on and we had started on our third bottle of wine it was clear to me how much more in love Gerry is with Anwar than vice versa. I’m sure Gerry bankrolls the relationship and the way he looked at Anwar all evening made me feel a bit sad. There is often this inequality in love relations. And then Gerry asked me about
my
love life. It was an awkward moment as I didn’t want to talk about it in front of Julius.

‘Forget love life, Flo is my priority,’ I said.

Julius’s interest was piqued and he pressed me.

‘Oh, come on, Liz. You’re an attractive woman. Who’s the fella?’

I took a sip of the red wine.

‘Why should there be a fella?’

‘Stop holding out on us,’ he said.

‘Well, sometimes, when Flo is in Portsmouth with her dad, I see Todd. He’s a director.’

‘Todd Fisher?’

‘Yes.’

‘He works for us, doesn’t he?’ Julius said.

‘Not on a regular basis; he’s a freelancer.’

‘But you met him at the station?’ he persisted.

I was finding this more and more embarrassing.

‘Yes.’

Julius was not going to let it go.

‘And how does your daughter feel about him?’

‘I don’t invite him back to my flat when Florence is there.’

‘Ahh, he’s your fuck buddy, is he?’ Julius had emphasised his words.

‘I
hate
that phrase!’

‘I think I know who you mean. He’s the guy who did last year’s outside broadcast? He’s Australian, isn’t he?’ Gerry asked.

‘Yes, he’s directed several OBs for us,’ I said.

‘He’s quite a hunk,’ Gerry said, grinning at me.

‘Let’s leave it please,’ I snapped at Gerry.

There was a moment of strained silence.

‘And what about you, Julius?’ Gerry asked.

‘I’m on my own; Amber and I parted company six months ago.’

Amber was a fashion stylist he had been dating for a few years. She was a high gloss, high fashion woman and I hadn’t seen her smile once. Simon and I had nicknamed her The Pouter. So he was on his own again and this would explain his appearance at our dinner tonight. He is forty-five years old, has never married, has no children and StoryWorld is his life.

Chalk Farm flat, 11.15 p.m.

Flo was asleep when I came in and Mr Crooks was curled up at her feet. I paid Janis and saw her out. I should not have snapped at Gerry at his celebration dinner and I rang him.

‘Sorry I was sharp with you, Gerry. I snapped at the wrong person.’

‘It was a lovely evening and I was being nosy.’

‘You’re a mate and I don’t mind you asking, but he’s got no right to keep on probing.’

‘He did seem awfully interested in who you were dating.’

Gerry was fishing again and for a second I wondered if there was any way he could know about what had happened between Julius and me. No, it wasn’t possible, but I could feel embarrassment and irritation rising again.

‘It’s hard to have a private life at StoryWorld, isn’t it?’

‘Tell me about it, darling; it’s impossible for any of us to keep secrets,’ he said.

StoryWorld TV station, London Bridge

Betty’s advice slot was a good one this morning. I was sitting in the gallery with the director as Fizzy and Betty discussed the two problems from our viewers. We always let members of the public know in advance if their letters are going to be discussed and we change their names and locations. Fizzy asked viewers to email and tweet in their thoughts on the topics of the day.

‘And don’t forget to use our hashtag StoryWorld.’

She read out the first problem from the woman who was pregnant by her married boss. What should she do? It was almost a reprise of the discussion we’d had the day before in the Hub. Fizzy was in favour of the woman proceeding with the pregnancy while Betty made the arguments against being a single mum. I liked the fact that Fizzy was sticking up for lone parents and she was less supportive of Betty’s advice than usual. She didn’t challenge her directly but she put the opposing point of view well. Fizzy summed up by reading first an email which said:

You will bring nothing but misery if you go ahead with this selfish pregnancy. Think about the family of your boss. This will tear them apart.

She then read a tweet which said:

Follow your heart. If you want this baby it will be blessed. What a child needs is lots of love and you have that to give. #StoryWorld

‘Two contrasting responses from our viewers there, Betty,’ she said.

They turned to the second email, from the sixteen-year-old boy who was worried about telling his parents that he was gay. This wasn’t as successful a discussion. Fizzy was less engaged with the topic and Betty did most of the talking. No one else would have noticed it but I sensed a slight coolness between them on the sofa today. I watch these two women all the time so I can pick up the slightest nuance in their body language and treatment of each other. I was obscurely pleased to see this minor falling-out. I left the gallery as Fizzy started the next interview.

I’d told Julius I would need to miss the morning meeting because I had to recce a hospital we had identified as a potential location for the outside broadcast. Our work on it was gathering momentum, which is as well given how little time we have been given to set it up. Molly and I went to look at St Eanswythe’s, a community hospital in Bermondsey, down the river from StoryWorld. We had arranged to meet Connie Mears, the senior manager who runs the hospital. St Eanswythe’s is a Victorian red-brick building with tall chimneys and ornate tiles across its façade. As we got out of the cab I wasn’t sure whether it would fit the bill as it had an institutional, almost forbidding look to it. But once inside the building the atmosphere was different. It’s clean and cheerful and you get the sense this is a well-run place. There’s a children’s ward, general wards and surgical wards. I liked Connie Mears. She wanted to know what exactly the broadcast would entail and I explained that with her permission we would pre-record a few patients so we could tell their stories in more detail. The actual live broadcast would last two hours, although we would need to start setting up from five in the morning. She has agreed to it.

Molly and I walked back to the station as it wasn’t far and we were cock-a-hoop about securing the hospital. Many organisations are suspicious of TV crews and won’t let you anywhere near them. They have a point: TV reporters are notorious for wanting to expose institutions rather than praise them. Molly and I discussed the kind of stories we wanted to build the broadcast around and we were both fired up about it. As I came up the stairs to my office I saw Simon sitting in a huddle with Harriet and she was crying.

‘What on earth’s happened?’ I said.

Harriet leapt up and rushed to the ladies’ toilet without a word. Simon indicated we should go into my room. I hurried in and he closed the door, leaving Molly standing outside looking irritated.

‘Fizzy came down here ten minutes ago and tore Harry off a strip for her briefing. Said it was crap!’

‘Damn.’

‘Harry stood up to her and it got nasty.’

‘If Fizzy’s not happy she should talk to me, not to Harriet.’

‘She came looking for you but you weren’t here so she launched into her. She was in a foul mood.’

‘Can I see the offending brief please?’

Simon came back into the room with the brief and I called Molly in too.

‘Moll, will you go and check Harriet’s OK? Fizzy gave her a tongue-lashing over this brief.’

I read the brief. The guest had been a top city trader. He had had an epiphany and changed his life completely to work for a charity for the homeless. There was plenty of scope in the subject for an interesting interview but Harriet had produced a poor piece of work, thin on detail and with only four suggested questions which were banal. I could see why Fizzy had reacted against it. She would have had to improvise the interview.

‘I’m going to see Fizzy,’ I told Simon.

Fizzy was sitting in her dressing room and Ellen was touching up her make-up. When she saw me walk in carrying Harriet’s notes her face took on a sulky look. I sat down and watched in silence as Ellen completed her work. When we were alone I said: ‘I’m sorry this wasn’t up to scratch but I wish you’d spoken to
me
about it.’

‘How can I be expected to interview someone for six minutes with so little background?’

‘It is thin on detail but—’

‘Thin on detail? It’s crap and you know it. You have no idea what it’s like when I’m out there on my own and have to conjure up questions out of thin air with nothing to go on.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I was struggling out there and ended up asking him what bloody football team he supported! That’s how desperate it got.’

‘She’s new to this work and—’

‘She should never have been given the job in the first place,’ Fizzy said in a hard voice.

‘Maybe, but she’s here now and you do know, don’t you, that it’s on the direct instruction of Saul Relph.’

Bloody presenter power! Fizzy needs reminding that the TV station doesn’t work just because of her. She may be the face of StoryWorld but we are the ones who come up with the ideas that keep her on air.

‘Look, I’m keen to make this work. She’s crying in the Ladies at the moment,’ I said.

‘Don’t be taken in by her tears. I’m suspicious of that one. Attention-seeker!’

There was something going on here I couldn’t quite fathom. The briefing Harriet had written was poor but I wondered if Fizzy was getting worked up because Julius was showing an interest in Harriet.

‘I’ll check Harriet’s briefs in future, but
please
, if you’re not happy come to me.’

I got up and left Fizzy’s dressing room. I went to the Hub and bought four coffees and a Coke for Ziggy. I took them upstairs to my office and called in Molly, Simon and Harriet. It’s Ziggy’s job to stay at the desks outside and monitor any calls when we are in meetings. Harriet’s hooded eyelids were puffy and pink from crying and her cheeks were blotchy. She looked vulnerable for the first time since I’d met her, rather than the entitled rich kid she’d presented up till now. I handed each team member a coffee and opened a packet of ginger nuts I’d brought in to work.

‘Try not to take it too much to heart. We’ve all been bawled out at various times, haven’t we?’ I said to the others.

Simon and Molly nodded.

‘Oh yes. We have the scars,’ Simon said.

‘She was
so
nasty,’ Harriet said.