by John Barber
Mostly landlords actually and none as pretty as the one sitting opposite.”
“I’m quite open to flattery as it happens. But what about your wife?”
“Ex-wife, what about her?”
“Why did you split up?”
“You don’t want to hear about her.”
“I just wondered how someone like you could marry and then let it all fall apart.”
“We met when we both worked for a TV company. We both saw the opportunity to go freelance as it were. She was the brains; she had the accountancy degree and the administrative nous. I was the creative one.”
“We ran a database of towns and locations that we had used before and offered our search services to the industry. Yes, it was successful. The industry seemed to prefer freelancers who they could hire and fire at a whim, rather than set up their own location company.”
“Then one day we had a brainwave. We turned the company on its head and instead of seeking out new situations for existing TV shows we invented our own. We became a production company doing documentaries which we sold on to the big boys as a pilot.”
“So why the break up?”
“I spent more time on the road and she spent more time on the creative side of things. She loved it, she was good. I really do prefer to wander around the countryside.”
“You know how it is. We just drifted apart personally and creatively. The more she got involved the more she wanted to control the output. I suppose I was against the changes she wanted to bring in. In the end it was us who had changed. So much that we just separated. But the company was our joint brainwave. It was silly to break up a successful business so we are still joint partners. We just don’t work so closely any more.”
“So why does she call herself your wife?”
“Old habits. She still likes to look out for me. Make sure I’m not falling into the clutches of the first woman who pours drink down me to get their wicked way.”
“So, what exactly are you working on now? She seemed quite annoyed that she couldn’t get hold of you. Is this meeting very important?”
“To answer the last question first; yes, it’s a big client meeting. We’ve grown over the years so instead of just producing our own pilots we promote them to TV companies with the aim of making a series.”
“So this meeting …?”
“It’s to decide, to make up our minds if you like, who to go with.”
“You’ll have to explain.”
“I haven’t been exactly honest with you. I was, when it all started. I did just drift into this village. I had time to kill and it wouldn’t be very professional not to miss an opportunity. Then by accident or a gift from the gods I broke down at this place and it seemed just right.”
“What for?”
“To feature in our projected ‘fly on the wall’ series about life in an English village. That’s why I’ve been walking around, getting a feel for the place.”
“So we’re all going to be featured on TV?”
“That’s the decision that has to be made. I thought we had it nailed. Well, we had two or three on a short list and a few others to make up the numbers. We were meeting to make a final choice so that the background episode could go out next week before we start the real filming.”
“And you like Greenwood?”
“I like everything about it. It’s just perfect.”
“So if it gets your approval that’s it?”
“Not quite, but if I back a project it usually means that it will go my way.”
“What do we have to do?”
“Nothing. Be yourselves. I’ve arranged for a crew to come down here over the weekend. I’ve told them what I want filmed.”
“Will you be here?”
“No, its one editorial meeting after another. I’ll try and get down before the screening.”
“You’re definitely leaving then?”
“Yes, the car’s ready. I’ve paid the bill, I’ve settled up with Sandy and I’ll be one my way first thing tomorrow.”
“How early?”
“That depends.”
It was actually in the very early hour just after the sun had begun to rise that he took his leave and left Greenwood.
Once news was out door brasses were polished, windows washed until they gleamed, weeds uprooted and privet hedges cut back. Ruth explained that they were to act normally but they attacked their work as if preparing for the Best Kept Village Award.
As J had promised the film crew arrived and went quickly about their task as if having been briefed to the last frame of film, which in fact they had been. The village was confident of a prime time slot.
J was true to his word. Ruth did not see him before the screening of the preview show where the village was to be unveiled as the subject for a three month ‘fly on the wall’ documentary.
The bar of the Plough usually just slowly bubbling most evenings with a few regulars was soon full. It had become a community event in which everyone had an interest. Expectation ran high owing to the involvement of the programme’s Executive Producer.
But they were disappointed.
Greenwood was discarded almost as soon as a few exterior shots of the milestone on the entrance to the village and the pub sign had been shown. It appeared that Greenwood had never even been considered and as more than one sullen drinker said as they left it was just a last minute addition to make the show seem more credible. The winner was given nearly all the viewing time and there were plenty of previews of the first week’s screening to back their case.
“He just used you,” said Melanie in a none too conciliatory tone. It was of no comfort to Ruth.
“I know now, but he seemed genuine.”
“They always do.”
“But he did stop here. His car was definitely broken. It did happen.”
“He just took advantage of the situation. We have an attractive village and it made the show seem as if they had scoured the countryside. He used you,” repeated Melanie.
“I told him everything he needed to know. Saved him time, told him where to go. None of it came on screen. None of it. There was only a quick shot of the pub and no one outside.”
“It’s a good job he was just a stranger passing through.”
“I wish he was. He wasn’t though was he? I fell for him.”
“You didn’t?”
“I did. He got his cake and ate it. The village, the pub and me. He made me feel loved Mel. That’s the hard part to accept. I really thought he wanted me and not just for the information he could have got from anyone else who lived here.”
“I always thought he was just a little bit too good,” insisted Melanie making Ruth feel even less happy about herself. “I mean, who turns up in a classic car which breaks down very conveniently outside a pub where a skilled mechanic is drinking and a single, attractive landlady is serving behind the bar.”
Ruth finished her drink and looked across at Melanie; a look that said she could only but agree with every word the other had said.
“It would have been good for the village I suppose. All those tourists, all that extra cash. Are you staying open?”
“Not much longer. There’s no one left here. They’ve all gone home. They all had such high hopes. I’ll have an early night.”
Mel drained her glass and left Ruth in the half darkness of the deserted bar to collect the few remaining glasses and lock the door.
She was about to drop the latch when a superior force outside pushed the door open. It was J.
She wasn’t going to let him in but he had the element of surprise and they stood inside with the outside world closed to them.
“I guess from that face that you watched it.”
“Of course I watched it. All the village watched it. Most of them were in here. Can you see anybody left? Course you can’t. You led us up the garden path with your talk of being the main man.”
“It’s not what it seems.”
“It seems to me that you promised us prime
time TV and then made us look very stupid by not even giving us the same amount of time as anyone else. What were we, an afterthought? Something to do in your spare time. Like me? Charm the local publican and get her into bed. A splendid return on a good couple of days work I think.”
“Will you try and let me explain?”
“You don’t have to explain to me. I understand it all very well. I was the fool that believed all your fine talk and ended up slipping you out of my bed in the early hours. You can explain it all to Sandy who thought that a little bit of TV time would help attract a few more guests; Melanie might get a few extra bits of work as would everyone else in the village. We don’t live on fresh air and charity. Not in villages like this. We have to work hard and a little bit of extra publicity on national TV would help us all out of this sorry state the country finds itself in. Me included.”
“I understand where you are all coming from. Look I can’t stay long. I have to get back to London. Meetings.”
“That’s all you know.”
“That’s how I have to earn my keep. It’s not all beer and sandwiches. Look I’ll not stay anymore. Just take this. Please. Get a bottle of a decent red and watch it. Then decide what you want to do.”
He pulled a DVD cover out of his jacket pocket and would not leave until she had taken it.
“I’ll see you then,” she managed to say and let him out with no sign of care.
“I hope so,” replied J and was swallowed up by the night.
“I don’t think so,” said Ruth from behind the closed door. This time she never wished to see him again.
In a few days he had all but been forgotten by the village. The residents had experienced their brush with fame and it had left them
