Prime Time

by Jane Wenham-Jones

  I felt hot at the thought. It wasn’t as if I specifically listed Daniel’s faults and crimes, but I knew I had a tendency to refer to him in that disparaging, dismissive tone as if he were someone who deserved little consideration or respect – at times positively screwing up my face as if my ex-husband were one of the half-chewed mice that Boris brought home.

  I must stop it now. Here I was, in my forties, bleating to my mother about how hurtful it was when she did it and all the time I was doing it to Stanley, who was only 11. How many WIT points he had accrued from me so far was anyone’s guess but if I didn’t want him to be in therapy a single year longer than necessary, things had to change right now.

  ‘I know,’ I said to my mother, in an heroic effort to be fair and honest, ‘that it is easily done. I make unfortunate comments about Daniel sometimes. But, as far as Dad is concerned, I’m just saying …’

  I trailed off as she turned and met my eyes at last. Her face was impassive. For a strange moment I thought about putting my hand over hers but I knew she’d stiffen and we’d both be embarrassed.

  So I just gave her a small smile and said, ‘It was really hard for me, you know, when Dad died. And Mum – whatever you say about him, I know it was hard for you too. I know you missed him for a long time. Maybe you still do?’

  She continued to look back at me and now there was something different in her expression. I couldn’t decide if she was moved or angry but as she raised her eyebrows a little and her mouth opened, I realised I was holding my breath.

  She was getting to her feet. ‘Do you use that downstairs lavatory much?’ she said as she passed me. ‘I cleaned the hand basin while you were away. Never seen taps like it.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Bloody taps, bloody water cooling systems, bloody biodegradable filters that only need changing once every six bloody months …

  I sat and stared at my screen – at the set of diagrams and specifications and small paragraphs of mumbo jumbo I was supposed to convert into something guaranteed to top everyone’s Christmas List.

  ‘I need you to make this sound sexy,’ were Mike’s exact words in his third call of the morning. ‘This could be a big account for us. It’s only the brochure for now but they’ve got a huge budget there. We’re talking corporate videos, we’re talking exhibitions, we could even be talking ’ here my illustrious boss paused for a fraction of a second so I could brace myself for the full excitement ‘ a TV ad campaign. You do know they were on Dragon’s Den ,’ he said for the umpteenth time. ‘We are talking some seriously big backers …’

  ‘I will do my best,’ I’d said tightly, thinking that a clear ten minutes without him ringing up would go a long way to helping. ‘It’s just that, you know, water coolers – I mean it’s all very well, but why not keep a bottle of Evian in the fridge?’

  I heard Mike’s hiss of impatience at the other end. ‘It’s not just about cold water, Laura – it’s about cutting edge technology. It’s about the touch of a button. It’s a lifestyle thing,’ he added, as if I were particularly dim.

  ‘And this is only the beginning,’ he went on, once I had grunted to show I was still alive. ‘We are talking not just water but ice. Crushed ice, cubed ice, cracked ice. Everyone wants one of those big American fridges, right? But not everyone has room for one.’ He waited until I’d grunted again.

  ‘So – enter the Chill-Out Deluxe. Wall mounted and does all that at a fraction of the cost. You need to get this across, Laura; it’s a lifestyle choice . So much more than a water cooler. Later models will do hot water, steam, and froth your cappuccino too. Imagine – no more boiling the kettle –’

  This reminded me what I had been about to do before he started droning on. I carried the phone downstairs and got the coffee out of the cupboard while Mike was still talking. Tucking the phone under my chin, I held the kettle under the tap.

  ‘Make a good job of this, Laura,’ I could hear him saying tinnily halfway down my neck, ‘and there’ll be months more work …’

  Can’t bloody wait, I thought sourly. My perfect career plan just around the corner – writing about sodding water systems for ever more. Eventually he rang off, promising to email yet more photos to stimulate my creative juices, and I carried my mug back upstairs.

  Crystal clear, chilled water at the touch of a button … I typed half-heartedly. Always on tap … I sighed and hit the delete button. Cold, pure, and ready when you are … Beside me the phone burst into life again. How the hell did he expect me to ever get anything written if he never left me alone?

  I picked up the receiver. ‘What now?’ I snarled.

  ‘Laura – it’s Cal from Cook Around The Clock . Is this a bad time?’

  He sounded amused when I told him I had my boss on my back. ‘Well here’s something to take your mind off him,’ he said warmly.

  I wondered how old he was. His voice was very self-assured. – if I hadn’t met him, I’d have put him in his 30s – possibly even his 40s. Voices could be deceptive though – he’d looked more like 25 …

  ‘As I said on Thursday,’ he was saying, ‘we can’t have you and Alicia on as mother and daughter. We have to be honest and ethical – we have a code of practice that precludes anything else–’ His voice was quite Sloaney in a deep, sexy sort of way – and he was obviously well-educated. Perhaps he’d been to Oxford ? I’d have to tell my mother. She would be pleased. Not that she’d consider him a patch on my exalted brother, of course …

  ‘But there is a spot on the programme you might be interested in. You’ve seen the Beat the Chef slot we do at the end?’

  I didn’t like to admit I hadn’t seen the programme at all bar the few minutes I’d caught before Stanley interrupted me. This had consisted of a couple of chefs furiously whisking things in bowls while a middle-aged woman in a pinny held up a cake she’d made and another middle-aged woman in a contrasting pinny – introduced as Barb, her next door neighbour – clapped.

  ‘Er sort of,’ I said.

  ‘Well, it’s a fun segment where you bring along some ingredients for a quick dessert and you make it for us and at the same time the chef is given the same ingredients – blind, without any preparation – and we see what he can come up with in the same time. It’s very popular. Gets high marks on our viewer satisfaction surveys.’

  ‘Well I don’t know – I’m not really that good at puddings …’ Or any cooking at all, in fact …

  ‘We’re not looking for any immense culinary skills. We have people doing things with ready-made ice-cream, or tinned peaches and sponge cake – that sort of thing.’

  ‘Well I’d have to think –’

  ‘We think you’d be fabulous.’

  ‘Oh!’ There was a pause.

  ‘The thing is, Laura,’ he went on, ‘I’d really like you to do this so we can get to see you on camera a bit more. Because I’ve got something else in mind that I feel you’d be just perfect for. I’ve been looking for one more woman for a new programme we’re making and I think –’ his voice seemed to drop to a new, low huskiness and I felt a little shiver go down my spine ‘– that you could be the one …’

  ‘Really?’ My own voice sounded rather high and squeaky.

  ‘Obviously we need to sit down together so that I can discuss it in detail with you and see what you think, but basically it’s a documentary about women entering their prime in their 40s. You know how 40 is the new 20 and these days 40-somethings are considered to be sexy and happening – they’re a huge consumer group and recent research has shown that it is considered to be a really great age because now you’re more confident, more in control …’

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ I chortled, remembering the way I’d hurled the empty cornflake packet onto the kitchen floor that morning and then stamped on it.

  He laughed. ‘I do. I was watching you at the audition and I’ve been watching the tape with Randolph Kendall – I think you could be great.’

  ‘I shouted and waved my arms about.
’

  ‘You showed passion and energy.’

  ‘Yes, but I’m …’

  ‘You’re just what I’m looking for.’ The way he said it sent another small frisson up my arms. Get a grip, I told myself. He does this smooth-talking job on all the middle-aged women he wants to film screaming the place down.

  ‘I don’t know …’

  ‘Look,’ he said persuasively. ‘Come up and do Beat the Chef . It will be a great day out, we’ll do your hair and make-up …’

  ‘They said that last time and they didn’t. I looked ghastly.’

  Cal gave a deep chuckle. ‘Laura, I promise we’ll do your make-up and your hair, you will look fantastic and you will have a lovely day – everyone does. And then we’ll talk about the other programme. Over a drink. Or dinner …’

  ‘Well, I’ll have to get back. My son …’

  ‘I’ll organise a car if it gets too late. Look,’ he said again, this time more decisively, ‘let me sort out the schedule and come up with some times and dates – we could be looking at next Wednesday for the filming and then …’

  After he’d gone, I went back downstairs for more coffee, my mind even less engaged with water cooling systems, now. It all seemed deeply unreal – taking phone calls from beautiful young men about filming next Wednesday. It didn’t feel as if it should be happening to me. Cookery programmes, being fabulous at 40 …

  I looked in the mirror. ‘You don’t look very fab from here,’ I said out loud, peering at my messy hair and make-up less face. Boris leapt up onto the work surface, meowing loudly as I shooed him off.

  ‘You cannot be hungry again!’

  He wound himself round my legs and prepared to yell until I got the tin opener out. I stroked his head as he munched. Did I really want to go on TV again? Part of me felt silly and apprehensive but I had to admit the attention was nice and if this time I was definitely going to get my hair and make-up done …

  I phoned Alicia’s mobile to see what she thought. It went straight through to her voice mail. She sounded bright and sexy. Hi, this is Alicia – leave me a message and I’ll be right back to you, I promise …

  I put the phone back down …I didn’t need to ask to know what she’d say. She’d be in there like a shot.

  The afternoon passed in a frenzy of water-cooling excitement and by the time I had manhandled the last paragraph of techno-speak into something vaguely readable – using all the words I knew Mike would love, like ‘cutting-edge’ and ‘hi-tech’ and ‘state of the art’ (a particular favourite) and emailed it to him, I was wrung out and in need of biscuits.

  Charlotte hadn’t been in today so my calorie count was definitely down and although I’d have to think about losing weight if I was going on the cookery programme – Alicia had told me the reason I looked so gross on the Randolph show was because the camera puts on ten pounds – right now, I could probably manage two HobNobs.

  I wondered how Stanley was today. He’d not mentioned his name or any other anxieties again since the other night and had seemed OK after school, but he still wasn’t very forthcoming. I wondered if Mr Lazlett had had his chat with Stanley yet. I hadn’t heard. I must ask Stanley about inviting Connor round too …

  The phone broke into my thoughts. I walked into the hall. Mike no doubt had been through my copy and wanted a bit more blood out of this particular stone, or perhaps it was Alicia who’d seen my missed call.

  It was Cal again, voice sounding even more dark brown chocolatey movie star-ish than it had that morning.

  ‘Oh, hi ,’ I said, feeling all fluttery again. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m good,’ he said warmly. ‘Did you get all your work done?’

  ‘Oh yes – well, no, not really, got some of it sorted, you know … Oh, could you just hold on?’

  Stanley was banging on the glass of the front door. I tucked the phone under my chin as I opened it and let him in. I pointed at the handset. I’m on the phone, I mouthed.

  Stanley rolled his eyes.

  ‘My son has just come in from school,’ I said.

  ‘That’s nice,’ said Cal. ‘I hope he’s had a good day too.’

  We both laughed.

  Stanley shook his head in the way that meant I was a very sad person and walked down the hall into the kitchen. I heard him opening cupboards.

  ‘We’re definitely on for Wednesday,’ Cal was saying. ‘Now we’d like you here by 11.30 a.m. – are you happy to come by train? We’d meet you from the station, of course. One of the girls has looked up times and will call you about tickets. We thought if you caught the 8.59 …’

  ‘Yes OK, sure,’ I said, writing this down on the back of an envelope that was on the hall table and checking my eyes for new crow’s feet in the mirror as I listened a bit more. ‘Sure, yes, yes, I shall look forward to it too. Thank you, Yes, thank you, yes, bye, yes, you too.’

  I put the phone down in a flush of excitement. Stanley surveyed me from the kitchen doorway. ‘Who was that ?’

  ‘Just someone from the TV company,’ I said airily. ‘Just,’ I added, as if it were an everyday occurrence, ‘about some more filming they want me to do.’ I beamed at my son.

  ‘I thought it must be something like that,’ said Stanley flatly. ‘You put on that voice you get.’

  ‘What voice?’

  ‘The one that goes all high and squeaky when you’re trying to be posh.’

  I laughed a high, squeaky laugh. ‘Don’t be so silly.’

  I phoned Charlotte so she could properly demonstrate the level of enthusiasm my son sorely lacked.

  ‘Yes?’ she snapped, sounding remarkably like me on Day 23.

  ‘It’s me!’

  ‘Oh Lu,’ she said in her normal voice. ‘Sorry – some stupid bastard keeps phoning and then putting the phone down.’

  ‘Really?’ I said, on immediate alert. ‘What do they say?’

  ‘Nothing – they just hang up. It’s happened about six times in the last hour. I’ve tried ringing 1471 but the number’s always withheld, of course.’

  ‘Probably a wrong number.’

  ‘Too much for them to say that, is it? Anyway, it happened the other night too. Roger said it was probably one of those sales calls where the computer rings six numbers at once but they only connect to the first one that answers.’

  ‘Oh right, well, that’s that, then,’ I said reassuringly, knowing it was much more likely to be Roger’s mystery flake – Hannah.

  ‘They’re going to get jolly short shrift from me when they finally do speak, I can tell you. No, I do not want a new flaming kitchen, bathroom or Internet connection, thank you very much – even if you do throw in cable TV and a free holiday voucher.’

  ‘Nuisance, aren’t they?’ I said lamely, feeling guilty for not telling her what I knew. But did I know anything? Perhaps it was just sales calls …

  I told her about the TV but could hardly concentrate on her replies. I put the phone down, determined to get on to Roger again in no uncertain terms and make sure he’d got that Hannah woman under control. He’d have to tell Charlotte all about her and how he’d been trying to help but she’d turned out to be a loony and was now coming on strong etc. If she was.

  But it must be her – who else would it be? Bit of a coincidence that I’d taken that call and now Charlotte was getting them at just the same time as Roger had decided to be an agony uncle.

  I had a look in the fridge to see what I might conjure up for dinner and, finding it lacking in inspiration, decided there was no time like the present. His mobile rang for quite a long time before he answered.

  ‘Roger Forbes.’

  ‘It’s Laura. Have you told Hannah to lay off yet?’

  There was a long sigh at the other end of the phone. ‘I’m rather busy now, Laura.’

  ‘So am I,’ I said shortly. ‘Did you know someone keeps putting the phone down on Charlotte? She’s had six calls this afternoon. Suppose Hannah speaks next time? Suppose the mad cow says the same thing to
Charlotte as she said to me?’

  ‘She won’t,’ said Roger, adding, a tad hastily I thought, ‘it wasn’t her – I asked her.’

  ‘Well she’s hardly likely to admit it, is she? What was her face like?’

  ‘Look, Laura, I’m about to go into a meeting. I know you think you’re being helpful but I really think you’re getting carried away here. Daniel may have …’

  ‘Stop going on about him. This is your marriage we’re talking about. How long since she split up with her boyfriend?’

  ‘Er I don’t know. A few months.’

  ‘And you’re still comforting her? Roger, she’s obviously got you lined up as the replacement. You’ve either got to stop seeing her on your own or tell Charlotte about it.’

  ‘There really is nothing to tell but, OK, I will if it makes you happy. But right now I really do have to …’

  ‘It’s not about making me happy, Roger, I’m looking out for you here. You’re playing with fire, you’re dicing with death, you’re –’

  ‘Laura, I have to go !’

  ‘Has she got a breathy voice?’

  ‘Goodbye!’

  I banged the receiver down in frustration. Why were men so blind sometimes? Roger couldn’t really think he was just being a friend in need. Clearly this woman was all over him and it was massaging his ego no end. But it wouldn’t be his ego he’d have to worry about if Charlotte got wind of it.

  Or was Roger right? Was I just totally overreacting because of what Daniel had done? Maybe the phone calls Charlotte had were indeed a sales thing and maybe the woman I spoke to was a wrong number or someone at his office was trying to make trouble out of a totally innocent friendship.

  But if it was so innocent, why wouldn’t he tell Charlotte? I wished I could get hold of the woman myself to warn her off. You cannot go round disrupting perfectly happy families just because your boyfriend’s left you , I imagined myself saying. She was listening and nodding. I could be kind and empathetic. I know how you feel because my own shitbag of a husband did the same thing but that doesn’t mean I can cry all over somebody else’s … Hannah , I could offer in a huge sisterly gesture, you can talk to me instead …