by Carol Wyer
‘She’s a smashing lady. When she was in hospital undergoing surgery for gallstones, I spent some time with her. She told me all about her life back in Morocco before she came to the UK. Her family house was palatial. They owned gold crockery and even had servants. Who would have thought it? She once was waited on and now she sweats away in her restaurant kitchen. She’s a super cook though,’ said Charlie.
‘She enjoys it. Told me it gives her a sense of purpose, and she can keep a beady eye on her husband at the same time. Make sure he’s not slacking. She keeps those sons of hers on their toes too. And she gave me some fantastic ideas for setting the scene at our house. Ryan worked tirelessly all last weekend to transform the dining room into the interior of a desert tent. He hung fabrics and a large Moroccan lamp we borrowed from Fatima. She came over and helped too. It looks magical. She even lent me her silver teapot to make mint tea after the meal.’ Mercedes was prattling so quickly Charlie could barely keep up with the conversation.
‘I can’t wait to see it. So have you got almonds for nibbles and have you put your chick peas for your chickpea soup into soak yet?’
‘Almonds for toasting and a large bottle of fizz to accompany them, check. Chickpeas, check.’
‘Moroccan meatball tagine with lemon and olives’, Charlie read from Mercedes’ menu card in front of her. ‘Sounds yummy. For dessert, desert rice pudding with date compote. Lovely and light. Managed to find any orange blossom water for that?’
‘Of course. Our local grocery store has everything you could imagine. I’ll have to cook for you when this is over. I’ve really enjoyed my crash course in cookery with Fatima. It’s opened up a new world for me. The meals aren’t very difficult to prepare. I’ll have to be careful though, Ryan has already started to put on weight since I began cooking dishes for him to try.’
‘I bet he has. Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow. Sleep well and good luck.’
Twenty-Three
There was a knock at the door. Mercedes opened it. Maurice stood on her doorstep. ‘You look very exotic, my dear,’ he said, offering her a small box of chocolates.
Mercedes laughed. She was wearing a long pale-grey silk djellaba with exquisite embroidery at the neck. Her red hair was held back with silver clips.
‘Thank you. I’m not used to being so elegant. These djellabas are very comfortable to wear. You should get one for yourself, Maurice. They come in all sizes and colours for men and women. We could be trendsetters.’
‘Mercedes, I think you carry it off far better than I could,’ he replied. The cameraman sniggered quietly.
Mercedes showed Maurice directly into the dining room where he made appropriate noises about the decor. Large matching cushions and beaded pouffes completed the bohemian look. Settling him down with a drink, she wheeled out of the room to greet the second guest.
The format of the show changed little. Each hosting contestant had to greet each guest individually, take them to the lounge or dining room, serve a drink then greet the next person. It was to give the impression that those invited had arrived separately. In reality, they were all outside in the garage having their make-up checked and being miked up for sound. It was chilly out there and Claudine was muttering about being cold.
‘Maybe you should have worn something warmer, my dear,’ said Patrick glancing at her thin black dress.
‘’Zis is Chanel,’ she huffed.
The sound engineer raised his eyebrows at Patrick.
‘You’re next, Claudine.’
Claudine patted her hair and walked off, a fixed false smile plastered on her face.
‘That’s a nice shirt you’re wearing,’ said the make-up girl to Patrick as she wafted some powder over his face.
‘’Zis is Oxfam,’ he said with a cheeky grin
Back in the house, Maurice was admiring Mercedes and Ryan’s bedroom. ‘Isn’t this tasteful? Gosh! Mercedes should be an interior designer,’ he gushed. ‘Oh what are these,’ he asked, stopping to put on his maroon framed glasses so he could see more clearly. ‘Oh, they’re awards for races and look at all these rosettes!’
* * *
The filming was going well. There had been no hiccoughs and Mercedes had played the part of the hostess with aplomb. She was now almost ready to serve the starter.
In the dining room, Patrick stared frostily at Claudine and chomped a handful of almonds. They were seated around a huge shining copper table on plump, comfortable cushions. Patrick had happily taken up a cross-legged position but Claudine had complained bitterly about being so low to the ground and struggled with her attire, constantly pulling at the hem of her dress. The men chose to ignore her and Maurice was now staring about the room, a thoughtful look on his face. Mercedes whisked about the kitchen, ensuring the first course was ready. She deftly navigated her way around camera leads and the people who were invading her home, keeping up a monologue for the camera.
‘Right, that’s it. I’m ready to surprise my guests,’ she said. ‘Hope you’re hungry, folks,’ she shouted. ‘I’m coming in.’
‘Do you need me to ’elp you carry in zee food? Eet must be difficult for you,’ asked Claudine, earning herself a frosty look from Maurice.
‘No, I’m perfectly able to serve, thanks, Claudine,’ replied Mercedes, arriving with a tray containing hot bowls of soup on her lap.
‘How lovely,’ said Maurice. ‘My friend Hassan would love this. The room is perfect. It reminds me of the tent I stayed in when I went to the Sahara desert. It was so romantic there. It had a round table like this and plush cushions to sit on too. It was in a little town called Zagora near the sand dunes. We sat out afterwards and took in the silence. It was warm that night so we sat up late. The sky was so clear we could see gazillions of stars.’ He took in a deep breath and sighed in contentment. ‘So beautiful,’ he continued with another little sigh before changing the subject. ‘So, Mercedes, you know all about us but we don’t know much about you. How did you get into hospital radio?’ asked Maurice.
‘This is quite a long story. I’ll try to condense it for you, and before I begin, I’m not into sympathy.’
Maurice’s eyebrows raised but he nodded his affirmation. Patrick sat up on his cushion while Claudine affected a look of concern.
‘I used to be a jockey. I always loved horses and worked at stables from when I was young. I was lucky enough to work for a trainer who saw my potential and I started racing competitively at the age of eighteen. I enrolled at the British Racing School in Newmarket, graduated in 2007, then started training horses for a sheik.
‘They used to call me Little Horse-Whisperer because I could always get the best out of the horses. I began to race, won a few events and made a decent name for myself. Anyway, one day, I was out training a highly-strung horse. No one else could handle him as well as me. To cut a long story short he got spooked and reared. We both tumbled. He landed on me. Luckily, he was fine but I wasn’t.
‘Ironic isn’t it? I’m called Mercedes and now I roll about on wheels. Not as fast as a real Merc though, but I like to get up speed sometimes.’ She smiled. ‘I damaged my spinal cord at lumbar one-two. The doctors told me I’d never be able to walk again. I have to admit it was a very low point in my life. It took several months of therapy to convince me I could carry on with my life in spite of losing the use of my legs. I was at City Hospital to have some follow-up work done on my elbow because it also got damaged in the accident, when I met a radio presenter there called Charlie. She was visiting patients, asking if they wanted any special requests played on the radio. It was after visiting hours and I was having a little weep. She sat beside my bed and talked to me for ages. She visited me every day after that, in fact the entire time I was in hospital.’
Maurice bit his bottom lip, lost in Mercedes’ words, eyes filled with admiration.
‘After I left hospital, she visited me regularly at home and it was thanks to her that I pulled myself together. She made me see that my life wasn’t over. I decided to behave
as normally as possible. I could still do many of the same things I could do before the accident. I bought an adapted van with hand controls. Charlie came with me to choose it. I even have her to thank for finding my husband, Ryan. She invited us both to an evening at her house where he and I just clicked. I’d never have met Ryan if it hadn’t been for Charlie and I wouldn’t have met Charlie if it hadn’t been for the accident. Everything happens for a reason, I guess.
‘Anyway, I trained to become a radio technician, got married and am now living happily ever after. It’s very rewarding working in a hospital and humbling too. It puts things into perspective when you see what some people have to go through,’ she paused. ‘Sorry, I really monopolised the conversation there, didn’t I?’
Maurice wiped his eyes with a corner of a serviette.
‘Maurice,’ growled Mercedes. ‘I hope you’re not getting maudlin.’
‘No, no. It’s just… you’re so brave.’
‘Rubbish. There are plenty of people who face far worse than me. It’s surprising how you can learn to cope. Anyway, enough of that. Let’s finish this wine.’
The alcohol flowed, the conversation became more animated and Maurice enchanted them with stories about his time as a teacher in Marrakesh.
‘You received a live guinea fowl as a gift from a pupil?’
‘Oh yes, they gave me all sorts of things. I had to stop them in the end. It was getting awfully difficult. The guinea fowl in particular caused mayhem. I had to take it back to my apartment on the back of my moped. It sat in a box with its head poking out watching the world go by as I skidded about the streets.’
Mercedes spluttered her wine. ‘Never!’ she said.
‘It’s completely true, my dear. I intended giving it to my flatmate to cook, but by the time I’d got home, I hadn’t got the heart to kill the poor creature. We’d formed a bond you see. I drove it to the nearest park and gave it its freedom. I hope it found a mate there,’ he added, smiling.
‘Was that the most bizarre present you received?’ asked Patrick.
‘No. I had others. You have to remember that these people lived in all sorts of areas. They didn’t have much money so much of what they gave me, they had grown or cultivated themselves.’ He gave Patrick a knowing look.
Patrick twigged immediately. ‘You mean you were offered cocaine?’
Maurice nodded. ‘Several times. I refused it, of course. It was then I decided to stop the pupils lavishing gifts on me. I told them the other teachers were getting jealous. It seemed to work, although the following day, I noticed a female teacher headed from her classroom clutching a live rabbit. I highly suspect one of the pupils had taken my message to heart and decided to spread their generosity.’
It took over an hour to consume the meal. Each course was savoured and appreciated. Maurice adored the tagine dish used for the main course and told them about haggling in a market in Rabat for one and how, having refused the seller’s price he had walked away only to be pursued by the man up and down the streets until he agreed to return to the stall and buy it for a cheaper price.
The lighting and the comfortable cushions together with the plentiful supply of booze meant they were all relaxed by the time Mercedes cleared away the empty bowls that had contained the rice pudding with date compote. Maurice sat back and rubbed his stomach. Even Claudine appeared to be more content as she stroked the copper table and stared at the hanging glass lamps. Mercedes returned with small glasses for the mint tea and a silver lamp which she handed to Patrick.
‘Patrick, would you like to rub my magic lamp and make a wish?’
Patrick guffawed, rubbing the lamp with vigour.
Mercedes clapped her hands and said, ‘Magic lamp, silver not blue, please make Patrick’s wish come true.’
Immediately, Arabian music came from the kitchen. The guests sat in confusion until a belly dancer dressed in a deep-red fringed bra and matching harem pants emerged from the kitchen. A heavy veil hid most of her face, revealing only her large green eyes, made larger by dark eyeliner and black mascara. Her fluid movements were accentuated by the belt around her hips, generously decorated with coins. Patrick’s mouth opened in surprise, his eyes transfixed by the belt and the hips that swung in his direction in time to the beat of the music. Maurice sat back on his cushion and smiled at the dancer, nodding enthusiastically at her performance. Claudine feigned delight and clapped her hands to accompany the dancing.
* * *
Charlie gave it all she had got. She pretended she was in the class with the girls and not in front of a live audience. She created seductive movements with her hands and enchanted with her rhythmical movements. The music transported her back to the studio and all too soon it was over. The guests applauded. Charlie bowed and backed off to the kitchen again.
At the back door, Charlie grabbed her trainers she’d left on the mat and hastened out before any of the crew could talk to her. She raced over the grass in bare feet, through the open gate and onto the street where she immediately crashed into a man walking down the dimly lit road. Her belt came undone and fell onto the ground with a clatter.
‘What on earth?’ the man exclaimed.
Charlie took in a sharp breath. It was the Piggy man. He had surely recognised her. Before he could speak, Charlie drew the veil around her face.
‘As-Salaam Alaykum,’ she mumbled, using the only Arabic expression she had ever heard. Then, grabbing her coin belt from the ground, she hastened to her Golf, leapt in, and drove off at speed.
Twenty-Four
The phone rang shortly after Charlie returned home. She knew who it would be. She heard excited barking in the background. Bentley and Ryan were back from their exile. They had been banned during the filming after Bentley had attempted to chew the cables and had urinated over the sound engineer’s foot.
‘Well?’ Charlie asked.
There was a pause and then a high-pitched squeal. ‘I won! Oh Charlie, I won! I can’t thank you enough. It was such a laugh, and thanks to your challenge, I met Fatima and learnt to cook, I’ve got a fat, content husband who enjoys my cooking, and we’ve just won one thousand pounds. Can you hear that?’ She rustled the notes. ‘I think your belly dance clinched it. You should have seen Patrick afterwards. He couldn’t speak properly. I think he’ll dream of you tonight, or he’ll get his wife Gloria to take up belly dancing. Maurice was very sweet. He invited me and Ryan to go and have dinner with him and Hassan next month, when Hassan comes over from Morocco. Even Claudine congratulated me and asked for the recipes. Oh Charlie, what a hoot. I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed it. When I read it on your list I felt truly daunted by the prospect. After all, I’ve never been what you’d call a foodie. I existed on a diet of chocolate and Pot Noodles until I met Ryan. But now I feel liberated. It isn’t difficult to cook and it isn’t hard to cook exotic meals. It’s been huge fun. But now it’s time for you to take on your next challenge.’
‘Go on, what is it?’
‘You’ll find out tomorrow. Sam is going to announce it on his show. Then you must come back home with me and celebrate. I owe you a glass of mint tea at the very least.’
Twenty-Five
‘That was Fat Larry’s band and a particular favourite of mine “Zoom”. Actually, that’s quite an appropriate track for one member of our team. I have in front of me a pre-challenge for Charlie, just to get her limbered up, so to speak, for the next challenge on the list. Mercedes wants Charlie to go to Alton Towers with her this weekend and go on Oblivion, which for those of you who don’t know was the first vertical drop roller coaster in the UK and reaches a maximum speed of sixty-eight miles per hour. It’s the UK’s third fastest roller coaster. I’m sure our timid Charlie will enjoy the thrill. But that’s only part of the challenge; Charlie has to perform one extra task that should raise a smile as she plunges down the one hundred and eighty foot drop. I’ll tell you more about that later. For now, here’s another track, just for you, Charlie – “Crazy” by Gnarls Bark
ley.’
Charlie groaned. She loathed heights. Mercedes knew she hated heights. She couldn’t even go up a ladder without feeling dizzy. There was no way she would be able to go on the wretched roller coaster without throwing up. On cue, her phone rang.
‘I have the tickets and we’re going this Saturday. I’ll pick you up at seven a.m.’
‘Mercedes, I can’t.’
‘There’s no such word as can’t. Come on. It’ll be fun. I’ve always wanted to go on a vertical roller coaster. You can enjoy it for me. You’ll be fine once you’re on it. Remember your promise? Trust me?’
Brow-beaten, Charlie agreed. If Mercedes could be brave about her injury and get on with life, then Charlie could manage a roller coaster ride, couldn’t she?
As she made her way out of the studio, she bumped into a young nurse leaving the staffroom.
‘Just heard the show, Charlie. Good on you. I went to Alton Towers a couple of years ago with my boyfriend. I couldn’t get on Oblivion or Air. I was too petrified. It looked proper scary. I’ll be cheering you on. I wonder what Mercedes has lined up for you after the roller coaster.’
That was the very same thought going through Charlie’s mind, and knowing her friend, she had a feeling it would be something even worse.
Twenty-Six
The queue of youngsters and couples was far longer than she had expected. There was an air of expectation and joking as they teased each other about the ride. They snaked upwards in a straggling line through a large drawn out helix, crossing buildings and structures. The build-up to the ride was clever. Video screens were displayed above them. On each, a sinister man gave the group briefings and hinted at how terrifying the ride was going to be. Mercedes had ensured they arrived early and now Charlie found herself near the front of the queue. Mercedes was below on the viewing platform.
