by Sue Watson
“Do you like having Mummy home?” I heard Tom say.
“Ooh yes, I love it. I don’t ever want her to go away again. I just wish she could collect me from school every day.”
I felt that familiar pang in my heart. I walked in and gave her a huge hug.
“You’re not going far away again, are you Mum?” she said, her brow crinkling into a frown.
“I don’t think so, sweetie. I think my last programme’s done so well that my boss will let me come home every evening to be with you.”
“Mmm, just don’t be naughty again, Mum, or that mean lady might make you stay behind.”
“Oh no, I don’t have to work with that mean lady anymore,” I smiled, thinking, there is a God after all.
“I bet if we ask Mum, she’ll play cricket with us at the weekend,” Tom said. He was rubbing his hands together and giving me a wink. Grace jumped up and down clapping. I smiled in agreement. I wasn’t sure about the cricket, but I wished we could be happy and sensitive to each other like this all the time.
“OK, sleep time madam,” I said, ruffling her hair. Tom kissed her goodnight.
“See you in the morning darling,” he shouted from the landing, off to attend a cricket or football match from the sofa.
“Mum please, please, pleeease will you read me a story?” Grace asked, her hands together in prayer. It was ages since I’d read to her so we rifled through her library of Jacqueline Wilsons and settled down with Sleepovers. We’d read it so many times before we both knew exactly what happened next and as I read aloud, Grace’s ‘I love this next bit’ punctuations became fewer and fewer and sleepier and sleepier. She was fast asleep long before the final climactic sleepover but I kept on reading and watching her sleep, just bathing in the sheer pleasure of the moment.
After a while, I tiptoed downstairs and Tom and I shared a bottle of wine and laughed at Father Ted and fought over the toffee Revels just like we always had. “Thank you for keeping Grace safe and happy,” I said, as the credits rolled and the Revels came to an end.
“That’s my job,” he smiled.
“Well, it’s my job too but I haven’t been around to do it.”
As we went upstairs and lay together in our own big bed I felt us start to reconnect. I felt Tom’s hands on my body, a little awkward and hesitant at first but moving with growing passion. After we made love we lay there, breathless, next to each other.
“If someone had told you fifteen years ago that this is how your life would be, would you be happy Tom?” I asked, sitting up onto one elbow and looking into his eyes. This was really just a formality for me, an affirmation that what we’d just shared was the truth. He put his head down and ran his fingers through his hair. He appeared to be thinking. I wondered if he was joking, but when he lifted his head and looked directly at me I felt a sudden chill go right through me.
“I honestly don’t know, Stella.”
I moved slightly apart from him and sat up. The ‘Stella’ bit sounded serious. This wasn’t good. I needed him to say ‘I love you, it’s all fine. Night, night.’ But he didn’t.
“I’ve been feeling unsettled for some time. I don’t know what it is, but I just keep thinking that something’s missing – it’s not enough. You know?”
I was stung, completely taken aback by his answer. No, I didn’t know! For Tom to talk like this about how he’d been feeling was new to me. I didn’t like it and I wanted him to piss off back to Mars while I stayed safely on Venus.
“You mean you need more…at work?” I asked, hopefully.
“Yes, work. Well…everything really. I don’t know. I hate how life’s become so complicated. Sometimes I’d like to just go and live on a remote Scottish island.”
“Do you think things would be any easier in the wilds of Scotland?” I asked, a little too sharply, still smarting and noting painfully that he’d said ‘I’ and not ‘we’ on the island. I was now kicking myself for spoiling things by asking for confirmation of his feelings. We were still married weren’t we? Wasn’t that enough? Why did I have to open up a new vent of hell? After all, ignorance is bliss.
“I don’t know,” he continued, in his own thoughts, “but I always said I’d never live this life. I never wanted an overdraft, a mortgage and two cars.”
“Nobody wants a mortgage,” I answered tritely. I was hurt, but trying to keep things friendly and honest and open. After all, I started it.
“I suppose I feel a bit tied down,” he went on, the floodgates opening and gushing all over the duvet. “We’ve stretched ourselves with this house and, despite us both working, we’re not exactly rolling in it. And you talk about what you want all the time but you know I always wanted to film wildlife and work in Natural History. My plan was to shoot polar bears in the snow and whales in the sea. As it is, I’m shooting people painting walls, losing weight and planting bulbs.”
“Welcome to my world,” I answered sulkily and rather unsympathetically. Sometimes I became so obsessed with my own feelings I forgot that Tom had dreams too.
I turned over and tried to sleep, telling myself it would all be OK. On Monday I’d go into work and get a big promotion. It would mean more money and I could work in the office and spend more time at home. Then I would be happy and so would Tom. I was the producer of a ratings winner and should be able to name my price and my hours. I could look after Grace more and perhaps Tom would get his turn to take filming jobs further afield. There wasn’t much call for wildlife cameramen in the Midlands, let’s face it; there aren’t many rainforests or polar ice caps in West Bromwich and Tom needed his dreams too.
9 - Perfectly Peachy
On Monday morning I power-dressed, made packed-lunches, ironed school clothes, put a wash on, fed the fish and Grace, kissed Tom and headed to the office for my triumphant return.
Arriving at the office I walked past all the familiar faces to be greeted with high fives, ‘well done on the show,’ and ‘we’ve missed you,’ and as I turned on my computer I felt warm and fluffy inside. Within seconds an email pinged through from MJ. For a moment I felt the same panic I’d had before, but reminded myself I was in charge now and didn’t have to be scared anymore.
Stella,
Congratulations on the success of ‘Is God in the Garden?’
I always knew it would work, which is why I recommended you for the role of producer. You couldn’t fail with such a great team. I think it would be useful for you and me to have a talk about the future of the show and other projects. Can you come to see me at midday.
MJ.
“I wonder what she wants.” I said to Val. “The gardening show has nothing to do with her.”
“I expect she’s trying to climb on the back of your success, Stel. Maybe she wants you back in her department. After the gardening show, having your name around will no doubt help her out.”
“Mmm. You’re probably right. In her email she even takes the credit for putting me on the programme, like she thought it would be good for me.”
“You know what she’s like” said Val.
“Yeah…”
“…a bitch!” we both said together and laughed.
I refused to let it get to me and remained unperturbed by the prospect of my meeting with MJ throughout the morning. I was now safe from her clutches in the Gardening Department where my career was finally on the up. I’d heard that the second series had already been commissioned and I was delighted to be in the glow zone. I’d been out of it for so long I’d been feeling quite chilly.
I turned up as requested at 12pm to see MJ. I was feeling unusually confident for this meeting, wearing a suit and heels (so unlike the wellingtons and waterproofs that I’d been used to wearing recently). Even the timing seemed much more geared to suit me, with no end-of-day child-collection worries. Maybe this was MJ’s attempt at a peace offering?
I knocked on the door confidently and MJ’s assistant Cynthia came over.
“Hi Stella, would you like to wait here for a few minutes? MJ has someone w
ith her. They’re running a little late,” she said, gesturing to the chair outside the office.
I didn’t mind at all. While I was waiting I had the chance to think about how I would turn MJ down. I suspected she was going to offer me a role back in Documentaries, so that she could take credit for my work. As much as I would enjoy saying no, I really didn’t want to make an even bigger enemy of her than I already had. I decided I would be polite, say I was flattered and perhaps even offer some ideas and even contacts for their latest doc, but no way could I ever work with her again.
I must have waited and contemplated for about fifteen minutes before MJ’s door finally opened. I was rather surprised to see The Head Gardener shuffle out of the office, sheepishly shutting the door and keeping his head down. He looked a little flustered and though he saw me, he didn’t speak or make eye contact, just nodded in my direction. I began to get nervous, but assured myself it was nothing. Whatever he was up to, I was responsible for the success of the show and not even MJ could deny that.
I knew there was nothing she could do to me, she wasn’t my boss anymore, so I distracted myself by thinking about what I’d make for pudding that night. I was just covering the sweet mixed berries in Delia’s summer pudding with thick clotted cream when MJ appeared in the doorway. “Come in, Stella,” she held a frozen smile and ushered me to a low, hard seat.
She cleared her throat and sat down, tidying papers and pretending to be transfixed by one every now and then. Still using her old technique she made me feel that I was merely an irritating interruption as she had lots more important stuff to deal with. Yet it was she who had invited me to this meeting. My heart started palpitating. As I’m sure she knew it would.
“I have some news for you about a big promotion,” she started. My heart leapt. “Everyone on a very senior level is in agreement with this.”
Woohoo! I wished it wasn’t MJ giving me this news but I had been the one who turned Is God in a Garden? around and made it a hit. I had worked so hard after the initial show to ensure we focused on the comedy of the contributors and it had really paid off. Now it seemed that everyone who mattered was finally acknowledging it.
“As a result of this – I have to say, well-deserved – promotion, there will be some staff changes,” she added.
“OK. I’m sure that’s fine.” I said, half-smiling, a little concerned this might lose me the second series, but perhaps my promotion meant something even bigger?
“Yes. There will be lots of changes round here,” she glared straight at me. “Starting with you.”
Oh no. She wanted me back in her department. This was going to be harder than I’d thought. I gathered all my strength and launched into my well-rehearsed speech.
“MJ, I don’t mean to be rude but I have no intention of returning to work with you in Documentaries. I realise that my new-found success means that I would be a good name to put next to a new series and may give the company a bigger chance of a commission, but I’m now committed to Gardening.” I looked straight at her, waiting for a reaction, but she just continued talking like I hadn’t said a word.
“It’s been decided that we need fresh blood in Gardening and a young producer with new ideas has been appointed for God’s Garden,” she sat back, licking her lips. “As you know, we’re always looking for something new and different, Stella,” she said, with a twisted smile.
I was confused, but hopeful. “Oh, am I going to be promoted to executive producer?” This was beyond my wildest dreams.
She shook her head incredulously and, tilting it to one side in mock-concern, said; “Oh Stella, I’m sorry. Did I give you the impression that you’d been promoted?” Fake, theatrical horror filled her face.
A chill ran down my spine. “No, I er…I suppose, I assumed…”
“Well, you know what they say about assumptions, Stella,” she licked her lips with unadulterated, unconcealed joy.
“MJ, why are we having this meeting?”
“Well Stella, because I wanted to tell you the wonderful news myself,” her mean lips sipped on Diet Coke to prolong my agony further.
I held onto everything I’d got. I needed to keep calm and above all not allow her to get to me. She wasn’t going to turn me to jelly and make me cry this time, however hard she tried.
“Exactly what is the news?” I asked, willing myself to stay calm.
“The news is that I’ve just been confirmed as the new Executive Programming Director of Media World. I’ll be reporting directly to Frank Moores – the owner, no less. You know what that means, don’t you Stella?”
I didn’t answer.
“It means I will be in charge of all the programmes in the company’s portfolio. Mmm…I can’t wait to get my hands dirty in Gardening!”
“It looks like you already have.” I said in monotone, not even attempting to hide my despair at this news.
“No congratulations, Stella? I’ll be your boss again.”
I stared at her, numb, stunned. For about thirty long seconds I didn’t say a word. I just let it all sink in.
“And this brings me to the real reason for this meeting. Unfortunately, my first task in my new role is not a happy one. As I’m sure you know, Media World has a strict policy on Health and Safety and all contributors are to be thoroughly checked prior to allowing their involvement in any programme…”
It took me a moment to realise where she was going with this.
“…and as the producer you have to take ultimate responsibility for all decisions regarding the programme.”
Bile rose into my throat and my eyes stung. Surely this couldn’t be happening? MJ was watching me intently, her eyes glittering, as she steamrollered over my career.
“Failure to account for Gerard’s criminal background, however minor it turned out to be, and to complete the relevant safety documentation is a serious mistake, one which can endanger all Media World’s current contracts…”
The room started to swim around me. MJ’s face blurred and twisted.
“There were children on the show, Stella. What if something had happened? All senior management here are in agreement…”
When the words finally came, I barely heard them.
“Stella”, MJ said, her face twisting into an evil smile, “you’re suspended, pending a full investigation.”
I stood up in a daze. Part of me was screaming: You put fucking Gerard on the programme. You fed him to Al. This is your doing, you evil, miserable old hag! But I said nothing. There was no point. She had me; I was the producer and the buck stopped with me. I had to hand it to her – she had finally got what she wanted. I was finished at Media World. With my eyes swimming, I turned away from her and made my way to the door.
I stumbled back to my desk and slumped into my chair, feeling tears pricking at my eyelids. It was only just sinking in – my career, all that I had worked so hard for, could be over.
As I was staring blankly at the computer screen in front of me, my eyes wandered to the postcard stuck in the top right-hand corner. It was from Mum, sent from one of her many holidays. This one was from Malaga and I pulled it off the screen and turned it over to read the back. Blue seas and wall-to-wall-waiters, it said, in Mum’s usual jokey style. Just wishing that I’d come here sooner. I looked at the shiny picture of frothing waves and white sands and thought about how Mum had taken almost 65 years to get to where she wanted to be. In that moment I knew I wasn’t prepared to wait that long and spend my life wishing that ‘I’d come here sooner’; it was time to take control.
Opening up my desk drawer, I took out the folder containing all gardening contacts and information and then I opened a bottle of ‘Perfectly Peachy’ Lighter Lift. The smell of fake peaches filled the air as I poured the orange slime into the cardboard folder. Rubbing it in like a lotion, I massaged and pummelled every bit of paper, every telephone number and every permission document associated with the series. The liquid worked like cleaning fluid (God knows what it had done to my insides) a
nd I swirled it and mashed at the soggy paper, everything washed away on a sea of ‘Perfect Peach’. I dumped all the soaking, peach-scented illegible mush into a wastepaper bucket and headed up the stairs to MJ’s office – for the final time.
I opened her door without knocking.
“MJ, I believe that as I am suspended, you’ll be needing all the paperwork for God’s Garden?” I said.
She looked up and I don’t know what surprised her most – the fact that I was holding a wastepaper bin or that I was smiling warmly at her. “Yes, I will need everything.” She clipped, lips extra-tight.
“Well, here it is, all the vital information I’ve been working on for weeks that will be invaluable for my excellent replacement.” I said. With that, I walked up to her desk and, leaning over, slowly turned the bin upside down over her perfectly groomed head.
Orange goo and mashed paper landed with a squelchy thud and the air in her stuffy little office was suddenly permeated with the chemical stench of fake peach. It took her a couple of seconds to realise what was happening, but as the peach slime ran down her white designer blouse and seeped onto her knees she leapt up, screaming in horror. The gloop dripped off her, landing in fluorescent globules on her new office carpet and creating an instant neon stain.
“No need to sack me, MJ,” I continued, “the pleasure’s all mine. I quit. I quit Gardening, I quit Media World, and best of all, I quit you. Goodbye, you miserable cow.”
For the first time in her life, Mary-Jane Robinson was lost for words.
I marched out of the now sickly-smelling office, head high, and suddenly felt delirious, relieved, liberated. I wanted to kiss everyone. MJ’s assistant was staring, open-mouthed and several people on the office floor were stifling their giggles. I hadn’t shut MJ’s door – and I hadn’t spoken quietly, either. I ran back down the steps, waltzing on air. I had finally taken control of my own life.
Back at my desk, I gathered papers and souvenirs from all the years I’d given to the company and put them in several carrier bags, then I skipped all the way to the car park. Tomorrow would be the beginning of a new me, I thought as I drove away from Media World for the last time. I couldn’t wait.
