by Anita Notaro
‘Michael has asked me to marry him.’ She was red-faced and Lindsay and Debbie looked at her in amazement.
‘How? When? Where?’ was the best Lindsay could manage.
‘At the weekend. Out of the blue.’
‘What did you say?’ Debbie was gulping her wine in an effort to look nonchalant.
‘Yes.’
‘Oh my God, this is fantastic news. I am so happy for you.’
Lindsay hugged her friend and almost burst into tears.
Debbie danced round the kitchen singing, ‘I’m Getting Married in the Morning’ in a completely tuneless voice and shouting, ‘Champagne, we must have some. Have you any?’
‘You know me, I always have champagne with you two for friends. You open it and I’ll grab the glasses.’
They talked for ages, this was the best news they’d had in years. They were so excited that they didn’t notice Lindsay barely touched her champagne. It turned out there were no real plans made, Michael had to get his divorce first, so they weren’t announcing it for a good while yet.
‘I just had to tell you two and Michael agreed, but you must keep it to yourselves.’
‘Can we be bridesmaids?’
‘Of course, who else would I have?’
Debbie started singing about getting to the church on time.
As they ate and drank and dissected the news, Lindsay wondered about saying anything, not wanting to spoil things for Tara. She was still doubtful until Debbie looked at her.
‘You’re very quiet again tonight. When are you going to tell us what’s up?’
She took a deep breath and plunged in.
‘I have got something to tell you but it’s not like Tara’s news.’
‘Go on, please, you haven’t been yourself for weeks. It’s Chris, isn’t it?’
‘No. Yes. Well, not really.’ Long pause, while two worried pairs of eyes tried to encourage her wordlessly.
‘I’m pregnant.’
The champagne bubble burst. No one said anything. She saw confusion, elation and horror pass over their faces in a second as they continued to stare at her.
‘Did you just say what I . . .’
She nodded.
Tara came and put her arms around her and looked as if she might burst into tears. Lindsay was horrified.
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said it tonight, I’ve just been keeping it to myself for so long—’
‘Chris?’ Debbie asked, knowing the answer already.
‘Yeah.’
‘Does he know?’
‘I tried to tell him but he told me he wasn’t interested, basically. So, I’m going to take a couple of months off as soon as the show ends in another couple of weeks. That way I’ll be out of there before I’m showing. I’m going away until near the time.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, you can’t go away. That’s like you’re ashamed, or you’ve got something to hide . . . That’s what happened in Ireland years ago. You can’t.’ Debbie was angry.
‘It’s what I want, honestly. I’ve spent weeks thinking about it.’
‘Lindsay, you’ve got to tell him.’
‘No. He made it clear that he doesn’t want anything to do with me, so I’m doing this my way. I’m not going to risk bumping into him, if you’ll pardon the pun. I’ve got to think about the future, so I’m going to do a three-month cookery course, which would give me a professional qualification, in case I can’t manage the TV thing afterwards. It’s something I’ve always said I’d do anyway, something I love, and something I could do from home if I had to. Then, when it’s . . . all over, I can see how I’m fixed. I told my boss today and he’s agreed to release me and not tell anyone the reason. I guess I’ll have to forego my maternity leave but it’s more important to me that no one knows. I’m only going to tell my family and you two.’
They stayed until she almost fell over with tiredness, trying to make her see sense, as Debbie put it, but she was adamant that this was what she wanted.
‘I don’t want anyone’s sympathy, least of all his. But I can’t get through this without you two and I’m really sorry if I spoiled the night.’
‘Hey, we’re going to be aunties, how bad can that be?’ Debbie grinned and hugged her. But she didn’t dance or sing.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
TELLING HER MOTHER was less easy. She refused to believe it at first and then insisted that Chris would have to ‘face up to it’. Lindsay began to worry that she would try and make contact with him herself, which was just the sort of thing she would do, so she had to threaten drastic action if her mother interfered. She had asked her sister to call round later and when she told her Anne was a great ally, just as Lindsay knew she would be.
It’s funny how families always rally round in the end, Lindsay thought, as they cried and hugged her.
‘This isn’t what I’d planned for my baby sister, but if it’s what you want, we’ll help all we can. Won’t we, Mum?’
‘Yes of course, but I don’t agree with it. Just because he’s famous—’
‘It’s got nothing to do with that. The relationship was over long before I discovered this and I don’t want him involved. Please, Mum, you’ve got to let me do this my way.’
‘But he has a right to know . . .’ She made one last-ditch attempt to have a famous son-in-law, but had reckoned without Lindsay’s determination.
They drank pots of tea, as the Irish always do in times of crisis, and cried lots and laughed a little but in the end Lindsay knew it was going to be OK and she went home feeling a bit better.
Colin telephoned. ‘Well?’
‘Well what, Mister?’
‘How’s my girl?’
‘Bigger.’ But she wasn’t really. Not yet, anyway. ‘I told my mother and sister tonight.’
‘I’d say that was a laugh.’
‘Yeah, but it was all right in the end.’
‘Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine, how’s the movie going?’
‘Slow, but I’m hoping to get home for a few days in a couple of weeks, so keep some time free for me.’
‘Well, my social calendar is quite full at the moment, besides I might be too fat by then to be described in the papers as a model type, and that would really upset me.’
‘Fuck them, we’re going out on the town if I have to drag you by the hair.’
‘I give in.’
‘Lindsay, I’m glad you made the decision you did. It’ll be all right, I promise.’
‘It’d better be, otherwise I’ll name you as the father and force you into a joint custody arrangement.’
He laughed and they talked and it brought them closer. She liked having him in her life and the worst was over, she kidded herself.
The following week was hectic. Tom Watts looked pale and drawn and his form was filthy. Lindsay got tired and tetchy a couple of times, but in the end the show went well and the ratings were good.
The team were ticking off the days, three more heavy weeks, three more gruelling Saturdays and then a lifetime of freedom, or at least that was how it felt. Months of working weekends, late nights and fighting for guests were beginning to take their toll. Alan was still in hospital and they seemed determined to keep him there this time, which suited Lindsay in a funny way, although she wished him well and dropped in to see him every few days, in spite of his protests. They had become friends. He was a great listener and she moaned about everyone, especially Kate, who seemed determined not to pull her weight on the show, but he made her see the funny side and she suspected he liked being involved.
Lindsay decided to treat her pregnancy – although she didn’t call it that – as just another project to be got through and she was doing her best to be healthy, had started as soon as she’d made a decision to go ahead with it. She was sleeping well, going for long walks each day, eating masses of fruit and vegetables and drinking litres of water and having the very odd glass of wine in order to stay sane. It was slowly paying off and she felt
better than she had in ages, with lots of energy, although she found she was getting tired in the evenings. The girls were like two mother hens and fussed over her constantly.
‘Jesus, you look great, I’d almost risk it myself if I thought I’d have that glow,’ Debbie teased her one evening when she called unexpectedly, as one or other of them did almost every night.
Lindsay’s life took on a nondescript pattern and it suited her mood. She didn’t allow herself any negative emotions and took each day as it came, rising early into the fresh spring mornings, working hard, exercising, eating well and going to bed with a book for company at nine o’clock most nights. She refused even to consider what the future had in store for her.
This week’s show was looking good and everything was going according to plan until Thursday evening, when she got a message asking her if she could attend a meeting in Jonathan Myers’ office immediately.
‘Sure, give me ten minutes,’ she told his secretary and went to redo her make-up and fix her hair, conscious that Jonathan was the only one who knew about her. She wanted to make sure he didn’t think she’d gone to seed. She was glad she’d worn one of her new suits, bought in New York. The jacket was soft and unstructured and flattered her tummy. A soft, pale-grey top, with thin slotted ribbon peeped out from underneath and she felt sexy and voluptuous for the first time in ages as she made her way to his office.
Thank God I’m having a good day, she thought, remembering her last visit.
‘Go straight in, they’re expecting you,’ his secretary smiled and she checked to make sure her jacket was closed before knocking and entering, wondering who ‘they’ were. She saw he was deep in conversation with someone and recognized the profile immediately, even before Chris stood and turned to face her. She stopped dead and waited for Jonathan, who was striding to meet her.
‘Lindsay, sorry for the short notice but I’m afraid we have a crisis.’
He knows about us, was her first thought. She must have looked like a mad woman as she kept her eyes firmly fixed to his face. Oh my God, he’s going to try and force me to tell him.
Her chest was tight and her lungs were bursting but she had a ludicrous grin pasted to her face and it didn’t seem to want to go anywhere.
‘I’m afraid Tom Watts has had a heart attack.’
‘Sorry?’ She knew she was still smiling because her cheeks were beginning to hurt.
‘It happened this morning. He’s in a private clinic and we have to decide what we’re going to do about the show and how to break it to the media.’
‘I don’t understand, is he OK?’ She raised her hand to her mouth in an attempt to literally wipe the smile away and stared at Chris, waiting for him to speak. She hadn’t a clue what was going on and was still waiting for the bombshell that would mean the start of something, or maybe the end of everything.
‘I’m sorry, sit down and I’ll explain, this is Chris Keating.’
She didn’t look at him. ‘Yes, we’ve met.’ Jonathan didn’t seem to notice her discomfort.
‘Tom collapsed at home at lunchtime. He’s in intensive care but he’s going to be fine. We got word immediately, so we had an emergency meeting of the editorial board to decide what to do, especially in relation to the show this week. We thought of cancelling but with the ratings so up and down we decided that the station needed the impact of a couple of strong programmes as we came to the end of the season. So, we asked Chris if he would present the show till the end of the run. He wanted a few hours to think about it but he just called in to say he’d do it so I needed to get you involved fast.’
‘I see.’ She didn’t, but anything was OK as long as it wasn’t what she thought.
‘I need your opinion. It’s Thursday night. How much is involved this week? What do you think? Should we consider cancelling or can we pull it off?’
Cancel, she wanted to scream, anything to buy her time. But she wouldn’t give Chris the satisfaction.
‘It’s not a complicated show, all of the work has already been done. I agree with you that we need the continuity of a couple of strong programmes till the end of the run. If Chris is happy to take it on I propose we give it a try.’
Fuck you, I bet that’s not what you expected to hear: she didn’t even glance in his direction.
‘I hoped you’d say that. I’ve already explained to Chris that you’re taking over from Alan at the moment and that I’m acting as Executive Producer. He’s happy to work on that basis.’
Big of him, she wanted to say. ‘Great,’ was what came out.
‘Well, what about the three of us grabbing a bite to eat and going through the running order?’ Jonathan was smiling at them both, relieved. This ludicrously horrendous idea was more than she could handle at that very moment.
‘Actually I have a lot of work still to do this evening,’ she lied, with the silly grin back in place. ‘Why don’t I print off a couple of copies of the running order and each of the briefs, run through them quickly here and then leave the two of you to discuss it over dinner, while I work on making sure everything is up to date for Chris in the morning.’ Paul once told her that she had a hundred different smiles and she had used every one of them up this evening.
‘That’s fine by me.’ Chris spoke for the first time.
‘Great, back in a mo.’ She escaped and had to stop herself slithering down the back of his door, so relieved was she to be out.
By the time she returned fifteen minutes later with a file under her arm, she was much calmer, at least on the outside.
They talked through the show quickly and Chris seemed to have an immediate grasp of what it was about.
‘This all looks very thorough, I’d like to spend the evening going through it and then perhaps we could discuss it.’ He spoke as if he’d never met her before, but in terms of carrying off the Oscar for the coolest performance tonight, she knew that he knew she’d won hands down and it gave her a great deal of stupid satisfaction.
‘Yes of course. Here are all my numbers. Please call me if you need any clarification, otherwise I propose we meet in the morning.’
‘What time suits you?’
‘As early as you like.’
‘Nine o’clock OK?’
‘I was going to suggest eight. Is that too early for you?’
‘No. That’s fine.’
‘Good, do you know where our office is?’
‘I’ll find it.’
‘Great, see you then. I’m looking forward to working with you.’
‘Me too.’
It wasn’t sarcastic, it wasn’t malicious, it was quite simply nothing and nothing was all she was able for right at this minute.
She was out of the building, nearly out of the country, in record time and she closed her front door twenty minutes later and poured herself a glass of red wine, baby or no baby.
Chapter Forty
SHE WAS IN the office by seven-fifteen next morning, looking businesslike in a grey, pinstripe suit, hair tied back, minimum make-up. She even wore her glasses, which she hardly ever used, to give her something to hide behind. Just after eight Chris walked in, dressed in black jeans and a chunky dark-grey sweater, straight out of the shower. He always looked healthy, always seemed to have a tan and this morning it irritated her no end.
‘Hi.’ It was an uneasy greeting.
‘Hi. Irene from the Press Office has just been on. We have a press conference at eleven. I said I’d check to make sure it suited you, I didn’t want to give out your mobile number without your permission.’
‘That’s fine and thanks, I’d rather not give out my mobile number, if that’s OK. As long as you have it that’s all that’s important.’
It was very important when you gave it to me the first time. She didn’t say it but it hurt all over again and she wondered once more how he’d managed to escape so easily.
‘Christ, I’ve just remembered, I’ve nothing to wear, I just threw these on because I thought we were in the office all
day.’
‘That’s not a problem, wardrobe are already on the case. They have your measurements on file and they’ve arranged for a stack of clothes to be delivered here in the next hour or two. They want to meet us at ten, to decide on what you’re wearing tomorrow night and I’m sure you can borrow something for the conference.’
‘Great, thanks.’
‘Stills want some new photos of you to release to the Sundays, so maybe you could ring them and arrange to have them taken immediately afterwards.’ She wrote the contact number on a piece of paper and handed it to him.
‘Would you like to talk through the show now?’
‘Sure, have you had breakfast?’
‘Yes, thanks.’ She pulled out another of her ready-made smiles, a chilly ‘I’d sooner starve’ type grin.
‘Oh, right, well maybe I’ll just grab a coffee before we start. Can I bring you back anything?’
‘No, I’m fine. I’ll call the Press Office while you’re gone.’
She watched him go and vowed to be the best producer he’d ever worked with, ever, ever, ever.
But you’re not getting even one little bit of me personally, she thought savagely, you had your chance.
By the time he returned the phones were hopping, news was leaking out that there was a change of presenter and everyone wanted to know what was up. Lindsay had left messages for all the team from home the previous evening, calling a meeting for nine-thirty this morning and asking people to be in as early as possible, so everyone was alerted and by eight forty-five the office was buzzing. Lindsay and Chris were working quietly at Tom’s desk and as soon as everyone was in, she called a quick meeting to explain what had happened and introduce Chris. Most of them hadn’t met him before, as the serious hacks in Current Affairs, where he’d done most of his work up to now, rarely came into contact with the frivolous world of Entertainment TV.
Everyone was shocked and surprised at the news about Tom and rallied round immediately, offering to work late, come in early next day, whatever was needed. A number of them were secretly chuffed that Chris Keating was taking over. He was younger and seemed to have a different attitude and appeared less arrogant, so far. There was also something nice about him, he grinned a lot and clearly had no ego whatsoever, given the number of times he put himself down. And he had grasped the show very quickly, Lindsay thought, judging by the questions he was now asking.
