The Talk Show: the gripping thriller everyone is talking about

by Harry Verity

  The Friday recording came and the drug-addicted man went off to the clinic without a hitch, even after a gruelling session on stage, in which O’Shea called him a waste of space and a pathetic excuse for a human being, amongst many other things. And, as it turned out, neither man who had come for the results of the surveillance had been cheating: the private detectives had gone to extreme lengths to try to prove that they were, but it turned out both of them were simply paranoid.

  ‘I’m off,’ Violet announced, almost as soon as the recording came to an end. Edward couldn’t blame her. It had been a long week. As she marched off towards the gallery door, Edward wondered momentarily if he should ask her something. Would it have been such a crime to see if she wanted to come for a drink with him? In the end, he ran out of time.

  But he wasn’t planning on going straight home. He texted one of the only people he knew in the capital, outside of work: his friend Cate. She was two years older than him and had secured a job as a social media engagement officer for a prestigious city business. The two of them had been at sixth form college together, but he rarely got a chance to see her so he had rather hoped that they might get to see more of each other now that he was living in the City. Sadly, however, he was wrong. His phone vibrated and he knew that a response that quickly meant only one thing:

  Really sorry, Eddie, it said, snowed under here. Another time?

  Edward sighed, heading for the Tube, intending to reply when he got back to his flat. Predictably, the Tubes were packed and nobody so much as smiled at him; London was a lonely place, far more so than he’d ever anticipated. Back at his small one-bedroomed flat on the outskirts of the city, he got in, dumped his stuff and laid on his bed. He’d spent so little time here, that he still hadn’t figured out how to use half the appliances in his kitchen and he couldn’t be bothered with cooking anyway. So he lay in the darkness, falling asleep almost instantly, trying desperately to retain the optimism with which he had first come to the City and hoping that the weekend and the week that followed would not be quite as stressful.

  13

  Unfortunately, Edward’s life did not get any easier the following week, despite a relaxed weekend spent largely in bed. The only topic of discussion on Monday morning was Minnie. She had still not returned home.

  ‘Jo wants to hold a press conference and get the police involved,’ Violet said, closing her eyes momentarily and running her hands through her hair. ‘Braithwaite’s idea,’ she muttered, breaking the news of a heated conversation that she’d had with him.

  What on earth were they to do? Violet couldn’t seriously be suggesting they ignore Jo’s wishes and attempt to block a police investigation, just to uphold the reputation of the show?

  ‘She’s a missing girl, we were never going to be able to suppress this forever.’

  ‘That’s not how Michael or Mags will see it.’

  ‘So what do we do then?’ As he spoke, Edward knew Braithwaite was on his way over.

  Violet looked as if she was about to start tearing strips out of her own hair. ‘Minnie should be low on our list of priorities. We’ve got this week’s show to do and I’ve still got to book the resort for last week’s guests. I can’t deal with the press and Michael laying into me as well. If the police start an investigation it will be all over the front pages and if the show is found to have pushed Minnie too much, we’ll be hounded. You weren’t here before…’

  No, that was true, Edward hadn’t been at the show the last time but he’d sure read about it… Michael had allegedly wound up a guest so much that when it was revealed his brother had been having an affair with his wife, he flipped out, destroying the set, threatening the guests and breaking the brother’s nose. The police were waiting in the wings to charge the man at the end of the show and at the trial, Michael himself was called as a witness. Summing up, the judge condemned the show as a ‘morally bankrupt playground’ with a ‘producer who cared only for salacious gossip, titillation and public humiliation’. If the show didn’t change and start looking after its guests, the judge said, he’d have no hesitation in suggesting the police charge the channel’s executives with corporate negligence…

  ‘I’m sure there won’t be a court case,’ Edward said, though deep down he wasn’t quite so sure. ‘I mean, you can’t prove that the girl ran away as a direct result of the show. For all we know she could have gone home and fought with her mother or maybe she has a secret boyfriend she’s run off with.’

  Violet rolled her eyes.

  ‘You’re far too naïve for this business. It doesn’t matter what the courts think, if Minnie’s disappearance gets into the press they’ll savage the show. The channel will close it down, we’ll all be out of jobs.’

  Edward didn’t have time to respond. Braithwaite had just entered the room.

  ‘I’ve been to Minnie’s house again. Her mother is distraught. We still can’t find her.’

  ‘So you think involving the police is inevitable?’ Violet said.

  At that moment the gallery doors flew open. It was Mags.

  ‘DON’T TREAT ME LIKE A FUCKING IDIOT, BRAITHWAITE.’

  For a few moments Edward seriously thought she was going to deck Braithwaite. He crumpled, instantly, his head curving into his spine and his hands retracting inwards as if he was hugging himself.

  ‘I- I- I-’ Poor Braithwaite could barely get his words out.

  ‘I’ve just got off the phone to Chief Constable Gardner and do you know what he said? There’s a woman saying her daughter’s been missing for over a WEEK, a FUCKING WEEK, and do you know the last time she was seen? The day she went on this fucking show. WHAT THE FUCK do you think you are FUCKING playing at?’

  Edward and Violet could only look on in horror.

  ‘Now we know where the hell you’ve been all week, you were trying to stop her from going to the police weren’t you? Do you know how guilty that makes us look? Do you have any idea of the amount of shit we’re in? It looks as if the brat ran away because we didn’t do our job properly and then we tried to cover it up! And remind me who is responsible for aftercare?’

  ‘We were… trying to limit the damage.’

  Mags took no notice and pulled out her phone.

  ‘What are you…’ Braithwaite started.

  ‘It’ll be none of your fucking business what I’m doing when I have security march you out that door, along with all the shit you keep in that garage of yours.’

  His already pale face lost even more colour.

  ‘We’re going to need you in as soon as you can, looks like there’s a bit of a situation…’

  There was a pause: she was clearly on the phone to Michael O’Shea.

  ‘Yeah well… it’s got nothing to do with me I can assure you. Yeah, okay. Yes, see you soon.’

  ‘Michael’s on his way over: emergency meeting as soon as he gets here…’

  ‘But I thought you said I was…’ Braithwaite stumbled, having regained at least enough colour in his face to be able to speak.

  ‘Fuck off, Braithwaite,’ Mags said.

  Edward, with no idea how he’d gotten off so lightly, didn’t say a word to Violet who was also clearly expecting some verbal turbulence from Mags.

  Just twenty minutes later they were cramped into the gallery with Michael, Liv, Mags, and even two techies.

  ‘So… is someone going to tell me what’s going on?’ Michael snapped. Liv nodded. Violet, who had made a few phone calls of her own and gathered the facts in the twenty-minute gap, filled them in.

  ‘The police have been called. They are suggesting that Jo do an appeal for the press and that she makes as many TV appearances as she can, it’s scheduled for tomorrow at four. The newspapers will know by now.’

  Michael banged his fists on the table. ‘This is a joke, you know that, an absolute joke. If you’d been doing your job properly, we would not be in half as much shit.’

  Edward was outraged. Violet, however, remained cool, diplomatic and even apologetic. />
  ‘I understand that,’ she said, ‘however, we do think there is a solution.’ Edward had not heard her mention anything before. Was she making it up on the hoof?

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘You wouldn’t deny that the show was at fault and you’d make sure you went to go and see the family, to join the campaign for Minnie to come home safely.’

  ‘Admit we screwed up? We’d get slaughtered…’

  Violet seemed to have got through to Liv. ‘Being honest, admitting your mistakes, it’s in your philosophy. This could be a bold move, Michael, you could show the people you don’t just talk-the-talk, you practise exactly what you preach.’

  Michael nodded.

  ‘But how can I fit in all those interviews, my judging for Make Me a Star, my book signings and record the shows for next week?’ he asked.

  ‘We could scrap what we’ve got and run follow-ups,’ Violet said, ‘with just a voice-over and straight reruns or maybe tape something at the weekend when the furore has died down.’

  They decided that recording follow-ups that could be put together with an extra twenty minutes of Michael’s voice-over was the best way forward. It was a quick way of highlighting the shows successes; they would do a few features returning to previous guests. The idea of having Jessica Butler, the girl with the eating disorder, on had also been mooted. Getting an entire week’s worth of shows researched and recorded as well as trying to hold the press at bay would have been far too much of a challenge, even for Edward and Violet. This week would be manic as it was. And sure enough before the meeting in the gallery was even over, the phone rang.

  It was The Lion no less… they’d already caught wind of the press conference and were busy putting accusations about negligence to Edward. Edward knew how to respond even without asking: ‘Michael will be right over for a face-to-face interview,’ he assured the reporter though didn’t sound convinced and continued her line of questioning for another ten minutes. When she finally hung up, Edward leaped down the gallery stairs and to Michael’s dressing room. The door was already ajar. Braithwaite was inside poring over some notes with him, much to Michael’s delight.

  ‘The Lion want an interview, I said you’d be right over.’

  Michael looked vexed. ‘Fine,’ he said, ‘I swear I get more shit off these journalists than the nutters who send me messages on the internet.’ He pulled out his smartphone.

  Edward knew better than to engage with Michael when he was like this, other than to nod vaguely in sympathy with him. He waited for him to finish his coffee and then headed back to the gallery.

  None of the other papers or TV stations had caught up with what was happening but they would in time. So Edward and Violet leaped into action, organising the follow-up shows. The two of them barely even thought about what might make the best line-up: they simply scrolled down the list of previous guests, circling drug addicts that had been through intensive rehab, abusive relationships that the show had helped to defuse and cheaters who had reformed and managed to fix their relationship. They were going to take the time to highlight what a force for good the show could be.

  ‘They’ll jump at a chance to be on again,’ Violet explained, ‘and they won’t mind doing it at short notice. Most of them don’t have much going on in their lives and we’ll be providing the transport.’

  And, sure enough, as Violet rang round, nearly every guest responded with enthusiasm.

  ‘So I’m guessing we don’t really need to do research for these, if they’ve been on the show before.’

  All we need is an introduction from Michael and a voice-over explaining what has happened since last time, the rest is just archive footage from the previous shows. Anyway, I need you to book their train tickets and go and pick them up.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Here’s a list of what we need, all to arrive at Blackfriars station.’ Violet handed Edward a list of guests’ hometowns, none of them more than forty miles away. He bid her goodbye and headed out across the road to the station armed with the company debit card. When he finished he walked straight back but not to the studios. Asking at reception, he got directions to the mail room: a huge hub with a labyrinth of small cubby holes for various executives and presenters, and stacks of stationery, packages and envelopes for all occasions. Edward grabbed one of the smallest envelopes he could and began writing on the addresses of the guests.

  A tired-looking old man sat by the franking machine, surrounded by red postbags. Edward asked him to send the tickets by special delivery. He grunted, mumbling something about budget cuts, before telling Edward they’d be in the post by the end of the day.

  When he returned to the gallery it was to Braithwaite arguing with Violet.

  ‘If you think I’ve got time to go fact-checking, interviewing all of their family again then you’re sorely mistaken, Braithwaite. These are catch-up shows.’

  ‘But but– look, surely you realise that half the reason we’re in this situation is because we failed to do the proper checks. If we carry on–’

  ‘We’re in this situation because a girl, with a history of running away, has gone missing again. I haven’t got time for… ah, Edward, the tickets are in the post?’

  ‘Yeah, they should be with them tomorrow.’

  ‘Look, slow down, slow down, this is all too–’

  ‘Bernard,’ Violet said, calmly, ‘please can you leave us to it?’

  His enthusiasm suddenly evaporated and he stalked off down the gallery stairs.

  ‘That man,’ Violet whispered. ‘That bloody man.’

  The following day Violet left for Minnie’s school where the press conference was being held. She was going to coach Michael and Liv on what – or rather what not – to say to the reporters. Edward had been left at the studio to take charge of tracking down the footage from previous recordings. The editors had to order the tapes themselves and manually incorporate them into each episode. Violet had made a list of ten memorable guests she wanted to watch back before forming a shortlist. The trouble was, without an exact date Edward was having to sift through hours of footage.

  He sat back, slumped in his chair, pondering over his problem before he had an idea and loaded up the computer. He tapped the general premise of some of the episodes he was looking for into YouTube and smiled to himself. Somebody had helpfully uploaded every single recording as far back as three years earlier and in the description box had offered up as much information as they could, including airing dates. Some people really had too much time on their hands…

  As half ten approached – the time the press conference was due to air – Mags, Braithwaite and a few of the techies gathered into the empty studio below and Edward felt he should join them. The projector above the stage had been set up with a livestream to Michael’s press conference.

  ‘Who’s going to bring us some popcorn then, ’ey?’ said Mags.

  Edward did not find her at all amusing.

  Sure enough, at half past ten, the local news broadcaster cut away from his interview with a local MP and to the inside of an assembly hall. A table had been put up where Jo, two police officers and Michael himself sat. As the cameras panned around the audience, Edward noticed Violet at the corner, notepad in hand.

  Nearly every single seat in the room was filled.

  ‘We’d like to start by thanking you all for coming,’ one of the police officers said. ‘As you all know, we have arranged a press conference to discuss the disappearance of fifteen-year-old Minnie Jenkins. Minnie has a history of running away and at this stage we do not believe there is anything suspicious. We do not believe Minnie was abducted. We believe Minnie could be staying with friends; however, for obvious reasons, we would like her to return safely as soon as possible. We must stress to anyone watching who might have any information regarding her whereabouts, friends or otherwise, that neither yourselves nor Minnie will be in any trouble if she is returned. Even a phone call would be greatly appreciated to let us know that she’s okay. Th
ank you.’

  Now it was Jo’s turn to speak. She had composed herself quite well, considering the circumstances, though, of course, it was not the first time her daughter had run away.

  ‘I wanna say…’ As she spoke, Edward could tell that she’d had at least a couple of drinks. ‘I want my girl home, I want her home. Just me and her. I know I ain’t been the best mum but at the end of the day, I’m sorry. Please, Min, come home, please.’

  She stopped and Michael saw fit to intervene.

  ‘Guys, what’s happened really is terrible. Anyone who saw the show the other week will know that Minnie’s had a pretty tough time of it recently. Her mum, you know, she’s made some bad decisions. She married the wrong guy and she’ll be the first to admit that she’s got a bit of a drink problem. But we’ve been working with her to try to solve her issues and I think it’s really important that we say this – because of all the stuff you might read in the press about “oh she’s an unfit mother, we’re not surprised she ran away” and that we’re exploiting her – Jo loves that kid and she wants her back, as do we. No mother deserves to wake up every morning and have that feeling of uncertainty, of always wondering if their kid is dead or alive, so, please, if anyone knows anything about where she might be or if you’re watching, Minnie, please, love, give us a call. Even if it’s just to say you don’t want to have any contact with your mum anymore, we can help you with that but at least we’ll all know you’re safe. Thanks, guys.’

  ‘I think he’s single-handily saved us!’ Mags shouted. ‘Someone buy that man a drink!’

  The second of the police officers concluded the conference.

  ‘I would reiterate that anyone who knows anything about Minnie’s whereabouts should phone the number on the screen or head to the nearest police station. You can call anonymously. We do want to ensure that Minnie is safe.’

  As the conference came to an end, the words of the policeman struck a chord with Edward. He’d almost forgotten that he did indeed have some information about Minnie that may be of interest to the police; the conversation that he’d had with those girls in the ruined factory. They had implied that they knew where she was, that she was safe and simply didn’t want to be found. He needed to speak to the police, they might be able to track her down.