by Harry Verity
Back in the studio, Violet gave her assessment.
‘There’s no denying it was a slick performance, but this wasn’t.’ She pulled out the morning’s copy of The Lion. The interview Michael had given was not in any way sympathetic. More to the point, it wasn’t an interview at all, they’d simply extracted two sentences as a quote for their story that the show was apparently ‘on the verge of collapse’.
‘What about the other papers?’
‘They haven’t written anything – yet – but don’t expect to go home any time before eight, I’m surprised they’re not already on the phone. I told Michael and Liv to stick around at the conference and help as much as they could. It’s not only about the papers, I want him on all the breakfast shows tomorrow and, in the afternoon, I want a film crew out with him as he joins the search party.’
‘And what would you like me to do?’
‘Keep the show on the road and keep Braithwaite at bay. Make sure he doesn’t give any interviews, lock him in a cupboard if you have to but for God’s sake don’t let any journalist within fifteen metres of him.’
‘Right, thanks.’
‘Oh and, Violet, there’s one more thing I need to ask you… it’s just. Well, at the conference those police officers did say it was important to tell them anything we might know about Minnie’s disappearance. Don’t you think we should mention those girls I met at the factory? They seemed to imply that they knew where she was…’
Violet hesitated. ‘Can’t you hang on? One more day? If the press conference leads them to Minnie anyway and she decides to come home, of her own free will, then nobody has to be any of the wiser about the role the show played…’
He wondered what to do. One more day, he thought, but then again, one day could be the difference between life and death, between her coming home or…
In the end, Edward agreed, at least to Violet’s face.
He left work once again exhausted, fed up and frustrated by the constant moral conundrum he was presented with.
14
Even if Edward had somehow missed The Lion front page, rammed into his face by the commuters who were hemmed in beside him on the Tube carriage that morning, there was no avoiding Violet or indeed Mags who were both clutching copies, as Edward pushed open the door to the production gallery.
MISSING O’SHEA GIRL PHONES HOME:
‘I’m Alive And Want To Be Left Alone’
O’Shea in clear as girl leaves voicemail for Mum
Says she ran off when Mum refused to leave ‘abusive’ stepdad
Exclusive interview. A mother’s agony: ‘She’s alive but I’ve still lost my only daughter.’
‘Thank fuck for that,’ Mags said. As The Lion had indeed so eloquently put it, Minnie was alive and very much wanted to be left alone. Jo had gone too far, it seemed, in initially allowing her husband Stan to stay in the house and Minnie had walked off in anger, promising never to return whilst he remained in the house.
‘We should have phoned social services,’ Braithwaite said to Edward and Violet, despairingly, over coffee. ‘Had her put in foster care until her mother provided evidence that she could properly look after her daughter. We behaved irresponsibly by allowing her to come on the show.’
Violet did not look impressed.
The crazy week, however, wasn’t over yet. Now that they had more time, Mags – supported by Violet – had decided to scrap some of the follow-ups for the next week and replace them with actual shows. This meant spending the next two days scrambling around for good stories.
Violet had bartered with Mags and they had agreed on replacing just two of the week’s episodes with new material and, by the Friday recordings, they finally had a week’s worth of shows. The first girl had had breast enhancements funded by state healthcare. Michael had shredded her to bits of course while Liv had tried to understand her motives. The woman had – in due fashion – ran off the stage.
Next up were two brothers who’d apparently turned their lives around because of the O’Shea Show.
Violet took them through to the green room while Edward headed up to the gallery, taking his seat beside Braithwaite. The studio lights came up and the audience filed in.
Since she’d not been on the original shows it was felt Liv’s presence on the first story would be redundant so Edward grabbed her a quick coffee while the techies set up.
When he returned from the coffee shop, the recording was about to start.
‘My next guests appeared on the show three years ago with their mother,’ Michael began. ‘Luke and Kyle came to hear the truth about who had stolen their mother’s jewellery and over a thousand pounds in cash. We put our detective on the case and live on stage we revealed how we’d tracked down the jewellery to a pawn shop and trawled through hours of their CCTV: despite their innocent pleas both Luke and Kyle, ladies and gentlemen, were seen quite clearly handing over the jewellery. Take a look, guys, at one extraordinary show.’
The techie next to Edward pressed a few buttons and the lights in the studio dimmed as the projector screens came alive with a montage of clips: interviews shot before their first appearance three years earlier, clips from the show itself and dramatic footage sent in by their mother of her chucking out their belongings from the family home after the first recording.
‘A family in turmoil. Let’s see where they are at three years later.’ And out onto the stage came the two brothers. They looked considerably different from how they had in the footage. They were thinner and their hair was more overgrown.
The audience didn’t know whether to applaud or boo.
The two sat down in chairs with a cheeky grin.
‘So, before we get on to what happened with your mother and what your relationship is like now, give us a bit of background on the journey from the day you were kicked out with your bags packed. I mean what was that like, it must have been awful?’
‘Yeah, to be honest,’ the smaller one said. ‘I remember being close to tears and thinking what the hell are we going to do. We literally had nowhere to go. It was…’
‘Rock bottom,’ the other one interjected, both of them surprisingly humbled.
‘Never seen anyone like that on stage before,’ the techie said to Edward. He agreed. Even Braithwaite looked slightly overwhelmed.
Edward turned back to Michael who’d asked the brothers where they’d gone on the day they were kicked out.
‘We wandered around for hours on our own. We honestly didn’t know where to go. The only thing we had was our phones so eventually we thought we’ve got to find a place to kip even if it’s just for one night. So we found the address of our nearest homeless shelter. It was about four miles away but it felt a lot further.’
‘We stayed there for about a week,’ Kyle, the younger brother said, ‘and it was rough. We were with drug addicts and awful people. So we decided we had to get jobs and we applied everywhere. Eventually, we started working as bin men and then applied for a council flat.’
The story continued and Edward watched as they described their climb out of poverty and into reasonably well-paid jobs as furniture salesman. Luke, the elder brother, was even tipped for promotion. Then came the key question and the one which, Edward suspected, might even cause grown men to cry in front of several million people: what was his relationship with his mother like?
‘I haven’t been back to that house since we were kicked out.’ Luke was welling up and Kyle went to console him.
‘Cry me a fucking river,’ said Mags.
‘I thought you liked it when they started blubbing, boss,’ one of the techies said.
‘Yeah, when they’re a fucking cancer patient and we’re palming them off with the latest Xbox to while away their last days, what kind of men are they?’
Edward could see that Braithwaite was riled. He too clearly found Mags’ comments distasteful, to say the least. But there was little either of them could do.
Back down on the stage Michael appeared a lot more sy
mpathetic.
‘So, guys, I guess this is really important, we do all we can when the show is over but at the end of the day if someone doesn’t want to talk then we can’t really make them. Let’s start with this, though, if there is anything you could say to your mum what would it be?’
‘That we’re so so sorry. We’re not trying to make excuses and all that but we were so young… we’ve learned so much in these past three years.’
‘You know we do all we can on this show to help people. We did try with your mother for several months after the first show ended and she didn’t want to speak to us. You know that was her decision but I’ve got news for you, look over at that screen over there.’ Michael pointed to the giant screen which slowly faded into a panel of glass and a tough-looking woman standing behind it. ‘Because we tried again. No one on this show knew what I was up to but I went round to your mum’s house personally and I begged her to speak to you and to try to find it in her heart to forgive you and, ladies and gentlemen, here she is: Anne-Marie is on the show.’
There was a stunned silence in the gallery.
Braithwaite was grinning. ‘The reunion was my idea.’
Edward nodded. It didn’t surprise him that Michael had taken credit for Braithwaite’s big idea but it did surprise him that Braithwaite had managed to keep it all under wraps.
Back in the studio, the mother said she was prepared to forgive her children and the three of them burst into tears. It was, all in all, an excellent result.
When the recording came to an end Edward and Violet stewed over the show. There was never a dull moment working on O’Shea, they concluded.
Edward felt like the week had been one long, never-ending day. He wanted some company. As Violet packed up her things, Edward hesitated slightly but then thought, screw it.
‘Drinks?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘Sorry, I’m knackered.’ She headed off down the gallery stairs.
‘Tomorrow then?’
But she didn’t seem to hear him and Edward was forced to make his own way out of the studios and to the street. But as he was beginning to despair at having once again to head back home and spend the night alone, his phone vibrated.
True to her word, his friend Cate had texted back and was inviting him to meet her at a restaurant near Millennium Bridge in an hour.
He sat down and she immediately asked how he was.
‘Fine,’ he lied, trying to forget about the show and the empty shell of a life he was leading or the emotional rollercoaster he continuously seemed to find himself on. But she wasn’t easily fooled. They ordered drinks and then she pounced.
‘Edward,’ she said, firmly, ‘I can see it in your eyes. The Michael O’Shea Show. What’s going on? I mean it can’t be worse than working on the newspapers, can it? At least you have more money.’
Working for newspapers was a tough and stressful gig but it was nothing compared to working on television. He wasn’t only reporting the news, he felt as if he was actively exploiting people, so much so that he had – at the very least contributed to – one vulnerable girl running away from home.
‘I can’t take it,’ he said, almost breaking down.
The server brought out the drinks and Edward unburdened himself. He told her everything. When he had finished Cate grabbed hold of his hand.
‘It is insane. Forget the money. You need to get out, as soon as possible.’
‘I know,’ he conceded, ‘I know.’
‘I think you should hand in your notice. Start looking for another job tomorrow. From what you’ve told me if you don’t get out soon then you might end up getting in some kind of trouble with the police. They’re asking you to do things you don’t feel comfortable with, it’s not worth it.’
Cate’s advice was logical. But it wasn’t as simple as that. Dropping out so soon after joining the team would hardly get him a good reference and he doubted he could find a new job very easily which may well mean having to move out of his flat.
‘I can’t leave yet.’
The server came over again and Edward ordered the steak.
‘I’ll keep an eye out for something, Edward,’ Cate said, ‘but I honestly think you need to get out now. Look at you… I can see the bags under your eyes, the greying hairs.’
‘Thanks for the compliment!’ he said, though the truth was that at that moment, Edward felt he was as close to a breakdown as it was possible to be. Nothing – not even the intoxicating smell of steak as it made its way through the crowds and to his table – could replenish the energy that the week had taken from him.
15
So a phone call was all it took. One voicemail message and this had all gone away, for now. No questions asked. The girl would be presumed safe. Getting her to record the message, to make out she was okay, had not been hard. It was obvious, of course, that they’d still want to find her, she was underage after all, they’d try to trace the call. But that was all part of the fun; the miles of travelling to find a suitable payphone, and the satisfaction that they would spend the next few weeks wasting their time searching an area that had nothing to do with her disappearance.
Alas, such trouble for a girl that was becoming a bore anyway. Soon new prey would be needed and, as it happened, a new batch of fresh, delicious meat was about to be delivered…
16
The big news on Monday morning was that the Jessica Butler story was back on the cards. Strangely, it had been Violet’s idea. Mags and Michael had briefed her that, that week, more than ever, they had to prove that the show had a purpose, that it did and could change the lives of their guests for the better. It was premature, Violet had said, but it would be the heartbreaking week. There would be celebrity specials with C-listers telling of their recovery from drugs and – another cheeky dig at The Lion – how certain downmarket newspapers had destroyed their lives. There was also going to be a special show about a nine-year-old with a brain tumour. They were going to shower him with presents and fund life-changing experimental surgery in America. Tears, Edward thought, remembering Mags’ comment, would be appropriate on this one. But the weeks’ worth of shows would start with tough love in the form of Jessica Butler.
‘I like it. I like it a lot,’ Michael said when Mags mooted the idea in front of him on Monday morning as he sipped coffee in the gallery, combing back his hair. ‘When I lead her to that taxi and I’ve told her straight: it’s either my way or the highway, it’s at that moment that people will finally get it, the naysayers will realise that they can criticise and moralise and cast judgement, but tough love, straight talking, honesty, these are the only tools that will help people to help themselves. That’s what I’m about, that’s why, despite all of the crap, I keep going…’
‘Fucking hell. Since when did we become the gospel channel?’ Mags said. Even Michael cracked a smile.
The meeting dispersed and Violet went back to working at the desk. Edward joined her.
‘I’ve got another meeting this afternoon,’ she said.
‘Oh?’
‘Nothing big. Just upstairs – the exec – wanting a debrief about last week. Anyway, the point is we need to go and see the Butlers and get them booked in otherwise we’re not going to keep on top of the schedule.’
‘So you want me to go on my own?’ Edward asked, slightly alarmed.
‘You’ve done enough visits to know how they go but – if you must – take Braithwaite with you. It could help sweeten them up if they have their doubts, but only if you think you can control him.’
‘I rather think my ears are burning!’ said a distinctive voice as he entered the gallery.
Violet gave a rare smirk.
‘I’ll leave you to it.’
Unlike so many of his colleagues, Edward understood why Braithwaite behaved like a thorn in the show’s side.
‘This really is one of those rare journeys where the train takes longer than driving,’ Braithwaite explained. He had offered to drive Edward to Barrington-St
oke and so they were pulling out of the garage. ‘It’s such a remote place, I should expect you would have to make a lot of changes and take a taxi at the other end if you’d gone by rail.’
‘Yes,’ Edward said. ‘The Butlers seem like a nice family though, don’t they?’
‘Yes, they are. They are friends of a friend, which is how they got hold of me. They rang me up to see if I could help get them on the show. Jessica does seem in rather a bad…’ he stumbled slightly, ‘well she needs our help. They’ve tried everything.’
‘I suppose that is what’s good about this show,’ though Edward knew he didn’t truly believe his own words, ‘it does do some good, it helps people solve their problems.’
‘Yes, I suppose so…’ Braithwaite said.
They pulled into Barrington-Stoke after a good hour and a half. Mr and Mrs Butler were on the driveway, watering their hanging baskets as Edward and Braithwaite approached.
‘Good morning,’ Mr Butler said, waving to them as Edward and Braithwaite got out of the car and headed inside.
‘Jessica is at school,’ Mrs Butler explained, leaving them alone in the lounge whilst she made tea in the kitchen, ‘but she’ll be back for her lunch break.’
‘We’ve agreed on that,’ Mr Butler added, taking a seat in the lounge. ‘We ask her to come home so we know she’s being fed.’
‘Have you ever caught her trying to make herself sick?’ Edward asked.
Braithwaite looked annoyed but Edward knew he couldn’t stop him doing his job.
