After the Break. Penny SmithЧитать онлайн книгу.
for Wolf Days Productions, if you recall’
‘Of course. Do you keep in touch with him?’
‘You are joking? He was the one who wanted Keera in and me out, if you remember!’
‘Oops. Sorry. I plead breakfast-television lag.’
‘Talking of jet lag…did you know that it’s worse if you travel west to east because it’s easier to stay up late than get up earlier? And that in hamsters Viagra improved recovery by fifty per cent?’
‘Where do you get all this bollocks from?’
‘Wikipedia. Amazing what you find to do with your time when there’s lots of it. Strange thing, time. When you’re young birthdays take for ever and ever to come round. And now I’m…erm…thirty-six,’ she said carefully, both of them nodding at the lie, I feel like I’m on a time-travelling escalator. It’s like being at Yo Sushi! with them rushing towards you on the conveyor belt before you’re even done with the first one. My mum used to tell me I’d get to the point where I wouldn’t celebrate birthdays. I thought she was absolutely bonkers. Mad as a box of frogs. Off her chuff.’
‘Oh, those simple days, when all you had to worry about was whether you were going to get picked for the football team. And whether you were going to have sex with Jackie Fenter.’
‘Attractive, was she?’
‘No. Available.’ He cut another slice of cheese.
‘Whoops. My glass appears to be empty again. It requires more units,’ she observed.
‘Help yourself. My arm’s getting repetitive strain injury.’
She reached for the bottle. ‘You were telling me about Rod Fallón. The man with the charisma of plankton.’
‘Dull. Dull. Duller than any dishcloth. As dull as a smudge. I know they wanted to make sure we didn’t get another Mike, but he’s like a wet blanket, extinguishing any spark. Manages to render an exciting story dreary within a minute. And, as I predicted, Keera walks all over him. She’s become a monster.’
Katie loved hearing Keera bad-mouthed. ‘What’s she been doing?’ she said, eyes sparkling. She put her elbows on the table and leaned forward for the full gory details.
Richard smiled at her obvious relish. ‘You are so bad,’ he admonished her. ‘However. You know I told you she’d insisted it was written into her contract that she was the main presenter?’
Katie nodded.
‘So she nabs whichever interview she wants. Talks all over him. And she’s taken to wilfully mishearing him because she thinks it’s funny Today she talked about a potato clock when he said he’d got up at eight o’clock. And she wouldn’t shut up. One interview had to be slashed to a minute and a half because she overran so much. Oh, and–you’re not going to believe this–Rod was taken out a fortnight ago by Derek in Wardrobe, to brighten him up.’
‘Fantastic. I wondered why he was beginning to look like a fruit salad.’
‘And then they waste all this money by dragging him to Savile Row. I ask you.’
‘Must have cost them a fortune.’
‘And he’s not happy.’
‘Bless.’
‘And neither is Keera. She says it makes her look like she’s a backing singer.’
‘Bless.’
‘Exactly We’ve stopped it now, because it’s boring, but we started having a verbal sweepstake on what fruit he’d resemble next.’
She looked at the big clock on the wall. ‘How long have we got before we get swamped by children?’
‘I’ll give Louise a ring,’ he said, and stood up to get his mobile phone out of his pocket. He had a short conversation/Half an hour,’ he announced.
‘So drink up. And tell me more.’
He shook his head. ‘You’re an addict. OK. Another Keera story, then. She was telling us she’d gone to see Swan Lake. She’s been trying to up her cultural quotient. So she said to Heather, “And then the owl died at the end.’”
Katie laughed. ‘She did not!’
‘She did. And Heather said, “Are you sure you don’t mean the black swan?” Keera looked at her in that way that you know the penny’s suddenly dropped, and said, “Whatever.” I tell you, it was one of the funniest things. It’s a shame she didn’t say it on air.’
‘Talking of daft things to say,’ said Katie, ‘did I tell you about my appearance on Saturday Morning Kitchen, or whatever it’s called? Afterwards, they asked me if I could do a few random statements, like what’s my favourite ring tone or whatever. So I said yes. And they asked me about my favourite snack to have in front of the telly. I said, “Are you rolling?” They said yes. So I said, “My favourite snack to eat in front of the television is cock porn. Sorry. Did I just say cock porn? Can I do that again?” So they said yes and I started again. “My favourite snack to eat in front of the television is cock porn. Did I say cock porn again? I did? I mean popcorn. Obviously.” And I had to do it three times. Three times. I hadn’t even got the excuse that I was knackered from the early mornings.’
As Katie and Richard broached their second bottle–and the children arrived back to find them giggling uncontrollably at the kitchen table–Dee, the weather presenter, was getting ready to have a bath…and was about to make a splash both literally and figuratively. Later, she blamed it on the tiredness that afflicts all breakfast-television presenters.
She had taken the tube to Highbury and Islington, then hoofed it to Oliver’s house. Feeling hot and sweaty, she had given him a big kiss and belted upstairs to go and wash her feet. With hindsight, she should have had a shower. But at the time it had seemed eminently sensible to stick them in the bath. After all, it was only her feet that needed a freshen-up after running about in thick nylon tights. She couldn’t explain how it had happened. She had washed one foot in the high, clawed-foot bath, then lifted the other and fallen backwards. Scrabbling to keep her balance, one foot had gone into the loo, beside the bath, and then there was a funny sound as it went round the Liberia. Boy, did it hurt! She yelped, tears came into her eyes and she collapsed onto the floor.
Oliver, while trying to be comforting, couldn’t help laughing. ‘What an idiot,’ he said, gently cradling the ankle in his hands. ‘You know what? I think you’ve broken it.’
And she had.
He had driven her to A and E, where she had been put in plaster and sent home with painkillers. She phoned the television station from the car to warn them that she was going to be on crutches for a bit.
The next morning in the makeup department, Dee was explaining what had happened. ‘I can’t believe how stupid it all was. You couldn’t make it up. One minute I’m washing my feet, the next I’m upside-down with one of them stuck in the toilet. I would have laughed if it hadn’t been so painful. What a thoroughly thick thing to do. Thicker than an Aran sweater.’
‘Ah. They’re lovely and warm, though,’ said Vanda, the makeup artist. ‘Just like you,’ she said, cloyingly.
‘Creep,’ laughed Heather, who had come in to tell Dee that there was a problem with her weather graphics.
‘Whereas you,’ said Vanda, with a sidelong look at Heather, whom she liked, ‘are like a sweater from a pound shop. Not very warm at all’
‘And an odd shape,’ added Heather. ‘Or maybe a jumper made out of different yarns. Mixed up, confused and liable to fall apart on a cold wash!’
They all laughed as Keera floated in. It was her new way of walking. She had been watching an Audrey Hepburn film and decided that languid was the new black.
‘Something funny?’