Flying Under Bridges (24 page)

‘Inge?’

‘Yes?’

‘Could
I ask you a favour?’

‘Yes.’

‘Please
don’t say the coffee was my fault. I know it’s a lot to ask but I’m new and—’

‘It’s
fine.’

Jenny
looked as if she were about to cry. ‘Thank you. Everyone said what a nice
person you are but I had no idea. I thought it was just, you know.., publicity.
Thank you.’

Inge had
an English woman’s stomach for emotion and could have jumped for joy when the
lift doors opened and released them from the confines of their almost intimate
moment. The two women headed down the corridor towards Paul’s office. When they
reached the door, Jenny reached out one of her chubby hands and grabbed hold of
Inge’s arm.

‘Inge,
this morning has made me realise something,’ she said. Inge couldn’t possibly
think what it could be. Perhaps the need for a change of career? Perhaps a
thunderbolt that what she was doing for a living was ridiculous? Perhaps the
notion that one fewer visit to the cake shop would pay off? Jenny nodded her
head confidently. ‘I can see I’m going to have to be prepared for emergencies.
What is your blood group?’

The
meeting with Paul went well. Inge apologised for her appearance and her own
stupidity in spilling coffee down her suit. Paul was most sympathetic and most
effusive. He and Nick from development were sure that
Don’t Even
Go
There!
was going to be huge. A woman from the press office joined them and said
she knew it was going to be huge. She knew this because all the focus groups
said it was going to be huge. Paul had statistics from a questionnaire
completed in the streets of Swindon that said it was going to be huge. Ever
aware that size does matter to boys, Inge was never the less more interested in
being clear what the show was about.

‘It’s a
documentary, right?’

Nick
from development shook his head. ‘I don’t really like to call it that,’ he
muttered. ‘I think we need to be cutting edge.’

Paul
soothed his way into the conversation. ‘It’s very exciting, Inge. It’s going to
be a doco-game show. All the hidden camera technique of Big Brother — you know,
people being watched constantly and yet they’re taking part in a game show. It’s
very exciting. It’s going to be huge.’

Inge
nodded and smiled. ‘So members of the public train for a sporting event of
their dreams and we watch…’

Nick
stood up and started pacing. ‘We’re nowhere with this. Why are we nowhere with
this?’

Paul raised
an eyebrow. ‘Jenny? Has Inge not had the proposal? Where is the proposal?’

Jenny
paled and began to murmur, ‘Oh God, I knew there was something. I got the
coffee but…’ Jenny rummaged in her large shoulder bag and removed a document
with a laminated cover. She handed it to Inge. Meanwhile, Paul moved to sit on
the edge of his desk. He leant over, adjusted his balls to the move and made a
small note on a desk pad. Then he looked up and smiled.

‘No
matter. I think it was Bill Cotton who once said to me that the best television
ideas are the simple ones and this is so simple. We take three famous sporting
celebrities who have children. They all swap children and train the other
person’s child to compete in a sporting event. We make a documentary about the
training, which we show while you ask the kids questions about what happened.
You know, get that cute kid stuff and then the final is the actual competition.
Doco-game show.’

Inge
took in the idea slowly. At least it was to do with sport. At least it was
something she vaguely knew about. ‘And what sports people have you got?’

Paul
looked to Nick who looked to the press officer who looked up from her notepad. ‘We’re
just checking appropriate profiles now. The market research people. .

The
meeting broke up with Inge feeling none the wiser about what was happening or
when. She had been making television for twenty years. She had made some good
television. Now she felt they were all just making television for the sake of
it. Because that was what they all did for a living and not because it held any
actual value. That perhaps her greatest contribution would be to encourage
people out into the sports field because there was nothing to watch on the TV.

The
press officer stopped Inge on her way out. Inge felt her stomach tighten.

‘We’ll
be lining up some publicity for you, Inge.’ The woman flicked through her
notepad. Through the door Inge could hear Paul on the phone.

‘No, it’s
fine, Barry. She’s fine. I’m just a little worried. I think something’s
happened. She’s letting herself go. You should have seen the state of what she
was wearing today.’

The
press woman found what she was looking for. ‘Obviously we’ve been inundated
with requests. You are very popular.’ The officer sighed as if she couldn’t
imagine anything more annoying.

‘I want
to try to get an angle. Do something a bit different. The
Mail
are
running a nice thing about single career women. It’s called
Why I Never
Married
and all you have to do is a quick photo and an interview about…’

Inge
didn’t hear any more. She left the building in a daze. She drove home in a
daze. When she got in, Kate was playing chess in the conservatory with Patrick.
The day’s post was piled high on the kitchen table. Much of it had been sent on
from the BBC.

Dear Miss Holbrook,

I am
writing to you about my four-year-old daughter Imelda who recently died of a
brain tumour. My wife and I are determined to make her short life a valuable
one so we are going to start a hospice for children called Imelda’s Place. We
know that you will appreciate how much this is needed. Your warm nature shows
us that you would be just the person to act as patron of Imelda’s Place and…

Dear Inge,

I am
your biggest fan. Is there any chance of a photo?

Of
course what I’d actually like is any underwear you wore during one of your
races. Just kidding! Are you ever in Wolverhampton? Only I’d be happy to let
you buy me lunch…

Dear Inge Holbrook,

In
an otherwise enjoyable programme about the history of Wimbledon, I was
appalled to hear you remark that mixed doubles has never had the same fan base
as other aspects of the game. For thirty years I have run a magazine entirely
devoted to…

Dear Miss Halbrook,

My
wife and I are big fans. This year I am taking on the captaincy of the West
Wittering Golf and Social Club and we would love you to come and speak at the
annual captain’s dinner. Obviously we can’t afford to pay you but we can
promise you a delightful evening…

Dear Inge,

Do
you have skin cancer? No? Then you’re lucky but here are some photos of kids
who are not. You could help. Give your time or money and one of these kids might
just live a little bit.

There
were the letters and there were the bills. Inge had got used to earning a lot
over the years and she had never been careful with money. Lately she had been
buying Kate all sorts of treats and for once she was noticing how high her
credit card bills were. She had to work and for the first time she realised she
no longer wanted to. She didn’t want to do anything. Inge had spent a career
trying to please. Being nice, being ‘fun’, being friendly and it was enough.
She couldn’t do it any more. From her earliest days she had carried her
country’s hope on her shoulders when she ran. Now people still turned to her
but she couldn’t save the world. She couldn’t save anybody. The pile of post
sat looking at her. Inge reached into her handbag for her cheque book. Caught
up in her leather wallet was the leaflet Pe Pe had given her at the party. Inge
sat and looked at it. This was what the world was reduced to. Pamphlets,
leaflets that could secure your home, damp-proof your walls, make you fit/thin,
check your guttering, bring God straight to your door and… make you smile.

Do you frown all the
time? Are you frowning while you read this? Wouldn’t it be fabulous to be one
of those people who smiles their way through life? Now you can be and you can
do it without discovering the secrets of eternal happiness. No, it’s not a
visit to a Tibetan guru but simple cosmetic surgery.

So much
for Pe Pe’s self-help to heaven and happiness. Her mush was held up by glue and
the skill of a man with a scalpel. Inge wandered out to the conservatory where
she could hear Kate and Patrick chatting. Kate had her earnest voice on. She
rarely talked intently with anyone except Inge and Inge was surprised.

‘I don’t
know, but there’s plenty of time for you,’ she said.

Inge
stood in the doorway. ‘Tea for anybody?’

Patrick
looked up from the chessboard and grinned at her. He was a handsome fellow. ‘I’d
love a coke,’ he said.

‘Of course
you would.’ Kate reached out and tousled his hair. ‘You must be sweating from
all that gardening.’

Patrick
pulled back laughing. ‘Hey! You’re the one who keeps wanting a rematch.’

‘That’s
because I’m the one who keeps losing.’ Kate sighed as she carefully laid her
black queen on its side.

Inge
fetched them all a drink and they sat in the garden, watching the sun go down.
Inge had rarely seen Kate so relaxed. The boy was good for her and she was
glad.

‘Who
taught you to play chess, Patrick?’ Inge asked. ‘My dad. He says it’s a game
for kings.’

Kate
snorted. ‘Did he not mention gardening boys then?’ ‘You’re just a bad loser,’
grinned Patrick. ‘I’ve told you, you don’t attack enough. You just respond. You
have to plan ahead or you won’t win.’

Chapter
Fifteen

The morning after Eve’s
mother moved in, Adam fitted a burglar-proof gate to the front door. It came
from a shop that stocked specialist gates and safes for the paranoid
suburbanite. Stalwart Security — Safe As Houses. As far as Eve was concerned
all it meant was that now she had to unlock two things to get in. The focus of
Adam’s election campaign on safety in Edenford was translating itself into a
very personal matter. When not out knocking on doors to secure votes, Adam was
busy making sure his entire house was attack-proof. Sometimes Eve found it
almost impossible to get into her own home. She suspected that Adam would have
quite liked it if someone had tried to burgle them as a test. He had scrapped
the Neighbourhood Watch stickers that had been on the hall window in case it
deterred potential villains. Eve watched him work. Screwing and fitting.

‘I’m
securing our house as an example,’ he declared, while Shirley Bassey warbled
from a cassette player on the patio. ‘Been talking to the boss down at Stalwart
Security. He’s very impressed by my campaign — helping to make Edenford safe.’

‘Mmm,’
Eve said, heading up the path. ‘I thought it was safe.’

‘The
bus station,’ Adam admonished his wife. ‘Just remember what happened at the bus
station. Anyway, Stalwart think I might be useful to them.’

‘How’s
that?’ Eve felt fairly sure people from a security firm could secure their own
places.

‘Advisory
capacity. Talk to people about the need for security. What products are available.
There are a lot of women living on their own, you know.’

‘A
salesman then?’

‘No,
Eve, a security adviser.’

‘Oh. Right.’

Adam
shut the new gate. It gave a loud click like a sound effect from
Prisoner
Cell Block H.
Adam pushed his weight against it. ‘Edenford could become a
model for the whole country. A safe place for parents and children. A real
place for the family.’

There
was a Safeway box on the front step with a dead hedgehog in it. One of the
neighbours had left it in the night. Eve sent a message up to the woods via one
of her dog-walking neighbours. Tom arrived on foot to get the box. He kissed
his mother as she got in the car and he headed up the path.

‘What
do you think of the new gate, Tom?’ Adam asked his son rather desperately.

Tom
looked at the collection of steel bars. ‘You’ve crushed the hydrangea,’ he
said, pointing to where the new gate post had been driven into the ground. The
plant was split in two.

Adam
laughed. ‘Don’t you worry about that. We can always get a new hydrangea but we
can’t replace your mother!’

Tom
shook his head. ‘We’re in trouble. We’re all in trouble.’

Adam
seemed thrilled with this. ‘Exactly! That’s why we need to protect ourselves.’

Tom
pointed his finger at his father. ‘The people of the past two hundred years
have pursued technological growth and personal satisfaction to such an extent
that thousands of other life forms have been destroyed. We have done
irreversible damage to the soil, the rivers, the lakes, the oceans and the
atmosphere. We are thieves who have stolen the means of livelihood from future
generations just to increase our own comfort and pleasure.’