Prime Time (17 page)

Tracy, my minder, sat down opposite me. ‘Would you like another cup of tea?' she asked.

I shook my head, sipping some water and realising my hand was shaking. ‘I'm quite nervous now,' I said.

Tina smiled sympathetically. ‘You'll be fine once you're on – everyone says it goes really quickly.' The radio thingy on her belt crackled and she pulled it out and listened. ‘Got it.' She nodded at me. ‘Five minutes,' she said brightly.

After that it was a bit of a blur. I recalled following her to the doors into the studio and coming down the steps to applause, keeping my eyes fixed manically on the spot where I had to end up and my hands trembling so much that I thought I was going to chop one of my fingers off. But afterwards I could hardly remember anything else except the crunch of gristle on bone as Bruno went to kiss me and our noses collided.

‘Brilliant!' Back in the green room, Cal kissed me on both cheeks. ‘Time for a drink now!' He turned as Bob and Carol came through the door and collected their coats. Cal shook hands with them both warmly. ‘Enjoy it?'

‘Capital,' said Bob, while Carol, who looked as though she might be suffering from post-traumatic stress, smiled weakly.

‘Has Tracy told you your car's waiting?' Cal disappeared out of the room with them. ‘Thank you so much for coming,' I could hear him saying as they went off down the corridor. ‘We'll send you an email to let you know when it's been scheduled …'

A skinny bloke came in and got a bottle of mineral water out of the glass-fronted mini-bar. I remembered someone introducing us earlier – Lenny, was it? He was lighting or sound or something. He had long, brown hair pushed back into a pony tail and a tight black T shirt and combat pants. ‘Hi again,' he drawled, flopping down opposite me. ‘Have a good time?'

‘Yes, it was great.'

He nodded. ‘You looked good on screen – came across really well.'

‘Thank you,' I said, self-consciously. ‘That make-up girl – Debby, I mean – was marvellous.'

Lenny gave a strange laugh. ‘It's not the make-up you have to thank, darlin'.'

I looked at him quizzically.

Lenny sat up straighter. ‘It's all in the lighting. Whatever they put on your face, it's yours truly who decides whether you look good or not.'

‘Really?'

‘You bet. Why do you think the really old pros carry their own uplighters?'

I shook my head. ‘I've no idea. I don't even know what an uplighter is.'

‘The secret of all lighting is the source. Think of someone photographed in the harsh sun. It hits the angles and makes deep shadows that accentuate all the wrinkles. Same if you use a small, pop-up flash – makes all the lines on the face sharp and unflattering. That's because the light is hard.' Lenny was leaning forward, quite animated now. ‘It's coming from a small source, see?'

He looked at me intently. ‘Now,' he said, as if imparting something of great importance, ‘compare that with when you bounce the flash off the ceiling– it's all diffused and soft, isn't it?'

I nodded, trying to look intelligent, although I had little idea what he was talking about. ‘That sort of light, from a wide source, softens the angles, so lines on your face are smoothed out,'

‘Very handy!' I put in encouragingly. ‘Could save a fortune on face cream.'

‘In a studio photographic shoot,' continued Lenny, undeterred, ‘the photographer will shoot the flash into an umbrella, which is basically a reflector. It's the same principle in the studios here. We need the right amount of light to bring your face alive – but not to show every flaw.' He paused and appeared to scrutinise my chins.

‘And of course, as you age, the lighting becomes ever more important. That's why the older actresses will always come across and be dead nice to me.' He nodded with satisfaction. ‘They know I'm the one who can make or break how they look. The war paint helps, of course, but it's much more about that –'

He pointed at the monitor where the camera in the now-empty studio was trained on a sofa – with various lights grouped around it. ‘I was on a shoot the other day. Young girl in her teens – not a line on her face – but the way they wanted to light the guy she was with, it put decades on her.'

‘Why did they want the lighting like that, then?' I asked with interest.

‘Trying to make him look dodgy,' said Lenny easily. ‘You see, you get your angles of light too. Shoot a hard light straight up from the bottom of the face, you'll end up looking like something out of a Hitchcock film; that's how to make things look spooky. Yet with a nice soft light coming from 45 degrees, the modelling effect on your face will be lovely.'

He grinned wolfishly. ‘Sometimes they change the light from one to the other. If, for example, you've got a pretty young thing with some randy old goat, you might light her to make her look 15, while you show up every crack and crevice on his face till he looks like her granddad, never mind her father. Seen it done the other way too,' he added with relish.

‘There was an actress who'd married a bloke 30 years younger. In fact, she looked great for her age but by the time they'd finished with her on breakfast TV, he only needed a pair of short trousers and she looked ready for her bath chair.'

‘That's awful,' I said indignantly. ‘If she didn't look like that really.'

Lenny winked. ‘It's the way it is. Always remember to be good to your lighting guy. If some old cow's rude to me she'll soon know about it when she sees herself later …'

‘I'll remember that.' My fingers went instinctively to my scraggy neck.

‘Don't listen to him, Laura,' said Cal from the doorway. ‘On this show, we do our best to make everyone look lovely and you looked fabulous.' Cal was carrying a bottle of champagne. Behind him, an unsmiling Tanya had a couple of flutes in each hand.

Cal poured champagne into one of them and handed it to me. ‘Want one, Len?'

‘Yeah, go on …'

I watched him fill three more glasses, a little warm glow inside me. I could get used to this, I thought, drinking champagne while people told me how fab I was. I looked at Cal's dark lashes as he bent over the bottle. He was gorgeous and nice with it, with a glamorous job in television. He must have girls falling all over him.

He glanced up and caught me gazing at him. ‘You're not in a hurry, are you, Laura?' He gave me a smile and I felt my face colour. I looked at my watch.

‘Well – I was wanting to catch the 18.03. I need to be home before eight …' I had managed to organise Daniel to meet Stanley after school and take him bowling and out to eat by pretending I had an important meeting about work, but I couldn't stay out too late as he'd be wanting to get back to The Twig.

Cal looked at his watch too. ‘If we get the car round in half an hour? I just really want to tell you about this project of mine – and Tanya's,' he added, looking toward her. She was sitting close to Lenny, glass in hand, a bored expression on her face.

Cal's brown eyes looked seriously into mine. ‘As I explained before, it's about women in their 40s and how these days that's a really great place to be. But we'll be looking at the different ways in which different women approach this time in their lives – emotionally, spiritually, sexually … A holistic approach if you like …'

Beside him, Lenny put down his empty glass. ‘I've gotta split.' Lenny got up and nodded at me. ‘See ya.'

Tanya sighed and got up with him. I wondered if they were an item. ‘I've got loads to do too. You don't need me, do you, Cal?' It was a statement, not a question. Cal shook his head. ‘I'll be off then,' she said flatly, not looking at either of us. ‘Come on, Len.'

Cal poured more champagne. ‘We're going to be looking at beauty treatments, alternative therapies, fitness regimes, that sort of thing. It's not entirely decided yet – they're still working on the script – but we're probably going to be using three or four women, who have all approached going into their 40s in a different way.' He sat back and sipped at his drink.

‘One might have lots of kids and has let herself go a bit. Perhaps she thinks she's too old for any of this beauty and fashion stuff any more –the sort of person perhaps your mum used to be when she was 40.'

‘My mum was like that when she was 20, believe me!'

He laughed. ‘Perhaps she'd like to be in it too, then. We'll have bits of footage showing women a few decades ago in headscarfs and slippers etc.'

He put the glass down and leant forward, his face animated. ‘Then we'll be having another subject who's really fighting the ageing process all the way but with desperation. ‘Plastic surgery, short skirts, chasing after younger men …' He gave me a conspiratorial smile. Had I imagined it or had he moved a little closer to me? The distance between our knees seemed to have shortened. ‘And then there'd be you, illustrating the balanced approach – showing how you can be fit and attractive at 40 –'

‘Actually I'm 42.'

‘Perfect! That was exactly the sort of age we were hoping for. Into your 40s but still plenty of them left to go.'

I took another gulp of champagne even though it was some hours now since I'd eaten and it was rather going to my head. He was definitely sitting very near to me. I was aware of his breathing.

‘So what exactly would I have to do, then?'

‘We'd want you to be filmed having some beauty treatments and exercising. Though obviously you're in really good shape already. Would you be prepared to be filmed in a bikini?'

‘No, definitely not,' I said, recoiling and nearly choking on my bubbles. ‘I couldn't possibly. I mean, I may look OK to you in these clothes but I assure you I'm not up to that close an inspection …'

Cal laughed. ‘I bet you are – Marie was most impressed.'

‘No, really, I'd be mortified.' I looked at him, embarrassed. Had they all had a summit meeting on the state of my cellulite?

He stopped laughing and put a hand on my arm. ‘Please don't worry – it was just a thought. You wouldn't have to do anything you were uncomfortable with. I was just trying to get a feel for how you viewed yourself.'

He gave my forearm a little squeeze. ‘Personally I hate the whole business of women being judged by their bodies and looks – it's what's inside that counts for me. The idea is to make that point.' He looked at me earnestly. ‘We're going to show the lengths some women are prepared to go to, with you there to illustrate how you just don't need all that stuff. You'll be showing how you will always be beautiful, vibrant and sexy, however old you are.'

‘Well I don't know about that, ‘I said, pleased but self-conscious now under his intense gaze. I was also aware of my heart beating.
Don't be ridiculous.

He leant forward again, our knees almost touching now. ‘I do. I really think you'd be good at what I've got in mind …'

‘The thing is,' I said a bit later, trying to sound business-like although I was now feeling quite tipsy. ‘It sounds as if it would take up quite a lot of time. And there's my son to think of. And I have to work, of course …'

‘We can fit in around you – we can film in the evenings and weekends – and we can try and do as much as possible at the same time so there's minimum disruption to your routine. You can get a lot done in two or three longish days – if that suits you best. There'd be gaps in filming but from start to finish I should think we could wrap the whole thing up in three to four weeks.'

I hesitated, feeling awkward again. ‘Would I be paid?'

‘Well, not as such, because it's a matter of ethics again. This is a documentary looking at real women's lives – but you'd get all your expenses and a few extra perks too – some clothes and beauty products maybe. And certainly there'd be treatments and hair appointments; gym membership, maybe a day at a spa. That sort of thing.' He looked at me seriously. ‘If it's important, I'll see what I can do – I might be able to work you a small fee …'

He shone the full force of that brilliant, knee-weakening smile on me once more. ‘Perhaps you'd like some more time to think about it.'

I thought. Free facials, new clothes and my hair done. Three weeks of being whizzed about by car and followed round by a film crew as if I were a star. All of it in Cal's undeniably gorgeous company. What was it Sarah had said about looking after oneself after the trauma of a marriage break up? Give yourself a few treats?

I smiled back at him. ‘Not really,' I said.

Chapter Eighteen

‘Again?' Stanley said belligerently. ‘You're always going away.'

‘It's only for one night. And after that they'll be filming round here. I'm sorry, darling, but it's really important. Just think, I'm going to be in a documentary!' I beamed at him. ‘I'll come and get you early on Saturday and Charlotte's going to make you toad in the hole.'

I could see this had scored a couple of points so I swept on. ‘And Becky won't even be there – she's on a sleepover with Lauren. So it will just be you and Joe and wall-to-wall PlayStation. Good hey?'

‘Why can't Grandma come again?' he said in a half-hearted fashion.

‘It's her night for going to the cinema with Betty.'
And I haven't got over last time yet.
I kept smiling. ‘And you know you have a good time at Charlotte's – you always say you love her food best of everyone's.'

‘I'm on a diet.'

‘Stanley, you are not. Don't be so silly – you're growing.

‘I'm fat.' He turned away from me and poked his foot into his school rucksack still lying on the kitchen floor.

‘Has somebody said something to you?'

‘No.'

‘Emily again?'

‘
No
. Leave me alone.'

‘What's the matter?' I moved round so I was facing him but he turned away once more.

‘
You
are!'

‘Perhaps I shouldn't go,' I said miserably to Charlotte as I sat in her kitchen watching her expertly pipe black icing into spider webs on a rack of cupcakes. ‘And look at me, I'm such a shit mother – I hadn't even realised it was Halloween.'

Charlotte straightened up and pointed at the fridge. ‘Give yourself a break, for God's sake. And pour me one while you're at it. You know what kids are like – Stanley will be fine.'

She pushed the hair back from her forehead with the back of her hand. ‘I've got loads of trick and treat stuff – masks and all sorts – I'll take him and Joe out and there'll have a great time.'

She made a face at the bowl of icing. ‘Though why I have to do this lot I don't know – can't any of the other mothers knock up a sponge? I spend my life supplying cakes to that damn PTA.' She wiped her hands on a tea towel and turned to me.

‘Look – he's bound to be up and down. Hormones, new school, dad moving out, but he'll survive. You have fun and I'll make sure he's OK. You deserve a few nice things to happen – go and have your crow's feet rubbed or whatever they're going to do and I'll look after Stanley.'

I got up, walked round the table, and put my arms round her. ‘I do love you,' I said, emotionally. ‘Thank you for everything.'

‘I love you too, love. And it's a pleasure. Now, where's that bloody drink?'

* * *

I sat on the train and stared unseeingly at the flat Kent fields, still feeling guilty. Stanley had seemed OK when I'd dropped him off at school that morning and had even let me hug him in the car. But he still hadn't been any more forthcoming about what was wrong. Surely he was too young to be hormonal already? He didn't seem to be displaying any other signs of puberty.

I'd phoned the school before I left for the station, hoping for a chat with Andrew Lazlett, but he was away on a training day. The secretary said she'd leave a message. I didn't know what I expected him to do. If it was the other boys' teasing that was getting to Stanley there wasn't much to be done about that, except to hope they'd stop or he'd get used to it.

I decided I'd try to find out more on Saturday when we'd have all day together – Stanley wasn't seeing Daniel till Sunday. Perhaps we'd go for a pizza.

I looked out of the window as we pulled into Bromley South, thinking I'd better start preparing for the day ahead. I dug in my handbag for a mirror and make-up, narrowly avoiding jabbing myself in the eye with an eye shadow brush as the train lumbered off again.

‘Do you mind coming by train again?' Cal had sounded apologetic on the phone. ‘I think in all honesty it will be quicker at that time of the morning and it does help our budget. Of course we'll get you picked up at Victoria.'

My mobile rang even before we'd got into the station. ‘Ms Meredith? I'm your driver today. I'm just outside the Wilton Road entrance …'

A dark blue BMW was waiting at the kerb, a suited chap in his fifties standing next to it. ‘Sorry I couldn't come to the barrier,' he said, as we drove off rapidly. ‘We're not really allowed to stop here at all now – not even to drop off.'

As we swung past the back of Buckingham Palace and out onto Grosvenor Place, I looked at the schedule I'd been emailed. First stop an address in W11.
Sally-Ann Le Fern – Rejuvenation Consultant.
I had another look at my saggy face as we drove along Kensington High Street. Ha ha. She'd have her work cut out.

We pulled up outside a tall white house in a tree-lined street. Cal was standing by a white van with three other blokes.

‘This is our cameraman, Matt.' A short, dark man in his 30s waved a hand at me. ‘Russ is our sound guy –' Taller with blonde curls and an earring. ‘And –' Cal put his hand on the shoulder of the youngest of the group, a short, fair boy of about 18. ‘Gabriel, our Man Friday of the moment.' The boy smiled shyly. ‘Gabriel's our runner. Tanya is production on this one but she's going to be joining us later. Right – let's go.'

Inside, the house was stunning with a Mediterranean-type tiled hallway, huge flower arrangement on a polished table, and bright paintings on the white walls. We trooped up the curved staircase to a sort of reception on the first floor – a room with two cream sofas facing each other and a low table with copies of
Vogue
and
Harpers Bazaar
.

I was deposited there with a young, red-headed girl called Leanne who was waiting with a leather trunkful of make-up and a pair of straighteners, while the others disappeared into another part of the house.

Gabriel brought me a glass of water and then he disappeared too.

Leanne didn't say much but dabbed and smudged and patted away while I sat fiddling with my bracelets and wondering exactly what “rejuvenation” was going to involve. Eventually she held up a mirror. I didn't like it quite as much as what Debby had done on the cookery programme – the make-up was much more obvious and my eyes and lips were quite dark – but I looked quite vampish. Cal put his head round the door and nodded approvingly.

Eventually I was taken up another flight of stairs to the consulting room – more cream sofas and magazines – where cameras and lights were set up around a large mahogany desk.

Sally-Ann was a Lycra-clad, tall, blonde American in her 50s with a born-again glow, a brilliant white-toothed smile and a voice a tad on the loud side. She gave my wrinkles the once-over and asked various questions about my general health, diet, how much water I drank and any “afflictions” I had.

When we got to the bit about my PMT she gave me a broad if discomforting smile and swept her eyes over me once again. ‘And –' she looked back at her notes, ‘you're 42 years old, right?'

Across the room Cal gave me a wink.

Sally-Ann fixed her eyes on mine. ‘OK, well, this is a time, honey, when your body is going through
big
changes. Remember the changes you go through as a teenager when all those hormones are bouncing about? Yeah? Well this is about to happen again. You're still menstruating regularly right now, yes?'

I gave a small squirm. ‘Yes.'

‘Well, the average age that women go through the menopause is currently 51 but some women hit that point
much
earlier. With some women it's all done and dusted at 40. What you have to remember is that you begin to be pre-menopausal five to ten years before the changes start. So you,' she said brightly, ‘are probably going through that right now!'

Wonderful.

‘In which case we are not so much talking about PMT but about being peri-menopausal.'

‘Hurrah!' I said flatly, pulling a face.

Cal grinned.

Sally-Ann frowned. ‘If this is so, then your ovaries will have begun to decrease the production of progesterone and oestrogen. Oestrogen redistributes fat but as we age, our body shape changes. We will often notice a thickening of the waist – you know, that roll of fat below the belly button you see on so many middle-aged women?'

I felt my eyes involuntarily drop to my stomach and my spirits plunge in the same direction. I looked resentfully at Cal.
I thought this was supposed to be about being fab at 40, not a lesson in how decrepit I am.
He winked again.

Sally-Ann was becoming animated. ‘You will, in fact, become more testosterone-based as your oestrogen and progesterone levels drop and it is this which causes facial hair to appear and bones to start to thin. You may notice your hair thinning too, vaginal dryness, and depleted energy levels. Your sex drive will go and as you get older, skin starts to hang on you more loosely –'

‘You're really cheering me up now,' I interrupted gaily. I saw Cal signal to Matt, who moved in closer – presumably to capture the look of unrivalled joy on my face at the news of my impending descent into senility.

‘I'm just stating the facts,' Sally-Ann put in disapprovingly. ‘If you're aware what you're up against, you can prepare yourself with the tools with which to fight the ageing process. Look at me!' She suddenly sprung from her chair and towered above me. ‘How old do you think I am?'

Clearly the answer was going to be “a whole lot older than you look” but I didn't want to offend her unnecessarily even if she was depressing me to hell.

‘Er – 48?' I asked, trying not to sound too bitter.

‘I am 59!' she cried triumphantly. And I'm telling you that ten years ago I was dying – stiff as a board, burned out, washed up. Now –' I jerked back in alarm as she leapt across the room and performed a handstand up against the wall.

‘Yoga has done this for me,' she explained as she dropped back to her knees and wrapped a leg around her neck. ‘And it could do it for you too!

‘It is all about what you put in and how often you put it there,' she said forcefully once she was mercifully back behind her desk. ‘What you eat, what you drink, how often you exercise. What you need to remember is that from now on, you've got to eat less and work out more, just to stay the same.'

Marvellous. Just what I wanted to hear.
I could see Cal and Russ grinning at each other while Matt swung the camera round to follow Sally-Ann as once again she rose from her chair. This was obviously making great TV for them even if it was making me want to go home and top myself.

‘Give me your arm!' Oh God, what was she going to do now? Sally-Ann grabbed my wrist with one claw-like hand and closed the other one around where my biceps should have been. ‘Lift your arm up.'

I lifted.

‘Now when I push, resist me,' she instructed. As she pressed against my upper arm, I obligingly pushed up and knocked her hand back.

‘Good,' she cried as if I'd done something amazing. ‘Now hold this!'

A small glass tube was put into my other hand and my arm was lifted again. ‘Now resist me again.' This time she pressed down really hard – she was surprisingly strong – and my arm flopped back against my side.

‘
Ah
! I thought so!' She whipped away the glass tube and replaced it with another one and repeated the process. This time she pressed down even harder. ‘Yeah!' she cried, as though someone had just scored a winning goal. ‘You have a
serious
intolerance here …'

‘Can you explain what you're doing, for the camera?' Cal asked from behind me.

‘Sure!' Sally-Ann put yet another glass tube in my hand. ‘Kinesiology is the testing of the body's resistance to foods and chemicals using an indicator muscle.' She pushed my arm back down to my side again.

‘Intolerances show up as muscle weakness – as each muscle is connected to an organ via a meridian. If I do this –' more shoving of my arm ‘ I'm testing out any weakness in Laura's stomach. But if we do this –' she repositioned my arm down against my side ‘ we're testing out the effects of various foods through the meridian to the spleen.

‘Resist me,' she said again, grabbing my wrist and pulling my arm outwards. I tried to tug it back.

‘Don't turn your shoulder,' she ordered, hauling away. ‘Relax!' I went floppy and she held my arm high in the air. ‘See?' she cried in triumph.

‘Do you suffer from bloating?' Everyone looked at my stomach. ‘Are you tired and irritable? Do you get mood swings and bowel problems?' she intoned in a sing-song voice like an old fashioned ad for Anadin.

‘Er no, not really,' I muttered embarrassed. ‘Well, sometimes.'

Sally-Ann beamed at me. ‘Did you feel how weak you were when you held this, honey?' She waved the small glass phial at the camera. ‘You need to stay right away from wheat, lactose, chicken, and onions. You should also cut out alcohol, sugar, and red meat …'

I gave her a tight smile as the list continued. It was getting better and better. I felt myself glaze over as she began to bang on about the regime of hot water, wheat grass, and royal jelly that had changed her life, suddenly remembering to look fascinated as Matt moved in so close he'd be getting every open pore.

The thought made me put an anxious hand to my upper lip – what was that cheering comment Stanley had made the other day in the car? ‘Mum, you've got a black hair there, like a moustache.' I'd gone straight home for the tweezers but suppose there was another one?

Sally-Ann was talking about wild yam cream and the benefits of a “super-potency soyagen”. Her voice drilled into my head. ‘A similar molecular structure to progesterone … Effective in treating hot flushes … May help with weight loss – increases energy, stamina and sex drive …' I began to feel like I needed some fresh air.