Radio Gaga (5 page)

I heard my mother’s voice outside remonstrating with the taxi driver a good five minutes before she rang my door bell. To my dismay she seemed to have quite a lot of luggage with her for just an overnight stay.

“Well, Chloe, aren’t you going to let me in? It’s quite chilly out here.” She planted a perfunctory kiss in the direction of my left ear and wafted past me on a cloud of Chanel.

“I see you’ve finally had a bit of a tidy up.” She drew off her gloves, and after examining the wooden surface, placed them on my hall shelf.

“Hello Mum, it’s nice to see you.” I collected her suitcase from my doorstep and followed her into the flat.

I staggered into the lounge behind her carrying what felt like a case load of cement as she continued her tour of inspection. She wrinkled her nose in distaste at my aged sofa before turning to cast her critical gaze over me.

“Hmm, you don’t look too well, which is to be expected I suppose if I’m to believe the garbled story Michelle gave me over the phone yesterday.” She raised an eyebrow and waited for me to respond.

“Oh, I’m fine Mum. You know Shelly; she gets panicky sometimes. I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?” I edged towards the kitchen.

“A drug overdose is something worth panicking over! Of course, when you told me Neil had left you then all the pieces fell into place.” A slight frown puckered her forehead. “What I don’t understand is why you didn’t turn to me. I am your mother. You know I’m always there for you. You must have been devastated.”

Oh hell, she had decided Neil’s departure had driven me to a suicide attempt.

“I accidently took a couple too many of Shelly’s pills. I was only as ill as I was because I’m quite sensitive to medication. It had nothing whatsoever to do with Neil.” I walked into the kitchen to fill the kettle and calm down.

“Oh my poor brave girl, you can be honest with me. I know losing Neil must have been terrible.” She followed me into the kitchen.

“Mum, he’s not dead! He went off to shag the floozie
who
runs the dry cleaners. It was good riddance to bad rubbish.” I banged the switch down on the kettle and reached my one and only china cup and saucer from the cupboard.

My mother winced at the crassness of my remark.
“Darling, really.”

I continued to make tea, causing her further pain when she saw me dunking the teabag in her cup instead of using a tea pot.

“I do worry about you, Chloe.” She accepted her cup of tea and carried it through to the lounge, taking a seat on the sofa. I trailed behind with my favourite mug and a plate of chocolate digestives that I’d prepared before her arrival.

“I felt a little happier when you had a man here to look after you but now,” she broke off to help herself to a biscuit, “you’re here alone in this squalid and poky flat, in that dreary position with the radio station. I’d hoped for so much more for you, darling.”

I took a seat on the armchair and decided to ignore the remark about my flat being squalid. It’s actually a very nice
flat,
at least I think so anyway.

“I’m very happy here, Mum. I was relieved when Neil moved out and besides I’m going places now with my job.” Okay, so now I was definitely stretching the truth but I knew from experience it was the only way to get my mother to back off.

She regarded me pityingly as she nibbled at her biscuit. “I know you say you enjoy it dear, but it’s not a proper job is it? You just fill in for the proper presenters when they’re on holiday and tape your little segments. I mean you’ve been there for over two years, surely you should have your own show by now?”

“Radio doesn’t work like that. Besides I have my own slots and today I’ve been given responsibility to develop a whole new feature.” I tried to inject excitement and enthusiasm into my voice.

My mother gave me another of her looks over the rim of her tea cup. “I know you’re too proud to ask but you know there is always a vacancy working for me. The project is always short of workers and you could do so much good.”

The sceptre of employment at my mother’s charity loomed at me like an evil genie. “That’s very kind of you, Mum and you know I like to help out when I visit but my career plans lie in broadcasting. Merv has come up with this great new spot called Challenge Chloe. It’s going to be fun and exciting and he’s given me the responsibility for developing it.”

“I don’t expect he’s given you an increase in your wages.” She placed her cup and saucer down on the table. “I know you’re putting a brave face on things but you look awful, darling. It’s a good job I’ve taken a couple of weeks off so I can stay here to look after you.”

For a moment I couldn’t move. Two weeks of my mother. Oh God. “Mum, that’s very kind of you and you know I’d love to have you but I know how busy you are and I’ve got this new job role and everything.” My voice petered out and I placed my mug down very carefully on the table next to her cup.

“Nonsense, it’s clear to me that you need my help but are too proud to ask for it. It’s all settled. It’ll be such fun, we’ll have a nice girly time together and you’ll soon be feeling better.” She smiled happily at me and my heart sank.

Once she was safely installed in the spare room I slipped out of the flat on the pretext of popping to the corner shop and made an emergency phone call to Shelly.

As soon as I heard her best ‘answering the phone at work voice’ I interrupted her spiel. “Help me.”

“Certainly we can do that, if you’d like to explain the issues?”

Damn, “Is there someone in your office?”

“Yes, I’m afraid that’s correct.”

Judging by her tone Shelly’s boss was probably standing next to her desk. “My mother intends to stay for two weeks – with me. She thinks I’m suicidal over Neil and Ben left me a leaflet on getting help for my drug addiction.”

“Oh dear, that does sound like quite a problem.”

“To top it all Merv’s put me on a final warning and given me this new slot to do called Challenge Chloe. He wants exciting new pieces to bring in the listeners. Can you call round to the flat tonight after work?”

“Certainly, that’s no trouble at all.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. I had to escape from my mother so Shelly and I could talk and then maybe, just maybe, I could start to put my world to rights.

“You’re a star, Shell.”

“My pleasure, thank you for calling.”

I slipped my phone back in my bag and wandered on down the street to Mr Hassan’s shop. My mother had been unimpressed by the emptiness of my fridge so I’d promised I would get something for supper that didn’t come out of a box.

I wasn’t sure there would be that great a selection in Mr Hassan’s emporium but I didn’t want to leave my mother alone in my flat for too long. The last time I’d done that I’d returned home to find she’d changed my electricity supplier and reorganised half my kitchen cupboards.

“Chloe, are you better? Mrs Hassan and I were so worried when we read the paper and saw what had happened to you.” His normally cheerful face crinkled with worry.

Fortunately the shop was empty when Mr Hassan greeted me; otherwise I may have died from embarrassment.

“I’m fine now, thank you.” I grabbed one of the battered wire baskets from the side of the door. I hadn’t realised the Gazette had so many readers or that my collapse had been such big news. Perhaps celebs were right when they claimed there was no such thing as bad publicity.

“You must take more care of yourself,” Mr Hassan warned.

“I will, I promise.” I was touched by his concern.

Another customer entered the shop so I sidled away towards the back shelves searching for something that would meet my mother’s nutritional guidelines. I passed over the tinned hotdog sausages to contemplate some canned meatballs in tomato sauce before opting instead for a jar of pasta sauce.

After lobbing in a couple of apples and an orange from Mr Hassan’s small fresh produce selection I made my way back to the till. Imran was stocking the shelves with boxes of soap powder. A tall guy wearing an oversized dark grey hoodie and a blue baseball cap was deep in conversation with Mr Hassan.

“Ha, Chloe, you have another fan here!” Mr Hassan beamed at me.

The skinny youth’s complexion turned the colour of the pasta sauce in my basket.

“I er always listen to your slots on the radio. I think you’re terrific, the best thing on the radio.”

My spirits lifted. “Oh, that’s nice.”

“Could I have your autograph?”

I think I’d only ever been asked for my autograph twice before and that was at a Primary School Christmas fair.

Mr Hassan produced a pen and I duly signed my new admirer’s copy of The Sun.

“I think you should have your own show.”

“See, Chloe, that is what I tell you too,” Mr Hassan agreed.

“Well, I’m going to be doing a new slot called Challenge Chloe where I do new things, so, who knows? Maybe you’ll hear some more of me.” I paid for my groceries.

“That sounds very exciting.” Mr Hassan handed me my change.

“Hope so.” I smiled at the two men suddenly feeling as if my day had taken on a whole new dimension.

Walking back to the flat I hardly noticed the cold any more. It’s surprising how something small could turn the day around. Unfortunately my good mood didn’t last long when I entered the flat to discover Ben sitting in the lounge drinking tea with my mother.

The conversation ceased as soon as I entered the room and I didn’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to guess what, or rather
who, they’d
been talking about. I muttered “hello” to Ben and carried my groceries into the kitchen.

I stashed my shopping away and wondered what Ben had been telling my mother. He rose from his seat on the armchair when I re-entered the lounge.

He didn’t meet my gaze. “I’d better dash off, work to do and things.
Nice to meet you, Mrs Lark.”
He nodded his head towards my mother. “Bye Chloe, I’ll see myself out.”

Before I could make a move I heard my front door closing.
The cowardly rat-fink.

“What a charming young man. You didn’t tell me you had a new neighbour, Chloe.”

I flopped down onto the freshly vacated armchair.

“Really.”

“Yes, he seems very nice, although I’m sure I know him from somewhere. I must ask him if he’s related to that family called Kingford that I met in
Jamaica
last year.”

My mother was always firmly convinced that she knew everyone. The theory on six degrees of separation could have been written especially for her.

“Mum, they were from
Ireland
. Ben doesn’t have an Irish accent.”

“Well, he does have very blue eyes. I thought he was a nice caring young man. He’d called down to see how you were feeling.”

Humph, strange he hadn’t stayed around to actually ask me then.

“I hope you told him I was fine.” God knows what she’d said. He already thought I was a fame-crazed druggie, if my mother had told him all about Neil then he’d add suicidal to my list of faults. Any more and he’d probably be moving out next week in case I blew the house up with the gas or something in a fit of depression.

She collected Ben’s empty mug and her cup and saucer from the table. “Darling, you don’t have to be so brave about all this. Just remember I’m here to listen any time you want to confide in me.” She swept past me into the kitchen.

I gritted my teeth and resisted the urge to bang my head on the arm of the chair. My father always said that my mother was good in a crisis and if you weren’t having one then she would create one for you. I wished he wasn’t on the other side of the world; I could have done with him right now.

“Have you got any more tea towels anywhere? This one is soaked.”

I went and got her a fresh one from the airing cupboard in the hall. “Mummy, I meant it when I said I was fine. I hope you haven’t been filling Ben’s head with rubbish about me.”

Hah! I was pretty sure that was a given but I thought I ought to at least try to stop her from interfering quite so much in my life. It was probably much too late where Ben was concerned, which was a pity as he was very cute. Something about the way he looked at me sent my insides all mushy.

“Don’t be silly, Chloe. He was concerned about you,
that’s
all. I understand he’s single too. He might be quite a catch.”

“Mother.”

She finished drying up the cups and folded the tea towel. “Oh don’t worry, I wouldn’t dream of interfering in your love life.”

Yeah right. Her stay promised to be a long two weeks.

Shelly arrived just as my mother started trying to persuade me to turn off the evening soaps in favour of an educational programme she’d found on one of the free view channels. I knew from experience that this would be the thin end of the wedge. Left unchecked, by the end of the fortnight my TV would be in a cupboard and I’d be force-fed a diet of mind improving programmes courtesy of Radio Four.

After a day spent working with Steph, my mind didn’t want to expand. It wanted chocolate, a glass of wine and some Londoners shouting at one another in a pub.

“Hello, Michelle.” My mother was the only person who still called Shelly, ‘Michelle’. Well, apart from Shelly’s own mother, and then it was the full version, ‘Michelle Elizabeth Clark’, which invariably meant she was in big trouble.

“Hello, Mrs Lark, um, I mean Melody.”

Mother prefers my friends to call her by her first name. Her surname reminds her too much of my father apparently. She’d go back to her maiden name but Melody Mould wouldn’t really be an improvement.

I fidgeted on the sofa while Shelly received the third degree from my mother about why I’d been taking Shelly’s tablets. Ten minutes later we managed to escape into the kitchen on the pretext of making a cup of tea.

“You have to help me get out of here for an hour before I kill her.” I kept my voice low so it wouldn’t carry into the lounge.

“You always want to kill her whenever you spend any time with her.” Shelly helped herself to a custard cream from the biscuit tin.

“I know, but it’s your fault she’s here.”

Shelly rolled her eyes, guessing -- correctly -- I was attempting to guilt trip her. “I think she’s engrossed in that programme she’s watching. We can hang out in here for a while.”

I opened the kitchen door a crack and peeked into the lounge. Shelly was right, my mother had changed channels and was apparently absorbed in some documentary on climate change.

“Okay, grab a chair and I’ll show you my list of ideas for my new radio feature.” I opened the kitchen drawer and pulled out my notepad.

Shelly took a seat and leaned across to peer at my writing sprinkling biscuit crumbs over the page.

“Oops, sorry.”
She brushed them away quickly as I frowned at her.

“This is what I’ve got so far; making chocolate, learning street dance – I thought maybe I could get to meet Louis Spence – anyway, have one of the pedicures with the fish, act as an extra on a costume drama or a soap, swim with dolphins, work at the safari park for a day and learn to skate. I always fancied that especially since Dancing on Ice.”

Shelly took another biscuit from the barrel and nibbled thoughtfully at a corner. “I think they’re great but won’t they want something, well a bit more, um, physically challenging from you?”

“Ice skating will be physical and the street dance and dolphin swim.” I had the uncomfortable feeling that she might have a point, especially if Steph got involved.

“All you can do is suggest it and see what Merv says.”

I replaced the lid on the biscuits and moved them out of Shelly’s reach. She had apparently forgotten that she was supposed to be on yet another one of her diets. “I suppose so. At least they won’t try and get me doing anything that involves heights again, not after the debacle at the castle.”

“It rules out wing walking and repainting the
Forth
Bridge
I suppose.” Shelly grinned and cast a longing look at the biscuit tin.

“I emailed these to Merv before Mum got here.”

“Then I expect you’ll know soon enough. How long is your mother staying?”

“Too long.
About a fortnight.
She was having a cosy chat with Ben from upstairs when I got home.”

That got her attention.
“Hunky Ben?”

“Yeah, and he couldn’t leave fast enough when I walked in through the door. I told you he left me a leaflet on drug addiction, didn’t I?”

She laughed and sobered when she caught my eye. “Sorry.”

“You know she’ll interfere with everything. She can’t resist it.” My mother had been trying to remodel my life from the moment I’d been placed in her arms at the maternity hospital.

“It’s only two weeks. She might leave sooner.” Shelly shrugged and finished her tea.

I knew she didn’t believe that any more than I did. The last time my mother had said she intended coming to stay for a short visit she’d stayed for two months. It had taken me almost twelve months to recover, with a slight relapse over Christmas when I’d visited her during the obligatory season of goodwill.

“I’ve got to go. I signed up for one of those free trial gym sessions. You never know I might get a hunky personal trainer.” Shelly stood and reached for her coat.

“Good luck.” If there was anything Shelly hated more than dieting, it was exercise.

She wriggled into her coat and draped the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “I’ll need it. I’ll call you later; let me know if you hear anything from Merv – or the Hunky Ben.”

I showed her out of the flat before making some fresh tea.

“Has Michelle gone already?” My mother looked up from her programme to accept her drink.

“She’s trying out a new gym.”

Mum raised an eyebrow and returned to viewing a computer generated image of some islands being swamped by a rising ocean. She was used to Shelly’s frequent and short-lived attempts to lose weight. It wasn’t even as if Shelly was fat, she wasn’t, she just wasn’t the shape she wanted be. She’d lost and regained the same five pounds in weight at least a dozen times in the last five years.

My mobile vibrated in my pocket. I hurried into the kitchen to take the call as Merv’s number flashed on screen and I didn’t want my mother to overhear the conversation.

“Hi, this is Chloe.” Which was dumb, because who else would be answering my phone?

“Lark, got your suggestions.
Interesting, very interesting.”

My shoulders sagged with relief and I leaned back against the countertop. “Great, I’ve loads more I can…”

“I’ll tweak them up a touch, add some
va
va voom, and we’ll start the voting tomorrow on Steph’s show.”

Uh oh.

“In the meantime I want you to get on and get an interview with a Fred Hardcastle, eight o’clock tomorrow morning,
Freely
Road allotments. Live broadcast. It sounded like a Challenge Chloe opportunity. This one could be an ongoing thing, get the gardeners interested. Always a popular topic, I think the Gazette might want to tie in on this one. One of our best advertisers is the garden centre.”

Bugger, I’d forgotten all about Fred. He must have phoned into the station.

“Freely Road, okay. Um, which options are the listeners voting on tomorrow?” I had a nasty feeling they might not be any of the ones I’d suggested, especially if Steph had seen my list and Merv had made his tweaks.

“Revealing the results live – get back to the station by nine thirty before Steph goes off air, we’re doing a big live build up. Good for ratings.”

I could virtually see him rubbing his hands together with glee.

“But, don’t you think it would be better if I was at least a little prepared? I mean, I could do some research and…”

Merv didn’t wait for me to finish speaking. “No problem with that, Lark. I’ve already set the wheels in motion for tomorrow. Just get back to the station before nine thirty, none of your usual faffing about and being late.”

Before I could dispute his last comment he’d hung up. I didn’t faff about, well not much. Certainly no more than anyone else, and I did try to be on time for things, it was simply that sometimes events seemed to conspire against me.

Events were conspiring against me now. Why did someone famous never want me to interview them? Why did my interviews always have to be with somebody who usually smelt of mothballs and cat pee and have to take place in the middle of some muddy and godforsaken spot? And Mr Hassan thought my life was glamorous.

* * *

I woke the next morning before the alarm. My mother had been awake for ages pottering about the flat. The bumping and scraping sounds coming from the lounge had sounded ominous. Sure enough when I dragged myself out of bed I discovered Mum had been busy rearranging my furniture.

Clutching my dressing gown closer to me I stumbled on into the kitchen. I needed coffee, preferably strong and black with lots of sugar. It was going to be another one of those days. Mum was already showered and dressed in her usual tailored skirt and silky blouse.

“Oh darling, you’re going to be late.” She took in my dishevelled just-woken-up appearance with a slight frown of distaste.

“Loads of time.”
Yawning, I stuck a piece of bread in the toaster and took a plate out from the cupboard.

“White bread will make you bloat.” My mother smoothed her skirt over her sickeningly narrow hips with a self-satisfied air.

“Why have you moved my furniture round?” My toast pinged up from the toaster and I tried to catch it without burning my fingers.

Mum’s nose wrinkled as she watched me slather butter onto my toast. “I wanted to surprise you. That room is so dreary; I thought a little change might perk it up. Perhaps a few new cushions or a nice print for the wall would help.”

“I like my flat the way it is.” Scooping up my plate I headed off towards my room to get ready for work.

She followed me out into the hall.
“Wear something pretty.”

Yep, right, I was in radio not television and I had a feeling that wearing a nice dress and heels might be wasted on Fred. Twenty minutes later I was showered, dressed in my usual jeans and tee shirt and ready to go and find Freely Street allotments.

Freely Street turned out to be fairly close to the radio station. I unloaded my recording equipment from the car and hoped the ground wouldn’t be too muddy. For once I was early, traces of grey damp mist swirled across the earth as I picked my way carefully along the narrow path between the plots, looking for Fred.

The site was eerily deserted and if it hadn’t have been for the gates being unlocked to allow access onto the allotments I would have thought that no one had been there.

I paused in the middle of the site to peer hopefully at the faded brown wood sheds and bright blue water butts along the edges trying to find Fred.

“Are you waiting to meet someone?”

I leapt about six feet into the air as a male voice sounded in my ear and a hand touched my shoulder.

“Oh my God, you scared the crap out of me.” My heart thumped so hard and rapidly against the wall of my chest I thought I was about to die. As my pulse gradually slowed down I realised the oversized grey hoodie was familiar. “Hey, didn’t I meet you the other day?
Um, Keith?
Kevin?”

“Kevin. You signed an autograph for me.” He grinned shyly at me.

“Of course.
I came here to meet someone called Fred Hardcastle.
An older chap with a flat cap?”
Kevin’s openly adoring expression unnerved me.

“Yeah, he’s down the bottom.” Kevin turned on the path and led the way. I hesitated for a second before following him but then realised I could see Fred’s cap in the distance through the mist.

“Here he is.” Kevin halted so suddenly I bumped into his heels.

“Sun should be out later.” Fred gripped the brim of his cap with soil stained hands as he nodded to me.

“Let’s hope you’re right.” I glanced at my watch, ten to eight. “Um, I need to get a sound check done as we’re going to be live at eight o
clock
.”

“Right O.” Fred stuck his fork into the soil and wiped his hands on his trousers. Kevin had vanished as quickly as he’d appeared. I didn’t have time to worry about it as I had to get set up.

In a matter of minutes I’d checked the levels and linked to the studio, keeping the earpiece in my ear so I’d be prepared for Steph to cue me in. Fred occupied himself with a great deal of coughing and throat clearing ready for his big moment. I had a mental checklist of questions to run through to fill the next five minutes. Fingers crossed Fred wouldn’t dry or swear, both were a risk during a live segment.

I gave Fred a reassuring smile and ran through my instructions with him one last time. Through my earpiece I heard the news and weather bulletin finish and Steph’s nasal whine commence our introduction.

“We’re going live now to Chloe, who’s live at Freely Road allotments this morning with Fred Hardcastle, champion grower of monster veg.”

I flicked my switches and held the mic out to Fred. “Thanks Steph. It’s a cool, damp start to the morning here at Fred’s allotment plot.”

We nattered for a minute about Fred’s cups and his passion for growing.

 
“Tell me Fred how do you set about becoming a champion veg grower?”

“A bit of know how, good seeds, and lots of love and care.”

“Do you think anyone could become a champion like you?”

“Aye, even you, Chloe.”

“
Ooh, that
sounds like a Challenge Chloe throw down.” Steph’s voice unexpectedly chipped into the conversation.

“Oh, I don’t know, you know me, even the pot plant in the office died when it was my turn to look after it.” I tried to laugh it off. There was no way I planned to get embroiled in the cut throat world of giant veg growing. I’d seen enough at the horticultural show. They had been all sweetness and light for their chats with me but snipping at one another like toddlers when the recorder had been turned off.

“What do you say, Fred? Can you turn our Chloe into a green-fingered giant veg champ by the time of the show in August?”

I’d been set up.

“I’ll certainly give it a try, Steph. Chloe can use a corner of my plot and I’ll support her all the way.” His gold tooth winked at me.

“Well, that sounds like that’s our first of Chloe’s challenges for today. I’m sure she’ll feel right at home amongst the cabbages. Keep listening to find out which other challenges will be coming her way later in the show.”