Yours Truly (29 page)

“
Oh dear!
”
Morag says suddenly.
“
You’ll need make-up for onscreen. We don’t want you looking ghostly!
”

“
Oh, I’m fine,
”
I say quickly, absently touching my ginormous lips a
nd thinking about the last make
over I had.

“
No. No. We must. Just a bit of powder to stop the shine, my love. And perhaps a little rouge.
”

A bit of powder? Rouge? I can live with that.

I nod my agreement and Morag hurries out of the media room to get her make-up bag.

While she’s gone Dionne puts her phone back inside her bag and says:

“
So when is it all going to be on, then?
”

I don’t know if it’s my imagination, but I’m sure Barney looks irritated for a second. He has already told us it will all go out tomorrow morning after editing. I tell Dionne this and she shrugs, taking her phone back out of her bag and texting again.

I do an apologetic face at Barney, but he’s too busy fiddling with the computer again to notice.

“
Here we are!
”
Morag scuttles back in.

I sit patiently while she dabs a musty smelling powder over my forehead and nose. She takes out a peach coloured pan-stick and rubs it into the apples of my cheeks.

When she’s done Barney hands me a pair of massive earphones. They feel heavy on my head. He nudges one of the microphones on the desk over to me, flicks a switch on the camcorder and then something on the computer screen. He wheels around on his chair, facing me now with a wide, eager smile.

“
Let us proceed.
”

I’m aiming for somewhere between Terry Wogan and his silky smooth radio voice and Sarah Cox with the whole carefree, cheeky northerner thing. But I’m so nervous that I start doing this curious posh accent. And my voice is dead high. I’m pretty much landing somewhere between Joanna Lumley and a whistle.

It’s a good job this is all going to be edited. Barney
asks me far more questions than
I expected, and much more probing ones too. The interview starts o
ff simply enough, but goes down
hill when Barney asks me to tell the audience EXACTLY what had happened with Olly. Dionne sits there agog as I blurt out everything in my new plummy accent. I waffle on about his stamina, about his music, about his annoying obsession with his car, about him thinking I’m depressed. Everything.

As if that isn’t enough, Barney asks me what I like best about Little Trooley, which you’d think would be a pretty straightforward question. Only it isn’t.

“
I like the people,
”
I squeak.
“
In particular Riley from the Old Whimsy. He’s very handsome. I’d like to have sex with him.
”

Dionne laughs her head off at this, but I’m mortified. I know it will be edited out but I can’t believe I said it out loud. In front of Morag!

After Barney asks me what my worst habit is (picking my toenails), whether I give to charity (thirty pounds a month, but if anyone asks I tell them it’s fifty), why it’s so important for me to marry Olly (I love him and want a family of my own) I’m exhausted.

Aware that I’m still being recorded I do a cut-throat motion with my hands. I’m ready to stop answering questions.

Barney nods curtly and wraps up the interview by asking the audience to get in touch if they have seen or know Brian Fernando, or think they might be able to help me.

He switches off the record buttons on the camera and computer and removes my headphones.

“
You did very well, love,
”
he says.

“
You will edit out the bit about, um Riley and Olly, won’t you? And when I said I don’t care about the Queen or X Factor? That has to go, else I’ll be lynched.
”

“
Of course, of course,
”
Brian nods patting my knee.
“
We’ll make it very sympathetic.
”

Phew. Sympathetic is good.

“
Can we go now?
”
Dionne stands up and stretches.
“
That was so funny. You really do have to tell the truth! It’s amazing. You dirty cow, picking your toenails.
”

I ignore her and follow Morag who hands me my wellies and Dionne her Uggs and sees us out.

“
It’ll be on the air at nine AM
, sweethearts
,
and on the website a little later. Thanks for stopping by, it’s been a pleasure to have you here. I’ll see you both in t’morning.
”

“
Thanks for the pie!
”
I say as Morag envelops me and then Dionne into a lovely warm hug.

“
Yeah, the pie was cracking
”
Dionne grins.

And we leave, making our way back across the snow covered green and back to The Old Whimsy.

Email From:
stone_
chutneys

To:
nattyb

Subject: (No Subject)

Hiya kidda. I’m guessing you’re feeling like real shit right about now. Probably climbing the walls and wishing that you had never been born. Detox is a bitch like that. I wanted to let you know that I am cheering for you and also was wondering if you knew what Marie’s favourite perfume is?

Good luck.

Best,

Stone.

The next morning there’s a real buzz in the air. Not only is it the night of Mrs Grimes’ Barn Dance Fundraiser, but before that I’m going to be on the radio!

I’ll be honest. I’m quite excited at the prospect of hearing myself on the airwaves.

Of course, it’s only a local station, and there’ll be hardly anyone listening, but radio! I feel like a little celebrity. Not to mention the fact that the chances of finding Brian after the Media Splash goes out are greatly increased. That’s the most exciting thing of all.

My thrill of being on the airwaves is enhanced by the fact that Dionne and Meg, Morag Braithwaite, Mrs Grimes and Uncle Alan are all gathered around a pub table, a portable radio pride of place in the middle.

“
It’s time!
”
Morag chirps, switching the radio on and turning it right up. As the end of a Duran Duran song plays out Riley hurries in from the kitchen with a bowl of warm popcorn and takes a seat at the table.

“
Hurry up, Duran Duran!
”
Dionne tants.

“
Shhh!
”
Meg hisses at her.
“
It’s on!
”

Barney's voice blasts out through the speakers.

“
And now on Radio Trooley we have a very interesting guest…
Natalie Butterworth -
”

It’s funny how everyone stares at the radio as my interview begins, like it’s a TV.

As my voice comes through I feel a thrill. I don’t sound as squeaky as I thought I would. I sound rather nice! Nice and friendly and proper. Morag beams at me, a mobile in hand, ready to take calls from any listeners with potential leads.

“
You sound really posh!
”
Meg laughs.

“
Oooh, that was me coughing in the background!
”
Dionne cries.
“
I’m famous!
”
She does a royal wave at the rest of us.

I start to relax as the interview continues. I’m actually coming across really well. I’m clear about my plight, I’m not stuttering. I feel a little glimmer of pride. Maybe cooking is not the only talent I have...

But then, to my dismay, I hear Barney’s voice asking me one of the questions he agreed to edit out.

“
What’s your worst habit?
”

“
I pick my toenails. I find it very therapeutic.
”

Oh brother, how embarrassing! He obviously forgot to take it out. Dionne and Meg crack up, while Mrs
Grimes glances at me with ill-
disguised disgust. Riley appears to be stifling a chuckle.

But my toenail confession is nothing compared to what happens next. It gets a whole lot worse. The interview continues and I realise that NOTHING has been edited. Nothing at all. Out come the questions about Olly and with them, my answers. My own treacherous voice, discussing mine and Olly’s sex life. The sound of my incessant truth chatter echoes in my head.

My heart starts to hop like a Mexican jumping bean.

“
And what do you like about Little Trooley?
”

Oh. My. God. Barney! Don’t ask it! I will myself not to
answer but it’s pre-recorded. I
already
have
answered. What’s gone wrong? He agreed to edit it!

I reach out for the radio to switch it off, but Mrs Grimes snatches it up and clasps it to her chest.
“
It’s not finished yet!
”
she tuts.

My voice no longer sounds nice and friendly on the radio. It sounds perfidious and humiliating.

“
The people. Especially Riley from The Old Whimsy. I’d like to have sex with him.
”

A small gasp goes up around the table. Mrs Grimes turns off the dial in a flash.

“
Well, that’s quite enough of that!
”

Morag is red-
faced.
“
Dear me. There's obviously been some kind of
technical
difficulty! I’m going to find out what’s going on, love. I’m ever so sorry.
”
She scuttles off out of the pub.

I can hear the blood rushing into my ears. Shit.

Meg grabs my hand and squeezes. I can’t even look at Riley. He must sense my acute embarrassment because he lumbers back to the kitchen without a word.

My God.

“
Oh Balls,
”
Dionne whispers.

I look at her. She looks all pale, like she’s going to be sick. Jesus. She’s really embarrassed for me.

“
It’s all right,
”
I say, putting my arm around her instinctively.

“
No it’s not,
”
she says tears flooding her eyes.
“
I texted Olly last night from the Braithwaites’. Told him to tune in so he would hear that bit you said about how much you loved him.
”

“
What?
”
Now my face drains, my hands begin to twitch.

“
I thought they’d cut the other stuff out. I thought it would help. I’m so sorry,
”
she pleads.
“
Natalie…
I think Olly heard everything.
”

I don’t know what to say to that. I can’t say anything. My vocal chords have stopped working. My mouth has gone dry and my eyes start to blur.

I grab my bag and run out of the pub.

Please don’t let Olly have heard. Please let him have been out. Please let him not have been able to tune into the Little Trooley frequency.

I’m standing by the pond on the green, getting some air, when my phone beeps with a text.

TEXT FROM: OLLY CHATTERLEY

Nice interview. Enjoy long lasting sex with the barman. I can’t do this. Wedding off. Olly.

I stare at it. Not entirely sure that it’s real, that this is actually happening. My knees wobble precariously. I rush to a bench and sit down, unbothered by the snow that seeps in through my jeans. I’ll probably get nappy rash. I don’t care.

I hold the phone in my shaking hands, it feels heavy and clunky, like a phone from twenty years ago.

Should I ring him?

No. I can’t. It will only make things worse. I can’t trust myself to speak to Olly until Brian comes back. And the chances of that happening before Christmas Eve are slim to none. What was I doing? Thinking that an interview was a good idea? That people could be trusted?

Anger washes over me, stinging my skin and pulling and tugging at my lungs so that it gets harder to breathe.

What the fuck was Barney doing? He promised me he would edit it. He promised.

I put my phone back into my bag and march furiously through the snow to the Braithwaites’ house.