Out of the Blue. Isabel Wolff

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СКАЧАТЬ Peter ought to make a little speech.

      ‘Go on,’ he said.

      ‘Oh no,’ groaned Peter.

      ‘Please,’ Mimi insisted. ‘This is an occasion, after all.’

      ‘Oh, all right,’ Peter conceded after another sip of wine. ‘Er … I just want to say … ’ he began, getting unsteadily to his feet, ‘that Faith was my first love, and that my fifteen years with her feel like a millstone … ’

      ‘Freudian slip!’ said Katie.

      ‘I mean, a milestone,’ he corrected himself. ‘A milestone. That’s what I mean. An incredible achievement, in fact. When you consider. And I just can’t believe where the last fifteen years of my life have gone.’ That was it. He’d finished. I tried to smile. As I say, he’s very preoccupied at work, so he’s not quite his usual relaxed and happy self.

      ‘He’s rather tired,’ I whispered diplomatically to Mimi and Mike.

      ‘He does seem distracted,’ Lily agreed.

      ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘no doubt because, well, he’s got a lot on his mind right now.’

      ‘I must say, he’s looking good though,’ Lily murmured as our coffee arrived. ‘Hasn’t he lost a bit of weight?’

      ‘Er, yes, he has. He’s looking pretty trim, you’re right.’

      ‘Nice tie he’s wearing,’ she whispered appreciatively.

      ‘Yes. Yes,’ I agreed. ‘Nice tie.’

      Then Lily reached into her bag, took out a box of Pandora matches and struck one. It hissed and flared as it ignited, then died down to a steady yellow flame. She lifted a cheroot to her lips, lit it and inhaled deeply, then blew the smoke away. Then she looked at me seriously and said, very, very softly, ‘I think you’re marvellous to trust him.’

      This struck me as a very strange remark, because of course I trust Peter – I always have. As I say, he’s a truthful man. So I didn’t have a clue what Lily meant, and I certainly didn’t want to ask her in front of everyone else. In any case, Peter was waving for the bill now – it was late, and the evening was drawing to an end.

      ‘– let’s get our coats.’

      ‘– is this inclusive?’

      ‘– no, our treat, Mike.’

      ‘– Katie, can you get Granny’s coat?’

      ‘– very kind, Peter. Next time we take you.’

      ‘– who’s got the baby?’

      ‘– oh look, there’s a cab.’

      Before we knew what had happened, we were all standing outside, kissing each other goodbye.

      ‘What a wonderful evening,’ said Mimi as the snowflakes fell gently onto her hair. ‘I hope we make it to fifteen years,’ she added as she strapped the baby into the back of the car.

      ‘I hope we make it to thirty,’ said Mike gallantly. ‘Thanks for a lovely dinner, you two – bye bye.’ The children were submitting to being kissed by Lily, though both of them hate her scent, Jennifer had been zipped up, and Sarah had gone to her car. Then I flagged down a passing cab, and climbed in with Peter and the kids.

      ‘What a great evening,’ he said as we swished along the wet, sleety road.

      ‘Yes, it was, darling,’ I said. ‘I really enjoyed it too.’ And it’s true. I did. But at the same time I was aware, in a way I could not yet define, that somehow, something had changed.

      

      There are three things that people always ask you if you work for breakfast TV. What time do you have to get up? What time do you have to go to bed? And does it wreck your social life? Sometimes I just feel like holding up a banner at parties saying, ‘Three thirty, nine thirty, and YES!’ You simply never get used to it. Did I say that you do? Well, it’s not true – you never get used to the early start. It’s horrible. It’s horrible when the alarm goes off at half past three and your body’s still crying out for sleep. And it’s even worse if you’re feeling unhappy, as I was this morning, and are slightly hungover to boot. Graham grumbled as I lurched out of bed, but declined to stand guard by the bathroom door. I showered, squished on a little Escape – my favourite scent at the moment – put on my navy Principles suit, then went down to the waiting cab. As we pulled out of Elliot Road, I remembered Lily’s words again: I think you’re marvellous to trust him … trust him … I think you’re marvellous to trust … I stared out of the window as we drove through the slush-filled streets, turning her comment over and over in my mind; examining it from all angles, as I might study an interesting stone. But however much I thought about it, I still didn’t know what she meant. Nor was I at all sure that I really wanted to know. I mean, Lily does have a habit of saying things I don’t particularly like, but usually I just ignore them. That’s what I forced myself to do this morning as I wrenched my thoughts towards work. After all, I told myself firmly, I have an important job to do. People depend on me. I can make or break their day. When I’m about to go on air Terry, the ‘star’ presenter, looks into the camera and says, ‘Well folks, what’s the weather going to do today? Let’s h-a-v-e- FAITH!’ So on I come, and I tell them, and the viewers do have faith in me. They rely on me to tell them if they need to take a coat or a brolly, or if the humidity’s going to be high. I let them know if it’s going to be very windy, and if it’s safe to set sail, or drive. So I think the weather forecast’s really important, but I’m afraid my colleagues don’t feel the same. They just see it as this insignificant little slot that comes on three minutes before the news. To them it’s just a buffer, before the junction – they’re always trying to cut me down. I’m meant to have two and a half minutes, but often it’s less than one. But there’s nothing I can do about it because it’s all controlled from the technical gallery. For example, I can be in the middle of some fascinating piece about warm fronts when I suddenly hear the director, in my earpiece, shouting at me to stop. They’re really rude about it sometimes – I hear them yelling, ‘Shut up, Faith! Shut up! SHUT UP!’ It’s terribly distracting. What they’re meant to do is to calmly count me down from ten, and I know that by the time I hear them say ‘zero’, I have to have signed off, with a nice smile. Equally, if they lose a news item, I’ll hear someone screaming, ‘Fill, Faith! Fill! Fill! Fill!’ But I’m not fazed, because I can cope; I once filled from thirty seconds right up to four minutes! And I pride myself on being able to stay calm in those situations and to come out exactly when required. Another thing, because I use open talkback, I can hear them all gossiping in the gallery during my slot. The weather’s their down time, you see. That’s when they put their feet up because they don’t have anything to do. This is because I change the graphics with my clicker, and I ad lib my script, so I don’t have an autocue. So while I’m doing my slot I can hear them sorting out what went wrong with the previous item, or telling make-up to fix Terry’s hair, or instructing the cameraman to close in on so and so, or boasting about some bird they pulled down at the pub. And they forget that I’m on air, broadcasting live, and that I can hear every word they say. So one way and another, being a weather presenter is a pretty stressful job. But I enjoy it. I really do, especially at this time of year. I love the winter, you see: not just because of my optimistic outlook on life, but because in winter the weather’s great. In the summer we only get three types: either it’s rainy, it’s cloudy, СКАЧАТЬ