About That Night. Elaine Bedell
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and a warm, charming smile. His impeccable Etonian manners make him an excellent booker of celebrity guests: he’s unfailingly polite but incredibly thick-skinned, and simply never takes no for an answer, without ever seeming to offend.
‘Tell them all to go home,’ Elizabeth instructs him. ‘And tell them Ricky’s gone to hospital. Don’t tell them anything else.’
She moves to a dark quiet space at the back of the set and spools through her contacts to find Ricky’s home number. She peers round the drapes that separate her from the set and sees that Lola is still sitting in the audience, her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking. Elizabeth has met Ricky’s wife Lorna a number of times over the last six years, although she no longer comes to any of his shows. Elizabeth presumes Ricky put an end to her visits once he grew close to Lola. She was a former dancer and they met on the set of a music show, back in the days when he was the UK’s most popular breakfast DJ. They’ve been married for eighteen years and Elizabeth reckons Ricky managed to stay faithful for at least four of them. Lorna Clough picks up immediately and Elizabeth gives her the news slowly and carefully: Ricky collapsed, he seemed to have trouble breathing, there was nothing anyone could do… Her voice cracks and breaks in the end. Lorna, however, is composed. She takes a short, sharp intake of breath, but then says quietly that she will go straight to the hospital. Once Elizabeth has established Lorna can get a friend to drive her there, she tells her that someone from the television network will meet her when she arrives.
Elizabeth takes a moment to compose herself before hurrying to find her team in the Green Room – a saloon furnished with plump sofas and a bar that groans with wine bottles and buckets of beer. The Green Room is a sort of celebrity farmyard pen, there to hold the guests before a show and keep them well watered. She joins the rest of her production team, most of whom are red-eyed and speechless, and she hugs each of them in turn. She spots two of Ricky’s old schoolfriends in the corner, including his sometime manager and mentor, Deniz Pegasus. Deniz left school in East Ham and became a brickie during the day and a roadie for his DJ mate Ricky in the evenings, but he soon found a gap in the building market by supplying low-cost ‘affordable’ housing estates for council tenants. It proved to be more than very affordable for him, and he quickly made a fortune from careless councillors whose political ambitions he fed and watered in various clubs around town and who afterwards couldn’t be bothered to check his books. Recently, Deniz has started coming to all of Ricky’s shows and afterwards offering Elizabeth his opinion, which she finds annoying.
Deniz is holding two Pomeranians in his meaty arms, staring at her. She beckons to Zander. ‘What are we going to do about Hiss and Boo?’
Zander turns and looks puzzled at the two leather-jacketed men.
‘Ricky’s dogs,’ Elizabeth says patiently. ‘The ones with the four legs.’
‘Oh!’ Zander says in relief. ‘Shall I ask them if they can take the dogs home with them?’
Elizabeth nods. Deniz Pegasus steps forward as if to speak to her, but she firmly turns her back on him to face the network’s Head of Press, Kevin, who is talking into his mobile with his hand over his mouth. He tells her the police have arrived and want to talk to her. They’ve been put in Ricky’s dressing room. Elizabeth wonders whether Kevin has been brazen enough to do a quick clean-up before the police went in – she wouldn’t put it past their wily head of press. Then Matthew, the Controller, bursts into the Green Room, ready to do some controlling. Elizabeth, truly glad to see him, moves quickly towards him and is pleased to see his arms opening to receive her. He hugs her and for a brief moment, Elizabeth longs to rest her head on his chest and weep but instead, she straightens and stiffens.
‘Elizabeth! The police are here! They want to see the most senior person here. That’s obviously me. But I think you should come too, you know, to fill in some of the detail.’
‘Yes, Kevin just told me, I was about to go and see them.’ She’s aware that she’s sounding overbrisk, even though she’s on the verge of shaking uncontrollably.
‘Okay. Let’s go.’ Matthew’s voice is now also curt in response to hers and he turns away.
‘Do you think you should maybe say something to the team? They’re all quite upset.’ Elizabeth gestures to the researchers, who are now mostly sitting silently on the floor, staring at them. Robin is posing palely against the wall, an embroidered handkerchief in his hand. Lola is curled up on the sofa, clutching a glass. Matthew immediately squares his shoulders and begins:
‘People, listen up! I realise tonight has been traumatic for everyone involved in the show. Ricky was a great guy. I’ve known him for years.’ He pauses for effect, which fortunately gives him just enough time to remember that this speech isn’t really about him. ‘Many of you will know how much Ricky cared about the show and how hard he worked.’ A few of the researchers shuffle their feet and Matthew decides to err on the side of honesty. ‘And of course, he had his demons – but we loved him for it, right?’ A few miserable heads nod. ‘Needless to say, we have to keep this absolutely confidential at the moment while Kev sorts it.’ Elizabeth looks across at Kevin, Head of Press, who is feverishly texting, and wonders if sorting it means that he can somehow miraculously bring Ricky Clough back to life. ‘So please stay off Twitter for now, nothing on Facebook, don’t talk to ANYONE about this yet. Okay?’ Matthew looks to Elizabeth for approval and she raises an eyebrow questioningly. ‘Oh,’ continues the boss graciously, ‘and don’t worry about coming in tomorrow. Take the day off.’
‘We always have the day off after recording the show,’ says one fearless researcher.
‘Yes, exactly,’ says Matthew. Elizabeth adds gently, ‘I’ll call you all in the morning, when we know more.’ She hugs Robin, blows a kiss to the rest of the team, her eyes full of tears, and then follows her boss out of the room.
The police officers, a man and a woman, are sitting uneasily on the leopard-print cushions in Ricky Clough’s dressing room. His day clothes, a crumpled sports shirt and some jeans, are hanging on a hook and the desk is piled high with weekly magazines, scripts, his laptop, as well as empty bottles of white wine. Two scented candles still burn by the mirror and the air in the small room is thick with the smell of hairspray, aftershave (Colonia, Acqua di Parma) and something else, something sticky and fetid. If Kevin managed a clean-up sweep, Elizabeth thinks grimly, it was fleeting.
As they walk in, Matthew immediately holds out his hand to the policeman, who is looking hot and bulky in a padded vinyl bomber jacket, but he simply looks anxiously across at his female colleague. Matthew continues to address the policeman. ‘Hello. I’m Matthew Grayling, Controller, All Channels, here at the network. Sorry about this, we can go upstairs to my office, if you’d prefer?’
‘No, this is fine.’ The policewoman speaks. She stands up. She is really quite tall. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Watson and this is Detective Sergeant Rafik.’ She turns her back on the Controller and instead looks directly at Elizabeth. ‘And you’re Elizabeth Place? The producer of the show?’
‘Yes.’
‘Right. We’re going to need to talk to you again tomorrow morning when we have the results from the hospital. But if you wouldn’t mind just answering a few questions now?’ DI Watson has an estuary accent, the missing t’s giving her voice an abrasiveness which Elizabeth suspects works rather well in her line of work. Although she’s technically asking a question, Elizabeth understands there’s only one possible answer.
‘Of course not.’
She sinks on to a velvet stool and remembers that she’d hidden one of the still-full wine bottles under the couch. She can’t help glancing down and sees that it’s still there, unopened. DI Watson’s eyes follow Elizabeth’s.
‘So I’m afraid that the emergency services were unable to save Richard Clough when he collapsed on the floor of studio 4 at 20.15 this evening. I believe you’re aware of this?’