network seems to agree. We’re contracted for next year already – that’s why I can put you on the payroll.’
Hetty felt weak. ‘What should I ask you? Salary, I suppose.’
‘You’re paid per programme. You’ll get fifty pounds a show – three hundred a week. For God’s sake, don’t go round spouting about it ’cause some of them are only workies.’
‘Workies?’
‘Work experience. They get zilch. Students, or ex-students. It’s all that’s available, and they’re glad to get it.’ She snorted at Hetty’s shock. ‘Honey, don’t be so green. That’s the only way anything gets made for TV these days. They’ll probably think you’re a workie too because you’re a mate of mine. So keep schtum.’
Hetty nodded mutely.
‘Now, next week’s programmes are just about fixed, but on Monday planning begins for the following week. You could come in then. Nine thirty start. Supposed to pack up by five but it’s a bit open-ended. Plenty of nosh on filming days – that’s Thursdays and Fridays, we make three shows a day – otherwise it’s packed lunch or the pub.’
One of the cameramen – Gerry, Hetty believed – had left the canteen and now returned, shaking his head. ‘Camera five’s out,’ he announced. ‘Take a minute or two to fix it.’
‘Relax, everybody,’ called Bob, the floor manager.
‘Oh, good, we have a bit longer.’ Rosa grinned. ‘So, apart from needing a job, how are you doing? Haven’t seen you in ages.’
Hetty began to insist that she didn’t need a job, then thought better of it. She needed something to do. The creative cacophony of the studio, though bewildering, was distinctly more to her taste than repeat episodes of Knightsbridge with Clarissa; she could keep up with the one, but not with the other, not indefinitely. It dawned on her that Rosa, in her fast-moving way, was doing her an enormous favour. The least she could do in return was be grateful.
‘I’ll be fine. Suffering a bit of culture shock at the moment.’ Keep that resolution. Don’t whinge. Nobody wants to hear your sob-story . Hetty put her head on one side and examined her friend. ‘Rosa, you look marvellous. This life obviously suits you.’
‘Yes, it does. What makes the difference is knowing we’ve been recommissioned. TV’s a hair-raising business. You can produce an award-winning series – and I have – and still come to the last shot unsure if you can pay the bills next month. Budgets are murderously tight, like I said on the phone. But we manage. Struggle from one crisis to the next. What about you?’
‘Me?’ Hetty’s caution came into play. ‘The decree absolute is nearly through. I have a flat, not too far from here, so this is convenient. I’m beginning to settle in.’
‘Got a boyfriend yet?’ Rosa nudged her arm. ‘Go on, you can tell me. I won’t let on.’
Hetty covered her embarrassment with a short laugh. ‘Everyone thinks I should no sooner have got rid of one man than be haring off after another. What is this?’
It was Rosa’s turn to seem shocked. ‘You’re not about to turn into a nun, are you? Because I don’t recommend it.’
‘I’m not about to haunt street corners saying, “Hey, fella,” either. Or go night-clubbing with people half my age.’
‘But the sex!’ Rosa hissed, loud enough for the two men at the next table to hear. One snickered but kept his back turned. ‘Won’t you miss it?’
Hetty shrugged. Even if she were to confide in Rosa, this was hardly the moment.
‘I mean, I don’t know what it was like between Stephen and you. He seemed a hunky guy, but one never can tell. But if it was okay, then surely you’ll get stuck in soon as possible? And if he wasn’t up to much …’ Rosa nudged her again. ‘You’re not past it. Not by a streak. Believe me.’
One of the cameramen twisted round and peered at the two women. ‘It gets better with age, like fine Cognac,’ he remarked, and made kissing noises with his
Hetty felt weak. ‘What should I ask you? Salary, I suppose.’
‘You’re paid per programme. You’ll get fifty pounds a show – three hundred a week. For God’s sake, don’t go round spouting about it ’cause some of them are only workies.’
‘Workies?’
‘Work experience. They get zilch. Students, or ex-students. It’s all that’s available, and they’re glad to get it.’ She snorted at Hetty’s shock. ‘Honey, don’t be so green. That’s the only way anything gets made for TV these days. They’ll probably think you’re a workie too because you’re a mate of mine. So keep schtum.’
Hetty nodded mutely.
‘Now, next week’s programmes are just about fixed, but on Monday planning begins for the following week. You could come in then. Nine thirty start. Supposed to pack up by five but it’s a bit open-ended. Plenty of nosh on filming days – that’s Thursdays and Fridays, we make three shows a day – otherwise it’s packed lunch or the pub.’
One of the cameramen – Gerry, Hetty believed – had left the canteen and now returned, shaking his head. ‘Camera five’s out,’ he announced. ‘Take a minute or two to fix it.’
‘Relax, everybody,’ called Bob, the floor manager.
‘Oh, good, we have a bit longer.’ Rosa grinned. ‘So, apart from needing a job, how are you doing? Haven’t seen you in ages.’
Hetty began to insist that she didn’t need a job, then thought better of it. She needed something to do. The creative cacophony of the studio, though bewildering, was distinctly more to her taste than repeat episodes of Knightsbridge with Clarissa; she could keep up with the one, but not with the other, not indefinitely. It dawned on her that Rosa, in her fast-moving way, was doing her an enormous favour. The least she could do in return was be grateful.
‘I’ll be fine. Suffering a bit of culture shock at the moment.’ Keep that resolution. Don’t whinge. Nobody wants to hear your sob-story . Hetty put her head on one side and examined her friend. ‘Rosa, you look marvellous. This life obviously suits you.’
‘Yes, it does. What makes the difference is knowing we’ve been recommissioned. TV’s a hair-raising business. You can produce an award-winning series – and I have – and still come to the last shot unsure if you can pay the bills next month. Budgets are murderously tight, like I said on the phone. But we manage. Struggle from one crisis to the next. What about you?’
‘Me?’ Hetty’s caution came into play. ‘The decree absolute is nearly through. I have a flat, not too far from here, so this is convenient. I’m beginning to settle in.’
‘Got a boyfriend yet?’ Rosa nudged her arm. ‘Go on, you can tell me. I won’t let on.’
Hetty covered her embarrassment with a short laugh. ‘Everyone thinks I should no sooner have got rid of one man than be haring off after another. What is this?’
It was Rosa’s turn to seem shocked. ‘You’re not about to turn into a nun, are you? Because I don’t recommend it.’
‘I’m not about to haunt street corners saying, “Hey, fella,” either. Or go night-clubbing with people half my age.’
‘But the sex!’ Rosa hissed, loud enough for the two men at the next table to hear. One snickered but kept his back turned. ‘Won’t you miss it?’
Hetty shrugged. Even if she were to confide in Rosa, this was hardly the moment.
‘I mean, I don’t know what it was like between Stephen and you. He seemed a hunky guy, but one never can tell. But if it was okay, then surely you’ll get stuck in soon as possible? And if he wasn’t up to much …’ Rosa nudged her again. ‘You’re not past it. Not by a streak. Believe me.’
One of the cameramen twisted round and peered at the two women. ‘It gets better with age, like fine Cognac,’ he remarked, and made kissing noises with his
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