Read Online Fat Girls and Fairy Cakes by Sue Watson - Free Book Online

see Al was about to open his mouth, so before he told them to get a room I grabbed him and we went to find Gerard. We needed him to confirm he wasn’t a mad, spade-wielding sex-murderer, just an ex-market-stall holder who couldn’t resist bargain lingerie. Career crisis had been averted – for now.
    “This whole Gerard thing could have caused me a massive problem Al,” I said angrily, as we walked back to the garden together.
    “I know Stel, and I feel terrible about it,” he said shaking his head.
    “I’ve told you before, you can’t just find people for the screen off the Internet. It’s not safe and they can tell you anything about themselves. As it happens Gerard isn’t dangerous, but he might have been.”
    “Stel, I told you earlier, I didn’t find Gerard on the Internet. He was a personal recommendation.”
    “Where the hell from? Some ex-convict convention?”
    “From MJ.”
    I stopped in my tracks and pulled him round to look at me.
    “I’m sorry Al, what did you just say?”
    “MJ told me just before we came here that she knew a really brilliant garden-designer who would make our programme special. And, well, I knew she wasn’t your greatest fan but I never thought...” started Al, looking as if he wanted the ground to swallow him up.
    “That scrawny, manipulative witch!” I yelled. “She put Gerard our way, and then when he was settled and the programme was about to be filmed she told Peter that he’d been to prison.”
    Al bit his lip. “I feel awful. And stupid.”
    I put my arm around him, still shaking with anger. “Fortunately for us, Denise knew the truth and is a shameless flirt. It’s lucky she’s so nosy, or we’d both be packing.”
    “I know,” said Al. “I’m so sorry Stel. I promise never to listen to MJ again.”
    “Let’s get back to work” I said, taking a deep breath to calm myself and turning towards the melée, “we’ve got a show to run.”
    And with only hours to go until the first live broadcast, we needed every spare second.

6 - Showtime!
     
    By teatime I was in a cold sweat. I drank ten cups of coffee and went through the final script. Bernard was the main man and yet he’d barely ever seen a TV-camera before. We were asking a lot of him but I was just hoping he’d recruited some heavenly help – after all, it was Sunday. Just before the final run-through, my phone beeped. It was a text from Lizzie.
TXT: Good Luck darling. Remember, Jesus loves you.
     
    I smiled, and put the phone in my pocket.
    I met up with the presenter, a brunette news anchor called Debbie who I worked with as a humble researcher on Good Morning Britain many years ago. She’d been an absolute bitch to me then and had treated me with the utmost contempt.
    Debbie was a competent presenter but she didn’t have that elusive star quality and as we had a rather elusive budget we were stuck with her. She’d never made it to prime time and that had always made her bitter and tough to work with. She hated anyone under 35 and had a charming way of asking researchers for refreshment, which was: “Coffee. Now!”
    Funnily enough when she’d turned up a few days earlier in full make-up, Barbour jacket and pink wellies, it was she who brought coffee to me . How things change. “Darling its ages since we worked together,” she exclaimed, too enthusiastically. She was over-the-top delightful and hugged me like we were old mates. I felt sick.
    “I think it was Good Morning Britain, ” I ventured politely. “I was a researcher then and as all good presenters know, today’s researchers are tomorrow’s producers,” I added, pointedly. Then I sipped coffee, waggled my pen and talked through the script authoritatively. She nodded and smiled and fawned. I was civil but cool and made a mental note to keep my eye on the nasty piece of work should any unsuspecting young researcher come into her orbit.
     “It’s lucky you have no work on and are free for this series. We were trying for