She stares at me, utter indifference streaming out like a searchlight in the night sky, and shrugs. ‘I don’t know you.’
Touché. I’m reluctantly impressed.
‘It makes no difference to me,’ she continues. ‘Besides it’s unlikely we’ll work together again. Today was a one-off.’ She lifts her chin, the ‘thank God’ unspoken but it’s there. ‘I need to get the report done today, I’m away next week.’
With that she starts walking again and doesn’t even pause at the glass sliding doors of the offices.
She’s cool. I like that she doesn’t engage in any drama.
‘Hey, Danny,’ she greets the security guy at reception with a broad smile. ‘How was the match last night?’ There’s a marked difference in her attitude to him and it intrigues me to see a completely different side to her.
‘Micky scored three goals.’
‘Proud Grandad.’ Her face softens. It makes her look much younger. Even a little vulnerable, which surprises me. She’s seemed fortress-like until now.
‘You bet. How was sunny Spain?’ he asks. ‘You’re back early.’
‘Complete washout,’ says Lydia with a quick look my way. ‘Storm clouds spoiled a perfect sky.’
‘That’s a shame. Never mind. You looking forward to being a TV star next week? My granddaughters love that Sex Island thing.’
It’s the first time I’ve seen her look uncertain. That’s interesting.
‘I have to pass the audition first.’
‘Rather you than me,’ says the security guy. ‘Although I wouldn’t turn the money down.’
‘You only get the cash if you get through,’ says Lydia.
‘They’re still looking for a couple more people. Maybe I’ll speak to HR, although the missus says they wouldn’t want my ugly mug on screen – my granddaughters would die of embarrassment.’ He guffaws. ‘I wouldn’t mind a shot at a hundred grand though.’
If I was an Alsatian dog my ears would be perfect triangles they’re so pricked up.
Lydia nods, flashes her identity badge and walks over to the lift, I follow her and only just make it between the closing doors. I think she pressed the button to close them deliberately.
‘What’s this about a reality TV show?’
She suddenly looks a little shifty as her eyes don’t meet mine. ‘You’ve heard of our esteemed chairman.’
‘Harcourt, yeah.’
‘His production company is producing a new TV pilot series. They need guinea pigs for the first show. All the details are on the company intranet.’
I’m intrigued. ‘I didn’t have you down as a wannabe celeb.’
‘I’m not,’ she snaps.
It’s fun to tug the string some more. ‘A hundred grand is a lot of moolah.’
She nods as if she’s too good to admit to needing filthy lucre.
‘Where do I sign up?’
Her look is pure scorn. ‘Yeah, because someone like you really needs the money.’
Her dismissive assumption punctures my self-composure and anger flashes through me. ‘Like you said earlier, you don’t know me.’
She flinches but lifts her chin again. ‘No. I don’t.’
The subtext beneath her words makes me regret my temper but my curiosity is up and running like a well-fuelled hamster on a wheel. I want to know more about this reality TV gig and the prize money. It’s a long shot but that would be the answer to my prayers.
As soon as I get to my desk, I open up my computer and log into Newspace, the company intranet site.
Everyone’s heard of Harcourt Productions, They make the cringe-inducing programme Naked Adventures. It features a series of people around the world bungy jumping, zip wiring, cave diving, parachuting – as the title suggests – completely in the altogether.
It’s on its fourth season. Personally, I’d have thought they’d have run out of blokes prepared to have their dangly bits out at five thousand feet and above but apparently not.
Want to win £100K? reads a large heading at the top of the page.
Wouldn’t that come in handy? I read the blurb, crossing my fingers that nudity is not involved.
Harcourt Productions is filming a new reality series, Fleeing for Your Life.
That sounds hardcore. I’m surprised Lydia has signed up.
Think Hunted meets The Island with Bear Grylls. Our pilot series will pit teams of contestants against each other, making their way from the Lake District to London under their own steam while evading capture from our elite squad of hunters. The first team to arrive wins a hundred grand.
Definitely no mention of being naked. Although fleeing for your life sounds a bit dramatic – but it’s bound to be, given that this is cheap telly. I read on, feeling more hopeful than I have all day.
