All to Play For (38 page)

Basil was arranging his books and files, not quite his usual friendly self. He pointed to the computer that squatted blankly on the desk, and asked Jon if he knew what was the matter with it. Jonathan had a look and found that it wasn’t switched on. He showed Basil how to do it, and where to find his emails.

“Aren’t they sending you on a course, Basil?”

“Yes, yes,” he sighed. “They keep telling me I must do one. I keep asking for a typewriter, but they’ve all been thrown out. By the way, they’ve cancelled Tony Scott’s sequel. Apparently the ratings on
Down and Up
weren’t good enough. Six million is too low, it seems, given the cost.”

The irony of this cancellation following immediately after the Banff prize was not lost on Jonathan, and under the circumstances he didn’t like to discuss his own problems with Basil. He offered his help at any time, and went on up to his office.

He hurried past Sonia who was using the photocopier with a face like a wet weekend, and went into the little kitchen to pick up a coffee from the percolator. Sally Farquar-Binns was there washing mugs at the sink.

“Hi Sally,” said Jonathan, pouring a cup of stewed black coffee. “How are you?”

She turned and smiled bravely through loose hair which fell across her face. She looked as if she had been crying.

“Oh, surviving,” she said. “Actually, not surviving.” She turned back to the sink.

Ever the gentleman, Jonathan gently enquired what she meant.

“I’m out at the end of the month,” Sally explained, trying to sound bright but ending on a semi-strangulated sob. “Morag just told me. I suppose I knew it was coming, but I thought, you know, something would turn up… ”

“I’m really sorry, Sally,” said Jonathan convincingly. He put a hand on her shoulder but she withdrew from him.

“You’re awfully sweet, Jon, but you’ll only make me howl. I refuse to give the fat old bitch
that
satisfaction.”

“Was she brutal?”

“She was like that woman screw in
Prisoner Cell Block H
,” said Sally bitterly. “Do you know the one I mean?”

Jonathan thought he did, and tried hard not to smile. Surely Morag couldn’t have been so melodramatically cruel, this must be Sally’s disappointment talking.

“You’d think she would at least
pretend
to be sorry about it, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, you would,” agreed Jonathan. “Don’t worry Sally, there’s life outside the BBC you know. You’re sure to get another job somewhere.”

“Do you think so?” Sally’s distraught eyes beseeched him.

He answered with all the sincerity he could muster, “Of course.”

“Thanks Jonathan. I won’t forget you. Selina’s a very lucky woman.”

Sally kissed him on the cheek and walked out like Greta Garbo.

Jim finished his second draft in a couple of weeks. Peter still wanted Jonathan’s brother Roger to direct, and he was keen to do it. Jon seemed oddly unexcited though. Something seemed to have sapped his enthusiasm. He told me he had every confidence in Roger, and that he might even be a great director in the making. He was just worried about the corporate end of things, he said. He wondered, in his down moments, whether the show would ever get made.

At the time of course I had no idea what was going on between him and Selina. Mr Discretion had never gossiped about his fiancée and he was hardly likely to start now. He seemed to enjoy my company, and would often come by my office for a chat. He said it was really helpful to talk things over with me, and that he appreciated my honest reactions. I began to enjoy chatting with him myself, having realised that my first impressions had been very shallow. He was really clever, and one of the least judgemental people I’ve ever met. Best of all he listened very carefully to whatever I said, and was always open to changing his mind. How many people like that do you know? And to top it all off, he was very easy on the eye. If he hadn’t been spoken for I might even have wasted time wondering whether there was any chance he’d go for me, but men like him don’t, on the whole. Not because they don’t like short dark Welsh women – I’m quite pretty, some people think so anyway – but all men like tall slim blondes best, don’t they? And women like that make a bee-line for men like Jonathan, so the rest of us never get a look-in.

A week or two after this a memo came round instructing each of us to attend a one-day workshop. It said that the management had noticed staff morale in drama was suffering, and an independent consultant had been brought in to run a series of workshops. The staff approached it with scepticism as we didn’t know what to expect and there was much muttering at the strain it must be adding to the department budget. Jonathan had little enthusiasm for it but didn’t want it to show. He had to go to the first one, I didn’t, but Maggie came up to London for it, so I was looking forward to seeing her afterwards.

It took place in the Centre House conference room. The leader was a very friendly lecturer with several books out on the fashionable new subject of ‘people management’, which were displayed on a table by the door. Being asked to work here was a feather in his cap, and he was keen to rise to the considerable challenge presented by the BBC in flux, and hoped ultimately to become a famous consultant. He welcomed his new clients enthusiastically and thanked them for finding the time to come, as if he thought attendance had been voluntary.

The rest of the group was composed of Donald Mountjoy, who stayed only ten minutes before his mobile phone conveniently summoned him away to urgent business; producer Gillian Makin from Pebble Mill, a dozen editors, production executives and associates whom Jonathan barely knew, and Maggie. She had mellowed considerably, and Jon now appreciated her knack of seeing straight to the heart of the problem, even if she did still tend to stick the knife in with indelicate Yorkshire bluntness. He now recognised that actually she was just like him in her commitment to high standards and ideals, and merely expressed herself differently.

The leader introduced himself as David Stringfellow, no relation, (which no-one else found amusing) and outlined the day’s work, which involved analysing their work practices, discussing what the problems were, and finding possible solutions.

They divided into groups and sat on the floor with sheets of wallpaper liner and magic markers, making flow diagrams and lists. This generated a great deal of discussion and they soon overcame their initial reluctance as they found collaboration lent power to their private feelings. Truly, there was a lot that could be improved, and they began to feel empowered to do something about it.

After a break the groups assembled to present their results. They had all come to much the same conclusions, finding bureaucratic structure and lack of money to be the basis of all the problems. David began to play devil’s advocate, challenging their assumptions and encouraging group discussion. Then he asked them to get together again and redraw their work process diagrams, adding in suggestions at every stage for ways in which they could increase their own efficiency.

“For instance,” he said, “one of my personal problems is time management. I’m a very conscientious worker, but I tend to get on with the first thing on my list and ignore the rest till later, with the result that by Saturday I’ve still got half a dozen things that need doing, and the family wants me to go shopping, watch my daughter diving, and all the rest of it: now I don’t see family life as less important than work, far from it, but I
do
tend to let it go to the bottom of the list. Does that ring any bells?” he looked round smiling at the semi-circle of faces but only Gillian Makin nodded and smiled back at him. Maggie was frowning.

“If several of you would like to, we can look at ways of managing your time so that you can do
every
thing, and nothing suffers. Sound good? Maybe. Okay, we’ll come back to that.”He pressed on and finished up with a list of possibilities they could look at, from reorganising your desk and filing system to delegating work. Then he began prioritising them.

Maggie sat frowning thoughtfully throughout, and finally raised her hand. “I’m sorry David, but can I say something? I don’t mean to be negative, I can see that what you’re doing could be extremely useful to a lot of people, but I’m afraid it has very little bearing on what’s going on here.”

Jonathan, who had found the meeting more tedious than useful and had been drifting off into contemplation, now focussed his attention on Maggie.

“The fact is,” she continued, “that people here do an amazing job in the face of extreme difficulty. Their professionalism is infinite. I think I speak for all of us – do say if I don’t, everyone – in that we’re
already
working as efficiently as it’s possible to work. Most people don’t take lunch hours, they stay late in the office, they do extra work which used to be done by other staff who’ve been got rid of. They juggle work and home life brilliantly. The things which hold us up are not our personal inadequacies.” David immediately gestured that he had never intended to suggest such a thing. “But
management
inadequacies. They sit on decisions until the last possible minute so we don’t get enough time to prepare properly, or we lose the actors and writers we most want to work with. They don’t know or care what making programmes is really about. They don’t see it as a
creative
process at all. There’s a terrible gulf developed which never used to be there in the old days – not that I’ve been here all that long, but that’s what I understand.” Maggie looked to Gillian, who nodded in agreement. “As if programmes are something you turn out by the yard.” She paused, not wishing to proceed unless she was voicing a generally-held point of view, and saw her colleagues nod unhappily.

“To be honest David you should be running workshops with
them
. Suggesting that the department’s problems are due to our own inefficiency is frankly very insulting.”

Jonathan added his support. “I have to agree with Maggie. Without prejudice to you, it’s been useful getting together like this, but low morale can’t be cured by emotional Elastoplast.”

David looked deeply disappointed, although he was experienced enough to know that Maggie and Jonathan were telling the truth. In fact he had made similar observations to himself already, and had been wondering how to report back to Peter Maxwell. “I’m terribly sorry if I’ve given you the impression that the state of morale at the BBC is in any way your own fault, I know that’s not the case. And I will happily pass your conclusions on to the management, without putting any names in. Do you think that would be a useful outcome?”

They all agreed that it would, although some were very nervous that such a move might rebound back on them. Nonetheless they spent the last hour telling David all their grievances, which he listed and promised to collate and circulate to them before reporting back to Peter and his superiors.

Jonathan and Maggie left the workshop having rather enjoyed it after all. They had got a lot off their chests in the safe environment of a closed discussion, and felt fired with something akin to the spirit of revolution.

“I don’t suppose it’ll make a fat lot of difference, will it?” asked Maggie.

“I doubt it,” replied Jonathan. “It’s all gone too far. I’m looking forward to seeing what David comes up with all the same.”

“Yeah, if I’m still here. Anthea Onojaife offered me a job as producer with her new company. It’s only a series for Channel 5, but I’m going to take it.”

Jonathan was surprised. “Have you had enough of
Casualty
?”

“It’s been almost a year now,” replied Maggie. “And I really want a change. I came up to see if there was anything else available, but Morag’s warned me there isn’t enough to justify renewing my contract. I’m sick of the BBC. It feels like a long slow process of selling out. So I’m speeding it up – I’m getting out while the going’s good. I was never a corporate player anyway. It’s just not me.”

Maggie’s determined expression belied the disappointment in her voice. Jonathan surmised that it had been a much more difficult decision than she was letting on.

“It’s all very well having principles, but they don’t pay the bills,” he remarked.

“That’s just it, but I figure I can probably do some good stuff. Maybe my show will be the one that puts Channel 5 on the map!”

Jonathan smiled and tried to nod convincingly. They both knew that Channel 5 was an unknown quantity, a real gamble.

“Jill Watkins is going to be the lead writer on it,” continued Maggie. “So at least we’ll have a good time, even if we can’t change the world.”

He was both pleased and disappointed for Maggie; she clearly felt she had failed to make her mark at the BBC. Jonathan had been fortunate to become established in the department just before the axe began to fall. Maggie probably wouldn’t be so lucky. She was making the right choice, given the state of the industry.

“Anthea’s done really well for herself, hasn’t she?” mused Jonathan.

“Yep. Hats off to the secretary bird, she’s making waves.”

Chapter Nineteen

Catherine Briggs switched on the new fifty-inch widescreen television, drew the curtains and plumped up the sofa cushions as Jeremy Paxman’s lugubrious face filled the flat screen and, it seemed, most of the wall.

“… her theme is that the BBC risks remaining stuck in its past, hobbled by the imperialist culture which originally gave birth to it. She claims there’s no true pluralism in the organisation, merely colonial compromise, and that attitudes inside the BBC are hopelessly old-fashioned. I’m joined in the studio by the article’s author, Anthea Onojaife; Chris Briggs, Managing Director of the BBC; and Barry Goodman, Chief Executive of the latest terrestrial channel to be launched in the UK: Channel 5. Welcome to
Newsnight
, everyone.

“Anthea. You joined the BBC as a secretary in 1985. Twelve years on, you’re running your own independent production company, Sisters in Synch. So… what’s the problem?”

“Good evening, Jeremy. The problem, in black and white terms, if you’ll pardon the pun, is that ethnic minority citizens are desperately under-represented at the editorial and managerial levels of the BBC, and this is reflected in the faces we see on the screen. In fact, if you don’t mind me saying so, this interview arrangement is absolutely typical.”