White Christmas (6 page)

Lizzie’s heart sank. She didn’t like the sound of this. She
was going to be fired. She knew it. Except why invite her to the poshest
tearoom in London to give her her marching orders? In her experience, staff on
the way out got thirty seconds with the boss and a brown envelope stuffed in
their hands. Short, sharp and definitely not sweet.

‘Really?’ said Lizzie. ‘I’m only on screen for a few minutes
at a time. I don’t see how…’

‘It came to me in a flash of inspiration,’ said Dan,
thumping the table forcefully. ‘When we were talking at the Christmas bash. I
think we could be on to something big.’

Lizzie was mystified by his words. As a scientist she liked
dealing with facts and figures. Dan Moody might be a smooth operator when it
came to business but right now he wasn’t making any sense whatsoever.

‘Is this a nice way of telling me I’m fired?’

Her question stopped Dan in his tracks.

‘What? No, of course not. It’s a way of telling you that I
want to put you right at the heart of Ace TV.’

Lizzie wished Dan would talk like a normal person. The first
thing she’d learned as a TV presenter was to be clear and succinct. Dan Moody
sounded like he’d been on one management course too many. At this rate he was
going to start talking about ‘blue sky thinking’ and ‘going forward together.’

‘We need to go forward together,’ said Dan. ‘At the moment
Ace TV is too boring, too worthy. I was watching the breakfast show on Last
Ditch News this morning and it’s way more fun. Everything about it is more fun
– the graphics, the set, the stories, and yes, the weather too. We need to take
a leaf out of their book - and fast.’

Lizzie was flabbergasted by his words. Ace TV was a serious
station with serious news and weather. Last Ditch on the other hand, well, it
was a joke.

‘Are you saying that we should present the weather like Last
Ditch?’ she said, incredulity showing in her voice.

‘Yes,’ he said brusquely.

‘And how is that going to work? I mean, I’m a serious
weather presenter – the whole team are. The weather coverage at Last Ditch
isn’t in our league.’

‘Maybe,’ said Dan. ‘But at least it’s entertaining. And when
we get down to it, all the viewers want to know is whether it’s going to be hot
or cold, wet or dry. You’re far too serious, Lizzie. People don’t need all that
chart nonsense…’

‘Well that’s where you’re wrong,’ said Lizzie indignantly.
‘The weather is a serious matter. It has a bearing on everything – on health,
on safety, the economy, climate change. You can’t just dismiss it out of hand.
The Last Ditch lot haven’t a clue what they’re talking about. Whereas we… we’re
experts in our field, you know. I’ve got years of training behind me…’

‘Yes, Lizzie, I know. You keep telling me. But that doesn’t
mean that your expertise makes for good TV. I’m not saying that you need to
make radical changes, but here’s what I’ve got in mind. Hear me out, will you?’

‘OK,’ said Lizzie grudgingly. She wasn’t sure she wanted to
hear him out, but if she wanted to keep her job, she’d better listen.

‘As I’ve said, we’re going to relaunch the whole station in
the New Year, rebrand it too. But here’s what I want you to do for starters. I
want you to ditch the boring suits. Go for bright colours, high fashion, jeans,
shorts – whatever you want, so long as it’s light-hearted. And young. And fun.
Get rid of the complicated weather charts and come up with graphics that are
bright, simple and clear. Make the weather simple and comprehensible. Don’t use
weather-speak…’

Lizzie had to stop herself from snorting with derision at
his last point.

‘So basically you want me to present the weather like Hal
Benson at Last Ditch.’

Dan beamed at her and banged the table so hard that the
delicate Wedgwood teacups jumped in their saucers.

‘Exactly. I knew you’d get it, Lizzie. Take a leaf out of
Hal Benson’s book and make the weather more human.’

If Lizzie hadn’t been so outraged by his patronising
remarks, she would have laughed out loud. There she was, encouraging Hal to
make his weather reports more serious. And now she was being told to copy his
style.

‘And by the way, I’ve got plenty more ideas up my sleeve for
you,’ said Dan.

This was turning into a complete nightmare, thought Lizzie.
What the hell was he going to suggest next?

EIGHT

Hal thought he was hallucinating when he switched on the TV
the next morning. It was eight a.m. and he was feeling slightly the worse for
wear. He’d gone out for a drink with Jamie Simons, Tasha’s boyfriend, the night
before and one beer had turned to four or five. He couldn’t remember exactly
how many he’d had – or how he’d got back to his flat. But even so, he couldn’t
believe what he was seeing right now.

He blinked and refocused his eyes on the screen. Yep,
everything looked just the same. Lizzie Foster was presenting the Ace TV
weather, looking like she’d been styled by a five-year-old. Her tousled brown
hair stuck out at all angles, as if she’d just experienced an electric shock,
and she was wearing a… Hal couldn’t get his head round this at all. Lizzie
Foster was wearing a onesie. And it wasn’t just any old onesie either. It was a
Christmas onesie, covered in a riot of dancing reindeer, stars and snowflakes.
What was she playing at?

The next moment he got even more of a surprise.

‘And now for today’s weather,’ said Lizzie. ‘I’m going to
give it to you straight. All you need to know is that it’s going to be wet,
wet, wet…’

As Hal stared in disbelief, his mobile rang. It was Tim
Browne, the Last Ditch director who’d hired him for the weather job in the
first place. Hal hadn’t clapped eyes on him since his audition, though Tim had
sent him a couple of complimentary emails urging him to ‘keep up the good
work.’

‘Have you seen what bloody Ace TV have done?’ boomed Tim’s
voice down the line. His voice was so loud that Hal reckoned he could have
dispensed with a phone altogether.

‘Er, I’m a bit confused, Tim. I don’t really understand what
they’re doing. What’s going on?’

Tim huffed and puffed for a second or two, then continued
his tirade.

‘They’re copying you, Henry. That’s what they’re doing.
They’ve clocked that our weather ratings have been on the up since we hired you
– and now they’re trying to nick your style for themselves. Bloody hell, they
haven’t been trying to poach you, have they?’
 

Hal racked his brains. He’d been so busy preparing for his
drama auditions that he’d ignored most of his texts and calls.

‘I’m not sure,’ said Hal. ‘I’ve had quite a few missed calls
though.’

‘Have you now?’ snapped Tim. ‘Look, I know you’re on the
afternoon shift today but it’s time we had a talk. I need to see you right now.
The battle is on and we need to plan our tactics. Have you got that?’

Hal groaned inwardly. His head hurt and he still had loads
of lines to learn, but he didn’t have any choice. When Tim Browne shouted
‘jump,’ you jumped.

An hour later, Hal was sitting in Tim’s office in Brixton.
Unlike the more profligate Ace TV, Last Ditch News had kept its costs down by
renting an old carpet factory south of the river. It was a shrewd move, and
since then loads of up-and-coming technology companies had followed suit. The
TV station had kitted the place out in style too, with four light, airy
studios, state of the art offices and a preview suite.

‘Good to see you, Hal,’ said Tim, glancing up from his iPad.

Hal smiled. That was a first, he thought. Tim Browne had
never remembered his name before.

‘Did you catch all the Ace TV weather bulletins this
morning, then?’

‘Yeah,’ said Hal. ‘It was… well, it was a bit different to
their normal style.’

‘It sure was,’ grunted Tim. ‘And it was a right rip-off as
far as I’m concerned.’

‘Maybe,’ said Hal. ‘Except I’ve never worn a onesie. And
I’ve no plans to any time soon either. But it’s quite flattering in a way,
isn’t it? Why should we care what they do?’

Tim sighed and carefully placed his iPad on the desk.

‘Because we’re competing for the same audience, that’s why.
And the viewers are a fickle lot. They’ll switch channels at the drop of…’

‘A remote?’ suggested Hal.

‘Ha ha. Yes, at the drop of a remote. So the thing is, we
need to beat them at their own game.’

‘But how do we do that?’ asked Hal. ‘I’m only here for
another couple of weeks. Micky Lennon will be back after that.’

An apprehensive expression appeared on Tim Browne’s round
face.

‘Well maybe,’ he said. ‘But then again, probably not. Look,
I might as well tell you. We’ve had word from the drying-out clinic that
Micky’s not co-operating with the staff. He’s walked out of the clinic twice
already. And he’s gone out on a load of all-night benders. They’re not
optimistic about him being in a fit state to come back in January. So the thing
is, I can’t promise anything for sure, but we may want to extend your
contract.’

‘Er, great.’ This was the last thing Hal had expected but
there was no point in worrying about it.

‘So the question is,’ said Tim. ‘What are we going to do
about Ace TV? Got any bright ideas?’

Hal thought for a moment. This wasn’t his usual territory at
all.

‘Actually,’ he said slowly. ‘I might have a very bright
idea.’

‘Let’s have it then.’

‘How about us running our very own White Christmas
Challenge?’

‘Sound’s good – but what in God’s name is it?’

‘It’s funny really, because in a way the idea comes from
Lizzie Foster herself.’

‘She’s a good presenter,’ said Tim. ‘She’s a bit serious,
though. Well, apart from this morning.’

Hal bristled slightly. He didn’t like Tim criticising
Lizzie.

‘Whatever. You know the course you sent me on? In Oxford?’

‘Yeah. What was it? Weather presenting for dummies or
something?’

‘Very funny,’ said Hal. ‘ Well, Lizzie Foster was one of the
speakers. And since then, we’ve seen each other a few times’

‘What?’ roared Tim, leaping to his feet. ‘Are you telling me
that you and Lizzie Foster are an item?’

If only, thought Hal.

‘No, of course not. But the thing is, we were chatting about
whether we’re going to have a White Christmas and we… well, it sounds a bit
childish, but we decided to have a bet on it. I said it’s going to snow on
Christmas Day. She says it’s not.’

‘That’s all well and good,’ said Tim, ‘though I’m not sure I
like you fraternising with the enemy. But what’s that got to do with Last Ditch
TV?’

Hal leaned forward in his chair and put his elbows on Tim’s
desk. ‘What if we build it into something big? I can announce tomorrow morning
that I reckon it’s going to snow. Then we get loads of showbiz people to have a
punt on it, predict the amount of snow there’ll be… that sort of thing.’

Tim was thinking hard. Hal could almost hear his brain
ticking.

‘And what if…’ Tim said slowly. ‘What if it doesn’t snow?’

‘But don’t you see?’ said Hal. ‘I’m sure it will snow
somewhere. Even if it we have to send a reporter up to the north of Scotland,
I’m sure we’ll be able to find a bit of snow to film.’

A glimmer of a smile appeared on Tim’s face.

‘D’ you know, Hal, that’s fighting talk. I reckon it might
capture the viewers’ imagination. And we could have a lot of fun with it. So
yes, let’s give it a whirl.’

NINE

Lizzie flicked through the clothes rail half-heartedly.
She’d worn the first Christmas onesie as a joke - as her own private protest at
Dan Moody’s plans to dumb down the weather. But the ruse had completely
backfired when her outfit proved a massive hit with everyone. The YouTube video
had gone viral, the tabloids had all splashed her across their front pages and
Dan Moody had ordered her to wear them right through the festive season.

So here she was in Oxford Street, grabbing every size ten
onesie she could lay her hands on. She’d already snapped up a leopard print
onesie and she’d just found a Santa Claus one.

The media attention was crazy, thought Lizzie, queuing up to
pay. At the start of her career she’d hoped to make her name as a brilliant
meteorologist. How wrong had she been? She’d made her name all right, but for
wearing a onesie on TV. Her serious-minded dad was utterly mystified by the
fuss, especially when a red-top paper rang and asked him and his wife to pose
in onesies with Lizzie. ‘That’s a perfectly charming idea,’ he’d told them
courteously, ‘but the answer, of course, is no.’

As Lizzie headed towards the tube station her mobile rang.
It was bloody Dan Moody again.

‘Great show this morning, Lizzie. And I’ve had another idea
for you. Keep wearing the outfits – they are, how can I put it, very fetching.
But have you seen this White Christmas Challenge that Last Ditch News are
running?’

‘Vaguely,’ muttered Lizzie. She’d felt hurt when she saw Hal
launching it on the breakfast show. It was supposed to be their own private
joke, and now he was using it to further his career. Without even telling her.

‘We’ve decided we want you to do it too. Beat them at their
own game. You know far more about the weather than Hal Benson and his cronies,
so we want you to predict exactly where and when it’s going to snow on
Christmas Day.’

Lizzie stopped walking so suddenly that loads of Christmas
shoppers careered into her from behind.

‘Watch where you’re going, love,’ snapped a middle-aged man
in a tight leather jacket.

On the verge of tears, Lizzie swallowed hard and kept her
cool.

‘I can’t do that,’ she told Dan.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Lizzie. Of course you can.’

‘Actually Dan, I can’t. The point is, whatever Hal Benson at
Last Ditch says, it’s not going to snow on Christmas Day. Well, there might be
the odd flake in Aberdeen but the rest of us aren’t going to have a White
Christmas. No way.’