The papers quivered in my hands. I shuffled through the pages of my speech for the eighth time. Did I touch on all the important points? Did I remember everything? Oh God, why couldn’t we cancel this today? I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
The woman doing my make-up for my television debut was tutting at the state of my eyebrows, pulling strange devices out of the drawers to attack the situation. Was she seriously stressed about a few eyebrow hairs out of place? Talk about First World problems. I glanced around the studio, trying not to move my head too much. I had already been told to keep still twice by the uptight make-up artist. The ceilings were high — not surprising considering we were essentially in a large warehouse off the Dereham Road. They were patterned with artificial lights, the type that would give you a migraine if you stared at them for too long. The make-up woman tugged my head back down so it was level with the mirror again. There were little LED lights dotted around it, with various brushes and powders scattered on the dressing table. All I could smell were perfume, hairspray, and the dusty heat from various electronic beauty devices. It was worlds away from the dingy offices of Carrow House, which only ever smelt of burnt coffee and the dodgy loo aroma.
I was doing everything I could to push Emma from my thoughts. I couldn’t bear it. The review panel had been horrific. Now that Emma’s case had hit the news, it would be paraded in my face for weeks to come. My failure, which had cost Emma Beale her life. I forced my mind away from her, landing instead on the morning’s events with Teigan. I fumbled with my work phone, which I’d been keeping on my lap just in case of emergencies, and started to type out a text.
Hi, Teigan, it’s me on the work phone. Left my phone at home. Really sorry about this morning. I’ve been under a lot of stress with work. Hope school is okay. See you later. Love you XX
I hit “Send” and felt the relief start to sink in. Teigan was a good girl, despite the occasional teenage rampage. She knew work was stressful and would understand. Maybe she’d even text back saying that she loved me, too. I stared at the screen like a young girl waiting for a reply from her crush. The phone vibrated, and my heart lurched. But it wasn’t the reply I wanted. It wasn’t even a reply.
Message failed to send.
I hit the send button again and scowled at the phone as the same automated message popped up. “Do you have problems with the signal in here?” I asked the make-up artist.
“Sometimes.”
I sighed. I’d have to try it again later.
“Suzanne, there you are, darling.” The flamboyant voice belonged to Annie, the publicist for the charity with which Norfolk Children’s Services had insisted we contract. She tottered over in her burgundy heels and pencil skirt, glamorous as always. Her hair had that envious style of looking effortlessly stunning, as if she had rolled out of bed, tousled it a little, and yet somehow every hair had fallen into place.
“Oh, hey, Annie. Sorry, I’ve been in beauty for ages.” I pulled a face emphasising my boredom and clocked the make-up artist’s disapproval. “But she’s doing a great job,” I added with haste.
“You’ll look fabulous. It’s worth it. Audiences respond better to attractive people, it’s been proven,” said Annie. The make-up artist nodded her head in agreement.
“Yes, but I’m talking about child sexual exploitation, not this month’s Vogue.”
“All the more reason to be attractive to the public. Come on, it’s no secret that social workers aren’t exactly popular. You want to promote your charity? You need an audience to pay attention.”
My head was yanked back into position again.
“Sorry.” I felt like a kid who couldn’t keep still.
The make-up artist brushed roughly at my dark, slightly matted hair, clearly not bothering to spare my scalp any pain. I shouldn’t have complained about how long it was taking. My comfort was her lowest priority now.
“How old are you?” the make-up artist asked as she studied my face.
“Thirty-three.”
She tutted in response and mumbled something about how my skin should be in much better condition.
“I had a baby at nineteen,” I said, hoping that would explain my lack of self-care.
“I see,” she nodded. “Anti-wrinkle cream is what you need.”
I gave her a thumbs up as I turned back to an impatient- looking Annie.
“So,” Annie pulled up a stool. “The set-up is the two presenters — male and female — and then it’s you versus the ‘anti you,’ basically. She’s a bit of a nightmare, so you need to be ready for her. She’s basically shot to fame by being an arsehole. Anything that is politically incorrect and going to cause a stir, she’ll say it. Last month she said that fat people deserve to get cancer.”
“Well, she sounds like a treat.”
“Exactly. So you can bet she’ll take the position of ‘young promiscuous girls bring it on themselves.’”
“Wonderful. Who is she?” I grimaced as my hair was dragged between the hot plates of hair straighteners.
Annie paused for a second, as if bracing herself for my reaction. “Nancy Thompson.”
“Nancy Thompson? Are you kidding me?” Nancy was well known for being awful. If I’d known I was going up against her, I’d never have agreed to go through with it.
“Keep calm — you’ll be fine. If anything, it’ll work in your favour.”
“How?!”
“Because people hate her even more than they hate social workers.”
She probably had a point there, but still. I started fidgeting in my seat, picking the smooth polish from my nails, only to have my hand batted away by the make-up artist.
Annie carried on, either oblivious to my panic or just choosing to ignore it. Probably the latter. “They’re likely to also ask you about your general experience as a social worker in child protection as well, so make sure you’re ready with what you want to talk about and what is off limits.”
“Little thing called confidentiality, Annie. Surely it’s all off limits?”
“Well, obviously with current cases, but you know. Any old case-study examples you can use to make your case will help. People like a real-life touch.”
My mind raced over all the children I’d worked with over the years, lingering for just a moment on some more than others. Some just stayed with you.
Especially him.
The traumatic memory penetrated my mind, as it often did. His body on the floor, lifeless in a pool of blood. His big brother cowering over him, crying, his wrists also spilling blood.
I shook the image from my head as the word association game echoed in my mind.
What do you think when I mention brothers?
Suicide.
“Suzanne, are you listening?”
I drew my attention back to Annie’s voice, feeling dazed by the shock of the memory.
“I think they’re also inviting people to send in questions via Twitter, so you need to be ready for some flak from the public, as well.”
“Oh, God, really?” This was sounding worse by the second. “Annie, how long is this all going to take? I need to get back to the office this afternoon.”
“It’ll take as long as it takes. This publicity is important, Suzanne. I thought you were taking this seriously?”
“I am —”
“Well, commit to it then.”
“Annie,” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “There’s been a child death on my caseload.”
“Oh, right, sorry to hear that. I did hear about that poor girl on the news today. I didn’t realise she was one of yours.” A wave of awkwardness passed over her face. Perhaps she was suddenly reconsidering having me on the show. I couldn’t help but hope it would all be cancelled.
“Look,” she continued, “It airs live at three thirty, and you should be done by four, as they’ve got the daily cooking bit on then. So, you should be out of here by half past at the latest. Just remember why you’re here, okay?”
I took a deep breath. Of course I remembered why I was there. Our work is important. I just wished someone else could do the flashy promotion bit. That was exactly why I’d gone to Norfolk County Council with the idea — for them to deal with all this rubbish. I just wanted to supply the money to get it up and running. Everyone had thought I was mad, using the premium bonds money on this. But for me, it was the only option. I hadn’t even known the bonds had existed. It had been a complete shock to get the news of my big win and even more of a shock to discover that the bonds had been set up by my dad after Mum had died. It was probably the most thoughtful thing he’d ever done for me. And I knew, more than anyone, that I did not deserve it.
The make-up artist gestured to show me she was finished, as if I were a piece of artwork she’d spent hours crafting. I glanced back in the mirror and barely recognised my face behind the thick make-up, mass of hairspray, and perfectly defined eyebrows.
“Oh, Suzanne?” Annie bent down so that her mouth was level with my ear. “Make sure you don’t mention the child death on your caseload. It won’t make you particularly likeable to the public.”
Yeah, no shit.