‘Mum?’
It is Rollo’s voice calling and she follows it into the lounge, where the curtains are perpetually drawn.
‘Look at this,’ he says. He stands in front of the television, which is blaring the excessively jaunty theme tune to This Morning. The remote in his hand is still lolling at the screen. The television is never on during the day, except the odd black and white afternoon film when Miriam is particularly exhausted.
‘Why am I watching this?’ she asks.
‘Just wait and see.’
The set is a cacophony of exposed brick, floral wallpaper, and primary-coloured soft furnishings, all yelling ‘CHEERFUL!’ at a bruising volume.
‘Here we go,’ says Rollo.
The presenters – a blonde woman who resembles Bambi and a white-haired, curiously ageless man – have lowered their voices to denote ‘tragedy item’.
‘A month ago, twenty-four-year-old Edith Hind went missing from her home in Huntingdon. The police still don’t know what’s happened to her, but since then a series of lurid revelations have appeared in the press relating to her private life. Indeed, last week, the exposure led to her best friend, Helena Reed, tragically taking her own life. Today, exclusively on This Morning, we have Edith’s boyfriend here to talk about the girl he loves and to separate the facts from the fiction.’
‘That’s Holly Willoughbooby,’ says Rollo.
‘That can’t be her real name,’ says Miriam.
‘Shhhhh,’ says Rollo.
Holly’s huge doe eyes are looking up from beneath a voluminous sweep of yellow hair. Her voice is laden with condolence, while along the bottom of the screen, Miriam notices, the next item is on flattering trousers, followed by a discussion on toddlers who bite. Something about the lighting on the show makes its world seem thin and breakable.
‘You were with Edith for two happy years and presumably you had no inkling of what lay ahead. You must be worried sick about her,’ says the ageless man, whose bronzed skin and white hair make him seem like a photographic negative.
Will Carter smiles. He is resplendent in a slate blue open-neck shirt, an exact match for his eyes which, studio lit and in high definition, sparkle on screen.
Ah yes, thinks Miriam, of course.
‘I’m worried and I miss her like crazy,’ he says, ‘but it’s also been devastating to see so many lies and innuendoes in the tabloids. It’s just compounded all our distress.’
‘You mean yours and her parents – Sir Ian and Lady Hind,’ says the ageless man.
‘That’s Phil,’ Rollo says to Miriam.
‘Has TV reversed the passage of time?’ asks Miriam.
‘It has for Phillip Schofield,’ says Rollo.
‘I also need to set the record straight about Helena, who was our dear friend and who never did anything – never would have done anything – to hurt anyone. The lies about her have been astounding, with devastating consequences.’
‘What a heartthrob,’ says Rollo.
‘The start of his TV career,’ says Miriam. They are standing in front of the television in the pretence they are not stopping, but they both are mesmerised, like babies in front of their first cartoon.
‘Actually, I could see him presenting The One Show, or one of those nature programmes like Countryfile, that sort of thing,’ says Rollo.
‘Yes, but he’s so boring,’ says Miriam. ‘Look, even Holly’s suppressing a yawn – did you see that? Her mouth went all tight.’
Rollo is looking at his mother. ‘I thought it was The Tedium That Dare Not Speak Its Name.’
‘I can admit it now.’
‘Well, I admire him for going out to bat for Edith and Helena.’
‘Darling Rollo,’ says Miriam, hugging him, then looking at her watch over his broad shoulder. ‘Oh gosh, I’m late for Julie.’
‘Need your fix,’ says Rollo, and she can hear the disapproval in his voice as she leaves the room in search of her handbag.