Nikki on the train:
Floral blouse (Mango)
Jeans (Evisu)
Black ankle boots (Hobbs)
Total est. cost: £230
‘I’m on the slow train to nowhere.’
It was 3.30 p.m. when the train finally pulled up in Glasgow Central Station. Annie felt rumpled, bored, toxic, dehydrated and horrible.
‘I’m on the slow train to nowhere,’ she’d heard Nikki complain on the phone, ‘along with my career.’ Now they were piling out into a cavernous, Victorian monster of a station.
And Finn, Svetlana and Miss Marlise had flown! She still felt outraged about this. They had touched down in Glasgow hours and hours ago.
‘I’m going to do a bit of location scouting with the girls,’ Finn had apparently explained to Bob. ‘I’ll take my camera and if we find some good spots; I’ll record a few to-camera pieces just to save time.’
Annie had had to choke back the lump of wounded pride in her throat when she’d heard that.
It was more proof, as if she needed it, that Finn didn’t like her. Never mind all the good work she’d done with Cath and Jody, Finn hadn’t forgiven her for Tina and maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe she was going to be shunted down to wardrobe lady status for the rest of the filming. Maybe she would just be filmed in the background? Dressing the women, but not saying a word on camera.
The thought of this had brought the lump of wounded pride bobbing up into her throat again.
When she arrived with Nikki and Bob at the Novotel all Annie wanted to do was get to her room and get under the shower before the first briefing meeting. She felt grubby and grungy.
‘Annie Valentine,’ she told the receptionist, as she watched Bob and Nikki picking up their keys. The receptionist tapped at the computer keyboard but then looked at it with a puzzled expression.
‘I’m with the film crew, same booking as them,’ Annie added, trying to be helpful.
‘Yes.’ The receptionist tappity-tapped again but didn’t seem to find anything useful. ‘Who made the booking?’ she asked.
‘Donnie Finnigan’ Annie said, assuming this would be right.
‘I’ll contact him for you,’ she said with a smile, then picked up a phone and dialled the number on the screen in front of her.
‘Hello, is that Mr Finnigan?’ she asked. ‘This is Novotel reception. I have an Annie Valentine here who’s looking for a room… right… right then… OK, thank you, Mr Finnigan.’
When she’d replaced the phone, the receptionist looked up at Annie and told her, ‘He’s just coming down.’
‘He’s coming down?’ Annie repeated. That didn’t seem right. ‘Can’t you sort this on the phone?’ she asked.
‘Well, we could, but I think he wants to speak to you,’ came the receptionist’s reply.
Why hadn’t he queried the room not being booked, anyway? Annie wondered. Had he known it wasn’t booked?
Oh no.
Maybe she wasn’t staying here.
Maybe there was an even cheaper hotel round the corner that poor old Annie Valentine would have to stay in because, guess what? There just weren’t quite enough rooms available at the Novotel.
Annie began to walk in a circle around the reception area. She caught a glimpse of herself in a shiny glass partition. She wanted a shower! She needed that shower! Even her the sharp collars of her black mac seemed to have wilted during their time on the train.
Once again, she found herself querying the ponytail. Was it the right thing? It had been the right thing for so long, but was it still the right thing?
‘Annie!’ Finn interrupted her thoughts. He was wearing his leather jacket, carrying his trusty clipboard and had his Bluetooth in one ear. These were all meant to signal that he was Extremely Busy making Important Decisions.
‘Grab your bag, I’m taking you across the road,’ he instructed.
She knew it. This bloody hotel was bloody full and she was going to be taken somewhere rubbish. Unfortunately, she wasn’t allowed to express any sort of anger or disapproval because right then Finn began to talk at speed and she guessed that it wasn’t to himself but in response to a voice in the earpiece.
Maybe Finn was controlled by the earpiece, Annie speculated as she followed him out of the hotel door, across the road and into a small bar. It was a nice bar; usually she would have enjoyed being taken to a bar like this with its traditional wooden floor and wooden, leather and brass fittings. It looked cosy and quiet. But the thought of a sit-down chat with Finn about her crap hotel and her new position as wardrobe lady was not exactly appealing, no matter how nice the setting.
‘Sorry, I’m going to have to shoot,’ Finn told his caller and immediately turned to Annie with a tense smile. ‘So, what’s your poison?’ he asked.
‘I don’t really need a drink. I think I’d prefer a shower,’ she replied.
‘No, no, I want to buy you a drink. Glass of wine?’ he suggested.
‘Well… OK,’ she agreed hesitantly.
What the bloody hell was going on? Maybe he was about to apologise? Maybe he’d looked at the Tina footage again and realized how brilliant it was? Maybe she too would be allowed to catch a plane on the return journey.
With two glasses of wine now in his hands, Finn steered Annie and her bags to a booth at the back of the bar.
As soon as her bottom hit the seat – Finn didn’t stand on ceremony – he hit her squarely with the words:
‘Annie, I’m really very sorry, but we’re going to have to let you go.’
Let.
You.
Go.
Go? Her mind repeated the question.
Go where? she wondered frantically.
Let you?
But she didn’t want to. Certainly, hadn’t asked to.
Let.
You.
Go.
What was this?
Things seemed to move into slow motion. Even Finn’s words seemed to be coming out one by one, too slowly, with very long pauses in between, giving Annie’s mind time to race.
Was he sacking her? Was the TV show about to be pulled away from under her feet? Was this all over now?
‘Let me go?’ she repeated, her voice full of confusion.
‘I am so sorry,’ Finn repeated, ‘but the budget is just being squeezed and squeezed. Every day I’m working with less money than I was the day before.’
‘But you’re hardly saving any money getting rid of me… I have a contract…’ she blundered on.
Surely, she would still be entitled to all of the £3,600, wouldn’t she? They were two-thirds of the way through the filming schedule, plus she’d schlepped all the way up to Glasgow.
‘Of course, we’ll pay you for all the work you’ve done,’ Finn said carefully, ‘but I think you’ll find that… er… under the terms and conditions, we don’t need to pay for anything else.’
Silence hung between them for a moment or two.
Despite the horrible sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Annie heard herself ask, ‘But won’t it look a bit strange? You know – you have me shopping and sorting out everyone’s outfits in the first episode and then I just disappear?’
‘Well, yes, we are going to have to address that…’ Finn fudged. He reached for his glass and took a gulp of wine.
‘You’re going to edit me out!’ Annie exclaimed. ‘You’re going to use all the clever outfits I chose, but you’re going to edit me out. Aren’t you!?’
Suddenly Finn came over all sympathetic and best-friend-ish – the rat.
‘It’s awful, it’s just absolutely awful,’ he agreed, ‘I am so, so sorry. If I’d had any idea how tight the margins were going to be, I wouldn’t have dreamed of having three presenters. I can barely afford one. Miss Marlise has a watertight contract and thank goodness Svetlana has agreed to waive her fee. I need to keep her on for all the useful publicity she’s going to generate for us…’
As Finn went on with his pleading and excuses, Annie could only think: Marlise has a watertight contract and Svetlana has agreed to work for free! Annie Valentine, you are the weakest link: goodbye!
‘Well, I signed the contract you gave me,’ Annie pointed out, ‘I trusted you.’
There was a pause, which Finn didn’t offer to fill.
‘I can’t afford to work for free,’ Annie told him, holding her head up high and trying to retain a scrap of dignity although she felt as if she’d been hit in the stomach and she was sure this was obvious from her flushed face.
‘No, that’s what I thought…’ Finn took another sip from his glass. He looked uncomfortable; his eyes kept travelling towards the door as if he was desperate to make a bolt for it.
‘You were good on TV,’ he added, but Annie could really have done with less of the ‘were’. Clearly her TV career was over, before it had even begun.
‘It’s not just the budget,’ Finn added finally. ‘Tina’s been given a video diary of her makeover and Marlise informed me that this was your idea.’
‘Oh.’
She hoped she hadn’t got Bob into trouble as well.
‘I twisted Bob’s arm,’ she added, hoping to get the cameraman off the hook. ‘I was just trying to be nice to Tina,’ she said softly, not that anything was going to save her now. She was just another necessary budget cut.
Watching Finn take another gulp from his glass, Annie thought of another question:
‘Couldn’t you have told me this in London?’
‘I always like to tell people face to face, like a grown-up,’ the rat replied.
‘So… have you arranged for me to get home?’ Annie asked. The more she tried not to cry, the more fierce and icy she seemed to sound.
‘Ah…’
Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe Finn was enough of an idiot to imagine that he could summon someone up on a five-and-a-half-hour train journey before firing them and making them disappear into the ether.
‘I’m sure there’s a plane. Easyjet… they go up and down all the time. Cheap, too… because we obviously won’t be able to pay… erm…’ he coughed, ‘you understand.’
No. She definitely did not understand. Not any of it. She did not understand why she was being sacked, when she was the presenter who did the most work and for so little money! She did not understand why Finn couldn’t have phoned her this morning and spared her the humiliation, not to mention the expense, of finding her own way back to London.
‘I thought I was doing a good job,’ were the words she chose carefully to argue her case one last time. ‘The women looked great when I’d styled them, I was always bang on budget and they opened up to me.’
Finn tweaked at his earlobe and had the decency to look slightly embarrassed.
‘I’m sorry, Annie. I’m just in a difficult situation. I’ve no money.’
‘Well,’ was all Annie could manage for a moment, ‘this has all been very interesting.’
She thought about slipping on her coat, picking up her very nice handbag and walking out. But then she thought of a better plan.
‘Right well, you can go now, Finn,’ she said firmly, ‘I’ll be fine.’
She watched Finn scrambling for his jacket, clipboard and other bits and pieces while she sat calmly. Now he was issuing guilty bits of apology: ‘So sorry about this… you will be OK, won’t you? You will get back to town OK? Obviously, I hope we might be able to work on something else in the future.’
Annie wanted to laugh out loud at that one. Work with this weak, deceitful, conniving nincompoop again? Don’t think so.
He stumbled out of the bar as she sat and looked on with total composure. Yes, this was much, much better. This way she got to fall apart in the quiet comfort of the booth, whereas if she’d walked out, she’d have fallen apart in the confusion of the street.
Annie put her hands up to her face and decided that for a few minutes at least, it would be OK to have a little cry.
‘Now then, hen… the wine’s no that bad, is it?’
She looked up to see the barman, a broad, shaven-headed bloke in a black polo shirt, beside her table.
She raised a smile, despite herself.
‘Oh no, it’s not that,’ she said, ‘in fact, I think I’ll have another glass.’
‘Another wee tot of Charrrrdonnay for the lady, coming right up. I take it he’s nae coming back?’ the barman asked. Taking the two empty glasses from the table, he gave a wink. ‘Ah, you’re well shot of him. Plenty morrrre fish in the sea.’
‘Exactly,’ was all Annie said, not really ready to have a great big heart to heart with the barman just yet.
The phone in her bag beeped.
‘See,’ the barman winked again, ‘a fine-looking woman like yersel will have another one lined up already!’
She took the phone out and saw the message from Bob:
Where u?
In bar opp hotel, been fired.
She texted back, sure that would get a good response. It was just seconds before his response appeared on screen:
Coming right over.
Ah well, the phone calls to Ed and to Connor would have to wait just a little bit longer.
Bob arrived minutes later with, to Annie’s surprise, Svetlana in tow.
‘Annah! This is terrible!’ Svetlana gushed as soon as she set eyes on her. ‘Terrible! Terrible! I go to tell Finn right now that I don’t work on this stupid show unless you work on it too!’
Which was very touching. It really was very kind.
‘I don’t think it will help,’ Annie told her. ‘He’s got no money. He’s just trying to save it in every direction.’
‘He’s slashed my daily rate,’ Bob added gloomily.
‘It’s terrible,’ Svetlana repeated.
Then Annie explained the insult that had been added to the injury: ‘He’s not even booked me into the hotel, I’ll have to get back onto the train and hope they let me use my return ticket.’
‘No, no, Annah,’ Svetlana shook her head decisively. ‘I buy you hotel room. Now you have drink with us, then you rest and take train home tomorrow.’
For a moment, Annie laid her head gratefully on Svetlana’s Yves Saint Laurent clad shoulder.
‘Poor Annah,’ Svetlana soothed, then she clicked open her python clutch and brought out a platinum Amex card.
Waving the card in the air, she summoned the barman.
‘Champagne on ice,’ she instructed.
Annie was more than a little the worse for wear when she finally made it to her room and thought to call home.
‘Hello babesh,’ she slurred when she heard Ed’s voice on the other end of the line.
‘Hello? Is that you?’ he asked, then added, ‘Been living it up in TV land, have we?’
‘No, not at all, been fired,’ she said baldly.
‘Fired?’ he replied. ‘Fired?’ he repeated. Then to her surprise he said, ‘Annie, just give me a minute,’ and he seemed to step away from the phone.
‘Ed?’ Annie asked. ‘ED! I’ve been fired!’ she said much more loudly now.
Then she listened. Was that barking she could hear in the background?
‘Hi!’ Ed was back on the phone.
‘What’s that barking?’ she asked.
‘Erm… yes. Some dog outside,’ came his reply. ‘Fired?’ he repeated, ‘are you serious? You’re not joking me here. You’ve been fired?’
‘Yes… indeed I have. I am no longer a Wonder Woman,’ Annie said, making herself giggle.
‘But don’t you have a contract?’ Ed asked.
‘Yes, but apparently, it’s not a good one. Not watertight like Miss Marlise’s. Apparently.’
‘Good grief…’ Ed began, but then she was sure she heard him hiss: ‘Down!’
‘Down?’ she asked.
But he ignored this and asked anxiously, ‘Are you OK? Where are you staying? Is there someone with you?’
‘I’m in a hotel and I’m fine and I really love you,’ she told him, deciding right there and then that she would take everything back to Mango and buy him at least one helicopter flying lesson for his birthday.
‘Yes, yes, I love you too,’ he replied, ‘but why I am now babysitting a teenager who only wants to go clubbing with a twenty-two-year-old supermodel, I do not know.’
‘Oh god! Is Lauren all right? I have to come home!’ Annie exclaimed.
‘She’s fine, she’s in her bedroom studying. Elena went out on her own… looking terrifying,’ Ed added.
‘Are you sure Lauren’s there?’ Annie almost screeched, remembering how often she’d stuffed her bed with pillows and crept out of the back door.
‘I will go and double-check,’ Ed assured her. ‘Please go to bed,’ he added, ‘we’ll talk this all through in the morning.’
‘Night-night, babes, I love you,’ she repeated.
‘Me too,’ Ed added.
Then came another sharp bark before Ed hung up abruptly. Annie looked at her phone in surprise, as if it had barked by itself.
It was 11.45 p.m… possibly a good time to make a little transatlantic phone call to the other adorable man in her life.
‘Hello, doll-face,’ were the words Annie used to greet Connor.
‘Hello, baby,’ he replied, ‘I’m halfway through my exercise bike routine, so there will be panting.’
‘Guess what? I got fired,’ Annie told him, then suddenly had to laugh at everything that had happened that day.
‘No!’ Connor protested, ‘You didn’t!’
After the surprise had registered, Connor listened to the whole story. Then took a deep breath and began to issue rapid instructions.
‘OK, baby, here’s what you do,’ he began. ‘You need damage limitation and to enhance that reputation. With my help, you are going to approach this totally LA style. Now, first thing tomorrow, you will phone this number. Write it down, babes, write it down.
‘Got it? OK, that’s the number of the TV gossip columnist on Screentalk. You tell her hello from Connor, and you’re his friend, Annie Valentine. You’ve been shooting Wonder Women and… let me think… let me think… what’s the most positive spin we can put on this… you’ve decided to leave the show because…?’