Andy was on his way to court when the call came through. It was Phil, Graham’s assistant, who delivered the good news. ‘Calling on Graham’s behalf’, ‘pleased to offer you the job’, ‘got the green light for all our plans,’ ‘get you in for some rehearsals’. Andy processed the key messages swiftly, in accordance with his years of legal training.
Despite wanting to jump six feet in the air and whoop and shout, he settled for a more modest ‘that’s wonderful news’ before remembering himself sufficiently to ask what terms he was being offered.
‘I’ll send something across to look at,’ Phil said, ‘but I don’t think you’re going to be disappointed. Put it that way.’
‘I’ll look forward to it, then. Hm, if you’ve “got the green light” does that mean it isn’t secret any more?’
‘Wait, just a minute.’ Andy was put on hold and stepped back into a shop doorway. ‘Listen,’ Phil resumed their conversation, ‘Graham says you can tell your wife and anyone at work who needs to approve your three-month absence, on the basis that they keep it confidential too. After we announce the line-up, in the next couple of days, then you can go public. How’s that sound?’
‘Very clear. All fine, thank you.’
Andy continued his journey, his limbs carrying him forwards, his mind occupied elsewhere. Try as he might to remain focused on the job in hand – a rather nasty assault and battery charge he was prosecuting – the life-changing possibilities of what had just happened to him, were getting in the way. He should call Clare, he knew that, and tell her everything, from the first meeting with Graham to the negotiations with Phil. But the hours were likely to be a sore point. Clare wanted him around more at the moment, and this opportunity would keep him away. The only way to sell it would be as something short-term; short-term pain for long-term gain. That might work.
And then the email from Phil pinged into his inbox and he had to open it. Skipping through the preamble, he sought out the remuneration clause and his heart missed a beat. Wow! More than he had ever imagined; a year’s pay in three months. And that bonus provision was there too; a sliding scale; the more viewers he pulled in, the more he was going to get paid. They could have the family holiday that never happened last year, they could think about moving to a place with a garden, they could even contemplate some more help at home, to ease the pain of his absence. He might never have to mop up spilt Coco Pops or clean the toilet ever again.
But it wasn’t just the remuneration he would receive from Horizon, it was the doors it would open for him afterwards and for ever more. There may easily be spin-off shows or features on other programmes. He may never have to hang around police stations at night ever again.
He had a rare moment of panic. If things were going public soon, he’d have to tart up his profile on the chambers’ website. He’d been meaning to improve things for a while – a newer photograph, updating his key areas of expertise. And what about social media? Clare had persuaded him to adopt that awful photograph as his Facebook backdrop because she said he looked ‘wistful’. He’d have to delete it, and some of the ones from his most recent night out with his old school friends, and replace them with a host of wholesome family snaps.
Forcing himself to focus and relax, he scrolled back through to the top of the job-offer terms again and stared at the job title with pride and expectation. ‘Chief legal adviser and presenter - Court TV’. What a coup. What an achievement. He was heading for the big time.’