Lydia
Lydia
Lydia was sitting with her seniors and carers in the audience, clutching their Maggie mascots. They became increasingly less buoyant and animated as brilliant act followed brilliant act. How could they possibly compete? When a little blind girl came onstage with her guide dog, Lydia told herself it was all over. How could you not vote for the blind girl?
The seat next to Lydia’s, which should have been Daphne’s, was empty. Just when Lydia needed her confidence and energy more than ever. Where had she gone? Would Lydia ever see her again?
“And now, our final act!” said Ant, or Dec. Lydia was never sure which one was which. “It’s Maggie with the kids and seniors from Mandel Community Center!”
There was a roar of applause, and they all sat forward on their seats and waved their woolen Maggies on their sticks. Lydia felt sick. Then even more sick when the giant screen behind the stage came to life and a huge image of Lydia’s face was beamed into the studio, along with millions of homes across the land.
Lydia peered at the screen in horror, through splayed fingers. You could see every line. Every blemish, every enlarged pore. But, actually, she looked OK. Her cheeks were flushed with passion and determination as she explained, remarkably fluently, the plight of the community center and its occupants.
Thankfully, the screen cut to footage of their rehearsals. Of Art patiently helping Lucky with his stage directions. Of Maggie stealing some cake from a table. Of everyone laughing as Tallulah fluffed her lines.
“So you see,” giant on-screen Lydia told the interviewer, “we really need Maggie to win, so we can rescue the community center for the community. My seniors are counting on her. The kids are counting on her. The pregnant ladies, karate club, and AA members are counting on her.”
The action on screen cut to a wide shot of the rapt live audience in the studio, then homed in on Lydia and her friends, who all waved their woolly talismans furiously as everyone cheered, and the people behind them patted them on their backs and grinned at the cameras, mouthing, Hello, Mum!
It didn’t matter one bit if they won or not, thought Lydia, wiping a tear from her eye. This was enough.
The screen went blank, and the studio fell silent as Art, Maggie, Ziggy, and Kylie took their places in a spotlight on the stage, along with the three children dressed as miniature policemen.
“How are you feeling, Art?” asked Ant or Dec.
“Excited!” said Art. “I just want us to do our very best, and to save Mandel Community Center for the community.” The presenter was about to turn away, but Art grabbed on to the microphone.
“We have a GoFundMe page, if anyone wants to help,” he said, gesturing over at where Lydia was sitting. The camera followed his gaze and panned to their group, where Anna and Ruby were holding a banner with the web address of a fundraising site set up by Ziggy.
“We sent our roving cameraman to your community center to film the sit-in that’s taking place right now. Can you hear me, Ted?” said the presenter, holding up a finger to his earpiece.
The footage on the giant screen changed to a cameraman wearing headphones and clutching a large microphone.
“Yes, I can, Dec,” he replied. “I’m here, live at Mandel Community Center, with the brave protesters.” The camera panned around the room, which was filled with pregnant ladies, and kids in karate kit, along with a host of others who all started waving. In among them were a number of men in high-viz jackets. The cameraman held the microphone up to one of them.
“I believe you’re here on behalf of the council, to board up the hall,” he said. The studio audience booed and hissed, as if they were watching a pantomime.
“Well, yes, but we can’t start work on account of this lot.” The man gestured at the crowd around him. “So we thought, if you can’t beat ’em, you might as well join ’em.”
“So what have you been doing instead?” asked the cameraman.
“Actually, we’ve been making macramé plant holders and eating cake,” he replied. “And now we’re watching the show, obviously. Go Maggie!” He pumped a fist into the air.
“Art,” said the presenter in the studio. “I believe you have a personal mission, too? Some deep, tragic heartache?” He furrowed his brow in exaggerated concern, and the audience all leaned forward on their seats, anticipating an emotional backstory.
“Uh, I guess so,” said Art, looking nervous for the first time since he’d appeared onstage.
“Yes, Art here hasn’t seen his daughter, Kerry, for over thirty years,” said the presenter to camera. “He’s never met his grandchildren.” The screen behind him filled with pictures of a young girl, then a teenager, dressed in the fashions of the 1980s. “Maybe Kerry Andrews is out there, somewhere, watching you,” he said.
The camera cut to members of the audience, probably planted by the producers, looking sentimental and dabbing at their eyes with tissues.
“So, Art. Let’s see what you, Maggie, and the kids can do!” said the presenter, with a flourish.
The theme tune to Mission: Impossible filled the studio, and Lydia stopped breathing as Maggie traversed an obstacle course and effected a daring jewelry heist, chased by three pint-sized policemen whose slightly too big helmets kept falling over their eyes, before eventually escaping offstage in Kylie’s pushchair.
The audience rose to their feet as one, and Lydia found herself jumping up and down, shouting, “brAVO!” with tears running down her face.
“Well, what a fabulous performance to end on!” said the presenter, his arm around Art’s shoulders. “But before we announce the winner of Me and My Dog , we have a surprise for you, Art. A very special guest…”
A spotlight panned to the wings, and on walked a woman, not much younger than Lydia, her eyes flicking nervously between the people on the stage and the cameras, which were trained on her from all directions.
“Art. We found her. It’s Kerry,” said the presenter. The audience was so quiet that they could hear Kerry’s footsteps reverberating on the wooden stage.
“Kerry,” said Art in a croak, his arms open toward her.
“Dad,” she said in a tense, tight voice, then pulled back her arm and slapped him hard, leaving a speckled red imprint of her palm on his papery cheek.
There was a mass gasp from the audience, along with a few nervous titters.
“And that is the joy of live TV!” said the presenter, who was obviously a pro. “We’re going to a commercial break now, but we’ll see you on the other side for the moment of truth.”
“Bloody hell,” said Lydia.