Chapter 19
Calvin and Daisy are having a discussion about an approach from a production company that she’s picked up. They have an idea for a new show that has piqued her interest.
‘It’s called Haunted Supermarkets ,’ she says.
‘Right,’ says Calvin carefully, looking hesitant. ‘Are there many haunted supermarkets?’
From the look on her face, she can’t believe he even has to ask.
‘Loads! There’s one grocery store in a village in Iceland where staff are regularly assaulted by flying potatoes. Also, in a Sainsbury’s in Exeter, they’ve had several sightings of this weird creature. It’s meant to be part lizard, part dog, a sort of poodle.’
‘A loodle?’ Calvin grins.
I snort, unable to stop myself. Daisy crosses her arms.
I straighten my face. ‘Do they have a presenter lined up?’
‘Yes, actually. They wanted someone big and thought a recognisable face from the eighties would be good, ideally a bit of a heartthrob.’
‘Interesting,’ I say idly, focusing on my emails.
‘Have you heard of a band called A-ha?’ she asks.
I stop typing and look up. ‘Yes.’
‘Well, they had a lead singer who apparently lots of people fancied back in the day.’
‘Morten Harket?’ I say, astonished and impressed. ‘ Have they got him? I used to have a poster of him on my bedroom wall that I’d got from the middle of Smash Hits .’
‘Well, no. They’ve got Harten Morket . He’s in a tribute band – a really successful one though. You’d hardly tell them apart. Look.’
She spins around her computer and shows an image of what I can only describe as a Lidl version of Norway’s best-known musical export. He’s wearing all the same clothes as in the ‘Take On Me’ video. Leather jacket. Tight white T-shirt. Unfortunately, this guy also has a dad bod and his luxuriant bouffant hair looks as though it could disappear in a strong breeze.
‘Is he actually Norwegian?’ I ask.
‘No, he’s from Rhyl,’ she confesses, then clearly registers my expression. ‘Oh, you don’t like it, do you?’
I decide not to break it to her publicly that it’s the worst idea since we were approached about a Love Island -style dating show set in the Arctic Circle, in which contestants wore expedition gear and balaclavas. They were apparently oblivious to the fact that skimpy swimwear was the whole point.
‘Maybe we should have a meeting about it later?’ I say diplomatically, as I pick up my folder and laptop and head towards Krishna’s office.
Andrea looks up from her typing as I’m en route. ‘Good luck. You can do it,’ she says, as if encouraging one of the girls in a lacrosse team.
‘Thanks, Andrea.’
‘Oh, and Lisa?’ She glances over her shoulder and leans into me, quietening her voice. ‘Might be worth unbuttoning your blouse a little.’
‘Andrea,’ I hiss, ‘this is the 21st century. I’m not showing my cleavage.’
She tuts and mutters something about woke snowflakes, before returning to her work. Even if I were willing to stoop to such a level, I can’t envisage a scenario in which Krishna Chowdhury would be remotely interested in anything other than the subject up for discussion. I once read an interview which said he’d grown up in a traditional Indian household and had been expected to go into medicine. His diversion into television had been an act of rebellion and was the driving force behind both his personal ambition and that of the company. Even though his family are fully reconciled with his choices these days, there’s clearly still a part of him that wants to prove himself. And he does it in spades.
Krishna is a born leader and a driven workaholic with an eye for spotting brilliant, popular shows that audiences love. That’s not to say he hasn’t worked on one or two turkeys over the years, of course – we all have – but his judgement is second to none.
I step inside his office, closing the door behind me. It has the same expensive, over-designed air as the rest of this place, but a patterned rug makes the room look a little less clinical. There’s also a picture on the wall of Krishna at his daughter’s decadent, vibrant wedding, looking as proud as punch.
‘Lisa, come in and take a seat,’ he says. ‘Great to see the ratings for Pawn Again doing so well. My wife is obsessed.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ I say, feeling a swell of pride. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’
The show is one of our most successful projects of the last twelve months. It’s a fly-on-the-wall format set in a pawn shop, focusing on the heartbreaking, comical and frequently life-affirming human stories behind some of the items being bought and sold.
‘Well, sometimes you are just presented with a gift and that was one of those times,’ I say.
‘You fought for that show and it paid off,’ he corrects me. ‘Now, let’s discuss this controversial modelling programme of yours.’
I take a seat opposite him and open up my laptop. Then I click on my first slide and begin my rundown. I’ve put so much into this, I could do it backwards. But when I reach the slide with an image of a woman on a catwalk – one I’d picked out myself – I hesitate.
It’s just a random model, from a show in a previous Milan Fashion Week. I have no idea of her name and when I added the photo, nothing had seemed out of sorts to me. Now, all I can think about is how unbelievably thin she is. It’s such a normalised thing that it had never even occurred to me. Maybe that’s the problem.
‘Everything all right?’ Krishna asks, wondering why I’m stalling.
I think back to the picture of Zach’s sister Jenna. She has to be the reason why he was so against this format. His ‘personal feelings’ weren’t about me at all.
I remove my hand from the mouse. ‘Can I level with you, Krishna?’
He raises his eyebrows. ‘I’d say that’s exactly what you were here for, wouldn’t you?’