Chapter 31
Petey
It was time to return to London, but there was one thing I had to do first. The taxi pulled up to Glenfield Hospital, where Indira was being treated at the cardiac unit.
“Anywhere here’s fine, thanks, bruv.”
As I paid, I looked out the window and saw Bunny Winters striding out of the hospital’s main entrance to a car where Bramley was waiting with the door open.
By the time I grabbed my receipt, they were gone.
I had to drag my whole suitcase through the hospital.
At first, I didn’t think the nurse on the ward desk was going to let me in.
“She’s had a heart attack and triple bypass surgery,” he said. “She’s very weak and shouldn’t really be having visitors yet.”
“I’m pretty certain she’s already had a visitor,” I said. “I’ve just seen the Dowager Baroness Buckford leaving the hospital.”
The nurse leant across the desk, tapping a pen against his cheek to draw attention to his dimples.
“Her ladyship is head of the board of trustees. Bunny can do whatever she likes. No one says no to her.” Then he looked me up and down like I was a steak.
“I bet no one ever says no to you, either, do they? Big tall lad like you.”
I wasn’t in the mood for flirting, but I was desperate to see Indira, so I batted my eyelashes and begged.
“It’s room six, sweetheart. Down the corridor and on the left.” He winked.
Indira looked terrible. She was surrounded by machines and screens. There were tubes everywhere. Her face was bloated, with dark rings under her eyes.
“Petey Boy,” she said, her voice soft and croaky. “Exactly the man I need.”
“That’s a popular opinion right now.”
“Huh?”
“Horny nurse on reception.”
Indira smiled, weakly. “Did you come to pitch your show idea?”
“No! God no! That can wait until you’re all better, obviously.”
“You brought it with you, though.”
I tapped my laptop bag. “A good producer is always prepared.”
“I was dead on the lawn at one point yesterday,” she said, struggling to speak. “I’ve had six hours of surgery. You thought I might want to hear your pitch?”
“I’m sorry.” What had I been thinking? I felt awful for even mentioning it.
“Don’t be. That’s exactly the kind of bloodlessness that means you’ll go far in this business.”
I laughed.
“Listen, I want you to do something for me.”
“Anything. Name it.”
Indira waggled a hand, clearly struggling to find the strength to move it. I leant in, resting my hand on hers, being careful to avoid the catheters.
“Turn off the machine. I can’t go on.”
“What!” I pulled my hand back, horrified. “You’re joking?”
“Of course I’m fucking joking. I wanted to see what your limit was.”
If Indira was joking, she was going to be all right. I breathed a huge sigh of relief and flopped down into the visitor’s chair.
“Hey, Petey Boy,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“Fuck me, that was great television.”
I laughed, and she laughed, and she formed a fist with her hand and I gently bumped it.
“I need you to take charge of the edit.”
“What?”
“I’m going to be in here for a week. Then, fucking get this, old mad tits Lady Buckford is treating me to a two-week retreat at a place about half an hour up the road.”
“Sounds like a trap.”
“No, it’s really famous. Robbie Johnswagger and Cole Kennedy went there and both came out completely changed men.
” Indira had worked with both troubled rockstars on Make Me a Pop Star—Cole as a contestant and Robbie as a judge.
“Hey, get this. The retreat is run by a couple of those fox hunt saboteurs.”
“Are you sure you want to put your life in their hands?”
Indira smiled. “You know what the first thing I saw when I woke up after surgery was? My sister and my nephew, both in tears. Suraj possibly because he’d shoved quite a large Lego quite a long way up his nostril.
A nurse had to fish it out. It was a whole thing.
But they were scared, Petey Boy. That killed me.
So I’m accepting this offer as the blessing that it is. Because… I’m fucking scared too.”
I said I understood but reminded her I wasn’t an editor.
Indira said she had editors, she needed someone she trusted to oversee the edit.
It was a huge responsibility—I wasn’t sure I was ready.
But Indira’s voice was getting softer, weaker, harder to hear.
I had exhausted her. There was no time to argue, I had to step up.
“OK,” I said. “When I get back to London, I’ll go into the Monkey Ginger offices—”
“No. Everything you need is in the Old Coach House at Buckford. I want you to work from there.”
It was like a bullet. It hit fast and hard and then the shock reverberated through my body. Work from Buckford?
“But all the equipment is being collected next week.”
She glared at me like I was dense. “So cancel the collection.”
The door to the room swung open, and an officious-looking matron-type woman walked in. “All right, visit time is over, I’m afraid. Ms Murray needs to rest.”
I walked up the corridor, processing everything that had happened. As I threw my suitcase into the boot of the taxi, my heart was fluttering with excitement. I slid into the back seat, trepidation washing through me. Suddenly, I had to face some things I thought I’d kicked into the long grass.
“Where to, mate?” the driver asked.
I took a deep breath. “Buckford Hall, please, driver.”