Loch Lomond, Scotland #2
I reapplied some powder to Ruthie’s already completely matte face – for a woman in her forties, she had great skin, probably due to the two hundred pound a pop ‘vampire facials’ she was always banging on about.
Mind you, she was also always going on about how perfect my skin was, with the sense being that she was slightly annoyed about it.
I’ll be thirty next year, it’ll go downhill then, I always said to make her feel better, but secretly I hoped it wouldn’t.
My dad still look much younger than fifty-two, and his sisters – my aunties, who were in St Lucia – all had the most amazing smooth, brown, glowing skin with barely any wrinkles.
Then again, they did have tropical fruits on tap, lots of fresh air and year-round good weather – I wasn’t sure London pollution levels were conducive to ageing quite that well.
‘Need any help?’ I asked Lou, who was looking back at the footage she’d just shot.
‘Sure. What do you think of this?’ she asked, moving aside so that I could see the monitor.
Lou was a brilliant camera operator and she’d framed the shot beautifully, making Loch Lomond look all enticing and gorgeous, and managing to make the sky look wispy and ethereal. If I squinted, I could almost be in Vietnam, not Scotland.
‘Lovely,’ I said. ‘You’ve even got sparkles on the water.’
‘Have I?’ she said. ‘Let’s see.’
‘What’s going on here, ladies?’ asked Tim, appearing behind me. ‘I think I should be the one checking the footage, don’t you?’
‘Go for it,’ I said, stepping aside and giving him a tight smile.
I had another little nose at the diving group while Tim was otherwise engaged.
They were all kitted out now and the instructor had the tanks out.
Wetsuit guy had his back to me, but I could spot him easily – he was several inches taller than everyone else for a start.
He had his hands on his hips and was listening intently to the instructions being given.
‘It’s not grabbing me,’ said Tim, crossing his arms and pouting in the style of a teenager having a tantrum.
‘This place is deathly boring and it shows on camera. I mean, there’s no one around, is there?
No atmosphere and no sun. How come everyone else gets to go to the Canary Islands and I get stuck here?
How the fuck am I supposed to make this bleak, miserable landscape look in any way exciting? ’
‘It’s not bleak and miserable,’ I protested.
‘It is,’ moaned Ruthie.
‘It’s so peaceful, though,’ said Lou. ‘And just smell that air – no car fumes, just oxygen with a hint of heather. I reckon our viewers would love it here.’
‘But there’s nothing to do!’ complained Tim. ‘We need to demonstrate that there’s more to Scotland than lakeside walks and whisky.’
‘I don’t see what’s wrong with either of those two things,’ I said.
Tim instantly threw me daggers.
‘There’s tons of other stuff to do,’ I carried on, determined to get my point across.
‘Glasgow’s only a half-hour drive away, we could go and shoot some footage there, maybe, if we can fit it in on our last day.
Or what about …’ I desperately searched around for inspiration.
There had to be something that would help Tim see Loch Lomond in a more positive light.
‘Water sports!’ I blurted out, catching Wetsuit Guy’s eye again.
He was looking over his shoulder at me with a sort of bemused look on his face, probably wondering why there were loads of loud people with English accents causing a commotion on the beach.
I thought he was probably Scottish – he had that sort of tall, rugged stature, a kind of Braveheart vibe.
And I wasn’t really in to men in kilts, but he looked like somebody who, if he had to wear one, could probably pull it off.
Right, I needed to stop daydreaming about Wetsuit Guy in a kilt and get back on task.
‘Look!’ I said to Tim, hoping to drum up some enthusiasm.
‘There’s some diving or something going on over there.
And I saw a sign about kayaking trips. And then at the hotel they’ve got leaflets about paddleboarding.
We could make it very visual, get Ruthie out on the lake doing waterskiing or something. ’
‘I beg your pardon?’ said Ruthie, looking repulsed.
On second thoughts, I couldn’t imagine Ruthie doing anything that would involve getting a speck of water on her bouffant, dyed-blonde hair which never seemed to move, no matter the weather.
‘It could work …’ said Tim, desperately trying not to look impressed.
On the odd occasion he gave me credit for something, I could tell it pained him.
He clicked his fingers, making sure he had everyone’s full attention. ‘Guys, I’ve had a great idea for this afternoon. Instead of yet more boring beach shots, we are going to get out on the water to do some … activities.’
He’d had a brilliant idea?
Lou raised her eyebrows at me.
‘No way,’ said Ruthie. ‘I’m not doing it. Water sports are not in my contract.’
‘Oh come on, Ruthie,’ trilled Tim, doing his best impression of being a nice person. ‘Don’t be like that. We can make this work, together, as a team. We’ll be right there with you, supporting you, making sure you look and sound as fabulous as ever.’
Ruthie looked dubious. ‘How am I going to look fabulous if I’m soaked through and wearing goggles and flippers?’
‘I don’t think we need to go quite that far,’ said Tim, faltering.
I tried to think – we needed Ruthie to be behind this, otherwise there would be no point doing it.
She had a sour face at the best of times, and we wanted to show our viewers what a good time she was having, not leave them feeling as though they’d just watched her being sentenced to life imprisonment.
‘Think of it this way, Ruthie: it would look great on your showreel,’ I said, coming at it from a different angle, i.e.
one that would benefit Ruthie. ‘Imagine this: a fun, full-of-energy segment that will prove to those big bosses over at ITV that you’re not simply a static presenter who stands there looking beautiful, but that you’re a real, go-getting, risk-taking reporter who will do anything, anything, for the best shot. ’
Lou looked at me, clearly impressed.
‘Hmmn,’ said Ruthie, sounding more interested. ‘You’ve got a point, actually. My showreel is a bit samey.’
‘There you go,’ I said. ‘What about kayaking? That way, you can stay perfectly dry, and we don’t need to go too far from the shore, just far enough out so that it looks like you’re in the middle of the loch. Would that work, Lou?’
‘Absolutely,’ she replied, joining in with the pep talk. ‘You probably wouldn’t have to go out much further than the end of the pier.’
Ruthie sighed, touching her hair with delicate, manicured fingers. ‘If you think you can get some nice shots out of it, then why not? But I don’t want to be out on the water for very long. Isn’t there supposed to be a monster out there?’
I smiled kindly at her. ‘That’s Loch Ness, Ruthie. We’re in Loch Lomond.’
‘Right, that’s settled, then,’ said Tim. ‘Maddie, can you go and speak to that man over there and tell him that we need to take some kayaks out later today. Talk him into giving them to us for free in exchange for publicity.’
This was the part of the job I hated: the hustle, the asking for favours when I knew they wouldn’t be getting anything in return.
I just didn’t understand how Tim expected these people – who had businesses to run – to disrupt everything, their whole working day, without getting so much as a token payment for their trouble.
It wasn’t like they’d want to do it for the glory of appearing on the UK’s most popular travel channel.
‘Er, and what publicity would that be?’ I asked.
‘Well, his kayaks will be on screen, won’t they?’
I bit my lip. ‘Yeah, but unless we get the name of his kayaking school in shot, it’s not exactly going to promote it, is it?’
‘Fine!’ huffed Tim. ‘We’ll do a shot of his stupid, tatty shack with all the boats inside. And tell him we’ll try to get the name above the door in shot, but no promises.’
I looked over at the diving instructor, who I presumed was also the owner. ‘I think he’s in the middle of something,’ I said. ‘I can pop back in a bit.’
‘You’ll have to interrupt him,’ said Tim. ‘We need to get a schedule in place for this afternoon, there’s no time to waste. Come on, Ruthie, let’s go and get you warmed up in the bar, shall we?’
Lou tutted as the two of them picked their way up the beach, as though they were allergic to sand. ‘Those two are fucking hard work.’
I shook my head. ‘Talk about highly strung.’
Lou gave me a look as she started to pack her camera away. ‘I’ve got a bone to pick with you,’ she said.
‘Another one?’
She smiled at me. ‘I’m not that much of a nag, am I?’
‘No comment,’ I replied.
Lou always meant well and, admittedly, sometimes I needed a little push in the right direction, but she could go on a bit sometimes.
We couldn’t all be as vocal as she was; in fact, sometimes she could benefit from keeping things in her head and not spouting them out of her mouth before she’d had a chance to think better of it.
Her road rage, for example, was off the scale.
‘I was just going to say …’ she ventured.
‘Here we go,’ I said, bracing myself on her tripod.
‘That you should stop letting Tim steal your ideas and passing them off as his own. That’s how he’s got to producer level, by taking other people’s stuff and running with it with such assurance that nobody thinks to question it.
In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d convinced himself it was actually his idea in the first place. ’
I groaned, embarrassed that she’d noticed, even if she was my friend and therefore totally on my side. ‘I know. It’s just that he said there’s a promotion coming up and I—’
‘Do you really think he’s going to put in a good word for you? Tim? Do something selfless, say nice things about actual other people? No chance,’ scoffed Lou.