Free Fat Girls and Fairy Cakes by Sue Watson Page B

I was just sitting down with Al to plan the filmed footage for the week when my mobile rang. I checked the display and smiled.
    “It’s Mum,” I said to Al. “I’ll be five minutes.”
    “Ok doll, I’ll grab a coffee. Say hi to her for me.” I nodded and picked up her call.
    “Love, it’s Mum” she announced (she’d never quite got the hang of caller ID). “I saw your show last night and tried to send you a message on eBay but it wouldn’t go through...bloody technology. Anyway it was great dear. That vicar’s wife is hilarious – has she had Botox? I was saying to Beryl, she looks very good for her age.”
    “Thanks for calling Mum, was it really OK?” I said.
     “Oh yes, it was great, love. I was saying to Beryl, we should get some of that,” she started.
    I sensed someone behind me and as Mum wittered on about the advantages of Botox I turned to see Al waving at me. Peter Willis was standing next to him, obviously keen to have a production meeting. “Mum, it’s a bit crazy here, can I call you back?” I said, signalling to Al that I was winding up the call.
    “Well you can, but I won’t be here dear – I’m stripping for the old soldiers.”
     “Oh?”
    “Yes, I told you about it last week. The over-fifties are redecorating their sheltered homes, don’t you remember? Lovely old boys. I’ll ring you tomorrow then. Bye dear.”
    I hung up and smiled. Ever since Dad died five years ago, Mum had been like a woman possessed. She was desperately trying to claw back some life for herself and, as she put it, ‘taking what’s owed to me’. I knew we were in trouble when at Dad’s funeral she got pissed on Babycham and did a spontaneous rendition of Rod Stewart’s Hot Legs in the vestry. Five years, a 62-year-old toy boy and two cruises later she declared that ‘sisters are now doing it for themselves’. And it seems that now they were doing it for old soldiers, too. I put my phone in my pocket and went over to join Peter and Al. Perhaps our next series should be about life after bereavement featuring Mum as the star turn , I thought with a smile. That would certainly be a ratings winner.
     
     
    A busy week followed our first live show and despite my joy at our success I had a sinking feeling it was going to become even more manic. It’s all very well being the producer of a ratings-winning show but as the cliché goes, you need someone to share it with. As I planned and rehearsed and shot footage in the week, all I could think about was Tom and Grace coming up the next Saturday; I was almost beside myself with excitement. But then the Friday before their visit I received a call from our Press Office that changed everything.
    “Stella, I know that it’s short notice,” announced Ella the Press Officer, “but I’ve arranged a photo shoot and press call for first thing tomorrow. It’s a quiet news weekend and it would be amazing if we could get stuff in the Sunday papers.”
    “That sounds great Ella, but I won’t be around tomorrow. My family are coming,” I started.
    “Oh Stella, no, you have to be there. You’re the producer,” she said, alarmed. “We need to strike while the iron’s hot, everyone’s talking about last week’s programme and there’s a kiss-and-tell from one of Denise’s ex-boyfriends rumoured to be doing the rounds. This is all great publicity for the programme and you’re a major part of it – in fact quite a lot of the papers have requested an interview with you, especially after the mud-wrestling scene.”
    After some negotiation with Ella, we agreed that I would be available from 8am for two hours. During that time I would be around to answer questions and help ‘supervise’ our contributors. After that Ella was on her own in the mud with our cast and the World’s press and I would be able to spend the day with Tom and Grace who would arrive at 10am.
    Of course as often happens with these things, when Saturday arrived the press junket went on far