A Few Little Lies

Rodney Grey leaned forward onto his elbows, turning a pen slowly between his long fingers.

‘Why don’t you tell us the truth. Miss Moran? I mean, this stuff you churn out is hardly great literature, is it? It’s upmarket porn. Cheap titillation for the masses –’

Dora tensed; that wasn’t in the script. Lillian pouted and stared at him blankly. He hadn’t fed her the cue line. She was completely lost.

The interviewer’s smile hardened. ‘Well?’ He slapped the front of the novel on the little table between them. ‘How can you justify this kind of cheap smut?’

Dora leapt off the sofa. ‘What are you doing?’ she hissed impotently at the TV. Oscar took the hint and scrambled for cover.

Lillian Bliss gnawed at her lip – there seemed to be an agonising, bottomless silence. After a few seconds, Lillian leant forward, eyes glittering, and very, very slowly the camera followed.

‘You horrible stuck-up little bastard. I knew you didn’t like me the minute I laid eyes on you,’ she snapped with suprising venom. ‘I wasn’t taken in by all that smarming round me in the dressing room – if I spoke with a plum in my mouth it would be different, wouldn’t it? Have you ever read one of the Catiana Moran books? Just because they’re dirty you think they can’t be any good. The latest one’s brilliant –’

Dora stared open-mouthed at the TV. She was stunned. She couldn’t have said it better herself.

Lillian Bliss took a deep breath. ‘I got into writing because I wanted to, and they say write about what you know – so I did.’ Lillian reached across the carefully arranged coffee table and plucked the novel out of Grey’s hands. ‘I’ve got this horrible poky little flat in Fairbeach, above the shoe shop in Gunners Terrace …’

Dora felt her colour draining. ‘No,’ she said to the girl on camera, as it moved in for a close-up. Lillian’s face filled the screen, her bottle-blue eyes locked fast on Rodney Grey.

‘You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve had to do to make ends meet. You’re all the same, you lot. There was this bloke, just like you, he was. Got a degree, talked all la-di-da. I’ll think of his name in a minute. He liked me to –’

‘No,’ Dora repeated more forcefully, barely able to watch.

Rodney Grey’s face was a picture. He glanced at the clipboard on his lap and, with remarkable presence of mind, began to speak.

‘So, Catiana, why don’t you tell us all about this new promotion tour of yours?’ he asked quickly, reverting to the script, stretching the words in front of Lillian like a trip wire.

Lillian looked up at him, blinked, gathered herself together, and cheerfully recited Dora’s answer as if nothing had happened.

Dora, who suddenly realised she hadn’t taken a breath for a very long time, let out a long, throaty sob.

‘Oh, my God,’ she murmured and slumped back onto the sofa.

Dora hurried into the office and banged in Calvin’s home number. In the sitting room, the credits for ‘Fenland Arts Tonight’ were rolling slowly up the screen. Behind them, Rodney Grey and Lillian Bliss were reduced to razor-sharp silhouettes.

Calvin picked up the phone on the second ring. Dora stared blankly at the TV, and realised she didn’t know what she wanted to say, or at least, didn’t know what she wanted to say first. There were so many things, the words clumped together in her throat in a log jam.

Calvin was ahead of her. ‘Hello, Dora, I was just going to ring you. Don’t worry–’

‘Don’t worry?’ Her voice sounded like fingernails on glass.

‘I know exactly what you’re going to say.’

‘You do? Well, in that case I don’t need to tell you I’ve just torn up our contract, do I? Or that thanks to you and your little friend, every pervert in East Anglia – including my sister – now knows where I live, or that …’

‘Whoa, whoa,’ soothed Calvin. ‘Your sister doesn’t watch the arts programmes, she told me …’

‘Calvin! Your protegée has just announced my address to the nation.’

Calvin coughed uncomfortably. ‘Not the nation, Dora, just East Anglia.’ He puffed thoughtfully. ‘Late Tuesday night? Good film on BBC2? God, hardly anybody’s watching. Look, I’m sorry. What else can I say? That bastard Grey set her up. He tricked her.’

‘What’s to trick?’ Dora hissed. ‘That girl is dangerous. She called Rodney Grey a horrible little bastard, on TV, to his face –’ As she said it she giggled, which surprised both of them. Hysteria, it had to be.

Whatever it was, Calvin suddenly choked and then drew in a long snorting breath.

‘I know,’ he chuckled. ‘Brilliant, wasn’t it? I mean, the guy’s such a complete and utter prick. Did you see his face when she started to tell him about the man with the degree?’ He was wheezing now, almost unable to breathe for laughing.

‘Stop it, Calvin, this isn’t funny. This really won’t do, you’ve got to talk to her,’ Dora snapped. ‘I live here. Muzzle her.’

‘I will, I will,’ Calvin giggled, and hung up.

The phone rang before Dora had a chance to turn around. She bit her lip and picked it up on the third ring.

‘Hello,’ said Sheila. ‘That writer woman you like is on the telly. I just caught the end bit – were you watching it?’

Dora groaned, wondering how much of Lillian’s interview Sheila had seen. Taking a deep breath, she jerked the phone plug out of the wall.

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