“Don’t call memy girl—I’m not your girl.”Friday or otherwise, a more whimsical Audrey added.
“I’m so sorry. This is the BBC,sunshine. And that means being neutral on controversial topics.”
Audrey couldn’t quite believe where this was going. “Are you really saying that a story where two girls kiss once is acontroversial topic?”
“Have you read a newspaper lately? Other than the one you work for I mean.”
Much as Audrey hated to admit it, she understood where Jennifer was coming from. She just didn’t agree with it. “You’re not going to get kicked off the BBC because of one article, and it’s not as if there have never been gay people on this show. Aren’t Tariq and…you know, thingy, the tall one nobody liked…aren’t they dating now?”
Jennifer rested her forehead on her fist likeThe Thinker. If whatThe Thinkerwas thinking was,I cannot be fucked with this. “When will people stop thinking they knowmy showbetter than I do.”
“Sorry, been a fan for a long time.”
“The point is,” Jennifer went on, still not looking up, “is that there’s a difference between two photogenic young men giving an interview, after the show has gone out, where they happen to mention they’re together now, and you running a long-form story,while the show is airing, that goes in-depth on Doris and her tragic but gay as balls childhood romance.”
It wasn’t quite the point, but something in Audrey felt the need to protest. “You don’t know it was tragic.”
“Well in 1953 she married a man named Bobby Rice and they were together until he died in 2002…”
Journalist-Audrey couldn’t help filling inone year before their golden wedding anniversary.
“So unless they were reunitedverylate in life or she spent fifty years fucking some posh tart behind her husband’s back, I’m going to go out on a limb and say that this”—Jennifer waggled her fingers over Audrey’s article like she was warding off the evil eye—“Mills and Boon historical romance you’re trying to conjure up for them didnotend happily.”
On some level, Audrey had known that. Which meant that being confronted with it now didn’t do much to change her mind. “Okay.” She put her hands up in a balancing kind of way. “A lot to unpack there. Firstly, I don’t think a story isn’t worth telling just because it has a sad ending. Secondly, I think that’s doubly true for stories about gay people in thefortiesbecause those often ended badly for very specific and obvious reasons.”
With a groan of frustration, Jennifer Hallet looked up at Audrey. Her eyes said,You are boring my tits off,more eloquently than words ever could. “And that’s what you think people—the people of Shropshire, mind, a county where sixty percent of the population vote Tory and fifty-seven percent voted for Brexit—want to hear when they’re tuning in to their favourite baking show is it? You think they want to look at the relatable granny and say,You know, she was sticking it to a posh bird all through the war, but then they had to break up because of institutionalised homophobia.”
“Can you…” Audrey shook her head plaintively. “Can you just stop being deliberately awful for three minutes?”
“No.”
Sighing, Audrey got up. “Then I guess we’re done here.”
“Looks like. Sorry it didn’t work out.”
Her hand was just on the door when, despite everything rational-Audrey and for that matter remotely-professional-Audrey was telling her, she turned back. “I’ll admit I’m disappointed.”
Jennifer didn’t even blink. “Not surprised. It would have been a good opportunity for you.”
“No, I mean, when I applied to the show I looked into you and, well…”
Jennifer blinked now. Her lips tightened and she jabbed a finger across the room at where Audrey was standing. “Oh no you fucking don’t.”
“I just thought maybe as—”
“I swear if you sayas a queer womanyou will be off my set so fast, scientists in Geneva will be detecting anomalous readings on their—their things scientists detect readings on.”
Audrey backed very slightly off. On this one, specific point, Jennifer was maybe not being completely unreasonable. It had been a pretty shitty card to play. “Okay, okay. You’re right. I shouldn’t be…you’ve not got an obligation to be visible. It’s just—I mean, leaving aside what all the, all the bunting-wearing king-fucking whoevers will say, what did you think about it as, you know, as a story?”
The look on Jennifer Hallet’s face was far from encouraging. “You really want to know?”
“I mean I think you’re probably just going to say something needlessly cruel, but yeah, I do.”
For a moment, Jennifer looked back down at her tablet, scrolled through a few lines of the article, then said: “What I mostly think, looking back at it is,This rich bitch is going to break that poor girl’s heart.”
It wasn’t the answer Audrey had been expecting. At least it mostly wasn’t. “You know you could have expressed that without using a gendered insult.”
“Oh fuck off.”
