“So, what are you going to do now, Sunny?” she said, popping a pistachio into her mouth.
“Anyone need a top-up?” Hugo waltzed out from the kitchen, tea towel over his shoulder, a spring in his step. I politely declined. This was no time to get buzzed. Beverley and Ludo held up their champagne flutes. “Everything’s done,” Hugo said. “I’ll fire up the barbecue shortly, if everyone’s hungry?” This news was greeted by an enthusiastic chorus.
“I was just asking Sunny what he planned to do next,” Beverley said.
“Ah, well done, darling,” Hugo said. He sat in the chair opposite me. Ludo silently slipped his hand into mine, gripping it tightly, reminding me that it was OK to go for what I wanted.
“Sunny, everyone has been so impressed by the stunning job you’ve done on the nuclear plant story,” he said. “Absolutely first rate.” He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees. This was surreal. One of the most powerful men on (the strictly metaphorical) Fleet Street was blowing smoke up my arse, and he was wearing Crocs while he did it. How did you go from three-piece suits during the week to Crocs on the weekend? “You’ve single-handedly?—”
“Not single-handedly,” I said. “I had some excellent help.” It was my turn to squeeze Ludo’s hand. Our eyes met, and he smiled.
“That’s as may be, but you had the energy, drive, and skill to follow this story through. Like a dog at a bone. And now Carstairs and Popov have resigned, the government is in disarray, the PM is facing his second major cabinet reshuffle in as many months, a dozen MPs are being hauled before the Privileges Committee, and several are facing recall elections from their constituents. The government may yet fall. This isreal, consequential journalism.”
“Newton Bardon might still end up with a nuclear power plant,” I said. “And I’ve done nothing to improve job opportunities in the Midlands or address raging inequality. Or, arguably, even do anything to stop climate vandalism.”
“Is that the kind of journalism you’d like to do?” Beverley asked.
“One hundred per cent.”
“You may have heard we have a vacancy on the politics desk at theSentinel,” Hugo said, glancing at Ludo before looking back at me.“The job is yours if you want it. We’d love to have you on board.”
My heart was thumping. Ludo tightened his grip on my hand, his thumb rubbing along the length of mine.
“Before you answer, Sunny,” Beverley said, sitting upright, “there’s a researcher position available atCompass Point.” My ears pricked up.
“Beverley, that’s enough,” Hugo said. “Sunny’s a newspaper man.” He smiled at me, looking for confirmation.
“Now, I’m only the show’s executive producer,” Beverley said, “and I can’t promise anything. You’d have to apply for the position like everyone else. You’d need to be the best person on the day. But with your talent and your portfolio, I don’t see that being a problem.”
“Beverley, for Christ’s sake. You’re buggering everything up.”
“Would I be doing real investigative journalism?” I asked Beverley.
She nodded. “Of course.”
“On TV?”
“You wouldn’t be on TV just yet, but the on-air role would come. I’ve seen your press conference performances, and you’re a born TV interviewer. And, as Uncle Ben said, a face like that deserves a wider audience.”
I looked at Ludo. He smiled and raised his eyebrows, asking me what I planned to do. I shrugged my shoulders. This was a lot to take in. I thought about the little ginger kid on the estate and his dream of one day becoming a respected journalist. He would never have believed he would be in a situation like this, choosing between two of the best jobs in journalism.
“Thank you,” I said. “I’ll certainly think about it.”
“Sunny, you don’t want to work at the BBC,” Hugo said. “They’re all bloody civil servants governed by checkbox exercises?—”
“Oh, tell us what you really think, Hugo,” Beverley said. “Is that what you think of me?”
“Don’t be stupid, Beverley. That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s what you said. How long have you felt like this?”
It was starting to get quite heated. Middle-class voices were being raised, and it looked like these two were settling in for a proper mardy.
“Shall we go for a walk?” Ludo asked. I nodded.
“Good idea.”
* * *
