‘You’ll be fine.’
‘I don’t have the clothes.’
The manager passes the table, shouting about the late-morning spot quiz they’re about to have, themed on the Alan Partridge canon. He gives us a suspicious look – either that, or I’m suspicious that he’s looking suspicious. He seems to have recognised Em somehow, even though she’s shoved a jumper back over her apron and pulled out her ponytail.
He keeps cruising past, and eventually he’s gone. We go back to working out what the hell to do.
‘Elle, ithasto be you. You’re the only one who hasn’t already been spotted or raised suspicion.’
She plants her face in her hands. ‘What’s the cover? I can’t just go in and say I forgot to leave this microphone here.’
‘It just needs to be somewhere inconspicuous,’ says Jonny. Somewhere nobody will even think of touching for the rest of the meal.’
‘There’s a big old sideboard,’ says Em. ‘It’s got a load of old plates on it, looks like nobody’s moved them for years. You could hide the new mic behind one of those.’
‘Is it sensitive enough, Jonny?’
‘MI5 use these mics. As long as nobody runs a tap over it, it’ll be fine,’ says Jonny, not entirely managing to conceal his bitterness.
‘Apparently it’s not the only highly sensitive part of our team.’
‘Leave it, Em. Can I take those clothes off you?’
‘No.’
Em’s right. The barman is gazing out from behind thecounter with an abstract but faintly troubled air, and shows no signs of going anywhere. If Em stands up, he’ll spot her apron and start asking questions.
‘Guys, we don’t have long to sort this out,’ says Jonny. ‘Can we just—’
‘Yes! God, yes. I’ll think of something. For the record, I’mreallyuncomfortable, everyone.’ And so, with no proper costume, no cover story, and looking as nervous as a piglet touring a sausage factory, Elle takes the microphone and walks towards the stairs.
We now go live to our correspondent on the first floor:
[Door opening sound effect.]
VANE:
But that’s just the sort of thing you always said he was … Sorry, love, can we help you?
ELLE:
Oh, hi, I’m just trying to, um …
Oh, God. She’s screwing it up. She sounds pathetically nervous.
