It had gone into the paper unedited because the subeditors had been rushing and assumed it had been checked. Basic grammar, not to mention correct use of the possessive case, were not among the strong points of the fitness guru and the online teasing for the paper’s errors had been severe.
Everyone looked down at the conference table. Co-ordinating this stuff was Carla’s job or the deputy feature editor’s job, but she didn’t want a deputy features editor, in case anyone pulled anEt tu, Bruteon her.
‘You.’ Carla pointed at Ginger. Trouble had arrived. ‘You take over until our dear health and fitness reporter is back with the living. We’ve run out of articles. Cobble together some diet for next week – phone the publishers and find out what diet books they’re trying to flog right now. I’ll need it by tomorrow morning.’
Ginger’s heart soared. An actual, proper feature! Never mind that this was hardly her expert area.
‘And fitness. Get me something new.’ Carla stared at her, beautifully made-up eyes almost evil. ‘A new series, that’s it! You try the regime out. Get photos. How to get fit – my journey, that type of thing. We’re fine for next week, but starting the week after, I’m thinking of a four-week special. Anyone else want to join in? Shots of the entire team in bikinis – the bikini diet and regime: our team try them all out.’
Ginger shook. Getting to write a feature was amazing. A bikini shoot was utterly horrifying.
‘I can’t do that,’ she blurted out.
‘Oh come on,’ said Carla slyly. ‘It’ll be fun. Some sessions with a personal trainer – you’ll get the full treatment for free. Most people would kill for that. I’m thinking CrossFit for you. I know of a nice place – I’d like free membership there. This should nail it. I’ll email you the number. The guy who owns it is very fit, he might train you himself.’
CrossFit! Personal training? Ginger was appalled. And her in a bikini?
But Carla outstared Ginger and Ginger, who knew that Carla was too clever to be caught out with any sort of blatant discrimination, felt the flush of embarrassment flood her like fire.
Within minutes, the beauty reporter, a sweet brunette called Jodie Fawcett – who had neck and shoulder problems – was assigned to try a 10K with help from a running club.
Fiona, a reporter who’d done a lot of news work and had recently transferred into features, was sent to try Krav Maga, a form of self-defence used by the Israeli army.
‘I know some already,’ Fiona said flatly, the only person who dared to stand up to Carla. ‘I did a week with the Army on manoeuvres on the Border.’
‘You’ll find it easy, then,’ said Carla, who stared at Ginger speculatively. ‘And don’t forget the photo shoot for all of you – before and after. Punters love that.’
By Wednesday, male reporters and female non-journalistic staff were telling Ginger she was lucky to get such a plum assignment.
‘A month of some guy helping you with CrossFit,’ sighed Sinead, the deputy editor’s assistant, who had a tiny under-desk fridge outside the deputy editor’s office in which she kept cottage cheese, skimmed milk and her emergency dark chocolate rations. ‘I’ll bet you lose inches.’
Ginger, who was finding it very difficult to keep her tough and funny schtick going when she wanted to run home and hide under her bed, laughed.
‘To paraphrase the great Joan Rivers – if God had planned for women to do any jumping jacks or squats with kettlebells, he’d have stuck diamonds on the floor.’
‘Ginger, you are so funny,’ said Sinead. ‘I’ll swap with you!’
‘Oh everyone wants to swap, but hey, anything for a story,’ said Ginger, wondering how she was going to do this.
Carla had picked her most vulnerable spot and stuck a poisoned dart into it. But why? Ginger wasnothreat to her. Ginger had only just started working for theSunday News, had transferred from a free-sheet newspaper at that. She would hardly pose a threat to the powerful magazine editor in any way.
The only people not congratulating her were the features team who’d been in the conference room with her.
In the break room, Jodie, the young beauty columnist, who looked wan despite many columns on how to appear dewy and sun-kissed, sidled up to Ginger and muttered: ‘Don’t let Carla get to you. She hates competition. It’s easier to just do what she says and take the heat. Then, she leaves you alone. If you fight her, she’ll get you dumped from her team, and with all the redundancies, you’ll be gone. You’re on contract, right?’
‘Yeah,’ said Ginger, thinking of her mortgage, which had been a nightmare to organise given the fact that she was only on contract.
‘Think of that and the fact that the features editorship won’t hold her for long. Mattheson’s got her heart set on being deputy editor, although the poor sucker currently in the job has no idea he’s in such danger. She’s probably grinding up glass to put in his morning coffee. Nobody would ever know.’
They laughed a little at that, then Jodie grew morose. ‘I have whiplash, I take pain meds yet I have to try running even though my physio says the most I can do for the next while is light exercise. But I have to give it a go or I’m toast.’
Ginger grabbed the younger girl’s arm and squeezed.
‘Talk anytime,’ she said. ‘It’s worse if you keep it all in.’
‘Thanks, friend-slash-therapist!’
Ginger grinned. ‘That’s me.’
