She was cut off by the dial tone that said this conversation was over. Erin had hung up. Rude, yes, but not unusual. Orla returned her mobile to her desk and then jumped in her seat. Standing right behind her was Frances, her boss. Erin knewfrom the look on her face that Frances had heard enough of the conversation to know it wasn’t work-related.
‘Not interrupting anything, am I?’ Frances asked, that look of superiority on her face Orla had rarely seen her without since the day she’d joined the magazine.
‘No,’ Orla said quickly. ‘A cold caller. Very cold actually. Very demanding of my attention. Had to cut them off.’
‘And give them hair advice,’ Frances said. ‘That was way too kind.’
Orla just smiled and hoped Frances would move on. Her boss had a piece of paper in her hand.
‘And talking of kindness…’ Frances continued.
Oh no. This meant this was a donation to charity moment and Orla had zero paper in that respect until she visited a cash point.
‘You’re going to France. Tomorrow. Think of it as a pre-Christmas treat.’
‘What?’ Orla said, not really computing any of the sentence she’d just heard.
‘Could be the biggest scoop of the year that GMB would probably want live in between a shouty politician and the latest comedian doing something ridiculous for a good cause. Equally, it could also be nothing, but it’s intrigued Roger enough to sign off on the flight, and your time so…’
Orla was still none the wiser. ‘Did you say tomorrow? Where in France? For how long? I mean, I haven’t actually finished the article on the Greek otters yet.’ Her interest was piqued at the words ‘biggest scoop of the year’ though.
‘OK, Orla, perhaps I haven’t been clear.’ Frances leaned in close, a little too close perhaps. ‘You are on a flight in the morning. The woman was very insistent – over the last three or four weeks actually, insistent that she wantedyouto do the interview, quoted from your article about ice fishing. Butthen, this morning, she dropped the real clincher. There’s a pregnant reindeer, due to give birth at any minute. So, I want the interview with the mute guy, I want photos and video of that four-legged furry and I want it done and dusted and on the website for Christmas Eve with the hope the baby drops out in alignment with the nativity story. We need the traffic. We need the subscriptions. And I need to end this year on a high!’
Had she said ‘cute guy’ or ‘mute guy’? This wasn’t sounding very Pulitzer prize now. It was actually more in line with someone a lot less senior at the magazine, surely!
‘You want me to stay until a reindeer gives birth,’ Orla said. ‘And it’s imminent, but it might not be until Christmas Eve? But, that means I won’t get back for Christmas Day and I have plans for Christmas Day.’
‘Oh, I know,’ Frances came back. ‘Those same plans you have every year. Well, apart from, let me see, was it 2019 you had that ridiculous turkey en croute and lunch was served two hours later than Bradbee tradition? Turkey emoji, laughing with tears emoji, wind emoji – not sure what that one means without a sprout emoji, if that’s even a thing.’
Orla couldn’t stop her mouth from falling open. She knew Frances came into any battle forewarned and forearmed, but she’d stalked her Christmas Facebook posts to see she got up to nothing but the same thing every year?!
‘I… don’t know what to say,’ Orla said. Perhaps she could suggest giving the job to someone else?
‘Good,’ Frances said. ‘I’ve emailed you the details – the subject heading is “don’t fuck this up”.’ She waved the piece of paper in her hand. ‘And now to this.’
She planted the A4 sheet on Orla’s desk and grabbed a pen from the pot. Was this going to be more details that weren’t in the ‘don’t fuck this up’ email? Perhaps background info on the pregnant reindeer or the alleged cute guy or, better still,something that warranted the magazine sending one of its most senior reporters to France so close to Christmas?
‘It’s a sweepstake,’ Frances informed her. ‘How many Cadbury’s Heroes will Sonil fit into his mouth before he chokes and needs medical attention?’
Orla looked at the form. Rita had guessed twenty-five. Samuel had said thirty. ‘But this is?—’
‘Just a little riskier than Alan’s fun, right? And Sonil does deserve a bonus this year, if you know what I mean.’
Orla didn’t know whether to feel appalled, marvel at the ingenuity, or worry for Sonil on every count. But, apparently, what she should be thinking about was packing a cabin case for another country…
She picked up the pen. ‘How much have you bribed him with?’
‘Hush, Orla, that’s a scandalous suggestion.’
‘Well, I’ll need a ball-park figure if you really want me to pay for a guess and fly to France in the morning.’
Frances’s expression said she was mentally assessing the question and wondering if there really was a chance that Orla wasn’t going to head to the airporttout de suite.
‘I might have offered him 20 per cent more than Alan’s bonus. And reassured him I have the ambulance service on standby. That’s all I’m saying.’
‘Fine,’ Orla said, writing her guess in the column next to her name. ‘But if this email doesn’t give me all the details I need for the trip, I will be using WhatsApp and I will be expecting your prompt reply.’
‘WhatsApp away,’ Frances said. ‘I’ll reply. But after my brother has opened whatever flavour Baileys is en vogue this year I can’t guarantee the quality of the copy.’
