In the Still of the Night

Don’t you come near me!’

‘It’s me … Cinders … you’ve been asleep and forgotten,’ Cinders said, looking anxiously round the shadowy ward, in case Trudie had woken everyone else up. But nobody had stirred; the rows of bodies in narrow beds lay still in drugged sleep. Everyone in this ward got a sleeping pill; many of the old people were half-senile and if you didn’t watch them like a hawk they got up and wandered off, giving hospital security a headache. It was easier to give them all a sleeping pill, including Trudie, but Cinders suspected Trudie didn’t take her pill. Where was she hiding them? Maybe it was time they did another search of her bed and cabinet?

Subsiding, Trudie gave a heavy sigh. ‘I … I thought you were someone else for a minute. I get so muddled, are they putting something in my tea? What’s happening to me?’ She began to cry weakly and the nurse bent over her, soothing.

‘Don’t cry, Trudie, there’s a good girl. Look, you haven’t finished your tea – and it’s your favourite mug with bluebells on it.’

Trudie took it in both of her trembling hands and sipped noisily; the warm tea oozed down her throat. After a moment or two, she had calmed down enough to turn chatty again. ‘My Annie bought me this – to remind me how we used to pick bluebells in Epping Forest. Bill, my second husband, drove us out there every weekend. Annie and me, we loved to pick bluebells in the spring. There were millions of them under the trees, sheets of blue. We picked armfuls.’

‘These days they tell you not to touch them,’ Cinders said.

‘Well, nobody told us that years ago!’ she said crossly, putting down her empty mug. ‘Mind you, we always took care not to pull the plants up. We broke the stems off higher up, so the root stayed in the earth. They’re white, the stems at the bottom, like an onion. Wonderful smell, the earth in spring …’

She closed her eyes and sighed; a second later she was asleep as suddenly as if she had switched off like a light.

At noon the following Friday the crew broke for lunch. Annie had no more scenes that day and decided to eat lunch at home but as she was heading for the lift Harriet caught up with her and put a hand on her arm to detain her. ‘You haven’t forgotten you’re doing interviews in your dressing-room?’

Annie groaned. ‘Oh, no! I had. Remind me … who is it I’m seeing?’

‘You’ve got a mind like a sieve!’

‘I’ve got other things to think about at the moment,’ Annie snapped, and Harriet gave her a quick, sympathetic look.

‘How is your mother?’

‘Much the same. Very confused, and in a lot of pain unless they dope her up to the eyeballs.’

‘Sorry, Annie. It must be hard to concentrate when you’re so worried.’ Harriet gave her one of those comradely little pats on the shoulder. ‘OK, first you’re seeing a woman from The Sun. From what publicity tell me, she’s working on a big spread on women playing tough roles, no problem there for you. Just give her the stuff she wants and be friendly.’

‘Who is it? Do I know her?’

‘Bella Oxford?’

‘Never heard of her.’

‘She’ll be bringing a photographer.’ Harriet looked her over, nodding. ‘You’ll be fine in the suit, that’s her angle, she’ll want power dressing.’

‘OK. And the other interview?’

‘A reporter from Real Life Crime International Magazine.’

‘What the hell’s that?’

‘American originally – started up in Europe this year. They’re looking for stuff about the way we research the background material; they want to know how real our storylines are, if we work with the police, if we monitor court cases. All pretty obvious, don’t worry about it.’

‘Surely this is one for Sean?’

‘They will be talking to Sean, and me, but they want to talk to you and Mike, as well. They’ll want photos, too, but not today. – Publicity are supplying stills and official photos.’ Harriet gave her another encouraging pat. ‘The Sun woman arrives at two; you’ve got a couple of hours, but don’t leave the building, Annie. We don’t want to have to chase after you, or make apologies to The Sun. Do you want a lunch tray in your dressing-room? Or are you going to the canteen?’

‘The canteen — at least I’ll get a different view,’ Annie said bitterly, and Harriet grinned at her.

‘Tough at the top, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, get stuffed!’ Annie told her as she stepped into the waiting lift.

She spent an hour in the canteen talking to friends. At two o’clock she was back in her dressing-room to do the interview with the woman from The Sun; the photographer, typically, spent ages trying tricky shots using the mirrors lining the room, and then wanted to take pictures in the studio with a camera in the background. The publicity girl, who was present, quickly ruled that one out. The interview itself went quite smoothly, and then the PR girl insisted on showing the photographer and journalist out to the front desk.

She came back ten minutes later with the second reporter. Annie was just pulling a polite smile on to her face when she saw the man’s face, and almost fainted. It was Johnny.