blankly at her, the cards forgotten. ‘But that would mean losing all your viewers. There’s only two people and a dog watch cable.’
‘And the dog’s a guide dog,’ Teddy chipped in gloomily.
‘The theory is that if Northerners defects to one of the pay-to-view channels, the viewers will follow,’ Clive said. ‘The men in suits think our following is so addicted that they’d rather shell out for a satellite dish than lose their three times weekly fix of an everyday story of northern folk.’
‘Hardly everyday,’ I muttered. ‘You show me anywhere in Manchester where nobody stays out of work for more than a fortnight and where the corner shop, the fast-food outlet and the local newsagent are still run by white Anglo-Saxons.’
‘We’re not a bloody documentary,’ Teddy said. He’d clearly heard similar complaints before. His irritation didn’t upset me unduly, since it resulted in him throwing away the rest of the hand with one hasty lead.
‘No, we’re a fantasy,’ Clive said cheerfully, sweeping up the next trick and laying down his cards. ‘I think the rest are ours. What we’re providing, Kate, is contemporary nostalgia. We’re harking back to a past that never existed, but we’re translating it into contemporary terms. People feel alienated and lonely in the city and we create the illusion that they’re part of a community. A community where all the girls are pretty, all the lads have lovely shoulders and any woman over thirty-five is veneered with a kind of folk wisdom.’
I was beginning to understand why Clive hid behind the camp manner. Underneath it all there lay a sharper mind than most of his fellow cast members ever exhibited. He was just as self-absorbed as they were, but at least he’d given some thought to how he earned his considerable living. I bet that made him really popular in a green room populated by egos who were each convinced they were the sole reason for the show’s success. ‘So you reckon the tug of fantasy is so strong that the millions who tune in three times a week will take out their satellite subscriptions like a bunch of little lambs?’ I said, my scepticism obvious.
‘We don’t, chuck,’ Gloria said, lighting a fresh cigarette while Clive dealt the cards. ‘But the management do.’
‘That’s hardly surprising,’ Teddy said. ‘They’re the ones who are going to make a bomb whatever happens.’
‘How come?’ I asked.
‘The contract NPTV has with the ITV network is due for renegotiation. The network knows NPTV have been talking to satellite and cable companies with a view to them buying first rights in Northerners for the next three years. So the network knows that the price is going to have to go up. There’s going to be a bidding war. And the only winners are going to be the management at NPTV, with their pocketfuls of share options. If they’re wrong and the viewers don’t follow the programme in droves, it doesn’t matter to them, because they’ll already have their hot sticky hands on the cash,’ Clive explained.
‘So Turpin needs to plug the storyline leak,’ Gloria said, examining her cards.
‘I’m not sure I follow you. Surely any publicity is good publicity?’
‘Not when it involves letting the public know in advance what’s going to happen,’ Teddy said, raising his eyes to the heavens as if I was stupid. I didn’t react. After all, I wasn’t the one who was currently fourteen quid out of pocket.
Clive took pity on my puzzlement. ‘If people know the big storylines in advance, a lot of them think it won’t be the end of the world if they miss a few eps, because they know what they’ll be missing. Once they get out of the habit of watching every ep religiously, their viewing habits drift.’
‘They find other programmes on at the same time that they get to like. They don’t bother setting the video to watch us because they think they already know what’s going to happen. Or they just go down the pub. Before you know it, they’ve lost touch with the programme,’ Gloria continued. ‘One heart.’
‘Especially now we’re three times a week. You dip out for two, three weeks and when you come back, you don’t know some of the faces. I’m going to pass this time.’
Teddy tugged at his shirt collar, a mannerism either he’d borrowed from Arthur Barrowclough or the character had borrowed from him. ‘Two hearts. And every time the viewing figures drop, John Turpin sees his share of the profits going down.’
‘And we get to watch his blood pressure going up,’ Gloria said. ‘Three hearts,’ she added, noting my shake of the head.
‘I’d have thought he’d be on to a loser, trying to find out who’s behind it. It’s too good an earner for the mole to give it up, and no journalist on the receiving end of a series of exclusives like that is going to expose a source,’ I said.
‘It won’t be for want of trying,’ Gloria said. ‘He’s even got every script coded so that any photocopied pages can be traced back. I hope whoever it is really is making a killing, because they’re not going to earn another shilling off NPTV if they’re caught.’
‘You’ll never work in this town again,’ Teddy drawled in a surprisingly convincing American accent. I was so accustomed to him behaving in character I’d almost forgotten he was an actor.
‘And speaking of making a killing, Gloria, any more news from your stalker?’
Gloria scowled. ‘By heck, Clive, you know how to put a girl off her game. No, I’ve heard nowt since I took Kate on. I’m hoping we’ve frightened him off.’
‘How do you know it’s a he?’ Clive said.
‘Believe me, Clive, I know.’
We played out the hand in silence for a moment. In bridge as in life, I’ve always been better at defence than attack. Clive also seemed to relish the taste of blood and we left Gloria and Teddy three tricks short of their contract. My client raised her eyebrows and lit another cigarette. ‘She lied so beautifully, Teddy. I really believed her when she said she was crap at this.’
‘Don’t tell Turpin,’ Teddy said sharply. ‘He’ll hire her out from under you.’
‘My dears, for all we know, he’s done that already,’ Clive said archly.
I should be so lucky, I thought as they all stared at me. I’m not proud about whose money I take. Maybe I should engineer another encounter with Turpin the hatchet man and kill two birds with one stone. Gloria’s eyes narrowed, either from the smoke or because she could see the wheels going round in my head. ‘Don’t even think about it,’ she warned me. ‘Chances are it’s one of our brain-dead mates who’s ratting to the vampires, and I don’t want that on my conscience.’
I nodded. ‘Fair enough. Whose deal is it?’
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