Sounds Like Radio Episode 02
As Cesca walked back into the office, wondering where in heaven’s name Miriam had got to, the drilling seemed to get louder.
She also heard the sonorous voice of Caleb start up again, leaking out via the edges of the sealed control room door because Kevin monitored at a very high level (he’d probably be deaf by sixty).
Or maybe the padding round the doors was wearing out.
Cesca tried to focus on the accounts spreadsheet on her screen, but no amount of staring would make the income larger than the expenditure.
She gave up, left the office again and climbed the narrow stairs to the kitchen and outside.
She figured wandering around the neighbourhood might give some clues about the drilling noises.
The house to the right of Sounds Like Radio was much smarter than their building.
Quite a lot of the other houses were, in fact, with newer sash windows, decent paint jobs and front gardens with actual plants.
Sometimes the marked difference embarrassed Cesca – it was like arriving at a party in jeans and finding everybody else had come in a cocktail gown.
The house next door had a low brick wall, and on it sat a man in cargo shorts, eating a sandwich.
He was so strikingly attractive that Cesca’s breath was taken away.
He had a gorgeous sweep of light brown hair that shone in the sun, and the face of Michelangelo’s David but more craggy.
But she didn’t have time to look at him for long because a woman with long grey hair, wearing a kaftan, had just come to a halt right outside the studio.
“Hi,” the woman said in a sweet, low voice with a faint Brum accent. She was pretty and elegant.
“I’m Gerry.”
Geraldine Horsley had expected something larger, possibly with big brass doors like the BBC.
This was an Edwardian house with a chipped black and white tiled path and a rusty iron gate.
But if radio was made here, this was the place for her.
“I think this is where I start my new job,” she said to a young woman who was standing outside the gate.
“Your new . . .? I think there may be a mistake.”
Gerry kept her best smile fixed on her face while she looked inside her bag for the contract, which was carefully stored in a transparent plastic folder.
She took it out, noticing that the young woman seemed distracted by a chap sitting on a wall.
Gerry proffered the contract.
“I’m your apprentice,” Gerry said. “I can’t wait to get started.”
The young woman stared at her for several seconds before recollecting herself and shaking hands.
But she didn’t take the contract.
The girl clearly knew nothing about her arrival, but she was friendly and polite, and she asked Gerry inside.
“You didn’t see anybody with a drill,” the girl asked, “along our street?”
“No,” Gerry said. “Do you need a drill? I’ve got a drill at home. I could bring it –”
“Oh no, it’s not that,” the girl said. “Don’t worry.”
It became apparent that nobody else at the studios knew about her apprenticeship, either.
So, Gerry explained as she and the young woman (whose name turned out to be Cesca Wallace) sat in a small office surrounded by shelves piled high with what looked like junk.
Gerry had seen an ad in a radio magazine for an apprenticeship scheme created by the Audio Union, a radio industry trade body.
“It’s designed to provide opportunities in audio,” she said. “The idea just grabbed me!
“I’m a huge radio fan, Miss Wallace, huge – BBC, independent, plays, music, comedy, current affairs.
“I’ve got tons of books about it and I’m a big consumer of radio spin-off podcasts. I think you will find, Miss Wallace –”
“Cesca, please,” Cesca interrupted. “I’m not sure I’ve even heard of this apprenticeship.”
“It’s a gender, age, race, religion, disability and sexuality-blind scheme,” Gerry said, trying to recall all the nouns in the paperwork, “and I am its first lucky apprentice.”
“Mr Chopra didn’t mention it,” Cesca said.
“I know that name,” Gerry said. “Does he own the company?”
Cesca nodded.
“I look forward to meeting him,” Gerry said.
“Join the club.”
“Sorry?”
Cesca sighed.
“Yes, he’s the proud owner of Sounds Like Radio.
“We have all met him, but he rarely visits us. He lives in Marbella.”
“What I do know is that Mr Chopra is an Associate Member Abroad of the Audio Union.” Gerry pointed to the contract.
“He applied for his studio to be included in the scheme. So here I am, ready to serve!”
Cesca smiled, took the contract and added it to a tall pile in an in-tray.
“Um, well, welcome,” she said. “Do you know what? I am going to deal with the detail of this later.”
Gerry pressed her hands together with the thrill of it.
“During the application process I never had to mention that I’m sixty-seven. Isn’t that great?”
“Quite right, too,” Cesca said. “People shouldn’t be judged on external characteristics. We have Kevin, after all.”
“Pardon?”
“Nothing. He’s lovely really.”
Cesca eyed the contract in the tray.
“When I read that,” she said, “am I going to see anything about salary?”
“Minimum wage,” Gerry said brightly.
Cesca swallowed.
“Minimum wage. Right.”
“That’s fine with me,” Gerry assured her.
“I used to be well paid, in my boring old nine-to-five job with the council, but I’d much rather have something interesting to do than money these days.”
Cesca looked up, a weak smile on her face.