Sounds Like Radio Episode 07
Cesca looked again inside the old plastic sandwich box.
It was the storage place for sound effects of writing and stationery, and usually it was a muddle of broken pencils, feathers and unbent paper clips.
“My best inkwell’s gone, too,” Cesca said to herself mournfully.
It gave off a beautifully “period” tap-tap of pen on bottle when struck with her favourite sawn-off Biro, and the little noise of the lid being screwed down could take a listener back to 1805 in an instant.
Cesca had stood silently beside dozens of actors as they wrote notes condemning martyrs to die on the gibbet, or composed love letters to their sweethearts in revolutionary France.
She had written those letters for the actors as they spoke into the microphone, acting with them, moving her hand in violent scribbles or melancholic lines of regret.
Now the box was tidy – fountain pens bound together with an elastic band, all the stray staples returned to their tiny cardboard box.
There was no quill pen effect, no Biro barrel rendered scratchy by a careful cut at the perfect angle.
There was a long and ancient goose feather, manky and clumped together, but every drama sound engineer knew that an actual quill didn’t make the right noise.
“I’ll make another,” a gentle voice behind her said.
Cesca had almost forgotten that Gerry Horsley, the apprentice, was still there.
“I know I’m new to this,” Gerry said in her self-deprecating way, “and I’m sixty-seven years old, and I don’t know why this Biro is so precious, but I can have a go, if you like.”
“Would you?” Cesca said. “The tools and gloves and stuff are in the smaller studio cupboard.
“There’s a sheet of safety instructions – do read that.”
“Right away,” Gerry said, hurrying away.
If only, Cesca thought, Gerry had applied for a job at Sounds Like Radio before Miriam.
Miriam – it could only be Miriam – had tidied the sound effects shelves and thrown away the pen.
Maybe it wasn’t really her fault.
Maybe Cesca had not given her a full enough induction.
Maybe she had been too heavy with Miriam about her poor attendance, or her vagueness, and Miriam had responded with a wave of keenness that had resulted in . . . this.
They’d created Miriam’s post when the piles of admin and the physical mess had got too much.
The salary wasn’t great but the hope had been that somebody with time to sort the paperwork, buy the consumables and keep the effects in order would make life easier.
But Miriam was always distracted and really not very competent, though at interview she had shown she had a good brain.
Cesca decided not to check what else had vanished from the effects shelves at the moment. It was too stressful.
Surely Miriam would have thought twice before putting the pewter tankards or the good tinkly shop bell in the bin?
Cesca didn’t even want to think about the luggage and the nice crunchy duvets.
“Hi, Cesca.”
It was Miriam herself in the doorway, her hair untidy and a cardigan hanging off her shoulders.
“Hi. Miriam, are you OK?” Cesca asked.
Cesca knew that Miriam had some issue with family relationships, and had been sofa-surfing.
She had been gentle with the girl because of that.
“Funny you should say that,” Miriam said.
She looked at the chaos on the desk as though surprised by it, and then smiled with satisfaction at the well-ordered shelves.
“I’ve run in after a visit to a flat. I’ve found a room in a shared place!
“Finally – I can move my stuff off my friend’s floor in Smethwick.”
“That’s brilliant!” Cesca felt relieved. At last she could tackle Miriam’s poor performance without feeling guilty.
Kevin was never going to do it; the last time she had tried to delegate this management task (which was, in the end, Kevin’s responsibility) he had looked at Cesca as though she was nuts.
“I’m far too busy trialling our new reverberation unit,” he’d said.
“The one that cost a month’s rent?” Cesca had said.
“Yes, it’s looking good,” Kevin replied, completely missing the irony.