Sounds Like Radio Episode 10
The following morning Gerry was standing in front of the cable rack outside the main studio when Cesca came along.
“You’re early,” Cesca said. “It’s just gone eight.”
“We’ve got twenty-four male-to-female three-pin XLR cables,” Gerry said, “and half that with matching ends. I’m getting there.”
“Hang on, you haven’t been here all night?”
Gerry laughed.
“No, I went home around eleven. But it’s a lot more fun here than at my flat.”
“I’m impressed.”
“I gave all the connectors on these a clean,” Gerry said.
“I just used compressed air but I can go to it with something else, if you like.”
“May I kiss you?” Cesca asked seriously.
Gerry laughed, and at the same moment they heard footsteps on the stairs up to street level at the far end of the passage, and turned to see Bill, next door’s chilled-out builder, coming down.
“Darn it.” He grinned. “So you two are an item? And there was I thinking I’d met the love of my life.”
They all laughed.
“Pub later?” Bill said. “I know you guys keep slogging on here till late, but I can meet you at the Pheasant.”
Gerry was about to agree – it was a chance to cement her relationship with Cesca – but something told her not to.
“I don’t think I’ll play gooseberry,” she said.
Cesca laughed much more loudly than before and Bill the builder shook his handsome head.
“My days! Wrong end stick,” Cesca said.
“Nothing heavy, dude,” Bill said at the exact same moment. They looked at each other and laughed again.
“Well anyway, last night I got about five hours’ sleep,” Gerry said, “so count me out, but only this time.
“Before I go: Cesca, when I’m in the studio, do I tidy up?
“I mean, obviously I don’t throw away piles of old tape, but there was stuff lying about – a duvet, pillows, a blanket.”
“Oh, yes, I suppose you do,” Cesca said. “That’s odd. They should have been back in the cupboards after they were used.”
Cesca’s face burned. That had been embarrassing – Gerry assuming there was something between her and Bill.
Bill was leaning on the wall, looking at a picture of a Shakespeare cast, and Cesca’s face grew hotter.
He had said that thing about finding the love of his life, which had made the hair on the back of her neck stand up, but Bill was casual and jokey about everything.
A man who had the most gorgeous smile in the West Midlands shouldn’t joke about that sort of thing.
Bill was bound to have a girlfriend somewhere so he should not even use the word “love” in front of vulnerable sound engineers.
Gerry had gone and she was alone with Bill. He wore that laid-back, take-it-or-leave it expression that was becoming familiar to Cesca.
She had given up dating anyway, even if he were to look at her.
Her last boyfriend had been needy and the one before that even worse.
No, these days it was all about her career.
She smiled to herself. Who was she kidding? Career? She was just keeping the studio’s head above water.
“So, pub? Six-thirty?” Bill interrupted her thoughts
“Sure,” Cesca said. “I can spare an hour, possibly.”
She could spare a lifetime for Bill. The thought popped up in her head and she blinked it away.
Cesca fretted about her red face as she worked that day.
At least Miriam provided a distraction: the girl had dug the bridle chain sound effect out of the dustbin but was being ineffectual and listless.
It was time to talk to her about improvements.
Cesca had been on the course in days of yore, “Positive Motivational Techniques in Management of Underperformers”.
She found Miriam staring at a blank screen in the office and had an idea.
“A few of us are going to the Pheasant later,” Cesca said. “Why don’t you come along?”
It was ideal: before Bill arrived she could have a talk with Miriam, who would be there as a buffer.
Having a colleague beside her in the pub would indicate to Bill that she had in no way been anticipating anything resembling a date.
Cesca managed to finish soon after six.
Bill had said six-thirty, and she recalled that he never worked beyond four – he must have had an appointment in between to fill the time.
She walked with Miriam to the Pheasant, where she started gently, asking her about family.
“I can’t get on with my dad,” Miriam said.
“You’d have to meet him to understand. And Mum just does what he says.”
“How often do you go home?”
Miriam shuffled in her chair. It looked as though she didn’t want to be there, but at the same time found it a relief to talk.
“I don’t.”
“Hence the sofa surfing?”
Miriam looked anxious.
“Does my hair smell of smoke? I try not to –”
“What? Er, no.”
“I’m gonna work better, Cesca, honest. I like the studios.”
“I’m sure you are and I’m sure you do.” Cesca knew she wasn’t a good manager. It wasn’t even her job.
“Good luck,” she said weakly. “Let me know what I can do.”
Her plan had been to set pathways and targets and she hadn’t done any of that. But Miriam looked so wan.
Bill arrived wearing a clean white shirt and shorts, and sat drinking from a can of fizzy water and chatting animatedly with Miriam.
“Can I have your can?” she asked.
He turned to face her.
“Thirsty?” He held it out.
“No, I mean can I have it when it’s empty?”
Bill looked puzzled.
“We lost some of the empty cans we use for sound effects,” Cesca said, not looking at Miriam, who bit her lip.
“Anything you like,” Bill said quickly. “Anything at all.”
He drained the can in one go, his Adam’s apple moving furiously, and set it on the table before her.
“I drink a lot of these. I’ll come over with more.”
They stayed in the Pheasant for an hour, and then Cesca nipped back to work.
It was a good moment to set up an edit for the morning. She had six episodes of an audience comedy show to knock into shape.
Finding a few nice laughs on the recording and saving them to disc was always a good bit of prep, best done when the producer was not waiting anxiously to start.
The laughs were useful for disguising the cuts made in the show.