Page 67 of When We Were Young

Emily

When I worked at the school, we had our fair share of pushy parents coming into the office.

Why isn’t my child the star of the play?

Why isn’t my child on the advanced band of reading books?

I’ve never been that sort of parent, but today I feel like one.

Someone buzzes me into the office telling me to take a seat.

I gasp at the sight of a huge Amplify cover hanging at the entrance.

A young Christie Blackmore at the height of her fame pouting suggestively on a cover so big it forms a screen for the waiting area.

It completely throws me. I turn my back on her and try to collect myself ready to give this Paul Raymond a piece of my mind.

My phone pings and it takes ages to find it at the bottom of my bag.

FHD: When can I see you?

‘Mrs Lawrence?’ A man with a kind face peers around Christie Blackmore.

‘It’s Miss actually, but yes.’

‘Ah, sorry, Paul Raymond. Good to meet you.’ He offers me his hand.

I stand, take his hand, and give it a single firm pump. He asks me to follow him to a glass meeting room and offers me water. I accept, and we sit opposite each other.

‘You wanted to talk to me about Olivia,’ he says, placing his hands into a patronising steeple.

‘It was unfair of you to fire her,’ I begin.

‘She’s worked hard here. Your social media engagement has quadrupled thanks to her.

She’s written excellent album reviews, which you’ve deemed good enough to publish, at a fraction of the cost of one of your freelancers, I might add.

You don’t approve of her posing as an Amplify reporter, but I believe this shows initiative and creativity, and – for want of a better word – balls .

Have you even read the pieces she wrote about Will Bailey?

I emailed them to you two days ago. You’ve not bothered to reply, so I assume you haven’t.

Well, I’ve read them and they’re brilliant.

Now, I know you’ll say any mother would say that, but I’m talking as someone who knew Will Bailey.

She’s told his story accurately with… emotion…

and passion… as though she’d met him. And, frankly, if you won’t publish this feature, then perhaps we should take it elsewhere…

’ I pause because I need to catch my breath, but also because I’ve lost my train of thought. I take a sip of water.

Paul Raymond chews the inside of his cheek. ‘Does Liv know you’re here?’

‘I told her I was coming, but she didn’t want me to.’

‘Are you aware she’s also been posing as an Amplify reporter to go through Will Bailey’s personal possessions at his parents’ house?’

My phone rings and I’m flustered because leaving it on makes me look unprofessional. I pull it from my bag. It’s Liv calling. I reject her call and switch it to silent.

‘I just found out about that myself but––’

A muscle at his jaw twitches. ‘Do you know we have strict safety measures in place to make sure our journalists are safe when out in the field?’

‘I don’t doubt––’

‘We don’t allow our journalists to meet strangers without us knowing where they are. Did she tell you where she was going?’

My face is on fire. ‘Well, no…’

‘I have a reputation to uphold,’ he continues. ‘If an artist thinks they’re being interviewed by an Amplify journalist and in reality, they’re being interviewed by a fifteen-year-old schoolgirl, how does that make me look?’

‘She’s sixteen actually… Look, I understand where you’re coming from, but she got carried away. She didn’t think through the consequences. All she needs is another chance and some direction. She’s a talented writer and it would be a waste––’

‘I agree––’

‘Mr Raymond, I’m not leaving here until you promise to give her a decent reference.’

‘Mrs Lawrence, you’re not listening––’

‘It’s Miss!’ I snap.

‘Miss Lawrence, I’m agreeing with you.’

‘You are?’ My phone vibrates.

‘Yes, I agree. Your daughter’s writing is extraordinary for her age.

She has an obvious love of music, and it shines through her work.

She’s not restricted by the rules – she writes what she thinks, and although it needs a bit of polish, her voice is fresh and compelling.

In answer to your question, yes – I have read her feature.

I didn’t reply because you and I were speaking today.

The feature shows promise, but it needs a lot of work before it’s publishable.

I’ve emailed her my suggestions and if she’s willing to put in the work, we’ll see if we can get it into shape. ’

I’m relieved to come out of confrontation mode, and that, mingled with my pride for Liv, almost brings me to tears. ‘You emailed her?’ That might be why Liv was calling.

‘Just this morning. I wanted her to sweat a bit.’

‘She has been.’

‘The only way I can publish a special on Will Bailey is if it coincides with an anniversary, and this twenty-year Fragments anniversary could work, otherwise I can’t run it.’

‘I’m sure she’ll do whatever it takes to get it ready in time.’

‘I’ve told her we need an interview with you.’

I freeze. ‘With me?’

‘Yes. We need the personal relationship angle to give a more rounded portrait of the man himself.’

‘I… I don’t talk about that…’

‘You could give the piece the edge it needs – so it appeals to everyone, not just his fans.’

If her feature got printed, Liv would be thrilled. All her hard work, her heartfelt words out there in the world, but I can’t do an interview.

Paul Raymond checks his watch. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, Miss Lawrence, I’ve got a meeting to prepare for.’

‘Of course. Thank you for your time.’

‘Liv could go far, but she needs to listen and do as she’s told.’

I stand, hitch my bag onto my shoulder and nod. ‘Yes, yes she does.’

As I walk to the station, I listen to the message Liv left telling me not to ‘go mental’ at Paul because he’d emailed, and everything would be okay.

There’s also a text from Scott: Hey Em. Can Liv stay at yours tonight?

I reply: Sure – everything ok?

Scott: Katya wants to talk.

I don’t understand why they need to talk overnight. Is ‘talk’ a euphemism for something else? Now I have a picture in my mind of them ‘talking’ and it makes me uncomfortable. I should reply, but what do I say?

In the end I plump for: Good luck!

After I’ve sent it, I wish I could take it back.