The Show: Racy, pacy and very funny!

‘Exactly.’ Laura smiled. Macy instantly liked her less. Laura might be the boss on paper, but Macy was the star of the show. She resented Laura’s natural assertion of authority. And she wasn’t keen on the doe-eyed way Eddie looked at her, either. Macy wasn’t at all sure there was room for two beautiful women on the Valley Farm set.

‘I thought it was time the two of you met,’ said Eddie. ‘As you know, we have our first official on-set meeting tomorrow morning at the farm. But we ought to put faces to names before then. May we come in?’

‘Of course.’

Macy led them through to the drawing room, a small but pretty space overlooking the rear garden. It struck Laura how perfect the room looked already, all white linen sofas and artlessly arranged crystal. Clearly Macy had the same flair for decor as Lady Wellesley. Is that what Eddie goes for, I wonder? she thought idly. The perfect homemaker, china-doll look? He wouldn’t last long with me.

‘Tea?’ Macy offered. ‘Or fresh juice? I made some kale-ade this morning, it’s delicious.’

‘Sounds disgusting,’ Eddie said cheerfully. ‘I’m all right, thanks.’

‘Me too,’ said Laura. ‘How are you finding England so far?’

‘So far so good,’ Macy said warily.

‘Have you read over your script for the pilot?’

‘Sure,’ Macy lied. Evidently the small-talk part of the visit was already over. ‘Eddie tells me you’ve never done scripted reality.’

‘Funny,’ Macy shot back. ‘He said the same about you.’

Laura looked up sharply, as if seeing Macy for the first time.

‘It’s true, my background is in drama. To be honest, from a writing perspective, this is easier. But it presents other challenges. A lot rests on the interaction between you and Gabe, your chemistry on screen.’

‘I don’t usually have a problem with chemistry,’ said Macy, catching Eddie’s eye for the most fleeting of moments.

‘Good,’ said Laura.

She didn’t warm to this girl. Eddie had described Macy as ‘very ambitious’ – not a bad thing in itself, as long as she remembered who was boss. Laura had seen Grapevine. Macy was a talented presenter, no doubt about that. But Laura wondered how easy she was going to be to manage. She was clearly used to getting her own way. There would be no room for any diva antics on Valley Farm.

Laura stood up. ‘Do you have any questions for me, before tomorrow?’

Macy stifled a yawn. ‘No. I’m good.’

‘In that case, I look forward to seeing you bright and early up at Wraggsbottom.’

Macy giggled. ‘I still can’t get over that name. It’s like calling your house Ass-wipe. No offence.’

‘None taken,’ Laura said frostily. ‘We’ll see ourselves out.’

After they left, Eddie turned to Laura as they drove down the lane.

‘You don’t like her.’

Laura kept her eyes on the road. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘You weren’t exactly friendly.’

‘Nor was she. And I wasn’t unfriendly. Anyway, I’m not her friend. I’m her producer. This is my show, Eddie. I want to set the right tone, that’s all.’

Eddie put a hand over Laura’s and patted it reassuringly. ‘I understand. But there’s no need to hit back first. We’re all on the same team here, Laura. We all need Valley Farm to succeed.’

No you don’t, thought Laura. You want it to succeed. That’s a very different thing. Gabe and I need this money.

The truth was, the set-to at the school gates had shaken Laura up more than she cared to admit. With each passing day she found her own confidence in the show’s success waning, to the point where she was finding it really hard to sleep at night. While Gabe snored loudly beside her, Laura’s mind was whirring. My neighbours hate me, the bills keep rolling in, and I’ve staked my entire professional reputation on a reality show, a format about which I know precisely nothing. Macy’s quip just now about her lack of experience had hit home. Suddenly Laura felt desperately out of her depth. She knew she mustn’t let Macy see that. Or Eddie, for that matter.

‘OK,’ she said aloud. ‘I’ll ease up. I just hope she cuts out the attitude with Gabe. He’s not big on stroppy women.’

Eddie looked at her and grinned, but wisely said nothing.

‘I can’t believe this.’ Laura ran an exasperated hand through her hair. ‘I seriously can’t believe it.’

It was the morning the film crew were supposed to come to see the farm for the first time, and a small but determined group of Fittlescombe villagers had gathered in the lane outside Wraggsbottom Farm to stage a protest. While Laura looked around a kitchen still littered with the detritus of yesterday’s cake-baking efforts (stupidly, she’d thought a bit of home cooking might make a nice welcome for the crew, temporarily forgetting that her culinary prowess was very much on the King Alfred end of the scale), shouts of ‘No TV in our Vall-ey!’ drifted noxiously in through the open window.

‘They’re driving me mad.’ She looked at Gabe despairingly. ‘Should we call the police?’

Gabe poured himself another coffee, his third of the morning, and frowned. ‘And say what? Unfortunately, it’s a free country. People are allowed to protest about things.’

‘Yes, but not at six in the morning, surely?’ said Laura. ‘That’s when they started.’

‘Don’t remind me,’ said Gabe.

Laura sighed heavily. ‘Look at this sodding mess. Why didn’t we clean it up last night?’

Gabe wrapped his arms around her. ‘Because I was too busy disabling the smoke alarms.’ Laura giggled. ‘And you were hitting the gin.’

Through the kitchen window, they could see the tops of the protestors’ placards, emblazoned with such cheery slogans as: ‘GO HOME CHANNEL 5!’ and ‘SAVE OUR VILLAGE!’

‘At least the kids aren’t here,’ said Laura.

‘Exactly,’ said Gabe. ‘Look on the bright side.’

Greta, the Baxters’ part-time nanny, had taken Hugh and Luca out to Drusillas Zoo earlier, with both the boys cheerfully chanting ‘No TV!’ as they got into the car.

It was now nine o’clock. The production team and Macy were due at the farm by ten, to do some walk-throughs of the property and set up for next week’s pilot episode. Laura had a headache that could have felled an elephant, and Gabe’s nerves, already frayed at the prospect of meeting his co-presenter and performing on camera for the first time, had not been helped by the relentless cacophony.

Opening the kitchen cupboards, he began pulling out a teapot, mugs, a packet of Jaffa Cakes and a tray.

‘What are you doing?’ asked Laura.

‘Loving my neighbour. I’m going to disarm them with the power of McVitie’s.’

Laura’s eyes widened. ‘Are you serious? You’re taking them tea?’

‘It’s either that or spray them with slurry.’

Laura knew which option she preferred. But five minutes later, Gabe was outside the farm gates, tray in hand, smiling warmly at the sea of scowling faces.