Radio Gaga

Radio Gaga

Nell Dixon

Published by Brierley Rose Press

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organisations, and events

portrayed
in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are

used
fictitiously.

Radio Gaga.
Copyright 2013 Nell Dixon.

All rights reserved.

The moral right of Nell Dixon to be identified as the author of this work has

been
asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents

Act, 1988.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever

without
the prior written permission of Brierley Rose Press.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not

be
re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book

with
another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If

you’re
reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for

your
use only, then please return to the distributer and purchase your own

copy
. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is dedicated to my wonderful critique partner, Kimberly Menozzi, and to the Coffee Crew, aka Phillipa Ashley and Elizabeth Hanbury. Thank you for keeping me relatively sane, saying ‘there
,there’
at all the right moments and for supplying me with coffee and cake. Radio Gaga wouldn’t exist without you.

I knew it wasn’t burglars when I noticed the large empty space next to the bay window. No self-respecting burglar would break into someone’s home just to steal a life size cardboard cut-out of Darth Vader would they?

No, it wasn’t burglars who’d nicked Darth or who’d cleared the shelf of the Queen CDs. It was Neil. He’d finally moved out, and taken Freddie Mercury and the Dark Lord with him as he went.

For a moment I stood trying to decide how I felt.
Angry?
Broken-hearted?
In the time it took me to cross the room, enter the kitchen and dump my handbag on the worktop I decided my overwhelming feeling was relief.

Neil had raided the kitchen too: his state of the art coffee maker which I hadn’t been allowed to touch was gone, along with his juicer and his super fancy wok. Only a couple of spilled coffee beans on the countertop showed where they had been. I looked at the clippie magnet on the fridge to see if he’d left me a note. We’d always left messages for each other one there. A few months back they had been little love notes with kisses and pictures of hearts. Now the only thing on there was the ratty message I’d left for him yesterday asking him to pick up some milk on his way home.

I walked back through the lounge to what had once been our bedroom. The wardrobe doors were open showing the empty hangers and his rack of immaculately arranged ties had gone. My mobile vibrated in my trouser pocket telling me I had a text as I sank down onto the edge of the bed. I knew what it would be before I even fished it out of my pocket.

‘Chloe, guess you know by now have moved out, thought would be better this way. U know it wasn’t working, sorry, N’

I tossed the phone down on the quilt next to me and threw myself back onto the bed. The lying, cheating rat-bastard hadn’t even had the nerve to dump me face-to-face. I squeezed my eyes shut tight trying to stop big fat tears of self-pity from creeping out.

The first time the doorbell rang I ignored it, preferring to continue wallowing in my newly dumped misery on the bed. It was only when the caller kept their thumb jammed on the button making the buzzer sound like a swarm of angry bees that I roused myself to stomp into the hall.

I wrenched the door open without bothering to slip the security chain across and pasted a scowl on my face ready for the doorbell abuser. The man with his hand on the bell wasn’t anyone I knew. Tall and dark-haired with bright blue eyes and the kind of smile that under normal circumstances would have made me wish I’d tidied my hair before answering the door.

“Hi, I’m sorry to disturb you. My name’s Ben, I’m moving into the flat upstairs.”

I peered at him through puffy eyes.

“The guy that was here this morning said you’d be home around now, only I have a van outside with my bigger furniture and I could do with you moving your car so we can carry the things in when we unload. Yours is the little blue car? It’s been left quite tight to the front entrance.” He frowned at me.

“Oh, yes, sure, sorry. I don’t usually park there only it was raining last night when I got back and then today I didn’t need to use it because I was in the studio all day. I work at Live It Up, the local radio
station,
I’m Chloe Lark from the Larking About spots. You might have heard me on the morning show. I do some special event reporting as well.” Noticing his blank expression and aware I was babbling I shut up.

“Sorry, I don’t really listen much to the local stations. I prefer Radio One,” he flashed an apologetic smile.

The fleeting happy vision of inviting my dishy new neighbour in for coffee while I dazzled him with my minor celebrity namedropping disappeared. “I’ll get my keys.”

I left him waiting on the doorstep while I snatched up my keys from my bag. It wasn’t surprising that he didn’t listen to Live It Up; hardly anyone did, well, hardly anyone under sixty.

“Thanks for moving your car.” He followed me out through the communal entrance and stood to one side while I coaxed my ancient
Toyota
into life.

As I climbed out and slammed the door shut I noticed he’d gone over to the van and was busy directing the pretty blonde haired female driver into my recently vacated slot.
 
Just my luck, it looked as if the hunky Ben was already spoken for.

My flat felt empty with all of Neil’s things gone. I pretended to busy myself in the kitchen so I could sneak peeps through the window at my new neighbours as they manhandled their possessions from the back of the truck.

Their furniture all looked very masculine to me, black leather sofas,
large
flatscreen television. Maybe the pretty blonde and my new neighbour were moving into their first home together. It was a depressing thought.
Especially today.
It was as if the universe were conspiring to surround me with happy couples.

In a fit of melancholy I unscrewed the lid of the biscuit barrel only to discover Neil had finished off all the chocolate digestives and left me a few rather limp Morning Coffee biscuits. A quick search of the cupboards for comfort food turned up a bag of chipsticks and a squashed Mars bar that looked as if it had seen better days. If I wanted to feel sorry for myself then I would have to go shopping first.

The new neighbours had finished unloading so I slipped on my sweater and set off down the road to Mr Hassan’s corner shop.

“Hello Chloe, I heard you on the radio today. I didn’t know blueberries were so good for you. I ordered some from my suppliers.”

I smiled at Mr Hassan while I loaded up my wire basket with Pringles and Malteasers. The piece I’d done on blueberries had been aimed at our older listeners who were always interested in anything to do with health, finances or local history and nostalgia pieces.

“Glad you liked it.” I squeezed my basket on to the tiny counter next to the till.

“Oh yes, very interesting.
Got to look after your eyesight.”
He rang up my purchases. “Your young man has stopped his magazine order today. He said he was moving out, you aren’t moving are you, Chloe?”

I like Mr Hassan but he is a terrible gossip and today wasn’t the day for a grilling on my personal life.

“Neil’s moved out. We’ve split up.” I tried to look unconcerned.

“Oh, I am sorry, Chloe. You made such a nice couple. Maybe he will change his mind and come back.” His dark brown eyes looked at me with concern as I handed over a ten pound note and waited for my change.

“No, I don’t think so. It’s fine really. I’m better off without him.” While I knew that was true, it still hurt to say it out loud.

A flicker of disbelief crossed Mr Hassan’s face as I pocketed my change and collected my carrier bag of chocolate and crisps from the counter.

“Oh, well you are a pretty girl and a famous celebrity, starring on the
radio,
you’ll find someone else soon. I told my nephew, Imran all about you”

I managed another rather weak smile in response.

Mr Hassan raised his voice. “Imran, come and meet Chloe, famous celebrity.”

I tried to hide behind the till as a short skinny lad of about seventeen emerged from the staffroom.

“My sister’s boy, not very bright, but family you know.” Mr Hassan murmured before dragging his reluctant nephew forward to shake my hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, Imran. I’m sure your uncle will appreciate having you working here.”

A dusky flush spread across Imran’s face and he muttered something unintelligible before bolting back into the staff room.

“Kids, today, what can you do?” Mr Hassan shook his head sadly.

I turned around anxious to make my escape only to cannon straight into Ben.

“We meet again.” His expression was frosty and I wondered how long he’d been standing behind me and how much of the conversation he’d overheard.

“Did you manage to get your furniture upstairs okay? It’s a bit tight on that top landing.” I knew perfectly well that he and his girlfriend had carted all their belongings inside. After all I’d been hidden behind the bamboo slats of my kitchen blind watching them unload, but felt I had to say something.

“Yeah, fine thanks, my sister’s stronger than she looks.”

My cheeks heated slightly at this piece of information. “Great, um, well, must be off, looking forward to getting to know you.” I edged towards the door, conscious of Mr Hassan smiling benignly at me from behind his till.

With a last quick farewell wave I escaped from the warmth of the store into the cool of the April evening air. I opened one of my Crunchie bars and bit into it as I walked home, hoping the sweet chocolatey goodness would take away some of my embarrassment.

My new neighbour probably thought I had an ego the size of a planet. First I babble away at him telling him all about my crappy five minute radio slots within seconds of meeting him. Then, when I’m in Mr Hassan’s shop he’s overhearing all about Neil leaving me, and Mr Hassan behaving as if I’m some kind of major celebrity.

The chocolate didn’t seem to be doing much to make me feel better so I wrapped the last bit back up and dropped it inside my carrier bag. I snuggled down deeper into my fleecy sweater and quickened my pace. I wished I’d remembered to pick up a bottle of wine to accompany my choc fest and contemplated turning back. Then I remembered Mr Hassan’s expression when I’d assured him that I was okay with the break up. I decided to forgo the wine.

It wasn’t exactly a shock that Neil had gone. We’d hardly been speaking to each other for the last two weeks and he’d made a point of being out if I was in. He’d camped on the put-you-up bed in my tiny office-come-guest room to sleep since I’d banned him from my bed. It wasn’t hard to work out where he’d moved to either. At a guess he was probably installed in Tamsin’s flat, if not her bed, right now.

I’d found out he’d been two-timing me with the girl from the dry cleaners when I’d discovered a love note inside the top pocket of his best suit, snuggled in with the dry cleaning ticket. It had been all downhill from there.

I heard my mobile ringing inside my flat as I unlocked the front door. Dropping my bag of goodies down in the hall I rushed to answer it before it could divert to voice mail. I have this thing about not missing phone calls, a kind of Pavlovian reflex to pounce on the receiver the minute the phone rings.

“Lark, just the person.”
I don’t know who else Mervyn thought would be answering my phone. Merv is my producer at radio station. He’s also an ex-boyfriend. In my defence I only dated him twice and that was two times too many. Actually most of the women working there count Merv as an ex. He’s had more romantic liaisons than I’ve had bars of chocolate, and I’ve eaten a lot of chocolate.

“Steph came up with this super idea for your slot on Monday.”

“Great.” It’s hard to talk through gritted teeth. Steph is the morning show presenter, blonde, petite and perky and Mervyn’s latest squeeze. She’s also why I got bumped into filing reports on local events and recordings of my Larking About slot. The morning show had originally been promised to me except ‘Up with the Lark’ was binned in favour of ‘Cereal with Steph’. There’s no love lost between me and Steph and her suggestions for my slots were usually pretty shitty.

“You are going to love this one, Lark. There’s a charity abseil down the Castle wall of the old keep and we’ve entered you as our representative. You are going to be holding the flag for Live it
Up
radio and raising money for cancer research.”

My stomach did a flip and my semi-digested Crunchie threatened to make a return. “Merv, I’m sure it’s a wonderful idea but you know I’m scared of heights.”

Scared was an understatement. I’m petrified.

“We’re going to promote it all weekend on every show. We’ve already got four hundred pounds in pledges.” Mervyn carried on talking as if he hadn’t heard what I’d said.

“What do you mean; you’ve already got four hundred in pledges?” Oh God, they’d already started publicising it.

“The listeners are really responding well. I’ve emailed you all the details and Steph will carry your reports on Cereal with Steph, then when you do the abseil we’ll follow it through into Mornings with Matt.”

“Mervyn, I can’t do it. I can’t even stand on a chair let alone fling myself over the side of a bloody castle!” I’m pretty sure I shrieked the last bit at him.

There was a brief pause.

“Lark, this means so much too so many people. It’s for cancer research. Think of all those little bald kiddies,” he wheedled.

“I really am terrified of heights. Why didn’t you ask me first before you put it on air?” I could guess why. Steph would have talked him into it. She knew I hated heights, she’d seen me almost pass out when we’d had to go to some meeting a few weeks back in a super trendy office building with a glass walled lift.

“This could be your big break here, Lark. There are lots of people keen to get a start in broadcasting.”

I knew a veiled threat when I heard it. Larking About might be crumby but it paid my rent.

“Okay, but if I become the first presenter to die on air you’d better have me well-insured.” Perhaps I could find an over-the-counter tranquilliser that would knock me out long enough for them to lower me down the castle wall.

“Good girl. I knew you’d be up for it.

Great, fab, terrific, my day was getting better and better.