A Lovely Way to Burn Read Free

can’t start the day without a cup of tea.’
    Stevie lifted up the slices of toast, ebony and ivory, for the camera to zoom in on, almost dropping them as the heat seared her fingertips.
    ‘Whoops.’ Sometimes it amazed her how good she had got at not swearing on air. ‘That is most definitely toasted.’
    Joanie produced some butter and a knife. ‘Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for some breakfast.’
    Sales were speeding up as people across the country, in Leicester, Glasgow, Manchester, Cardiff and beyond, got out of bed, turned on their TVs, reached for their credit cards, and dialled in their orders. Joanie let out a moan as she chewed her toast, overdoing it now.
    Rachel, the producer of Shop TV , spoke into Stevie’s headpiece: ‘Try not to choke and then read out some of the tweets and emails.’
    Stevie bit into her carbonated slice, aware of the camera zooming in on her mouth. They were a man down today and Hector the cameraman was pulling a double shift. The bags under his eyes were a purple shade of black which Stevie would have described as damson if she had been selling them. She rolled her eyes and said, ‘Mmm, that’s perfect,’ sincere as a straying politician squeezing his wife at the garden gate. Hector shook his head and she tried not to laugh.
    ‘Emails and tweets,’ Rachel repeated in her ear and Stevie glanced at the autocue. ‘Shelley in Hastings has bought three Dual Action Toasters, one for each of her children. She’s gearing up for a day in the garden. Good idea, Shelley, I think it’s going to be another hot one. Maybe some Melba toast and a Pimm’s on the lawn this afternoon?’
    Bed, she thought. Bed, bed, bed.
    ‘Nice link,’ Rachel said in her ear.
    Stevie said, ‘Rowan in Southend-on-Sea has tweeted to say that the sun is shining and she can see the sea from her living-room window. And Hannah in Berwick thinks the Dual Action Toaster might just save her marriage.’
    The words were coming easily now, she and Joanie part of a conversation with the unseen viewers.
    ‘Lesley in Edinburgh has bought a Dual Action Toaster,’ Joanie said. ‘Lesley’s emailed to say her hubby likes his toast cremated but she . . .’
    Their sales were climbing on the LED display. Across the studio, out of camera range, two technicians were setting up the next line: beaded batwing sweaters, gaudy outsize numbers, ideal for the larger lady who didn’t mind drawing attention to herself.
    ‘I had an aunty who lived in Southend,’ Stevie said. ‘Starlings used to swarm off the pier and swoop across the bay. Sometimes they turned the sky black.’
    ‘Too creepy, Stevie. Keep away from swarms of black birds,’ Rachel whispered. There was a faint echo of laughter in the production booth, harsh, like static on the line, but she was on a roll now. ‘I don’t know if the camera’s picking this up, but the Dual Action Toaster has a lovely matt sheen, so it will fit with your decor whether you’re an up-to-date techno kind of person, or prefer the traditional, country kitchen look.’
    ‘I’m definitely a country kitchen kind of girl,’ Joanie said, looking as if she was about to let the washing machine repairman bend her over her stripped pine units.
    Their chat always circled back to the toasters, as viewers knew it must. Sometimes Stevie wondered if the audience bought their wares just to keep the presenters in a job. She said, ‘Just a few of these really unique items left. Do you have one of those households where everyone likes their toast done a different way? If you do, then this is the ideal solution.’
    Over on the other side of the studio, Aliah shimmered on to the fresh set, wearing a copper-and-green sweater patterned with banana leaves, like some jungle nightmare.
    Joanie said, ‘I’ve reserved one of these for myself. Derek likes his toast golden brown . . .’ The gold-brown skin on her arms glistened, and across the studio Aliah bobbed and turned,