back six months ago, Dad.”
“
That
long? And no see? Mea culpa, I suppose, I’ve been so woefully busy.” He raised his voice over the photographers now snapping the reunion of famous father with newly-infamous daughter. “First there was the wedding to cover – dear Kate and Will – didn’t they do well? And then the funeral: My dear friend Madiba would have loved the turnout, wouldn’t he? The tribal ritual, the heads of state, the selfies – ”
“I know Dad.” Tess pulled away. “I know.”
Her father’s work was his life. Over the course of a high profile career, he’d chased down flying pickets during the Miners’ Strike, blown the whistle on dodgy practices at the FA and exposed a shadow cabinet minister for shady dealings with a Saudi oil company. For the past twenty years, he’d fronted flagship BBC current affairs show
World Inaction.
In studio, Darling berated viewers for their political apathy; his special reports exposed everything from Mumbai sweatshops to the ghastly acoustics at the O2 Dome. More recently, his series of
Head-to-Head
– intimate interviews with political and cultural figureheads – had afforded him the glamour of a chat show host, garnering him several BAFTAs and the personal phone numbers of Brangelina and Ban Ki-Moon. It explained the excitement he was now generating – and made his presence in the press mob more baffling. “What are you
doing
here, Dad?”
“Making an educated guess,” he said. “With no other way to contact you, I had to presume you’d at least be checking in with your employers. They’ll be wanting answers?”
“They’ll be wanting my head.” And they weren’t the only ones. Ducking a boom mic scything down towards her, Tess felt the crowd getting restive again. Fortunately, her father did too.
“Looks like it’s time to get you inside,” he murmured. Putting an arm around his daughter, Darcus led her imperiously through the throng. For a few, crazy moments, Tess felt safe in her father’s embrace. Not for long. With a sharp shove to the back, Darcus pushed her through the glass swing doors into her building. “
This
is more like it.” Backchat reception was empty but for two security guards. The sounds of the crowd were muffled behind the glass. “Time to think.”
“Bloody hell,” groaned Tess. “That’s the last thing I want to do.”
“So how about we have a little chat instead? I thought you might want to offload.”
“Offload?”
“Unburden youself.” She looked blank. “I know we parted on bad terms,” he continued impatiently. “But believe me, I’m sorry. I’ve missed you darling.”
“You have?”
“Of course.” Tentatively, he chucked her under the chin. She turned her face away, but not before he saw the start of a smile. “How about we slip off somewhere for a quiet drink? After you’ve checked in here of course. We can catch up a bit. You can talk me through what happened this morning—”
“Talk you through it?”
“For God’ sake, darling, you’re a key witness to a murder that’s come to light in the full glare of the media – not just that, a
celebrity
murder – live on TV. Forget the OJ Simpson car chase or the trial, you’ve dug up a body in real time. Twitter’s gone ballistic.”
“I’m not
on
Twitter!”
“You are now. Hashtag TessDigsUpBody, thank me later, it’s what I’m here for. To look out for you, darling, guide you through it. You’re at the eye of a media storm now. The madness outside is just the start of it, don’t you see?”
Tess didn’t want to take another look outside however. She hid her face in her father’s shoulder. “You’re going to have every rag, mag and blog after your story,” he continued more gently. “Obviously, you’ll give it first to your Old Man.”
She went very still. Her father seemed not to notice. “An hour ago, I spoke to my Editor at
World Inaction.
She’s keen to move quickly. There’ll be some money in it for
“
That
long? And no see? Mea culpa, I suppose, I’ve been so woefully busy.” He raised his voice over the photographers now snapping the reunion of famous father with newly-infamous daughter. “First there was the wedding to cover – dear Kate and Will – didn’t they do well? And then the funeral: My dear friend Madiba would have loved the turnout, wouldn’t he? The tribal ritual, the heads of state, the selfies – ”
“I know Dad.” Tess pulled away. “I know.”
Her father’s work was his life. Over the course of a high profile career, he’d chased down flying pickets during the Miners’ Strike, blown the whistle on dodgy practices at the FA and exposed a shadow cabinet minister for shady dealings with a Saudi oil company. For the past twenty years, he’d fronted flagship BBC current affairs show
World Inaction.
In studio, Darling berated viewers for their political apathy; his special reports exposed everything from Mumbai sweatshops to the ghastly acoustics at the O2 Dome. More recently, his series of
Head-to-Head
– intimate interviews with political and cultural figureheads – had afforded him the glamour of a chat show host, garnering him several BAFTAs and the personal phone numbers of Brangelina and Ban Ki-Moon. It explained the excitement he was now generating – and made his presence in the press mob more baffling. “What are you
doing
here, Dad?”
“Making an educated guess,” he said. “With no other way to contact you, I had to presume you’d at least be checking in with your employers. They’ll be wanting answers?”
“They’ll be wanting my head.” And they weren’t the only ones. Ducking a boom mic scything down towards her, Tess felt the crowd getting restive again. Fortunately, her father did too.
“Looks like it’s time to get you inside,” he murmured. Putting an arm around his daughter, Darcus led her imperiously through the throng. For a few, crazy moments, Tess felt safe in her father’s embrace. Not for long. With a sharp shove to the back, Darcus pushed her through the glass swing doors into her building. “
This
is more like it.” Backchat reception was empty but for two security guards. The sounds of the crowd were muffled behind the glass. “Time to think.”
“Bloody hell,” groaned Tess. “That’s the last thing I want to do.”
“So how about we have a little chat instead? I thought you might want to offload.”
“Offload?”
“Unburden youself.” She looked blank. “I know we parted on bad terms,” he continued impatiently. “But believe me, I’m sorry. I’ve missed you darling.”
“You have?”
“Of course.” Tentatively, he chucked her under the chin. She turned her face away, but not before he saw the start of a smile. “How about we slip off somewhere for a quiet drink? After you’ve checked in here of course. We can catch up a bit. You can talk me through what happened this morning—”
“Talk you through it?”
“For God’ sake, darling, you’re a key witness to a murder that’s come to light in the full glare of the media – not just that, a
celebrity
murder – live on TV. Forget the OJ Simpson car chase or the trial, you’ve dug up a body in real time. Twitter’s gone ballistic.”
“I’m not
on
Twitter!”
“You are now. Hashtag TessDigsUpBody, thank me later, it’s what I’m here for. To look out for you, darling, guide you through it. You’re at the eye of a media storm now. The madness outside is just the start of it, don’t you see?”
Tess didn’t want to take another look outside however. She hid her face in her father’s shoulder. “You’re going to have every rag, mag and blog after your story,” he continued more gently. “Obviously, you’ll give it first to your Old Man.”
She went very still. Her father seemed not to notice. “An hour ago, I spoke to my Editor at
World Inaction.
She’s keen to move quickly. There’ll be some money in it for