Monday 8 April 2013
glim·mer: intransitive verb \ˈgli-mər\
1 a: to shine faintly or unsteadily
b: to give off a subdued unsteady reflection
2: to appear indistinctly with a faintly luminous quality
1 a: a feeble or intermittent light
b: a subdued unsteady shining or sparkle
2 a : a dim perception or faint idea: inkling
b : hint, spark <a glimmer of intelligence>
‘I know what you people are like; always poking around for the dirt. Well, let me tell you right now, there was no dirt to be found anywhere near Charlotte’s life. None at all. So don’t you even dare try to rake anything up.’
‘Mrs. Goulbourn, that’s not the sort of story I intend to put to air.’
‘The hell it isn’t! I’ve seen your programme and the sort of stories that you put to air. You’re a vicious, sour-faced, manipulative, scheming, media whore who’ll do and say anything that you need to in order to get the information you want. And when you don’t get it, you make it all up anyway. Now, sling your hook and get off of my property before I call the police and have you arrested for trespass.’
Shocked to tears by the barbed reply from the missing girl’s mother, Grace Fellows quickly ushered her film crew off of the front porch of the Goulbourn’s home and back out on to the kerbside and their vehicle, wiping the surprise tears from her eyes as she went.
‘Never in my life have I ever –’
‘Until now, Grace,’ replied the cameraman who looked like he’d be more at home on a surfboard than behind a camera.
‘Yes, thank you, Andy, for your uncanny wit,’ Grace snapped back.
‘So, where to from here?’ he asked.
Grace shrugged her shoulders in defeat. Her ability to charm the pants off of anyone had failed her dismally in this instance. Beth Goulbourn was the immovable object that the unstoppable force of Grace Fellows, star reporter for Channel Four, was going to inevitably encounter at some point in her stellar career.
‘Shit! Shit! Shitty shit shit!’
Andy the cameraman and Banjo, the reporter’s favourite sound guy, snickered at Grace’s uncharacteristic outburst of profanity.
‘Oh, shut up, the two of you. Cameron is going to kill me if I don’t come back with this story.’
Banjo unlocked the four-wheel drive, lifted the hatch and began piling his sound equipment back into the vehicle. His actions sent the reporter further into a spin.
‘What are you doing? Banjo? What do you think you’re doing? Don’t put that shit away. Get it back out. I can’t go back to the office and face Cameron empty handed. I need a story. We’re going back in there and we’re getting this story. I need this story.’
Before he had a chance to argue the facts with her, Grace was striding back into the Goulbourn’s yard. Andy trailed behind trying to position the heavy camera on his right shoulder as he went.
‘Rolling?’ the word slipped from Grace’s mouth as more of a question to Andy than a demand.
‘Yep,’ he replied.
‘Where the hell is Banjo?’ she snapped. Peering around Andy, she saw the sound guy lumbering up the driveway. ‘Hurry up, will you?’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Banjo moaned and quickly assembled his equipment.
Grace, never the sort to wait for anyone else, knocked heavily on the door.
‘Mrs. Goulbourn?’ she called. There was no reply from inside the house. She knocked again, heavier this time. Still there was silence from Beth Goulbourn.
‘Mrs. Goulbourn,’ Grace repeated. ‘I’m not leaving here until you speak to me. You can call the police if you think that will do any good, but I’ll just report the story from a holding cell and . . . and if I don’t get the information from you, then I’ll find every friend of Charlotte’s that I can, and I’ll find every piece of dirt, every little thing that paints a portrait of her as a desperate, attention-seeking bitch, and then I’ll broadcast it for the nation . . . for the world to see. It’s a huge story already, Mrs. Goulbourn, so I wouldn’t be surprised at all to find that there’s an international audience for your daughter’s story. And well, there’s that great big world of Social Media out there . . . I’m sure that will help magnify the story a hell of a lot. The world will think the worst of your daughter, Mrs. Goulbourn. But, if you tell me your side of the story, what you think happened, then maybe the truth has a chance to get out there. And then maybe we’ll be able to bring her home.’
It wasn’t long before the door opened and Beth Goulbourn reticently allowed Grace and her small film crew in to her home.
‘Don’t you make me regret this, Ms. Fellows.’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it, Mrs. Goulbourn.’
. . . To be continued . . .