‘Another thing the pound pinchers at Bamph will no doubt put a stop to,’ Michael says, reaching for one himself.
‘Thanks, Callum,’ I say, taking a sip of the perfectly brewed tea with just the right amount of milk in it. This is good. I am Badger Boss, Queen of TV, in my serene office with my delightful colleagues, wearing my amazing new boots. No one is crying or biting me or throwing my craft or cooking attempts in the bin. No one is kicking me out of shower sex for saying the wrong thing. Here, I can simply eat croissants and talk to lovely people about my favourite subject – television. I’ve got a huge list of ideas, so I’m sure one of them is going to fit the bill.
As the team all gather in the boardroom, Trey comes to sit beside me. He is wearing a red velvet smoking jacket and a silver shirt with huge, pointed lapels.
‘I did it,’ he says quietly. ‘I proposed to Clare. She said yes.’
‘Oh, Trey, congratulations, that’s wonderful news.’
‘I spoke to her family too. Her parents were worried about me being freelance, having no job security, how hard it would be for me to get a mortgage, but I told them all about you, about your plans for me.’
‘My plans?’ I ask.
‘That when we win this pitch off, you’ll be able to offer me a staff contract,’ Trey says with a confident grin.
Great, so now Trey’s future in-laws are counting on me too.
Dominique is first to pitch her idea. She looks nervous, so I try to encourage her with a thumbs up. She pitches an animated explorer series, where scientists explore landscapes too small for the human eye to see, like cells on leaves or raindrops in clouds. When Dominique has finished, the room goes quiet, and I realise everyone is looking at me for a response.
‘Brilliant, I love it,’ I say, with a single hand clap. Dominique looks thrilled.
‘You don’t think it’s too similar to MicroBots?’ Michael asks, tapping a pen against his cheek.
‘Hmmm, maybe.’ I make a note to watch MicroBots.
‘It’s neat, but that kind of world building would be expensive, time consuming for the turnaround,’ says Trey.
‘With my commissioner head on, it feels at the educational end of the spectrum rather than pure Saturday night entertainment,’ says Michael. ‘Maybe we could talk about it for another slot?’
I nod along to Michael’s suggestions, tapping my lip to convey ‘thoughtful listening’.
Leon’s up next. He pitches a baking show, where teams would compete to bake cakes for their pets’ birthday parties. I’m about to say I love it, who doesn’t love baking and pets, but then Trey jumps in. ‘It’s a bit Disney Channel fifteen years ago, isn’t it? Sorry, Leon.’ He gives Leon a cartoon grimace, which elicits a few laughs from others in the room. ‘Lucy? What do you think?’
‘Hmmm. Possibly.’
With every pitch, the questions aimed at me get more and more technical. Everything sounds like a good idea, until people bring up practicalities, budget concerns, and shows that I’ve never heard of. I feel like a fraud because I know nothing, and people start to look disappointed with my evasive answers. Michael is measured, thoughtful, his feedback is positive but practical. Now I come to think of it, this was often Melanie’s role. She knew what questions to ask, she could foresee all potential pitfalls.
‘Shall we hear your idea now, Lucy?’ Michael suggests, tapping his pen nervously against his writing pad. Standing up, I clap my hands together, trying to summon the confidence I walked in here with. Maybe I’m not great at cri-tiquing other people’s ideas, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be any good at pitching my own.
‘I’ve got loads of ideas, so I’m just going to fire off some toplines?’ I say eagerly, looking to Michael who is now chewing his bottom lip. ‘Right, so, I’ll just kick off then, shall I?’ I pause. ‘I was thinking, what do kids love more than anything? Bouncy castles! How about a game show set in a bouncy castle?’ Everyone’s looking at me expectantly, so I go on. ‘There could be all these different rounds, one could be a spelling bee, where you have to bounce while you spell, and then a physical round where you have to grab balloons off the ceiling or something. I’m calling it “The Bounce House”.’
People are smiling up at me, but no one says anything.
‘So, it’s a game show, but bouncy?’ Michael asks, slowly, as though he’s trying to work out a complex mathematical equation while recalling what he ate for breakfast four days ago.
‘Yes,’ I say.
‘I think it would make me feel a bit sick watching people bounce up and down so much,’ Dominique says with a laugh. She might have a point. It doesn’t feel like anyone is bowled over by The Bounce House so I quickly move on. They’re bound to like one of these ideas.
‘Well, park that one. How about a game show called “Pants on Fire”, where kids compete to tell the most outlandish lies. The player who persuades the most members of the audience, wins a huge cash prize.’
‘I thought you weren’t allowed to offer cash prizes to kids any more,’ Leon says. ‘Ever since that boy on Who Wants to Be a Child Billionaire got mugged by one of the show’s producers.’
‘It doesn’t have to be cash,’ I say. ‘It could be anything, sweets, vouchers.’
‘Sweets?’ Trey asks horrified, as though I’ve suggested we reward them with class A narcotics.
‘Does it feel morally dubious to be rewarding kids for lying?’ Dominique asks.
‘Okay, forget the lying idea. How about a kids’ talent contest? We get a team of children to put on their own circus each week. They’ll have to do everything; find all the acts, organise rehearsals, and then every Saturday night is the big live show – it’s The Apprentice meets The Greatest Showman.’
‘What are those shows? Sorry, I’ve not heard of them,’ Trey asks and I realise these must be very dated references now.
Michael is looking at me in bemusement, as though these are not the kind of ideas he was expecting me to suggest.
‘I love talent shows,’ Callum says, grinning up at me like a loyal Labrador.
‘Or, I had this other idea.’ I decide to just keep talking, throwing everything I’ve got at the wall, and hoping something sticks. ‘A fish out of water show, called “Geeks Go to War”. We get the nerdiest, geekiest, least outdoorsy teenagers we can find, and then we send them to train with the marines! Hilarious, huh?’
There’s a collective intake of breath around the room.
‘What?’ I ask, looking down to check my shirt hasn’t just popped open.
‘Um, I imagine you’re using that term ironically,’ Michael says, ‘but that kind of marginalising language would never wash with the channel. Especially in a show aimed at young people.’