Coleson is up first, so I sit back down, trying to reassure myself that our whole presentation is loaded onto slides, all I need to do is read it. Trey’s meticulously prepared graphics will speak for themselves.
‘What do children want?’ Coleson asks as he opens his presentation with a flick of his wrist. An artful montage of children running in a playground appears on the screen in front of us. ‘They want to be treated like adults. They don’t want to be patronised.’ More footage of children’s faces. ‘There have been shows where we’ve put children into adult situations before; we let them survive in the wild, build their own eco home, run a government.’ They let kids run a government? Where? ‘But what about the area where it really matters – the part of life that means the most to children, that they usually don’t get a say in?’ Coleson pauses for dramatic effect. ‘Family.’ A graphic on the presentation changes to a picture of two children being hugged by a man and a woman.
‘Parents separate, and usually the kids don’t get to hear about it until someone’s moved out.’
I scan the room, no idea where this pitch is going. Michael has a fist in his mouth. Coleson has everyone’s rapt attention, including Melanie’s.
‘But that won’t be the case on this show. Welcome to – Kids on the Couch.’ Coleson stands back and a clip plays on the screen: a girl of about eight or nine is sitting in an armchair interviewing a couple who sit side by side on a couch. It looks like they built a set for their taster tape, the lighting and editing is slick and professional.
‘And why do you think Mummy doesn’t like it when you go out with your friends?’ the child asks the man on the couch.
‘Because she’s controlling and doesn’t like me having any fun,’ says the man, and Coleson’s team all laugh.
‘Because you come back drunk, gunning for a fight,’ says the woman.
The child consults her notepad. ‘And how does that make you feel, Mummy?’
‘Scared, lonely.’
Coleson waves his hand and the screen freezes. ‘Kids on the Couch features kids whose parents are on the brink of separation. Who could be more invested in trying to keep them together than their own children? Now, we’re not just throwing them to the wolves here, our kiddie counsellors will undergo intensive training from a qualified psychotherapist. We are empowering them to save their own families.’
He can’t be serious. I shake my head in incomprehension. This is wrong on so many levels. For a child to hear all their parents’ problems and then be given the weight of responsibility in trying to fix them – it’s a recipe for a lifetime of psychological damage. I look to Melanie but, I can’t believe it, she’s nodding, writing notes, she looks . . . impressed.
‘It’s bold, it’s original, it’s controversial. This is the show journalists will love to hate and hate to love,’ Coleson says. ‘It has everything – drama, jeopardy, family, emotion.’ Someone applauds. This is not good.
‘But I don’t think this idea needs me to sell it,’ Coleson continues. ‘I’m going to let the format speak for itself. So, without further ado – I present the pilot episode of Kids on the Couch.’
They made a whole pilot. We watch as a young girl, Melody, talks to her mother about her postnatal depression, coaches her father to articulate how it made him feel when her sibling arrived and took all his wife’s attention. It’s awful and tasteless and yet for some reason, I can’t look away. The episode ends with the whole family in tears hugging each other. Someone sniffs, and I look over to see Gary crying. Gary is crying. We’re screwed.
My palms ache, and I realise my hands have been balled into fists for the entire episode. We’re given a five-minute comfort break before it’s my turn to take the floor. My armpits are already damp with sweat, even though future deodorant is terrifyingly effective. Is it normal to be this nervous? I’m sure everyone feels like this before an important, everything-riding-on-it presentation.
As I’m about to walk back in, I get a call on my mobile, a number I don’t recognise. I don’t have time to answer it, but what if it’s Felix’s school or Amy’s nursery?
‘Hello?’
‘Hello,’ says a gruff voice at the other end.
‘Who is this?’ I ask in confusion.
‘Dave. You told me to call if I heard about a machine you’re looking for.’
My mind scrambles for memory of a Dave. Do I know a Dave? Shit, Dave!
‘Arcade Dave?’ I ask.
‘That’s right. I found your wishing machine,’ he says. ‘Bloke I know says he saw one, just like you described, in a shop on Baskin Place, in Southwark. It’s not even far from here. What are the chances of that?’
My heart, which just jumped straight into my mouth, now retreats slowly down into my throat. It’s an old lead.
‘I went there,’ I explain, ‘it’s a building site. That shop is gone.’
‘Since yesterday? I doubt it,’ Dave says. ‘Anyway, it’s called Baskin News if you’re still interested. Tell ’em I’ll take it off their hands at a fair price if it’s not what you’re looking for.’
I mumble my thanks but can’t formulate words, because now I realise what he’s just said. Baskin Place. Not Baskin Road, Baskin Place.
‘Lucy?’ Gary calls from the meeting room. ‘It’s time.’
I need to get down there, I need to leave right now. The wishing machine is still there. I was looking in the wrong place all along.
Glancing around the room, I take in the anxious faces of my team; Michael, who loves three things in this world and just witnessed two of them being desecrated. I can’t be responsible for him losing the third too. Trey, whom I drunkenly advised to throw caution to the wind and propose to his girlfriend, who’s counting on me giving him a permanent position. Dominique, who needs to finish that tattoo – okay, so her concerns might not feel as high stakes as the others, but everyone on the team works hard, they’ve all put their livelihoods in my hands. I need to stay and finish this.
As I take the stage, Coleson gives me a thumbs up, which he quickly turns into a thumbs down. Mature. However unpalatable an idea Kids on the Couch might be, I can’t fault Coleson’s presentation style. It was slick and confident, perfectly paced, he had everyone’s attention. I need to do that, only better. The machine is still there, the newsagent’s is still there. I could go back! You can’t think about it now, Lucy. Focus.
‘Lucy?’ Gary asks, then coughs. Everyone is waiting for me to start.