Spirited

Chapter 8

I hadn’t intended to swear quite so dramatically on live television, but I hadn’t realised I was going to be suddenly confronted with four foot high flames.

‘Sam! Turn it down!’

Although the flames hadn’t reached a height dangerous enough to warrant Tom and his team stepping in, it had been a close enough call for me.

‘Apologies for that, viewers, we were perhaps a little more generous with the methane than I was expecting. Either that, or there was more hot air in here than we were used to. So, as I was saying . . .’ and I continued until Lorcan joined me to finish off.

‘Next time, we’ll be looking at walking on water,’ he began. ‘And see whether it was a miracle,’

‘or a miracle of nature,’ I finished, and then we signed off.

As soon as the camera had finished rolling I turned on Lorcan.

‘I hold you entirely responsible for that,’ and I gesticulated at the pool.

‘What? I didn’t do anything!’

‘You distracted Sam. Or did you tell him to turn the tap up higher?’

‘No!’

‘Hmm. Well, frankly, I don’t believe you. Of all the childish, stupid, ridiculous tricks to play, then this just about beats them all!’

‘Lisa, calm down!’

‘Don’t tell me to calm down! I’m not the one who nearly caused the place to go up in flames!’

‘Well, I’m sure you new best friend Tom would have stepped in to save you.’

‘Oh don’t be so pathetic.’

‘And don’t be so dramatic. Nothing happened!’

‘You are so unbelievably annoying. I said I said I didn’t want to work with you. And that was because of your stupid beliefs. Now it’s because of your stupid antics.’

‘I love you too,’ he threw back at me.

‘Oh for God’s sake.’

‘I didn’t think you believed in Him.’

‘We might very well have been finding out because of your stupidity.’

‘But I didn’t do anything! And it was perfectly safe, wasn’t it, Tom?’

It didn’t help that Tom, along with his team, Finlay and the crew were now laughing at us arguing. Except it wasn’t us they were laughing at, it was me. I didn’t wait for Tom’s answer, if, indeed, he could speak at all due to his obvious amusement, picked up my bag and left the set, fuming on the tube along with the late night drunks, and stomping up the steps to my flat.

When I finally checked my phone the next morning, it was to find several missed calls, from Finlay, Lorcan and an unknown number, and a slightly lower number of voicemail messages, all from the previous night. The first was from Finlay thanking me for the programme and that he’d spoken to both Lorcan and Sam. The second was from Sam apologising profusely and claiming complete responsibility for the gas flow, and then there was one from Lorcan.

‘Lisa, it’s Lorcan. Before you delete this, I just wanted to say I was sorry for winding you up. I should have been more sympathetic.’ No apology for his part in the incident, I noticed. ‘I love working with you because you’re just so professional, and I hope I haven’t screwed that up. Finlay’s given me a bollocking . . .’ Excellent! ‘. . . and told me to behave myself as he can’t afford the insurance if something goes wrong.’ Oh, so it was about accidents, not my credibility. ‘So please say you’ll forgive me or I shall have to camp out on your doorstep and tell every passing stranger how penitent I am until you do. Please, please, please.’