OUT IN THE COLD

-x-

Two

-x-

Lynda freshened her lipstick in the mirror of the Ladies', and fiddled self consciously with the neckline of her dress. There were two women chatting with each other from the toilet stalls.

'I heard it was the demon drink,' said one woman with a French accent.

'Are you kidding?' replied another in an inconceivably posh voice. 'No, love. Typical midlife crisis, too much of an eye for the young girls, that's what I heard.'

The French woman giggled. 'So you think that's what his little project was all about, then?'

'Undoubtedly,' replied the posh woman. 'Have you seen his Twinkie editor? She's here tonight, all tits and arse, of course.'

Lynda paused. Were they talking about her?

'I expect she's pretty?' asked the French woman.

'In a budget sort of way,' conceded the posh woman, 'but she's a teenager, and that's all that counts these days I suppose.'

Lynda gave a satisfied. They were talking about her. Excellent! One of the toilets flushed. She dodged into the furthest stall to listen to the rest of their conversation.

'Won't she be getting too old to be cute soon, though?' asked Frenchie.

'Rumour has is that he tried to get rid of her as soon as she left school,' replied the posh woman, 'but she clung on.' The other toilet flushed. 'Still, the word on the street is the she won't be troubling him much longer. Such a risky business, youth journalism.'

'I heard it's unlikely to last the winter,' agreed the French woman.

'That long?' yawned the posh woman. 'I heard tonight it was ready to fold any day now. Frankly it's a miracle it's lasted as long as it has in this climate – they're doing it all bloody wrong. Even the FD's just a kid.'

'Oh, I think I saw him,' interjected the French woman, 'doing the rounds, begging for scraps. He's that one that Brian was letching over.'

'That was him?' The posh woman honked a laugh. 'Jesus, I thought that was someone's son or something!'

Lynda frowned as the hand dryer switched on. Jealousy and underestimation over the Junior Gazette staff's ages was one thing, but… were there really rumours that the paper was about to fold? That couldn't be good when it came to getting new investors.

'Of course,' continued the posh woman, 'you know the big trouble with a youth newspaper is that teenagers just don't read.'

'Most of them can't,' giggled the French woman. The bathroom door opened.

'Ever picked up a copy?' added the posh woman as their voices faded, 'they can't bloody write, either…'

The door closed and their voices disappeared.

Lynda stood against the cubicle door on her own, quietly. Then she let herself out, checked her make-up again and slipped out of the bathroom. She was met by a familiar face the moment she did. The older woman seemed as surprised to bump into her as Lynda was.

'Lynda!'

'Chrissie…' started Lynda.

'I, er…' Chrissie Stuart fumbled, pretending to root through her handbag in order to break eye contact with Lynda. 'I didn't think you'd be here tonight. I mean…'

'Did you come with Kerr?' interrupted Lynda. 'Where is he? I think I'd like a word…'

Chrissie shook her head and met eyes with Lynda again, apologetically. 'I don't think he's coming tonight, Lynda.'

'Why not?'

'I wouldn't know.'

Lynda narrowed her eyes. 'What? Why? What's going on, Chrissie?'

Chrissie sighed. 'I don't know, Lynda. I honestly have no idea what's going on at the Gazette any more. And it's probably not advisable for us to be seen talking, I'm afraid…'

'What are you talking about?'

'You haven't heard…?'

'Heard what?'

Chrissie struggled to find the words to answer her. Lynda scrutinised the journalist's embarrassed expression. Something about it made her heart plummet into her stomach.

'You've jumped ship, haven't you?'

'You're looking at the new Deputy Editor of the Shepperton Advertiser.' Chrissie winced.

'The Advertiser? That comic? But it's…'

'Crap. I know.' Chrissie folded her arms. 'But it's a promotion… sort of. And for the record, Lynda, I only jumped because I couldn't bear to be pushed.'

Lynda struggled to push the furious indignation into a tight ball, safe in her stomach. 'Kerr wouldn't let you go!'

'Kerr would have had no say in it. Haven't you noticed all of the cuts going on? You must have had to make a few yourself to stay afloat over at your title. Advertising's always the first to suffer in a Recession.'

Lynda shook her head, managing a tight little smile. 'We happen to value our staff's loyalty very highly at the Junior Gazette.'

'Everybody always does,' replied Chrissie, 'but you're running a risky business and it's difficult times…' she looked over her shoulder swiftly. 'As I said, it might not be terribly wise for the two of us to been seen chinwagging for too long, under current circumstances…'

Chrissie made a dart for the bathroom, but Lynda managed to block her way for a moment longer.

'What have you heard, Chrissie? What have you heard about my paper?'

Chrissie shook her head, apologetically. 'You know we can't discuss that.' She manoeuvred herself so that Lynda was no longer in her path. 'Goodbye, Lynda. And good luck. With everything.'

-x-

The man looks up at the sky while the woman slumps her head down towards her lap.

'Did I see Chrissie Stuart there tonight?' mumbles the man at length. 'She's good, isn't she, Lynda? She'll work out we've gone missing before long. She'll work it out.'

There is a long pause before the man looks back down at the unmoving woman.

'Wouldn't you say?'

Still the woman doesn't move. The man shakes her a little but she doesn't react.

'Lynda?'

He shakes her harder and she moans a little.

'Come on, Kid,' he breathes, 'just keep it together a little bit longer, will you? Just a little bit longer. For me?'

He contemplates this.

'All right, not for me, then. For… for the others. Who's going to tell Julie her hair looks stupid if you're not around, eh? Who's going to phone Kenny in the middle of the night to settle an argument about what year they stopped issuing one pound notes? Who's going to blow claxon horns at Frazz when he falls asleep in the office? What about your poor Mum? What about Spike, Lynda? What about Spike, eh?'

The woman stirs a little. Her whisper is almost silent. 'Spike…'

'What about poor old Spike?' continues the man. 'He'll always be there, paper or no paper. Don't give up just because of the paper, Lynda. Please.'

-x-

Lynda didn't stop moving when she found Colin. She grabbed the top of his arm and carried on marching towards a secluded corner, forcing him to walk with her.

'We're not going home,' spluttered Colin, 'not yet we can't, anyway…'

'Colin,' hissed Lynda, 'I know that the irony of asking this of you of all people is enormous, I know that I will almost regret doing so the moment I do, but this is my job we're talking about, so away we go. Tell me, Colin. Honestly. Honestly. How bad is it? The money, I mean. Look me in the eye and tell me straight for once.'

She released his arms and stared at him, waiting.

Colin opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, then tried grinning at her, then pretended to be fascinated by something just behind Lynda's right ear.

Still Lynda watched him.

Finally he sighed, and looked down at his thumbnail. 'It's bad.'

'It's always bad. Define "bad".'

'We need to increase weekly revenues by another 20… 25...' Colin trailed off.

'Or what?' prompted Lynda.

Colin tried to catch the eye of a passing waitress. Lynda grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged him back into the conversation.

'Or what?' Lynda reiterated. 'What if we keep going as we have been?'

Colin paused for a moment. 'Then we sink.'

'Sink? Are we talking months here? Weeks?'

'It depends.'

Lynda arched an eyebrow. 'Go on.'

'If we keep doing everything just the way we were, same incomings, same outgoings, we won't…' Colin scratched his head, nervously. 'We won't make it another four editions.'

'Four weeks?' Lynda paled. 'A month?' Her shock turned to rage almost instantly. 'Why didn't you tell me about this you stupid bloody…' with effort she brought her voice under control, although her fists bunched so tightly that her knuckles turned white. 'We need to do something, then. We'll have to make cutbacks.'

'But we hate making cutbacks…'

'I know we do!'

'Besides,' added Colin, 'even if we cut right back, try to get by on a skeleton staff, it… doesn't look likely. The money's just not out there any more.'

Lynda fell into silence. She stared furiously at him for what felt like a miserable eternity, flexing and clenching her fingers. Then she turned sharply from him and, without another word, swiftly walked away.

'Lynda? Lynda!'

Colin chewed his lip. She'd walked off. He was in the clear, at least for the time being. He could just go back to the task in hand and forget all about the consequences until they caught up with him again.

He could. Only…

Suddenly he realised that he was already chasing after her. 'Lynda, wait!'

But Lynda wouldn't wait. She gave him a brief, angry glance over her shoulder and then disappeared into a crowd. Colin pushed through them just in time to see the door to the fire escape slam shut. The other revellers were far too wrapped up in themselves to notice him, so he pushed the door halfway and slipped through.

Lynda was sitting on the stairs, her head buried in her hands. Colin silently leaned against the wall and took a deep breath, watching her. Was she crying? Had something that he had said made Lynda Day actually cry? That was rare – very rare. It usually took some guy to put a bullet through his brain to get her to do that. A long time ago he would have taken considerable pride in that. But now all he felt was shame. That terrible blackness that fidgeted in his brain and slunk in his belly so often these days. He could no longer keep it down the way he had done so well when he was a kid. He wondered why that was.

'Lynda…' he attempted again.

Lynda looked up at him, her eyes dry but dark with rage. 'Get lost, Colin,' she snapped, getting to her feet and climbing the staircase away from him, 'preferably forever.'

He ignored her warning and followed her up the stairs.

'It's not as if I haven't been trying, Lynda! I mean, what do you think I've been doing at the office every day for the last couple of months?'

'God knows,' yelled down Lynda, 'God knows what you do with the time I pay you for. But I always turned a blind eye because somehow it still worked.'

'A blind eye – that's just it, isn't it?' Colin grabbed the banister and used it to swing himself round the 180 degrees to the next flight of stairs. 'You don't see, do you? Has it escaped your attention that there happens to be a massive Recession right now? What about the fact that I haven't worked on anything except the paper for nearly half a year? Do you ever so much as look at what I do? I shouldn't have to tell you we're in trouble so late in the day, Lynda. You should already know.'

Lynda reached the fire escape at the top of the stairs. She stopped and turned to him. 'Don't give me that crap. You hide all these things from me. You always have.'

Since she had stopped, he ground to a halt himself, halfway up the last flight of stairs, keeping his distance. 'I don't. Not for years. Not properly, anyway. There's no point, because unless it's something you really want to know, you can never be bothered to look…'

Before he could finish, she walloped the bar of the fire door, stormed through it and slammed it behind her. Again, Colin momentarily considered leaving her to sulk on her own and going back down to the job in hand at the party, and yet again he realised too late that he was already following her. He pushed against the heavy door and was hit by a wave of freezing wind and snow. The moment that he stepped outside he felt all the warmth drain from his body, and that was in a suit. Lynda, in only a tiny cocktail dress was shivering terribly, but still had an expression of utter defiance etched on her face.

'Oh for God's sake… would you just leave me alone for five bloody minutes?'

Colin stepped a small way towards her, his hands tucked beneath his folded arms for warmth. 'You're being stupid, Lynda. You'll freeze up here.'

'I just want some fresh air and a bit of peace and quiet. Will you leave me be?'

Colin said nothing but stayed rooted to the spot, and blew into his cupped hands.

'Seriously, Colin. Who died and made you Kenny?'

Colin just snorted a small laugh.

Lynda rubbed her bare arms. 'At least Kenny would go and get me a coat so I wouldn't die of pneumonia.'

'I'm not fetching your coat. Come back inside.'

They fell into a silent stalemate. Stinging snow whipped around them both as they tried to stare each other down. It was Colin who crumbled first, turning from her.

'We don't have time for this,' he muttered. 'I'll be downstairs.'

'What's the point?' asked Lynda, bitterly. 'If we're dead in the water, what's the point of going back down there?'

Colin had no answer.

'You think we still have a chance,' added Lynda, 'don't you? That's why we're here.'

'It's not much of a chance,' shrugged Colin.

Lynda pondered this for a second. 'I'll come in, Colin. But you've got to promise me. Absolutely promise me. And not a Hustler Colin Promise, they're not worth the breath you draw to make them. I want a proper promise. From you. I know you're in there, somewhere.'

'I don't like the sound of this…' muttered Colin.

'I'll put in the work too,' continued Lynda, 'and I'll make the cuts that need to be made. That's my side of the bargain. And I won't stop until the paper's back on its feet, you know I won't. I need you to match that.'

'Lynda…'

Lynda scowled at him, seriously. 'I need you to promise that you won't stop either. Promise you'll help me save it.'

'I don't know what else I can do, Lynda. I've already been putting my…'

'Just promise.'

'I can't promise I'll save the paper. I can try my best, but that's what I've already been doing.'

Lynda didn't budge. 'Fine. See you later.'

'Lynda…'

'I said, I'll see you later.'

Colin rolled his eyes and trudged back to the fire escape door. It had blown shut, so he groped for a handle. His hand hit a flat wall of metal. He stared at it. There was no handle on the outside, just a chubb lock. Already knowing that it didn't open inwards, he tried pushing at the freezing door. It didn't budge.

An annoyed female voice rose up behind him. 'What now?'

-x-

The two figures have grown still again. The man breaks the silence by coughing unhealthily. The woman is now completely limp on his shoulder. The patch of rusty brown snow on her arm is growing bigger.

'For what it's worth,' says the man, 'I promise, OK? I won't stop. I'll find a way of saving it, somehow. And if not… well, I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going anywhere.'

The woman doesn't reply.