Page 56 of Hearts Colliding
"Coast and Country radio, you say? My company's on the verge of agreeing on substantial advertising with them. Significant revenue that could be re-directed. I'm not sure your boss would be too pleased with the loss of income in the challenging economic climate we all find ourselves in.”
He’d never heard of Coast and Country radio, but it’d no doubt be nothing more than a piss-poor amateurish set up operating out of somebody's converted garden shed. The journo's clumsy confidence wavered. Behind the pushy confidence and heavy make-up, she looked about twelve.
“Everything you need to know, Ms. Duffy, regarding the planning application, can be found online. I assume you've looked at it?”
"Of course I have, but concerns have been raised—”
“You're on private property and you're being asked to leave,” Ryan said.
"And you are?"
"None of your business." Ryan stepped forward and shut the door. “Fucking hell.” He rubbed the back of his neck.
“Why's a local journalist suddenly turning up on the doorstep?”
“Because it’s a local interest story.”
“Sir Alex? Sir Alex, I’ve some questions our listeners would be interested in hearing the answers to.” The reporter’s muffled voice from the other side of the door was accompanied by insistent knocking. “There’s considerable opposition to your planning application, and Coast and Country has been contacted by the co-ordinators of the opponents to your proposal, a small group of concerned villagers informally known as the war council. Would you care to comment?”
“The war council? Is that what you and your cronies call yourselves? So unleashing some local radio hack was your idea, was it?”
"No, of course it wasn’t. I had no idea this was going to happen. What do you take me for?”
"For somebody who'd do anything to stand in the way of the planning application? I can’t say I blame you, because if the situation were reversed I’d be doing the same thing. Although I think I’d have done better than a third rate radio station I suspect few have heard of and fewer listen to.” The reporter had stopped knocking, but her insistent, carping voice was showing no sign of falling silent.
“Sir Alex, our listeners would appreciate answers to our questions.”
"Come on, Alex. I’ve got no idea who she is, and I’ve never heard of her fucking radio station. This hasn’t got anything to do with me. I’m as surprised by her turning up here as you are.”
"Really? How do you expect me to believe that? Thatsmall group of concerned villagers? The group you’re right at the centre of? They contact the press, and you say you don’t know anything about it?”
A flush mottled Ryan’s neck, creeping its way over his face.
“You’re looking guilty, Ryan. Guilty as hell.” Alex winced. Pain speared behind his eyes as Ryan’s betrayal pressed down on him, a heavy and suffocating weight. Just minutes before, he’d have never believed Ryan could have… But the evidence was hammering on the door and demanding answers. He turned to go but Ryan caught hold of his arm.
"I swear, I had no idea that was going to happen. I wouldn't let you be doorstepped by a journalist.”
"I can handle the press, but that's not the issue. It's that you knew—”
"Not like that I didn’t."
They stared at each other across a silent void, those few words putting more distance between them than there had ever been before.
“Not like that I didn’t…That says it all. It’s all been an illusion, hasn't it? Every single moment of it.”
"I don’t—”
"This little story we’ve been telling ourselves. You know the one, where we pretended we could ignore everything that put us in two opposing camps, and act like none of it existed? Seems like we've been proved wrong, doesn’t it? Or should I say I’ve been proved wrong. About you.”
“Alex, come on—”
“I thought you were more honest. That you didn’t break promises. Well done, Ryan, you had me well and truly fooled.”
“No, I’ve not betrayed—”
“Please go, Ryan. Now.” Tiredness overwhelmed him, tiredness and disappointment, crushing his anger just as it crushed his belief that for a little while he'd been happy. Belief. What a sick joke. It had been delusion, its bubble burst the moment the reporter had turned up on his doorstep. He looked down at Ryan's hand, still clutching his arm. “Let me go.”
"Let you go? Don't you think it's too late for that?”
