Dropped – Wayne 33

 

[For back story go here: Story so far at 17 Sept 2020 and certainly this one.]

[Other back story through in-links.]

Nothing had appeared yet. In some ways that was even worse than having something to react to. The deathly silence from the mainstream media outlets, the lack of photos with simple egg-headed captions on them: ‘ManzDown and Out’, ‘Out for a jog’ plus an unflattering blurry picture of him mid run, this was the kind of thing he was expecting, together with a steam of phone calls from Cath and then from subsequent media outlets trying to get his reaction. Maybe there’d be the odd specialist publication wanting to truly represent him and provide a legitimate stage on which he could speak. 

But there was nothing.

“What do I do?” said Wayne to Dave and the world in general for the fourth time that morning.

“Nothing?” suggest Dave again. “Or watch some TV, or do some music or read a book or…. Don’t go out.”

“Should I call Cassie?”

“Why? She’ll only deny everything. And in any case if there’s no story out there yet does she even have anything to deny?”

Wayne tutted again and went to stand on the balcony. He looked out across their part of town, trying to sense if the story was out there yet, but then he realised he was trying to be way too dramatic over this. Either something would be published or it wouldn’t and right now no amount of Googling would find anything new. 

“You don’t suppose,” he said to Dave, coming back inside, “the creep offered his story to someone and they just turned him down flat? I mean, what if the story doesn’t even bear telling? What if it’s a non starter?”

“Yeah, that would be good,” said Dave.

“No, that would mean no one cares about me any more,” said Wayne, verging on being even more devastated than if something had been published.

“Can’t win,” said Dave. “I’m making pancakes. Want one?”

Wayne calmed down sufficiently to help make the batter and focus on what might or might not be good with pancakes. They were speculating on making these way over the top almost too sweet to eat affairs, or whether to combine them with Scotch Eggs, when Cath called. 

“It’s bad news I’m afraid,” she said.

Wayne braced himself. He was pretty certain this would be the start of his day of stress and he was wishing he had done something else with the first part of the day – the bit before everything else got swept up by having to focus on some idiot tabloid journo.

“Lay it on me,” he said, sitting down with a sigh and a stack of pancakes and maple syrup.

“The channels have sorted their Christmas listings,” said Cath. “And I’m really sorry but they’re dropped you from Mastermind.”

“What?” said Wayne, “WHAT?”

“They only just told me. They said they generally overbook to make sure they’ve filled all the places and then according to who they get on their wish list…”

“It’s going ahead without me?”

“That’s what it looks like. I was trying to get you on Danny Dyer’s The Wall as well but that’s already gone, done and dusted. Plus there’s no Top of The Pops this year which is sacrilegious if you ask me, but…”

“So there’s nothing..?” said Wayne, beginning to feel his heart sink.

“Well, there’s always the chance that someone will drop out and…”

“Wait. They replaced me on Mastermind? Did they actually replace me?”

Cath paused. She’d hoped her talk of Top of The Pops and The Wall might just have provided enough of a smokescreen or diversion for Wayne to have moved on from the gig he thought he had. But no.

“They…. Yes, I think they did.’

“Who?”

Cath paused. And in a small voice, that was more like just saying the sounds rather than speaking the name she uttered: “Ed Sheeran.”

There was, inevitably, another pause.

“I’m so sorry,” whispered Cath.

“That’s…. That’s OK.” said Wayne. “Can’t be helped. I. Um, I’ll speak to you later. I’m just going to go and have a cup of tea.”

He dropped the line.

Dave stood over by the kitchen area so reached out and filled the kettle. By the time it had boiled Wayne still had not moved from the sofa where he’d conducted the call. 

Wayne had still not moved or said anything when Dave placed the mug of tea in front of him. And some custard cream biscuits, a bit of treat for Wayne, because Dave didn’t like mass processed produce but he’d actually kept a packet at the back of the cupboard to surprise Wayne at some appropriate time. Like this.

Wayne chomped a biscuit.

“Think I might phone the papers myself,” he said.