Mum in the Middle: Feel good, funny and unforgettable. Jane Wenham-Jones

ever so slightly concerned about being misconstrued. If I could just see what he’d written, I suggested, I was sure I’d be completely put at ease, but if he had by any chance quoted me as mentioning paranoia or I’d sounded anything less than totally loyal to, and outraged by, the treatment of Jinni, then could he please amend accordingly, along perhaps with the fact that I found everyone in Northstone very friendly, rather than I wished everyone would be my friend, and if there were possibly room to mention it, that while I did go to the supermarket for major stockings-up, how totally appreciative and admiring I was of the local independent shops and how I intended to make sure I went to my own newsagent-cum-corner shop several times a week …

      I hope you are well, I finished. And I will certainly tell Ben about the music night. As a PS I added: It was lovely to be interviewed by you and I hope to see you soon, so he, Gabriel, could show Malcolm, if he wanted to, and he wouldn’t feel that, despite my cold feet, he wasn’t welcome to visit again.

      As I pressed send, I felt as if a weight had lifted and I was simultaneously overcome with fatigue. I closed the lid of the computer, put it on the floor beside me and immediately fell asleep.

      The next time I woke, it was half-past eight. In theory, I was supposed to be ‘at my desk’ by 9 a.m. in case the office needed me. And Paul – who insisted on landline contact with anyone working from home for this very reason – was not above calling at 9.01 just to see if I was.

      I stumbled into the en suite and turned on the shower, taking a mouthful of cold tea on my way. It wasn’t till an hour later that I was finally checking my mail.

      There were two messages from @northstone‌districtnews. The first was an auto reply from Gabriel, informing contacts he was out of the office but if the message were urgent it should be forwarded to newsdesk@northstone‌districtnews or editor@northstone‌districtnews, who would be able to assist in his absence.

      It seemed, however, that the message had already made this journey without me.

      The second email was from Malcolm Priceman, Editor. And consisted of just two words:

      TOO LATE.

       Chapter 5

      The newspaper offices were halfway down the High Street. I pushed open the door and crossed the floor to where a middle-aged woman sat behind a counter, looking at her screen. She looked up wearily as I came towards her and raised her eyebrows.

      ‘I’m here to see Gabriel,’ I said.

      Her eyes swept over me, as if deciding. Then she

      jerked her head towards the stairs to the side of her desk. ‘Go on up …’

      At the top I found myself in a large room with various desks and computers and people tapping at keyboards. A woman of about my age looked up and smiled. ‘Do you want Malcolm?’

      ‘Er, no Gabriel, please.’

      ‘He’s in with Malcolm.’ She pointed to the back of the room, where double doors were open to another office beyond. I walked towards it feeling conscious of several pairs of eyes on me and rather wishing I’d ignored Gabriel’s message.

      He’d emailed at 8.30 a.m. apologising for not replying sooner and saying I had nothing to worry about. If I came into the office at lunchtime he would give me both a copy of the newspaper and the info on the open mic night for Ben.

      I’d replied saying I would, then hot-footed it to the newsagent’s to see the story right away. It was not too bad. The manic photo was small and the feature quoted Jinni at length and me not too much – and didn’t mention anything about anyone being paranoid or otherwise, but focused on how upset and shocked I was that anyone could display such mindless aggression.

      I didn’t actually remember using this phrase, but it was better than sounding like a lonely hearts advert. The main picture was of Jinni pointing at a broken pane of glass beneath the headline ‘Actress Fears Campaign to Drive Her Out’, and above a report on how Northstone’s top glazier had given his services free to replace the window.

      I was Tess, 46 (either Gabriel couldn’t do the maths or he was being kind), mother of three and a newcomer to the town and the only quote that sounded slightly cringy was the one about my finding it so handy to have a corner shop on the corner (where else might it be?). The online version was identical, except the photo of me was bigger, with a pop-up ad for greenhouses mostly obscuring it.

      I heard Malcolm before I saw him. ‘You don’t make things up!’ he was saying loudly, ‘and you don’t sneak rubbish about your mates into my newspaper AFTER I’ve seen it. Get it to the subs, I said. I didn’t tell you to write a bloody fairy story first!’

      ‘I didn’t know it was …’ Gabriel was protesting.

      ‘It’s your job to know. You check the facts. Then you check ‘em again, You don’t put a load of bullshit in just because your crony in the pub gave it to you.’

      I stopped outside the door, unsure what to do. The girl at the desk nearest to me was typing on, apparently unconcerned by the shouting.

      Gabriel was saying something about helping Jinni, which seemed to infuriate Malcolm further. ‘WE’RE NOT RUNNING A BLOODY CHARITY,’ he roared.

      His voice then dropped. ‘And two tyres and one broken window is hardly “an orchestrated campaign”,’ he said sarcastically. ‘By whom exactly?’ I thought you said you wanted to be an investigative journalist. I’m surprised you can find your way out of bed …’

      Gabriel was still valiantly defending himself. ‘You said I couldn’t name names – I told you Jinni said Ingrid …’

      Malcolm gave a loud, disparaging snort, which seemed to echo around the office. ‘Ingrid is a damn nuisance. She’s not a complete imbecile.’

      I stepped back as he strode through the doors. He saw me and stopped. ‘If you’re here to see me, I’m going for lunch,’ he barked.

      ‘I’ve come to see Gabriel,’ I said. ‘To say thank you,’ I added, as I saw the crushed expression on the young man’s face.

      Malcolm looked sceptical. ‘I can’t imagine what for.’

      ‘A great article,’ I said boldly. ‘I thought he did it very well.’

      ‘Everyone’s an expert today,’ said Malcolm. ‘Don’t keep him talking too long – he’s got work to do …’

      He marched on through the outer office. ‘I’m going to Rosie’s’ he bellowed to the room in general.

      The girl nearest us rolled her eyes. ‘He goes there every day and has done for about twenty years. It would only be worth shouting about if he wasn’t going to Rosie’s.’

      She pushed her keyboard away from her and opened a drawer, pulling out a foil package. ‘It’s your turn to make coffee, Gabe,’ she said, unwrapping sandwiches.

      Gabriel, who was still standing in the doorway shell-shocked, looked at me. ‘Would you like a coffee, Tess?’ he asked politely. ‘I’ve got those things for you.’

      He led me to a desk in the corner of the room and offered me the chair. ‘Thanks for what you said.’ He gave a small smile as he handed me a mug and fetched a second chair to sit next to me on. ‘Sorry about the mess.’ He pushed a pile of paper aside so I could put my coffee down.

      I smiled back. ‘No worries. It was a good article.’

      Gabriel went slightly pink – looking touchingly pleased and grateful. Then he pulled a face. ‘Not according to the big boss. I was only trying to help …’

      It seemed Gabriel had offered this bloke he knew, Sean, who had a replacement windows and conservatories company, a good mention in the paper if he replaced Jinni’s broken glass