They’d never been anything other than completely professional with one another, but he’d elicited something in her no one had in a long, long time. An ache to be her very best self. Her kindest self. Her honest self.
As such, Kath had a decision to make. Leave her husband – the fame, the money, and all of the other trappings that went with being the other ‘alf of Kath and Kev – or spend a lifetime being consumed alive by her cowardly option to stay. No, those weren’t her only options. She could always have a stab at going solo, but morning television really did like a Mr and Mrs pairing. Maybe she could spin a twist on the magic combo of Holly and Phillip? Cast a younger man to be her sidekick rather than the other way around (the more likely route the network would take if she announced a separation). She did know one thing for certain. Things couldn’t stay as they were. Mid-life crisis?
Maybe.
Another glaring reminder that life was short and being miserable was of no use to anyone except, perhaps, Kev?
Her brother’s death had hit her hard. Kev had been all tea and sympathy at first, but after a week or so, he’d counselled ‘snapping out of it’. A long face wouldn’t change things unless she was going to lose some ‘proper weight’ and ‘look haunted’ which she apparently wasn’t doing up to spec, so the best she could do was move on.
How could she? Her little brother was dead. While there was nothing she could do change that, she could change herself.
She’d never cheat.
No matter how many women’s tits or bums he’d ogle, she knew Kev wouldn’t either. He couldn’t bear the headlines more than anything else.
KATH FULLER’S OTHER ‘ALF TAKES MORE THAN HIS FAIR SHARE (The Mirror)
KEV’S FULLA SOMETHING (OR SOMEONE) ELSE (The Sun)
Or, for Kev, the worst one of all:
RATINGS PLUNGE AS KATH AND KEV CALL IT A BRAND NEW ENDING (The Mail)
It meant the world to Kev. This show. She loved it, too, of course. It had been hard won. Years of blisters, performing in nearly every talent show they could enter and, eventually winning the public’s hearts in a Royal Variety Show after placing second in the World Disco Dancin’ Championships that had catapulted a pair of virtually unknown Butlin’s dancers from holiday camps to children’s TV, on to prime time and now a level of fame and, yes, fortune, she’d never dreamt of. (The show producers had quickly distanced them from their ‘kitschy dance past’ and whitewashed Kev’s fleeting run as a ventriloquist in Blackpool, but for all intents and purposes, it was their kitschy/disco ball, Blackpool/Butlins past that had got them to where they were.) But her passion for the light, bright, morning fluff they created for ‘ordinary Britons’ heading out to work or getting their children ready for a Brand New Day of school had definitely waned.
A knock sounded on the door. ‘That’s your five minutes, Kath.’
‘Stacy,’ Kath waved their long-term producer in. ‘What do you think about leading with the Hadrian’s Wall piece?’
Stacy’s eyes shot to the door. Kev sometimes came in at the five minute call to run Kath through the segments he really wanted to push. The exec producers were all firmly in Kev’s court, meaning Stacy had to bend like the willow when Kath requested specific segments.
Stacy’s mouth rectangled into an apology smile. ‘Kev thought it’d be fun to do another bit on your trip to South Africa.’
Of course he would. She wondered if Stacy knew the plan. The real plan.
They’d go to South Africa, try to get Ben Fogle or someone like that along to big up a conservation project. Maybe fly in Bill Nighy to talk to the meerkats. She’d hang around for that. Something about the meerkat’s quizzical expression reminded her of her brother. Hopeful. Ever hopeful. Until, of course, he wasn’t.
‘What is he suggesting?’ Kath asked.
‘Something about a bungee jump?’
Ah. So he was trying to build it in. The ‘back story.’
‘I didn’t know you always wanted to go on a bungee jump.’ Stacy looked genuinely surprised.
Kath didn’t. Never had. Her idea of a complete and utter nightmare actually. ‘Oh, you know. One’s got to grab life by the horns at some point or another!’ Or the back of the ears as Kev had suggested when he’d first showed her the Uplifting Safari Tours online brochure. Nip Tuck Tourism with a plausible cover story.
Kev had come up with ‘the bungee jump incident’ when she refused point blank to go under the knife in front of their entire viewing public. It’d be a fascinating experience for our audience, he’d said.
Oh, it would that alright. It would also betray everything she believed in. That beauty came from within. That public acceptance of plastic surgery exacerbated the already perilous relationship young women had with their bodies, their faces. That acceptance of the person you truly were was critical if a full, rich, happy life was the goal. It was why her brother had only found comfort at the bottom of a vodka bottle. He couldn’t believe anyone would or could love him after all of the things he’d done as a soldier. He was loved. So very much. The only one who couldn’t believe it was him.
Whereas, Kevin’s main worry in life seemed to be that his wife was developing jowls.
Lying about her age was fine. And the fact they had someone make them calorie-controlled meals instead of cooking from the stacks of freebie ‘fitness first’ cookbooks lining their gargantuan kitchen shelves. Even actively ignoring the fact they had grown children was okay. For some reason jowls were where he drew the line. Lip wrinkles were one thing
