Game Over

and Richard Burton, Fergie and Prince Andrew, Melanie Griffith and Don Johnson.’ Bale’s beginning to be interested. He knows a good idea when he sees one.

‘Isn’t that Melanie one with that Banderas one now?’

I sweep his objections away by ignoring them. ‘Bale, we can’t fail.’

‘Would there really be people who would do this?’

I can’t believe Bale is questioning whether there are enough exhibitionist/paranoid/jealous types in the world.

‘We are looking at a pilot series of six episodes. Two couples per episode. We only need twelve couples. We have the entire British population to choose from.’

Bale nods. ‘People are so hideous.’

He should know. I fake cordiality. ‘It makes good television. Think back to 1974, Paul Rogers’ documentary The Family. You know what I’m talking about?’ The show has superstar status in the history of TV. Everyone knows of it. It was the first fly-on-the-wall.

‘Oh, the one where Rogers sat, for months, with a camera in the front room of some family from the commuter belt? The marriage broke down as a consequence.’

‘Yes. I don’t think it was simply to do with Mr Wilkins’s dislike of audio equipment. It was because Mrs Wilkins admitted on national TV that her husband was not the father of her last child.’

‘That’s right.’ Bale is leering and chuckling at the same time. ‘Dirty bitch.’

‘But ask yourself why, Bale. Why would she divulge such a thing to the entire world? Maybe it was simply stress, but she invited that stress into her home. Why would she do that? Maybe she wanted to make the confession? Maybe she wanted to blow apart her sanitized semi? Or was it to guarantee that she didn’t pass from this world to the next without her Andy Warhol requisite fifteen minutes of fame?’

‘Or maybe she wanted to teach him a lesson?’ adds Bale. ‘Hurt him? Or beg his forgiveness in a forum too public to allow him to reject her?’

‘Exactly. We don’t know. There are myriad reasons that motivate people. Think of the radio wedding a few years back. People are prepared to trot down the aisle, with absolute strangers, to get their Warhol fifteen minutes. Although in the Birmingham couple’s case, it wasn’t so much fifteen minutes as seven and a half months, 185 minutes of TV air time, 207 minutes of radio airtime and 58 column inches in the press.’

Bale taps his pen on the desk. He’s getting excited. I go for closure.

‘There are countless fly-on-the-wall programmes about marriage: the run-up to the proposal, the wedding, the first year. I’ve heard that Channel 4 are developing a documentary on consummation.’ I’m making this up, but I want Bale’s budget. I am immoral most of the time and amoral where business is concerned. ‘I’m proposing a twist to a proven formula. The contributors are to be in the studio when the actions of all parties are exposed. The live audience is key. It’s overpowering. The thing about exes is that they never go away. Even those to whom you haven’t given a second thought in over a decade, whom you’ve never seen since you parted, are important. There is always a nagging curiosity about what happened to the one that got away, or the one you threw away.’

Bale, a true businessman, sees the potential. ‘You think it will work.’ He states this as a fact rather than as a question.

‘Yes,’ I enthuse. ‘I admit that it is dependent upon the credulity, stupidity and vanity of the British population.’ I take a deep breath. ‘It can’t fail.’

‘But if it gets as big, as you say it will, how will we keep attracting people on to the show?’

‘We’ll film enough shows for a series before we go live. We’ll have watertight release forms so that the guests can’t retract their permission. Bale, I’ll work out the detail. Don’t you worry.’ I’m desperate, so I gently pat his arm.

Bale nods. ‘OK, Cas. Go to finance and work out a budget.’

I want to punch the air. He senses it. ‘Hey, don’t get carried away. I’m not a millionaire.’

That’s another one of Bale’s relentless lies. But I don’t care. I’ve got a programme and it’s a winner!

4

‘Josh, hi, it’s me. Guess what? Bale went for it! The infidelity with an ex show.’

‘And I’m supposed to think that’s a good thing.’

‘Oh, come on, Josh.’ It’s not like him to be down on me. ‘I’m back on top.’

‘Which is where you most like to be.’ Josh laughs, despite himself.

‘Both literally and metaphorically,’ I add cheekily.

‘Are you flirting with me, Cas?’ Josh asks, but not seriously.

‘I’d be flirting if it was anyone but you,’ I assure him.

‘Cold comfort.’

‘We’re going to call it Sex with an Ex. What do you think?’

‘I’m trying not to think about it.’

I sigh, disappointed by his lack of enthusiasm. ‘Look, I’ve got to ring off – there’s so much to do. I just wanted to tell you my good news. After all, you more or less gave me the idea.’

‘Oh, horrible thought. Bye now.’

I put the phone down and do my best to push Josh’s reserved response to the back of my mind. Instead I focus on the fact that Bale is as grateful as I could hope. He has offered to pay me a bonus related to the ratings we secure. I’m likely to make a killing. My success has duly subdued Fi and I have decided to be magnanimous. I don’t trust her, but practically speaking she is my assistant and I need her to be closely involved in this project – there is so much to do.

We start with the advert.

Are you about to get married? Do you trust your affianced 100 per cent? Is there an ex in his or her past who could still affect your future? Please write in complete confidentiality to P.O. Box…

Such a simple call to action.

‘Will it work?’ asks Fi.

‘If I know anything about human nature, this will work.’

‘Where should we place the ad?’

‘Initially in the sad, loser magazines, Gas and Gos.’ I throw a couple of mags over to her. I respect Fi enough not to expect her to be familiar with them. She picks up the mags and begins to flick through them.

‘My God, these are obscene. Don’t these people have any self-respect?’

I don’t look up from my budget sheets. ‘No.’

She starts to read the contents page. ‘“I Had Sex with 100 Men in Three Years”, “I had a Threesome with my Mate and his Girlfriend”, “The Crotchless Knickers are by the Booby Drops – Working in a Sex Shop”, “We’re Sex- perts – Women Who Really Rate Themselves in Bed”!’

‘It’s ideal,’ I interrupt. ‘The readers are willing to bare their souls and their bodies for a measly fiver and a couple of column inches on the letters page. These people are looking for platforms. They’re a gift. However, Fi, I don’t want to be another Jerry Springer. I don’t simply want the oddballs of this world. We are going to have to think of an extremely clever incentive to attract normal people.’

Fi groans. ‘But it will be easier to get horrid people on the show. They have no self-awareness and also they’ve had fewer opportunities.’

I glare at her. Easy (unless relating to my sexual morals) is not a word I like in my vocabulary. I know that the success of the show will lie in whether I can make the average viewer feel uncomfortable. There are zillions of fly-on-the-wall and chat show programmes where the guests are modern-day ghouls. Normally the viewer sits back, cushy on their chintz. They comment that the characters on talk shows are priceless, pure escapism. Chat shows do a public service: people watch and thank God that their own lives are better than these are. I want Sex with an Ex to be a different sort of show. I want cosy couples to stiffen in each other’s company. I want them to struggle for conversation in the ad break. I want them to move apart a fraction and doubt each other. This show is their lives, whatever class, age, race or religion they are.

‘So who do you want to attract?’