Prime Time by Jane Wenham-Jones Page A

Alicia’s energy – the way she was bent on success. I remembered Daniel saying it about Emily. With his usual tact and sensitivity, he’d thought nothing of listing his new girlfriend’s latest achievements. Telling me how well she’d done, all the top clients she’d had. ‘She’s very ambitious,’ he’d finished with pride.
    Was that the must-have quality now? To be ambitious? To make something of yourself, as Daniel had put it.
    Once, it had been enough to earn sufficient funds to pay the mortgage. To have a child. Daniel had been promoted every few years since his initial days of filing and form-filling in the civil service but he’d always just accepted this as the natural order of things. He’d never shown any particular excitement or hunger to be elevated up the ranks. He’d take the odd exam, come home and tell me he’d been put up a grade. I’d say well done, and we’d both agree the extra money would be useful and we’d turn on EastEnders . There was no talk of ambition then.
    In fact, when Stanley was a few months old and I still couldn’t stop crying and had sat at my computer trying to write an ad campaign for Mike, tears dripping, feeling as though the copy was in a language I couldn’t understand, it was Daniel who’d phoned Mike and said I wasn’t ready to be back at work.
    â€˜We’ll manage,’ he’d said to me. ‘The money isn’t worth you putting yourself through this. You’re looking after our baby – that’s more important than any sort of paid job.’ No mention of ambition then either.
    But now, he was impressed with career, money, status … fame?
    â€˜She’s made something of her life,’ he’d said accusingly. The implication being that I hadn’t. I had sat back and done the same job writing brochure copy for the same clients for ten years, driven back and forth down the same roads on the same school runs, gone to the same supermarkets and now I was 42, with the same face looking ever more ravaged, and nobody would employ me now even if I did want to get on a ladder. It was all rather too late …
    â€˜Why are you watching this?’ asked Stanley in surprise, coming into the sitting room at 5 p.m. to find me in front of the TV.
    â€˜One of the women I was on the other programme with wants me to go on it with her.’
    Stanley raised his eyebrows. ‘Cooking?’
    â€˜I might win some money.’
    â€˜Can I have the new iPhone if you do?’ Stanley looked hopeful.
    â€˜It might not be that much money,’ I said hastily. ‘But who knows,’ I added, giving him a small wink as his face fell again. ‘We’ve got a couple of months till your birthday.’
    I smiled at him, thinking that if I could make the £250 I could offer to pay for the handset and Daniel could provide the swingeing monthly payments for the contract they’d make us have. After all, Stanley did need a better phone now he was at secondary school; the old one of Daniel’s he carried in case of emergency was on its last legs, and why shouldn’t he have the latest gadget for once?
    Maybe it would give him a bit more street cred with the other kids –make them treat him like one of the gang. The more I thought about it, the more the idea took hold. If I went on the TV programme I could try to win the money for my son. It would only take a few hours, after all, and he deserved something nice. I’d do it for him. For Stanley …
    â€˜Come off it,’ said Charlotte that evening as she strained the pasta. ‘You’ve got the TV bug. Stars in your eyes! You just fancy yourself on the box again.’
    â€˜It might be a bit of fun.’
    â€˜Can I come?’
    â€˜I don’t know, Alicia is sorting it. But in the meantime, I’ve got to fill in all these bloody forms.’
    Charlotte put a large, steaming bowl on the