I lay with my back to a tree in the warm late afternoon sunshine looking
down at the small First World War cemetery that was set out in front of my
eyes. Insects droned lazily going about their business and this plus the
complete silence all around had me fighting to keep my eyes open. The fact
that I had also eaten a large picnic lunch and had drank most of an excellent
bottle of wine only added to my sense of wellbeing and even now I was being
lulled into the realms of sleep.
When Bill Jones the editor of the Sunday supplement on one of the big
national papers had rung me up and asked me to do an article on the World
War 1 cemeteries in France and Belgium I had been a little sceptical. This
was after all not my bag in fact it was a long way off my particular niche which
was capturing lurid tales of the wrong doings of the rich and famous. But I
must admit things had been pretty tight just lately and as the old saying goes
‘any port in a storm’ first though I had to make it look as if I was busy and I
would be doing him a favour taking the assignment.
When he rang I replied. “I don’t know about this Bill there are other
things that are a priority in my caseload at the moment and let’s face it this
really isn’t my style if you know what I mean”. I heard a laugh at the other end
of the line. “Come off it my son, don’t try playing the old soldier with me your
up shit creek without a canoe let alone a bloody paddle”. I pulled the mobile
away from my ear and looked at it I was getting good and mad now. “You
listen to me Bill you old fossil I don’t know what you’ve heard but its all a load
of crap I’m as good as I ever was and I’ve got assignments coming out my
ears”. There was a pause on the other end and then Bill shot back. “No you
listen to me Jacko that last debacle you were on with the glamour model just
about finished you with everyone.” I heard him laugh again down the phone.
I was just about to but in when he carried on in that holier than thou
attitude. “Not content with being fed a load of shit from her you then how shall
we say let her get pics of you in highly compromising positions”. I tried to
stutter out an explanation but he cut me off. “Those photos are doing the
rounds now and you’re the laughing stock of every snapper, reporter and
press member around the world”. I gasped with the sheer shock of it I never
thought the bitch would release the photos that she had set me up for by
drugging my drink and getting some dank greasy snapper to click away whilst
I was arranged in different positions. I had seen some of them that she had
shown me but thought it was a simple case of blackmail so I wouldn’t publish
the things she had told me when she was pretending to be drunk. It was only
afterwards that I realised I had been setup and the things that I had passed
onto my editor had been out and out lies.
The paper had published my story about her illicit lesbian affair with a
pop diva and it was only when the diva’s lawyers sued the paper that the
whole rotten mess came out. The love letters between the two that I had
