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the East End had not made Nicky naïve, and he knew Haris was embroidering the truth. He also knew that embroidery was a key skill when you had something to sell, and thought Haris was probably rather good at his job.
    “Sounds just what I’m looking for,” said Nicky.
    “Let me fetch my partner,” said Haris, and disappeared into the next room. Nicky looked around the walls, seeing little to attract his interest apart from a poster featuring Marilyn Monroe. If Magenta Productions had made any shows so far, they had little in the way of publicity to show for it.
    “Alright, me old son?” rasped a cockney smoker’s voice, as a wiry man with a boxer’s physique and greying wavy hair entered the room, followed by Haris. He wore a creased shirt with purple braces and a loosened tie, blue suit trousers, yellow socks and no shoes. He shook Nick’s hand very hard, and scrutinised him.
    “Rex Barclay. So you’re the new runner, are you?”
    Nicky was taken aback. “If you think I’m suitable.”
    “Haris thinks so. He’s a great judge of character. Tell us about yourself, then.”
    Nicky talked about his experience in school and in the youth theatre, omitting any reference to the police, and said he was interested in a career in television but didn’t know much about it so far.
    “Of course you don’t, how could you at your age?” said Rex. “The point is, are you keen to learn?”
    “Yes, definitely,” said Nicky, so convincingly that he even believed himself.
    “Then the job’s yours. On a month’s probation. If it don’t work out we’ll part company. If it does, great.”
    They shook hands on it, and Rex winked at him. “You seem a likely lad. Handsome too. Matter of fact, you remind me of myself at your age. Now if I’d had a Rex Barclay to work for when I was seventeen, I’d be running the BBC by now. As it is, it’s going to take me a few years yet. There we are, that’s life. Alright Nicky, start on Monday, ten o’clock.”
    “Great. Thanks a lot. I’ll see you then.”
    Nicky felt extremely proud of himself, although he had no idea what he was in for. He liked television as much as anybody, so it might turn out to be interesting. He travelled home feeling at least three inches taller, and entered the house to find his parents eating fish and chips at the kitchen table. His mother jumped up solicitously.
    “Oh Nicky, are you alright? I didn’t make you dinner in case you was having something out.”
    “It’s okay Mum, I’m fine. Listen, I’ve got a job. I’m going to be in television.”
    They stared open-mouthed as he announced coolly that he would be cancelling his interview at Hendon: he had decided on a different career.
    “Oh, well done!” said his mother at last, nonplussed. “It’s a bit sudden though, ain’t it?”
    Nicky smiled tightly. “Yeah, well. It’s been a funny old day. I think I’ll nip out and get myself a burger. See you later.”
    “Bye dear,” said Doreen, and looked anxiously at Les, whose pale face had remained mute. He watched as his son left with only the briefest glance in his direction, and sank even lower into his chair. Doreen, oblivious to their unspoken tension, continued her campaign of jollification.
    “Come on Les, eat your chips before they go cold, you know you don’t like them soggy.” He did as he was told.

 
    Chapter Three
    Now I’m going to jump forward a few years to the dawn of the nineties. After I’d been a teacher for a few years I knew that directing the annual school play wasn’t going to satisfy my ambitions, and I looked to the wider world. I managed to get a researcher’s contract on Grange Hill , the BBC1 school drama series, which happened to be set exactly where I’d been working. I was thrilled silly to get this lucky break, which allowed me to work my way up to script editor in the space of two series. I was able to contribute my experience whilst learning everything about television production from the bottom