Prime Time by Jane Wenham-Jones Read Free Book Online Page A

I had been hurling the dinner about for years  …’
    Randolph’s eyebrows were raised enquiringly. He leant forward and opened his own mouth a couple of times as if to demonstrate what I should be doing. I swallowed. ‘I don’t know,’ I said, lamely.
    Randolph sprang to his feet and went leaping up the tiers of seats. ‘How old are you, Doris?’
    â€˜I’m 88.’
    We all twisted round to look. My microphone pack had slipped and I put a hand back to pull it into a better position. Randolph was bending over a white-haired old lady.
    â€˜Are you really? You don’t look it,’ he said gallantly.
    Doris cackled. ‘Get on with you.’
    Randolph crouched down beside her. ‘So what do you think about what we’ve heard this morning, Doris? Did you suffer from PMS when you were younger?’
    Doris made an impressive snorting noise that went on for several seconds.
    â€˜Never heard anything so ridiculous in all my life,’ she retorted. ‘In my day we just got on with it. We didn’t have time for any of this malarkey. And another thing, we didn’t speak about things like that. Downright disgusting, if you ask me. We kept ourselves to ourselves. Talking about private women’s things on the television for everyone to hear? It’s a disgrace!’ She folded her lips inwards until they disappeared.
    â€˜But what about period pains?’ asked Randolph, moving in a bit closer.
    Doris glared. ‘We didn’t have those neither. A bit of proper housework that’s what you need –’ Her eyes fixed on me. ‘If you got yourself down on your knees and scrubbed the floor you wouldn’t have pains. It’s the same with these girls today and all that nonsense when they have a baby. Epidurals, is it? What’s wrong with them? Nothing in my day at all. You gritted your teeth and you pushed when you were told to. I boiled the water myself when the midwife got the forceps out.’
    Some of the back row had opened their eyes and were sitting up in interest. ‘You tell him, Doris,’ croaked one excitably.
    â€˜It’s like these disposable nappies. More money than sense that’s your trouble.’ She was really glaring at me now. ‘Too much trouble to wash a few terries, through, is it? And I bet you’ve got a washing machine too, haven’t you?’ She jabbed a gnarled finger in my direction. ‘Haven’t you?’ she cried.
    â€˜Well, yes,’ I found myself saying, ‘But …’
    â€˜Four lots of nappies I had,’ shouted Doris, ‘and the whitest in the street too …’
    The oldies from Oldham were now beside themselves. One of them cheered.
    â€˜I haven’t even got a baby …’ I protested.
    â€˜Well perhaps you should have,’ yelled Doris in triumph. I caught a glimpse of Charlotte behind her, wide-eyed. ‘That would sort you out!’
    â€˜Thank you, Doris!’ Randolph patted her shoulder as the crones all pointed at me and muttered to each other. I was trembling. None of this was how it was meant to be. I could feel the sweat running down my back where the microphone pack was digging into my spine.
    Randolph had now settled himself beside the brightly-coiffured Alicia. He brought the mike up between them.
    â€˜Now you’re 17,’ he drawled. What? She was much older than that, surely? Alicia was nodding. ‘And how old were you when your periods started?’ He gave her a slow smile.
    Alicia stared at him. ‘Twelve,’ she said flatly.
    â€˜Twelve!’ cried Randolph, as if this were an achievement of note. ‘And do you get any of these symptoms, Alicia?’ he asked smoothly. Alicia brought her head up high and stared boldly around the studio.
    â€˜No, I do not,’ she said loudly. ‘And if you ask me,’ she said, her voice rising further. ‘It’s all a load of