Part 37 (2/2)

'At the Meridien Hotel on Piccadilly,' she said, with a justifiably exasperated air.

'I'm on my way.' I flipped the phone shut and tucked Herman under my arm. 'Christ, I'm just so distracted at the moment, Daisy-I'd forgotten I've got to announce the Pet Slimmer of the Year. I can't seem to focus on anything except my own problems at the moment.'

'I had noticed,' she said, rolling her eyes.

'I'm sorry, but it's been such a tricky time. And, oh G.o.d, we'll finish this conversation later on, okay-but I've got to race over there now.'

Thank heavens I was smartly dressed, I realized, as I ran outside and hailed a taxi. As we sped through Soho I tried to remember what I knew about the compet.i.tion. They'd sent me loads of b.u.mph about dieting Dalmatians and fat cats, but I hadn't read it. I'd just have to busk it. As we b.u.mped down Charing Cross Road I jotted down a few notes for my speech. 'A fat pet is not a happy pet...better to be perky than porky...regular exercise...importance of sound nutrition...the many health risks of being overweight.' At last. I'd arrived. Heart pounding, I paid the driver and ran inside, where I was directed upstairs to the Edwardian Suite. I finger-combed my hair, took a couple of deep breaths, put a smile on my face, and went in.

Karen Hall saw me arrive, and stood up. I made my way over to her table, where coffee was being served.

'I'm so sorry,' I whispered as I sat down. My face was aflame. She handed me the press pack I'd been sent before, but had neglected to study.

'We have the five regional finalists here,' she explained. 'In your absence, I've already picked the winner, but if you could announce it, as the journalists are expecting it to be you.'

'Of course.' I couldn't have cared less which of them got it, I realized, as I quickly scanned through the blurb. There was Dixie, a dachshund from Stratford-upon-Avon, who had reduced his weight from a monstrous three stone to two. I looked at the 'before' and 'after' photos. He'd been so fat his stomach had sc.r.a.ped the ground, but now he looked lean and svelte. Then there was Delilah the Labrador-or rather Flabrador-who'd been a ma.s.sive six stone, but who had lost twenty-one pounds. Then there was a Persian cat called Sweetie, which had slimmed down from just over two stone to a very creditable thirteen pounds. Fourth was a vast rabbit called Fluffy, who had weighed an incredible one and a half stone and had to be pushed round the garden in a wheelbarrow before losing twelve pounds. Finally there was a mouse called Maurice, which had managed to get its weight down from a gross six ounces to a very sleek two ounces.

The press release recounted the trials and tribulations all the animals had faced in their quest to reduce. Delilah the Labrador had been making great progress when, in a moment of weakness, she stole a leg of lamb from the kitchen table and scoffed the whole thing. That was a very bad moment, said her owner, Brenda. She gained two and a half pounds and got a real talking to after that! Sweetie, the porky Persian, had gained weight when her owner's five-year-old daughter kept feeding her sardines on the sly. It was touch and go as to whether or not she'd reach her goal in time, said her relieved owner, Julia. But the family are very proud of her now.

We should applaud the willpower and determination of all our contestants, the press release concluded. They are a s.h.i.+ning example to us all of what can be achieved when you really try!

I gulped down my coffee, as Karen Hall got to her feet.

'Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you've all been waiting for has now arrived.' There were a couple of excited barks from the back of the room. 'And here, to announce the 2003 PetWise Pet Slimmer of the Year, is Miranda Sweet from TV's very popular Animal Crackers programme!'

I got to my feet, my knees trembling. I hate public speaking.

'Thank you all for coming today,' I began. 'And I'd just like to say, before I open the gold envelope, that all the pets here today are winners. Their determination to diet is very impressive and shows what willpower can do-along with carefully controlled feeding, of course. But now, without further ado...' I ran my right thumb under the flap of the envelope, '...it is my very great pleasure to announce that the PetWise Pet Slimmer of the Year for 2003 is... Fluffy the rabbit!'

There was polite applause as Fluffy was carried up to the podium in his owner's arms. Onto the screen behind me appeared a photo of Fluffy as he was before. He was so fat you could hardly see his eyes. He looked like the Incredible Hulk.

The flashbulbs popped as I handed the slimline Fluffy and his owner their prize-a year's free insurance cover with Pet-Wise, and a year's supply of dried food.

'-This way please, Fluffy!' shouted a photographer.

'-No don't look at him, look at me.'

'-Big smile, Fluffy. Show us your teeth.'

'-Miranda-give him a kiss!'

I didn't realize that there'd be so much publicity-the paparazzi were out in some force. But now, as they snapped away, I could hear that there was a dispute developing amongst the other contestants.

'-Okay the rabbit was fat, granted,' said the owner of the Persian. 'But Sweetie got so huge her cat flap had to be widened-by ten inches!'

'-Well, Delilah was a right larda.r.s.e-and look at her now. Like Kate Moss!'

'-I don't think it's fair to make the compet.i.tion interspecies.'

'-Maurice lost four ounces. That's sixty-six per cent of his body weight.'

'-Really? Well, maybe he should have won...'

I discreetly rolled my eyes-this is what I hate about compet.i.tions of this kind. The discontented losers. As I cast my eye over the room, I spotted the journalist, Tim Charlton, who'd interviewed me for the Camden New Journal. He was obviously doing a diary piece for the Independent on Sunday. He caught my eye and I smiled.

'h.e.l.lo,' he said, as I stepped off the podium.

'Hi, Tim. How's it going at the Sindie?'

'It's going well, thanks. Can I get a quote from you?'

'Of course.' We concocted some story about Britain's pets being a nation of furry fatties.

'Maybe Fluffy should put out a fitness video,' I added. 'I mean, if Vanessa Feltz can, then why can't he?'

'That's perfectly reasonable,' he said seriously, as he scribbled it down. 'Actually, there was something else I wanted to ask you.'

'What's that?'

'Well, you know I want to get into political reporting?'

'Yes, I remember you saying.'

'So I've been writing one or two anonymous profiles lately for the op ed page. And I saw you at the Photographers' Gallery last month-at Arnie n.o.ble's exhibition.'

'Did you? I didn't realize you were there.'

'Well, it was very crowded, but I was. And I couldn't help noticing that you were chatting to James Mulholland's wife, Caroline Horbury.'

'Ye-es,' I said slowly. 'That's right.'

'And this morning the editor asked me to write a profile of James Mulholland for this Sunday's paper, as he's been tipped for the Cabinet at the next reshuffle.'

'Really?' I said faintly.

'So I wondered whether you might have any interesting little t.i.tbits that I might be able to use-it doesn't matter how trivial-just to liven the piece up.'

'Some interesting little t.i.tbits?' I echoed. I struggled with my conscience for less than a second. 'Yes,' I said. 'Actually, I have.'

CHAPTER 14.

That night I phoned Daisy, but she was at Nigel's and couldn't speak. She clearly had big problems but I'd been so distracted by my own difficulties that I'd failed to focus on hers. This realization made me feel horribly neglectful-especially as she'd been so supportive of me. And what was it she'd said-about something I'd said to her a few weeks back? With all my troubles I couldn't remember. So I left her a message, then went to bed, though I barely slept, drifting off just before dawn.

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