Authors: Judy Astley
‘Living together?’ Phyl asked. ‘Where, exactly? Because if it’s the Savoy, count me in!’
‘Well – that’s where TV magic comes in. The idea is to take a largeish house, have it look as if the whole group are staying there for the duration – in reality it’ll only be about ten days. And you won’t, I promise, have to live on the premises. It won’t take up anywhere near as much time as the programme will make out. Actually, I’m still trying to find the perfect location.’ Saul looked a bit worried at this point. ‘We did have an excellent one but it was suddenly sold and it all fell through … so if anyone knows a detached house with a fair bit of character, some good-sized rooms, ideally having one of those very large family-room set-ups, just let me know. Anyway,’ he said, finishing his beer, ‘um, that’s it really. I’ll … er wander off home now and leave you all to discuss it, because I feel I’ve interrupted your evening for long enough. If it’s a yes, and I hope it is, just give Zoe any questions you want answered and I’ll do my
best to help. And there’s a pretty hefty location fee if anyone knows of a suitable venue …’
Oh is there? Bella thought, some cogs in her brain starting to whir. Now there’s an idea.
‘I
hate
the first day of the school year.’ Molly grumbled to Carly, who was driving them to school in her mum’s old Polo. There was an ominous clunking sound every time Carly changed gear, which Molly suspected might not be the car’s fault. ‘Day one is always so
false
– everyone hugging people they’ll hardly talk to again and saying how
brilliant
to see each other. Like those who
are
actually friends haven’t been hanging out together for the whole holidays anyway?’
‘And then you get the ones who’ve spent six weeks at their dad’s bank-robber villa in Spain.’ Carly giggled.
‘Too right. So that’ll be Tania then! How many clothes will she
not
be wearing today to show off her tan and her new bling? And do you think she’ll do that thing she did after Easter, “accidentally” dropping in the odd Spanish word?’ They were going down the high street
now, slow in the school-run traffic. Molly caught sight of a sign in a pub window urging those who wanted Christmas office parties to book early. She immediately felt as if half the term was already over – and this was only September’s first week. She had a sense of time racing; her mum said that’s what happens when you get old. That couldn’t be right – she wasn’t even eighteen yet.
‘She will, she will,’ Carly agreed, applying lip gloss while waiting for the traffic lights to change. ‘It’s always good to rely on Tan. She’s a natural-born WAG. But it’s cute watching all the shy little year sevens on their first day, isn’t it? Now we’re really old, I think ah, how sweet they are. Only eleven and so scared of the first day at Big School.’
‘Careful, Carls, you’re going all nostalgic on me. And watch that bus, it’s pulling out!’ Molly gripped the sides of her seat and shut her eyes. Carly’s driving was still of the essentials-only variety. Sometimes she drove as if the car should be the one making the effort and Carly was still just a passenger.
‘Oops – sorry!’ Carly waved and smiled at the bus driver, even though there was no chance he could see her. ‘We should be really happy,’ she said to Molly, turning her head to catch the new autumn clothes display in Jigsaw’s window. ‘This time next year we’ll be
not
going to school. Ever, ever again. Can’t wait!’
Molly frowned, feeling the time-passing shiver again.
‘But don’t you think that’s a scary thought? I mean, school’s been
what we do
the whole time from when we were, like, four? And then as soon as our As are done, we’re out of there. It’s like being a big ship that’s being built and it’s all snug on its thingy in the shipyard, and then whoooosh! Clunk goes the champagne bottle and it’s out into the freezing sea.’
‘It’s a ship. That’s what they do! And are you mad? OK, I’ll miss school
slightly
. But only for …’ Carly thought for a moment. ‘Twenty minutes, tops.’
‘I think I quite like knowing what I’m going to be doing and where I’ll be. Otherwise I get all twitchy. Really, I’m like
so
boring. I’m going to look like a total numpty on the UCAS form, aren’t I? This’ll be my personal statement: “I will not be building schools in tropical rainforests in my gap year. Or doing work experience on a major movie in the Gobi desert or joining a polar trek. I will probably work in the garden centre like I already do on Saturdays and then go for a nice fortnight in Crete where I’ll lie on the beach and read fun books and only go sightseeing the history stuff if I’m forced to.” Lazy, would you say?’
‘“With my devoted boyfriend, Giles.” Don’t forget to add that bit. They’ll want to know, at your uni of choice.’
And there he was. As the car trundled up the school drive to the car park, Giles was sitting on the front steps, waiting for Molly.
‘He’s pretty hot, you know, Moll. Have you …?’
‘No.
Still
not – well not quite … I told you about Mum coming home early. Haven’t had a chance since. I think I’m doomed. Doomed to be still shagless when I leave school. Another adventure I won’t have had.’
‘Could be worse,’ Carly said, as she had her third go at backing into a space. ‘You could have ended up like the Terrible Example. Think of Pram-face Lisa – up the duff at fourteen.’
‘I know, I know. But at least …’ Molly hesitated and looked towards Giles. He’d seen them, was coming over to meet them.
‘At least what?’ Carly switched off the ignition and gathered her bag and books together.
‘Lisa knows what she’s doing with her life. And yes I know it’s cos she’s got no choice. But right now, I don’t know if our house is going to be sold, if my gran’s going to prison or if I’ll die a virgin like some Victorian old maid.’
Molly climbed out of the car and Giles wrapped his arms around her. ‘Hi babe,’ he murmured into her hair.
‘I think I can probably answer one of those for you!’ Carly laughed as she locked the car door. ‘Guess which!’
It had taken only minutes of discussion before the general consensus of the group at the River Fox came down in favour of giving Saul’s programme idea a whirl.
‘So who’s up for million-viewer humiliation and having their dress sense trashed by some skinny teenage tart?’ Jules asked as soon as Saul’s cute little Mercedes pulled out of the pub car park.
‘Why don’t you put it a bit more bluntly, Jules?’ Zoe commented, but all the same she, Bella, Jules, Phyl and Dina volunteered without so much as a second’s hesitation, even before the magic words ‘think of the publicity’ had been uttered. The others opted out as being too shy or too busy. Dina scorned the publicity angle and preferred the argument that taking part could be ‘useful research’. Bella wasn’t too bothered about the clothes aspect – though the chance to find out exactly where she’d been going wrong with black wasn’t to be passed up – but she did think there was a good opportunity here to write a well-paid feature on the inside story of being a makeover victim. To show there were no hard feelings (or at least to
pretend
there were none for the sake of her bank balance), she would even run the idea past Charlotte at the
Sunday Review
first. She and Charlotte had always got on well enough, professionally speaking … till now, anyway. Maybe if there was a teeny sliver of sympathy somewhere in Charlotte’s psyche, she’d at least give the idea some consideration.
Having thought about it long and hard during a night that had involved much 2 a.m. tea-drinking and back-of-an-envelope sums, Bella got Saul’s number from Zoe
and called him to see if his production company would consider her house as a possible location for the shoot. Not only would there be useful cash in this (last year Jules had gone to see her sister in Australia on the proceeds of renting out her front garden, just the path really, gate-to-door, for an advert), but it would buy some time in which Bella could do some thinking about the fast-accumulating uncertainties for her future. For one thing, James could hardly put the house on the market if there was a film crew on the premises. She could just imagine some young, keen estate agent showing potential buyers around. ‘And here’s the kitchen … and … oh, as a special feature here’s a smiley bossy camp chap telling a size-22 woman that she
must
minx it up in swagged lime satin and eight-inch stilettos.’
Saul had sounded charmingly delighted by Bella’s offer and was now due within minutes to give the place his professional once-over. Trying to see the place through his eyes, she took a good last look round the house and could – of course – only see faults. The hallway needed painting – there were greyish fingermarks all over the front door, which were now so ingrained that it would take a lot more than a rub with Cif and a J-cloth to shift them. The stair carpet’s colour had been listed as ‘Rich Coffee‘, but when Alex had spilled a cup of the real stuff two years before, the resulting splashy stain had been, still was and forever would be, a good
couple of shades darker. And would Saul’s inspection be so thorough that he’d discover (and be put off by) the wispy spider nests in the back folds of the cream curtains in the sitting room? Bella never had the heart to move them, imagining (probably wrongly) trails of tragic spider families, desperately seeking new premises. Given her own uncertain position, it could be tempting fate to evict them right now.
As Saul had said, it was really just the one big family room he would be needing, Bella had concentrated the best of her efforts in the kitchen. She had cleaned and polished every surface, nagged Molly and Alex into moving the various abandoned shoes, CDs, books, electronic toys and sundry plastic bags of God-knows-what to their rooms. She’d crammed every gadget including the Magimix, juicer and toaster into the cupboards, and was now clearing the last of her own paperwork pile from the worktop. Devoid of its usual random clutter, the room looked even bigger. The sunlight streamed in on the treacly walnut floor and the whole place was so meticulously scrubbed that even if James dropped by for a crafty spot check and ran a critical finger over every surface, he’d have trouble finding one mote of muck.
The leather sofa’s decrepitude was disguised under a velvety purple throw that had been disinterred from the vintage trunk in the hallway, and there was a tall vase of
the longest possible branches of pinky-mauve hydrangea from the garden on the table. This looked a bit precarious. The oversized flower heads were heavy and so carefully counterbalanced against each other that it would only take one careless flick of a cat’s paw for the whole lot to go crashing down. Not that the cat was allowed on the table – but who could trust an attention-seeking feline when there is a house visitor and thus an opportunity to push its luck?
Bella had even included her own outfit in the overall look and, so as not to provide colourful distraction, was wearing a simple loose white linen shirt over a skimpy vest top and black linen trousers. New York Carole’s ‘You shouldn’t wear black’ niggled slightly, as Bella knew it forever would, but right now she merely wanted to look unobtrusive. And black – well, everyone knew it made you look slimmer. Body-wise, Bella was the kind of medium height, medium weight that could, with a bit of clever underwear, look good enough in most things, but even she, realizing that cameras add a good ten pounds, was now considering making herself a temporary no-carbs zone.
There was still one small (or not so small) unsolved problem, if Saul
did
want to use the house. Where would they all live for the duration of the project? Alex would be all right – he would be going back to Oxford in a few weeks and before that was heading down to
Biarritz in a van with a crew of his surf-crazy mates. But Molly would have serious schoolwork to do, and was entitled to her own premises and enough peace to get on with it. And then there was Shirley, too … how long did she really intend staying? She’d said it would be just a few days but now she’d settled into the spare bedroom, unpacked a massive array of cosmetics in the tiny en suite bathroom, she seemed perfectly content and had just left for lunch at the Royal Academy with ‘a gentleman friend’ as she coyly put it, whom she’d met on her most recent cruise. ‘And I’m wearing the dress I
didn’t
steal!’ she’d called as she was leaving.
When the doorbell rang, Bella was staring at the gap behind the sink where the tiles had fallen down. That was possibly the most obvious of many defects Saul would find. Too late now, though. Swiftly, she glanced around the room and could see, in spite of the effort she’d put in, it still looked decidedly shabby. How much magic could a props organizer (or whatever the term was) really work? Possibly none, in this case. One look and it would be ‘thanks, but … er, no thanks’, there’d be a pitying smile and it would be back to harassing the regular locations companies for something a lot more suitably glam. This was a crazy idea. Even if he liked the place, the potential disruption would be hell and the money nowhere near compensation for the upheaval. And how would the neighbours
feel about a row of TV-company trucks parked outside, generators blasting?
‘… And this is Fliss,’ Saul said as he came into the house, introducing a tiny waif of a girl with long auburn hair piled up messily and jeans so tight her legs looked as if they belonged to a baby stork. ‘Fliss is
work experience
,’ Saul went on, his eyes glinting at Bella over the top of the lethal-looking purple spike that inefficiently held Fliss’s untidy mass of hair in place. Bella smiled, hoping to convey that she understood whatever subtle hidden message he was trying to give her. She didn’t, quite: did he mean that the girl was free labour and therefore pleasingly cheap? Or that she was a burdensome observer who didn’t have a clue about the job? And what job? Was she the fashion side or production?
Fliss hadn’t said anything, not even hello, but was smiling in a vague and distant way while focused on something in the middle distance, as if only she could see an interesting resident spectre. Bella quickly looked to see if she had iPod earplugs in, but she didn’t. Perhaps she was simply the dreamy sort.