When they’ve had breakfast, I groom each one in turn, which they love – although they hide it very well. Trying to avoid the ensuing kicks, I take a tangle comb and clear them of any debris that they’ve collected in their coats. I smooth out their fleeces as I go so that they look like the kind of cute alpacas you’d want to see on telly and not like our normally scruffy, badly behaved lot.
Even though I’m still in two minds about taking Johnny with us, I give them all a pep talk. ‘Please be nice today,’ I coo. ‘It’ll be a pain in the bum, but it means a lot to the farm. Don’t bite or kick anyone. Only poo in designated places. Shall we see if we can manage that?’
They all look doubtful.
‘Does that apply to us too?’ Bev asks as she comes up behind me.
‘We’re only to kiss designated people,’ I tell her. ‘We’re not allowed to kidnap handsome young soap opera stars or offer them sexual favours.’
‘Oh,’ Bev says, disappointed. ‘That was the bit I was looking forward to the most. Ready for it then?’
‘Not really. His Nibs has got a cold.’
She scratches Johnny Rotten’s neck. ‘Hmm. He doesn’t look a hundred per cent.’
‘I was just contemplating leaving him behind and hoping that the television company don’t notice they’re an alpaca short.’
‘You’ll be all right, mate, won’t you?’ Bev says. Johnny Rotten flutters his big eyelashes at her. ‘They’ve only got to stand at the back and look cute. He can manage that.’
‘If you’re sure.’
‘No worries. They’ll ace it.’
Bev is clearly feeling a lot more bullish than me.
‘How do you like the outfit?’ Bev gives me a twirl.
My dear friend has turned up in some kind of posh farmer’s wife outfit of tweed Barbour jacket, Hunter wellies and beige trousers. ‘Where did you get that lot?’
‘Borrowed it off a mate,’ she says, admiring herself. ‘Looking hot, eh?’
‘Smoking,’ I agree. Whereas I look a complete wreck, not helped by the lack of sleep. ‘Your friend knows that it will be covered in alpaca poo by the end of the day?’
‘Didn’t really spell that out,’ Bev admits. ‘It will dry clean.’
‘We should get this lot in the truck. It’s going to take us an hour or more to get there.’
‘I’ve never been on a television set before. I’m beyond excited.’
‘Lucas says it’s very dull.’
‘He’s a teenager. He’s no idea just how dull life can be.’
True enough.
Bev nudges me in the ribs. ‘Besides, Shelby Dacre will be there and in action. That always brightens your day.’
Also true enough.
‘God, I can’t wait! Come on, babies,’ Bev says to our alpaca troupe. ‘It’s time for your big break. This week a soap opera in England, next week Hollywood. All you’ve got to do is behave yourselves.’
And with that ringing in my ears, we lock and load.
Chapter Thirty-Two
‘We’re here,’ Bev says. ‘Just round this corner.’
‘Here?’ I pull up outside an enormous house with double gates and a plaque that states HOMEWOOD MANOR. I look at the map on Bev’s lap. ‘This can’t be right.’
‘Yep. This is the one.’
‘Seriously?’ We are picking up a still-reluctant Lucas en route. ‘Double check the address.’
‘Believe me, I have.’ Bev is most insistent. ‘I was a girl guide. I can read a naffing map. This is Shelby’s gaff.’ She gives a low whistle. ‘Look at the state of it. They must pay him a shitload of dosh on that show.’
Indeed, they must.
With more than a little trepidation, we wind our way down the meandering drive lined with tall poplar trees and acres of grassy parkland on either side. She gapes around as I drive. ‘I guess Shelby Dacre was never going to live in a two-up, two-down, but this is like a proper country manor house.’
It certainly is.
When we finally reach the house I swing the truck into a huge gravelled area with a fountain splashing away in the middle of it – and not the kind of fountain you might buy on a whim on a Sunday afternoon at the garden centre. This is a proper fountain to match the proper manor house. Homewood itself is an imposing building – low, wide and constructed in a creamy-coloured stone. There are tall pillars flanking the front door and dozens of windows on either side. Goodness knows how many rooms there must be. On the far side, there’s a bank of four pristine garages and I can catch a glimpse of fancy stables behind them, though I know that Lucas can’t ride or has ever been close to horses before coming to the farm.
As instructed, Lucas is waiting outside for us outside. He’s leaning on the low wall of a raised bed filled with tulips and spring flowers, engrossed in his phone. The truck judders to a halt in front of him and Bev opens the passenger door. He glances up as if surprised to see us there.
‘Come on, sunshine!’ Bev budges up and Lucas climbs into the truck, squeezing in next to her.
‘This is where you live?’ I blurt out. ‘It’s amazing.’
‘Oh, yeah,’ Lucas says and his cheeks glow red. Suddenly, he’s self-conscious again.
I dial it back when I add, ‘What a place.’ I realise that it’s rather different to where I live in my little caravan and wonder if I’ve made him feel embarrassed by commenting on its opulence. Yet how could I not? It’s not your average family home. ‘Do just you and your dad live here?’
‘We have a housekeeper too,’ he divulges rather grudgingly.
Bev raises an eyebrow at me. A housekeeper, it says.
‘Right. Well. Let’s be off.’ I coax the gear lever into first as if I’m stirring a pudding. ‘Our stars in the back will be getting angsty. Seat belt,’ I remind Lucas.
‘I’m not five,’ he retorts, but buckles himself in anyway.
‘Everything OK?’
‘Yeah.’ He shrugs and then buries himself in his phone again.
We joggle along the country lanes, Bev concentrating on her map-reading.
‘You’ve been here before?’ I ask him.
‘A million times.’ Nothing else is forthcoming.
I try again. ‘Johnny Rotten has a cold.’
‘Oh, joy.’ And that’s it. He doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the drive.
About an hour later and we’re in countryside that I haven’t explored before even though it’s not actually that far from our farm. The map proves too complicated for our Girl Guide, so we end up following the satnav app on Bev’s phone and, eventually, we turn into the lane that leads up to the set. I thought that Hope Farm was secluded, but the set of Flinton’s Farm is even more so. I guess they don’t want fans massing at the gate and the like. It would certainly take the most dedicated to come and hang out here for a glimpse of their favourites. There’s nothing but open fields on either side of the lane and a vast open sky above us. We trundle along quite a bit more until we’re stopped by a barrier and a burly security guard.
Bev rolls the window down and tells him, ‘We’re bringing alpacas for the filming.’
He checks his clipboard and, thankfully, decides we’re allowed access to the inner sanctum. He points into the distance. ‘Park up there and wait. Someone will come to meet you.’
So we head in the general direction he indicated and follow the car park signs. As we climb up a small rise, I can see the set for Flinton’s Farm spreading out ahead of us.
‘It’s exactly like a proper village,’ I say, slightly awestruck.
And it is. For all the world it looks like a real place. There’s a street of a dozen or more houses all with tidy hedges, white picket fences and roses round the doors, a pub called the Farmers’ Arms, a church complete with graveyard, a neatly manicured green with a pond and the obligatory ducks. There’s an old-fashioned red phone box and a signpost that surely must be left over from the nineteen fifties. It’s weird because it all looks so real and yet it isn’t.
The buildings are stone-fronted – I’m pretty sure that’s real and not just painted stone – and yet there are only timber frames behind the façade. All this and yet it’s temporary and could all be torn down in a heartbeat.
‘They do all the outside shots here.’ Lucas deigns to look up from his phone. ‘The indoor shots are done at a studio somewhere near Slough. They’ve got this land on a rolling ten-year lease from the lord of the manor or something. Sometimes they shoot stuff up at the main house too.’
‘I’m nearly weeing myself with excitement,’ Bev says as we park up.
And I thought it was only the alpacas disgracing themselves that I had to worry about.
Just as we’re wondering what to do next, a young woman with long blonde hair and a clipboard comes towards us and Lucas shifts marginally so that Bev can clamber over him. She jumps down from the cab.
I nudge Lucas. ‘Coming?’
‘Nah. I’m good. I’ll wait here until you need me.’ He returns to his phone.
I join Bev, standing behind her for protection. As she reaches us, the young woman flicks her hair and asks, ‘You’re the alpacas?’
‘Indeed.’
‘You’re not due on set just yet. Are you happy to keep them here?’
‘Can we walk them round the car park?’ I ask. They get all wound up if they’re in the truck for too long and this is probably at their outer limits as they’re not seasoned travellers. Like me, they very rarely leave the farm.
‘Sure. I’ll call you when we’re ready for you. We’re just setting up the scene now. We shouldn’t be too long.’ She waves an arm towards a huddle of farm buildings. ‘There’s a catering truck just round the corner. Help yourself to tea and whatever.’
When Clipboard Woman strides away from us, Bev and I look again at the pretty village spread ahead of us. I turn to her. ‘Wow.’
‘Pinch me,’ Bev squeals, doing a little dance in her posh Stepford Wives outfit. ‘Pinch me.’
I need pinching myself.
‘It’s just like on the telly,’ Bev says. ‘I can’t believe that I’m here. They do tours in the summer and I’ve always wanted to do one. Now look at me!’
In the main street there’s obviously a scene being shot. I’ve no idea what’s going on but two actors, surrounded by cameras and crew, are remonstrating with each other quite hotly.
‘That’s Owen Bart, he’s the landlord of the pub,’ Bev informs me. ‘He’s been in the show since time began. That’s his wife, Shaz, and she’s having an affair with Shelby Dacre.’ I must look alarmed as Bev hastily adds, ‘Not in real life. Only in the series.’
I lower my voice so that Lucas can’t hear. ‘I thought he was having an affair with Scarlett Vincent? In real life and in the programme.’
‘Yeah.’ Bev scratches her head. ‘It’s complicated.’
‘You’re telling me.’ I’m beginning to think that I might have missed out in life by never having seen a soap.
‘This is sooooo totally cool though. Shall we unload Triple Trouble before they decide to kick their way out of the truck and then go and get a cup of tea?’
‘Sounds like a plan.’ We let the alpacas out of the truck.
They’re already getting a little bit skittish from being cooped up. They bounce round in giddy circles trying to tangle us up in their halters and I can only hope that they calm down in time for their big moment.
Lucas finally joins us and he takes Rod Stewart’s reins. Rod is looking decidedly nervous.
‘Whoa, boy,’ Lucas soothes. ‘It’s just some telly types. Nothing to worry about.’
I hang onto Johnny Rotten who’s still a snot bucket. I’ve brought a kitchen roll with me and I grab it and wipe his runny nose and he backs away, turning his face from me as a toddler would. I look at the pretty village where we’re about to make our screen debut and rue that we’re not at the glamorous end of farming – if there is one.
Bev takes Tina Turner, who is tossing her head to fluff her pom-pom hair. If anyone is determined to be the star today, it’s Tina. A true diva just like her namesake. I hope with all that is good and true that everything goes well. Shelby has put his faith in us and I have everything crossed that we can deliver.
‘Once more into the breach,’ Bev says. ‘Come on, boys and girls. Let’s go and have a cup of tea before we throw ourselves into the heady world of stardom and celebrity.’
Lucas sighs heavily and Johnny Rotten blows a bubble of green gloop from his nostrils. And as we walk the frisky alpacas to the tea van, I try to ignore all of my misgivings.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The farm buildings connected to the set are, of course, the kind that Disney would design. They’re clean for a start, beautifully maintained and filled with crisp, clean straw that looks as if each strand has been individually arranged. There is not a poo in sight and it doesn’t smell of animal wee. Below us, there’s a bank of bright lights shining on the open barn and I can see Shelby standing inside talking to someone who looks as if they’re in charge.
Bev nudges me again. I’m going to have big blue bruises all along my ribs at this rate. ‘There he is.’
‘I’d noticed.’ He looks so suave in his checked shirt with the sleeves rolled up, jeans and a leather hat with a wide brim. But I have to admit that whatever he wears he looks wonderful to me.
Bev straightens her smart borrowed farm-chic jacket and smooths her hair. I try not to do the same. ‘Hold this.’ Bev passes me Tina’s reins. ‘I’ll get some tea.’
So Lucas and I stand there on the periphery of it all, hanging onto three twitchy alpacas.
‘They’re bored,’ I say.
‘Like me,’ Lucas agrees.
‘We won’t be long. I’m sure.’
He rolls his eyes at me. ‘You have no idea.’
I glance over at the tea van and see Bev in the queue. In front of her is Scarlett Vincent. She’s dressed in tight white jeans and a white shirt. I wonder if she has the ‘white’ thing in her contract. Her hair is long and glossy and she swishes it more than the alpacas do.
Johnny Rotten’s nose runs again and I wipe it with kitchen roll. It’s not often that I wonder what I’m doing with my life, but today is one of those times
As Bev arrives with a tray of tea, so does Shelby.
‘Hi.’ He ruffles Lucas’s hair, which I know his son hates. Lucas ducks away from his dad. ‘Good to see you here, son. It’s been a long time.’
‘Not long enough,’ Lucas mutters, but Shelby pretends not to hear.
Bev hands him a cuppa. ‘I got an extra one. Just in case.’
‘Thank you.’ He accepts it from her, gratefully, and takes a drink. ‘You got here OK?’
‘Yes, no problems.’ Not yet, anyway. ‘This is all very impressive.’
‘I guess we’re used to it and don’t appreciate it as we should. But, yes, it’s a very special place.’
‘I dressed up especially.’ Bev indicates her outfit.
‘And you look lovely,’ Shelby says.
Bev positively glows and not in a hot flush kind of way. Or maybe it is.
‘Any chance of a walk-on part?’ Bev asks, boldly.
‘I’ll certainly ask. I’m sure you could lurk in the background. We shouldn’t be long now.’ Shelby looks over his shoulder, checking. ‘The guys are setting up for the scene. All the alpacas have to do is stand nicely in the background. My body double will settle them.’
I laugh. ‘Your what?’
Shelby looks, dare I say, ‘sheepish’.
‘I don’t handle the animals myself,’ he admits. ‘They can’t risk me losing any time due to my allergies. So someone else steps in and does anything that involves touching the animals, usually in close-up. He’s over there.’
Sure enough, there’s a man dressed in identical clothing to Shelby, though I must say that he doesn’t wear it with the same flair and, though handsome, there’s not that certain something shining through.
‘Who knew?’ I
say.
‘I told you. It’s all fake,’ Lucas throws in.
But before Shelby has chance to respond someone who looks as if he’s important holds up an arm and shouts from the barn, ‘Ready when you are, Shelby.’
He nods in acknowledgement. ‘That’s the director. He’s the one who’ll tell you what to do.’
‘Ah.’ So he’s in charge. God help him.
‘They’ll probably want you too in a minute,’ he informs us.
‘Right.’ I’ll swear my heart falters.
‘It will all be fine.’ He sounds so very reassuring that I nearly believe him.
As I watch him walk away Bev slurps hurriedly at her cup and says, ‘Drink your tea.’
‘You’ve only just given it to me. It’s boiling.’
‘Hurry up. We don’t want to be late. We need to give them a good impression.’
‘You haven’t finished yours yet either,’ I point out. Though she is glugging it at a rate of knots. In fact, she’s too busy drinking to answer, but not too busy to give me a dark look.
While we’re still rushing down our tea, Clipboard Woman returns. ‘If you could bring the alpacas down to the barn now, that would be great.’
‘Ready, gang?’ I get nods from Bev and Lucas.
We manage to stop the alpacas from turning in circles and we all troop after her and then wait at the side of the barn behind Clipboard Woman. She’s wearing a fluffy cardigan and Rod Stewart decides that he fancies it and rubs against her. Lucas hangs onto him a bit tighter. Clipboard Woman shoots me daggers and moves away.
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘Very sorry. He must have thought you were a lady alpaca.’
She moves a bit further away.
Lucas supresses a snigger and now he gets daggers too. The last thing we need now is Rod’s hormones surging. While Rod Stewart now has a lustful look in his eye, Johnny Rotten is just looking a bit miserable.
I wipe his nose again and he twitches. ‘I should have left you at home, poor boy,’ I give his neck a scratch. ‘Not long now, though.’
Happiness for Beginners Page 12
