by Karen Clarke
‘Grimsby’s not exactly Knightsbridge,’ I pointed out, ‘and didn’t that talent-show winner turn on the lights up there, last year?’ I couldn’t fall at the first hurdle after promising my neighbours a celebrity. The thought of breaking it to Barry filled me with dread.
‘Yes, but she was desperate for publicity after her record deal fell through.’ Erin blew out a sigh. ‘They’re becoming fussy,’ she said. ‘They get paid shitloads more for a nightclub appearance.’
I pictured her at her messy desk at Stars For You, where she organised power lunches, negotiated auditions for her ‘artists’ and made sure they were where they were supposed to be. When I’d met her, Erin was staying not far from where I worked, helping to look after her niece while her sister recovered from an operation. She was late to pick up Tallulah one afternoon, explaining she’d had a meeting with a quiz host who’d tried to talk her into bed and, fascinated, I’d ended up grilling her about her job, while Tallulah sat on a beanbag, eating a packet of vegetable crisps.
With her thickly lashed blue eyes, and blonde Rapunzel waves, Erin had reminded me of an actress, but when I asked if she’d been in anything, she’d made a horrified face.
‘You’ve got to be shitting me,’ she’d said, her potty-mouth belied by her girly prettiness. ‘I’ve seen how hard it is to get a break in show business. Believe me, I’m happier looking after the stars than being one.’
After making me laugh with a couple of anecdotes, she’d asked if we could meet for a coffee some time. ‘I don’t really know anyone around here and I might be staying a while.’
We’d clicked, despite our differences, and stayed friends after she returned to her life in Soho, where she rented a flat close to the agency. I liked the vicarious glamour of Erin’s job, and she liked that my job put hers in perspective; ‘dealing with actual children, rather than grown-up ones’, as she’d summed it up.
‘There must be someone who’s got a kind heart, if you say it’s for a good cause,’ I said now, practically wheedling.
‘Is it?’
‘What?’
‘A good cause.’ Erin sounded wary. ‘From what you’ve said, it’s just an excuse for your neighbours to show off.’
‘Well, I’ve only met them once, and I suppose the circumstances—’
‘Don’t people show their true selves during “circumstances”?’ I knew where this was heading. I opened my mouth to head her off, but she was already saying, ‘You-know-who certainly did.’
‘We’ve been over that,’ I said, plonking down on the sofa and easing my boots off. I pointed the remote at the television and turned the sound low. The weather forecaster was predicting a polar blast, due to bring snow to areas of the southwest. The bit where Shipley was, by the look of it.
‘I still can’t get over that you’ve moved to Dorset because of him.’
‘He was just the catalyst,’ I said. ‘I fancied a change.’
‘You left because you got shown up in front of your class, thanks to that idiot’s wife.’ A memory of the head teacher’s disapproving face shot into my head. I shuddered, imagining the story she’d tell if someone called her for a reference. ‘It’s not likely to happen again, is it?’
‘I needed to move out of Mum’s anyway,’ I said quickly.
‘You had the house pretty much to yourself, with all her acting and shit.’
‘Erin, you’re supposed to support me.’
Her sigh was heavy. ‘Sorry, Lils. I’m cross with him for making you believe you had a future together, then wimping out.’
My heart twisted. ‘I told you, it was mainly because of his daughter. If he divorced her, she was going to apply for full custody of Harriet.’
‘She wouldn’t have gone through with it.’
‘She would have, just to spite me,’ I said, wishing, not for the first time, that I’d never clapped eyes on Max Bellfield (or Bellend, as Erin renamed him). If he hadn’t dropped his daughter at my classroom on her first day at school, confessing he was a ‘clueless’ single dad, I doubt I’d have looked at him twice, but he was so gentle and patient with Harriet – even when she kicked Percy Shelton’s shin and called him a douche – I’d been won over.
‘Wasn’t his daughter a handful?’ Erin said.
‘She was confused, that’s all.’
‘Hmmm. Lots of children are confused, but they don’t try to burn their school down.’
‘She didn’t mean it,’ I protested, though I still wasn’t convinced that Harriet hadn’t smuggled the matches in with the express purpose of starting a fire in the waste paper bin. She’d seen it done on an episode of Chicago Fire, she said afterwards, sticking her bottom lip out. ‘She wanted to see a fire engine.’
‘Why the fuck was a kid her age watching Chicago Fire in the first place?’
‘Oh, Erin, we’ve talked about this, too,’ I said, acknowledging a ripple of relief that I wouldn’t have to deal with the issues raised by her parents’ break-up now that Max was back with his wife. ‘Can we get back to you offering me a nice celebrity, free of charge?’
‘It won’t be free of charge,’ said Erin. ‘It’s not very sexy, but the local council normally foots the bill, at the taxpayer’s expense. It can cost anything up to five grand.’
‘What?’ I wasn’t digging that far into my savings. I was relying on them to get me through until I received an advance for my first novel. ‘Not this year,’ I said. ‘Cutbacks. Plus, Donal Kerrigan was going to do it for free, but pulled out.’
‘And you’re getting involved because…?’
‘I want to make friends.’ It sounded pathetic, and I immediately wished I hadn’t said it.
‘Oh, Lily.’ After a loaded pause, during which I heard someone in the background tell someone to ‘fuck right off’, followed by a slamming door, Erin said, ‘There is someone who might be available.’
I straightened. ‘Who?’
‘Ollie Matheson,’ she said, with a certain amount of caution. ‘He’s between jobs at the moment, and could do with some positive exposure.’
I didn’t like the sound of that. ‘Who’s Ollie Matheson?’
Erin gave an exasperated laugh. ‘Even you must have heard of him, Lily!’
‘You know I don’t watch soaps.’
‘He’s not in a soap, he was the breakout star of Players.’
The name rang a bell. One of my ex-colleagues used to rave about it. It was a reality show about wealthy playboys driving flashy cars and attending fancy nightclubs, their sole purpose seemingly to make females with names like Puffy and Twinkle fall for them.
‘I don’t watch reality shows either.’
‘It’s quite a good one actually, but Ollie was fired for hitting someone—’
‘Isn’t that par for the course on those shows?’ I said. ‘I’d have thought it would be good for ratings.’
‘It was actually, but he doesn’t want to go back. He’s in love with the girl on the show, but there were rumours she’d slept with someone else… it’s a long story,’ she said, sounding unusually fed up. ‘Basically, he needs another job, but other networks are reluctant to hire him, and Tattie Granger—’
‘Tattie?’
‘Yeah, I know,’ she said drily. ‘She’s been bad-mouthing him in the press.’
‘And you think he’ll be up for a trip to Shipley to look at some Christmas lights?’ I pressed my fingers to my temple. ‘I can’t imagine him jumping at the opportunity.’
‘Well, maybe he doesn’t have much choice.’
I tried to imagine the local reaction if Ollie Matheson was to turn up. Would anyone even know who he was? ‘I suppose if he’s the only option…’
‘I’ll give him a call, but I can’t promise anything.’
‘You’ll try though?’
Erin relented. ‘I’ll do my very best, you pushy mare.’
‘Thanks, Erin, you’re the best,’ I said. ‘Let me know asap.’
‘Yes, miss.’
End
ing the call, I felt a flash of excitement. This was just what I needed.
Tomorrow I would visit the nearest town and buy some Christmas lights of my own. Not to compete – that would be impossible – but to get into the festive mood, and show that I was a part of the Maple Hill community.
When Mum called later, after she was home from her play, to check that I was OK, I said convincingly, ‘Everything’s fine, Mum. I think I’m going to fit in here.’
Chapter Five
‘What do you mean, he won’t do it?’
‘He said it was beneath him and he’s going to the Maldives for Christmas.’
‘I don’t believe it.’ I stopped and a customer shoved past, arms loaded with boxes of brightly coloured baubles. I was in the Christmassy section at a super-sized garden centre, half an hour’s drive from Shipley, and had been merrily humming ‘Jingle Bells’ as I browsed the aisles when Erin called. ‘He actually said it was beneath him?’
‘’Fraid so.’ She didn’t sound too surprised, as if she’d guessed what Ollie Matheson’s response would be.
‘But I thought he needed some good publicity.’
‘He does, but insists he’d rather lie low until the fuss has blown over, and re-emerge in the New Year.’
‘To what?’
‘Exactly.’ I heard her tapping a pen on her desk, a habit she had when stressed. ‘I told him his chances of joining another show are practically nil. And he’s been dropped as the face of Snugz.’
My stomach tipped at the mention of the upmarket underwear brand, my mind zooming back to Max, stripped to his boxers, one foot thrust on my bed. Hips jutting forward, he’d raked back his hair with his fingers and asked huskily, ‘Do I look like the Snugz guy?’
He’d been slightly peeved when I’d snorted with laughter, and said the Snugz guy probably removed his socks before trying to seduce a lady.
‘He wasn’t bothered about doing it for nothing, to be fair.’
‘That doesn’t really matter if he’s not going to do it.’
‘He’s worried he might look like a “desperado”.’
‘He used that exact word?’
‘Yep. Tosser.’ I was getting the sense that Ollie Matheson wasn’t Erin’s favourite client. ‘There might be a ventriloquist who could do it, next Thursday,’ she said. ‘He’s appearing in panto in Bournemouth, so Shipley’s en route.’
‘Ventriloquist?’ I moved out of the way of a toddler careering around with reindeer antlers on his head, while his flustered mother threatened to take away his iPad. ‘I don’t like ventriloquists, they’re creepy.’
‘It’s the one with the rapping panda that swears a lot.’
‘Oh, no.’ I chucked a snow globe in my basket. ‘I want Ollie Matheson.’
‘You’ve changed your tune.’
‘At least he’s not a sweary, rapping ventriloquist,’ I said, reluctant to admit that overnight I’d adjusted to the idea of Ollie Matheson. I’d tried googling him after talking to Erin, but the wild weather had played havoc with the broadband signal and I couldn’t get online. Nevertheless, as I’d lain in bed listening to the howling wind, I’d played out various scenarios in my head – most involving my neighbours being overwhelmingly grateful that I’d allowed them to uphold their Shipley traditions. I’d drifted off to sleep, and dreamt that a faceless Ollie Matheson was begging me for a role in the film of my bestselling novel, The Neighbours, before waking with a start, disappointed I hadn’t come up with a more imaginative title.
‘Maybe I should speak to him,’ I said, tipping some boxes of lantern-shaped lights into my basket. ‘I could appeal to his better nature.’
‘I’m not sure he has one,’ Erin said grimly. ‘I told him it was a favour for a friend, and he said I should do it.’
‘What an idiot.’ I was starting to despise Ollie Matheson.
‘I know, I know, he’s a moron.’
‘What if it’s for charity?’ I said, as the thought popped into my head.
‘He’d happily make a donation, he’s pretty generous like that.’
‘So you keep saying.’
‘I don’t know what else I can say.’
‘Did you tell him he’ll get good coverage in the local news, and—’
‘Lily, I tried,’ Erin interrupted, sounding torn. ‘I’m really sorry.’
‘But, Erin, I promised.’ I was ashamed of my stroppy toddler whine. ‘I don’t want to let them down.’
‘Let down people you don’t even know?’ Her voice softened. ‘They’re not going to hate you if you don’t produce a celebrity,’ she said, but remembering their excitement, and Barry’s demand that I let him know as soon as possible (or else?), I wasn’t so sure. ‘There must be a local business owner, someone neutral, who could step in and do the honours.’
‘I don’t think there is, and anyway it wouldn’t be as memorable.’
Disappointment nudged tears to my eyes. I imagined the reaction from my neighbours. I’d be a laughing stock. Worse, they’d hate me. It would be Isabel Sinclair all over again. They’d start referring to the ‘curse of Seaview Cottage’ and campaign to get me out.
‘This isn’t school we’re talking about.’ Erin spookily picked up my line of thought. ‘Not producing a celebrity for neighbours you barely know is hardly the same as being confronted by your boyfriend’s wife, in front of your whole class, at the place where you’ve worked for years.’
‘Thanks for the reminder,’ I said stiffly, twisting my mind away from the stinging memory. ‘It’s not that I’m desperate to be liked and approved of, I just want to fit in and be accepted.’
‘That’s the same thing, you prat.’
‘Look, I know you think I was running away, but I really want to make a go of it here.’ I squeezed a rubbery Santa so hard that one of his eyes pinged out, and I hastily stuffed him to the back of the shelf.
‘Lily, I didn’t mean—’
‘I’m sorry for putting you on the spot,’ I said. ‘I should have checked with you before I made any promises.’
‘Oh, Lily, you don’t need to apologise. I just… I’m worried about you, that’s all, over there on your own. It’s such a bloody big change. I bet there isn’t even a Costa Coffee there.’
‘You pointing that out doesn’t help.’
‘You’re right, I’m sorry.’ Erin exhaled. ‘Maybe I’m jealous that you’ve escaped and I’m stuck here, clinging to my job, wondering if I’m going to be single forever and end up being eaten by my Alsatian.’
‘You don’t have an Alsatian,’ I said.
‘Not yet.’
Relieved to be treading a more familiar path, I said, ‘It’s not like you don’t have the opportunity to meet men. Maybe you should be less fussy.’
‘I need to be more fussy after The Actor.’
‘Understandable.’
A year earlier, Erin had broken her cardinal rule about not dating showbiz types and had fallen for the star of a hospital drama, only for him to dump her six months later to ‘break America’. There had been a grim satisfaction in hearing that the only thing he’d broken was his leg, after slipping down some steps on his way to an audition.
‘Maybe if you weren’t babying your clients all hours of the day and night, you’d have time to meet someone normal.’
When she didn’t respond, I realised I’d gone too far. ‘Oh, Erin, I’m sorry.’
‘Let’s stop apologising to each other,’ she said, briskly. ‘I’ll try Ollie one more time, see if I can work my magic.’
‘No, don’t.’ I felt a surge of fury towards Ollie bloody Matheson. Because of him, Erin had had a dig about me moving to Shipley, and I’d been bitchy about her job. He’d made us apologise to each other, which had never happened before. ‘Give me his number and I’ll contact him myself.’
‘You know I can’t give out contact details.’ Nevertheless, Erin sounded sorely tempted. ‘I’ll tell him he’s off my books if he doesn’t do it.’
‘Will he care?
’ I quickly realised how that sounded. ‘What I meant was—’
‘I know what you meant,’ she said, wryly. ‘And, yes, I think he might.’
‘Mention I’ll go to the press otherwise, and brand him a mean-spirited, entitled…’
‘Fuckwit?’ Erin knew I didn’t swear, from years of being around small children. ‘I’ll pass that on.’
‘No,’ I said, backtracking. ‘I don’t want to get anyone into trouble.’
I turned in time to see a pair of white-skinny-jean-clad mums speeding towards me with baby-buggies, and backed into a Christmas tree trussed with tinsel and baubles. It toppled over before I could grab it, spilling its decorations across the floor. ‘Shoot!’
‘What’s going on?’
‘Got to go,’ I said, yanking the tree upright, but the damage was already done. It was squashed and misshapen, and only a bright-breasted wooden robin remained on a branch, staring glassily ahead.
An assistant approached with a chilly expression, as though I’d kicked the tree over on purpose. ‘Leave it,’ she ordered as I dropped to my hands and knees and scrabbled to rescue some baubles.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘Do you have a dustpan and brush?’
‘I said, leave it.’
I rose and backed away, cheeks fizzing with heat, catching some sympathetic glances and a couple of sniggers.
‘Good job I was going to buy one anyway!’ I called out, heaving a boxed tree onto my shoulder and staggering to the checkout, throwing more items into my basket on the way.
As I stuffed the tree and several bags into my car, I cursed Ollie Matheson again. It was his fault I’d bought a tree too big for the cottage, and enough lights and baubles to decorate the whole of Shipley. ‘The least he could do is turn up now,’ I muttered, slamming the boot shut.
The sky was goose-grey, as if holding back snow, and my breath emerged in white puffs. On impulse, I drove to the beachfront and opened the car window a crack, breathing the ozone tang in the air, while I watched the waves flinging themselves at the empty beach. We’d often visited Dad’s parents in France during the summer holidays, and one year we’d gone to Portugal, but it was our seaside trips to Shipley that remained the most vivid, when the sun had seemed to shine endlessly, and the sea and sky were just the right shade of blue.
