by Karen Clarke
‘OW!’
As Ollie dived for a cloth, I bent to peel off my sock, glad to be free of whatever that look on Craig’s face had been. Had he assumed that I’d only pushed Ollie away because I didn’t want to be caught on camera?
‘There’s so much,’ Ollie said, snapping back to normal with enviable ease. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Not really.’ My heart was still thundering, my nerve-endings jangling as I hopped over to the table and sat down, darting a quick glance at Craig.
‘You should run it under cold water,’ he said in a neutral tone, but it was obvious from the way he was gripping the camera that there was plenty going on in his head. ‘Your foot,’ he added. ‘It’ll take away the sting.’
‘Thanks, I… I will in a minute.’
‘You should do it now.’
‘Fine.’ I still didn’t move, wishing Ollie would say something instead of spreading the porridge around with the inadequate dishcloth. His T-shirt was rucked up at the back as if I’d yanked it, and with a rush of nausea I realised how close I’d come to returning his kiss – to becoming one of ‘those girls’.
You’ve been Ollied.
I batted Erin’s words away, as Ollie turned to Craig.
‘Did you get that?’ he said, nodding to the camera dangling by Craig’s side.
Craig caught my eye and looked away. ‘Of course I did. We agreed I’d start filming this morning.’
What? Had Ollie staged the almost-kiss, knowing Craig would come in with his camera at any moment? ‘When did you decide that?’ I said.
‘Last night, after you’d turned in.’ Ollie flashed his easy smile.
‘The filming, not the kissing,’ Craig said abruptly.
‘It wasn’t really a kiss,’ I challenged. ‘I mean, I didn’t respond, I was...’ thinking about it? ‘Please don’t use that, will you?’
‘Not if you’d rather I didn’t,’ said Craig, stiffly.
‘Are you sure, Lily?’ It was obvious from the crease that appeared between Ollie’s eyebrows, he was disappointed. ‘It’s just that I thought we’d agreed to go for a natural feel for the show. You know, me doing stuff in an ordinary setting, for a’ – more finger quotes – ‘glimpse of the real Ollie Matheson.’
‘Kissing your hostess wasn’t part of that agreement,’ Craig said, as if I wasn’t there.
‘But it’s the sort of thing I do.’ Ollie straightened and gave me a roguish smile. ‘Rather well, don’t you think?’
‘On Players, yes. Not in real life.’ Craig laid his camera on the worktop and unzipped his jacket. He had his running gear on again, minus his trainers.
‘The sort of thing you do?’ I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. ‘It was for the camera, then, all that rubbish about liking natural girls, with curves?’
‘Oh crumbs, Lily. No.’ Ollie tossed the dirty cloth into the sink and came over to kneel in front of me. He looked different without his stubble – too clean-cut. More like he had in his studio shot. ‘That kiss was one hundred per cent genuine.’ His eyes were so… twinkly. And he sounded sincere. ‘At that moment in time.’
Right. ‘I don’t like being used.’
‘Lily, my lovely, I wasn’t using you, I was expressing my deepest admiration.’
‘Aren’t you supposed to be in love?’ Craig’s face darkened. He was no doubt thinking about Tattie, and wondering – as I had – why Ollie was kissing me if he was hoping to win Tattie back. Unless it was to make her jealous.
‘She’ll understand it’s for the show,’ Ollie said, but he didn’t sound convinced, a wave of doubt sweeping over his features. ‘Oh crap. Have I messed up?’
‘I’ll delete it,’ Craig said, catching my eye, and I wondered if he was recalling the other bit of footage he’d have to delete.
My cheeks began to throb in time with my burnt foot.
‘I’m deeply sorry if I’ve offended you, Lily.’ Ollie seemed genuinely bewildered, and I was reminded again of a child being told his behaviour was inappropriate, and not quite getting why.
‘I’d better go and soak my foot,’ I said, as if Craig hadn’t already suggested it. I was aware I must look a total mess in my baggy top and jeans, with my hair all over the place. ‘Would you mind moving out of the way?’
‘Sure.’ Ollie’s eyes dipped down, and he seemed to notice my bare toes for the first time. ‘Remember to put a sock back on, won’t you?’
Chapter Eighteen
‘He’s got a thing about feet,’ Craig said, an hour later. ‘He’s never liked them.’
‘Women’s feet, or feet in general?’ I bundled a scarf around my neck, relieved that Craig had made no further reference to the scene in the kitchen.
We were about to take in the sights of Shipley, and Ollie was upstairs changing into something ‘more suitable’, though his outfit had seemed fine to me.
‘Feet in general,’ said Craig. ‘Apart from his own.’
‘Obviously.’
Our eyes grazed, then Craig picked up his camera. ‘I’ve been looking forward to using this, I haven’t had it long,’ he said unexpectedly. He was fussing with the shiny casing and lens, pressing buttons and checking the SD cards were inserted, though he must have known they were. I noticed that his wrists were thick and strong. ‘Surprisingly lightweight for such a comprehensive piece of kit,’ he added.
‘It looks more professional than ones I’ve used,’ I said, matching his professional tone. ‘I used to film assemblies for parents at the school where I worked, but the results were a bit dodgy if the light wasn’t great.’
‘Technology’s moved on a lot.’ Craig raised the camera to shoulder-height and I noticed the way his bicep flexed under his sleeve. He trained the lens on me. ‘It’s got a built-in light meter, and the audio’s really good.’ He gave it a look I imagined a girlfriend might be jealous of. ‘I think a subject’s more likely to open up if there’s not too much equipment in their face.’
It was the perfect opportunity to ask about his plans to interview the neighbours, but he’d started speaking again.
‘You’re a teacher?’
‘Used to be,’ I said. ‘I’m writing a novel now.’
Expecting him to ask what it was about, I prepared to explain that I was toying with a number of ideas, but he was giving me a curious look.
‘A good teacher can make a real difference,’ he said, thoughtfully, scraping his thumbnail across his chin. ‘I still remember Mr Bradley, in year seven, telling the class that if we found a job we loved, we’d never work a day in our lives.’
‘Sounds a bit grown up for year seven.’
‘I don’t think I properly understood it then, but his words stuck with me. He loved his job and it really came across.’
‘I teach… taught five-year-olds,’ I said, smiling as a memory of Erin’s niece, Tallulah, popped into my head, asking, In the olden days, was everything black and white? ‘They’re so receptive at that age.’
‘Where was the school?’
‘Near East Finchley, where I grew up.’ It struck me that Ollie hadn’t yet asked me anything about myself – though he knew far more about my break-up with Max than I’d have liked, thanks to Mum discussing my private life with all and sundry. ‘It wasn’t one of those tough inner-city schools, I’m afraid.’
‘Why do you say that?’
I paused in the act of pulling one of my boots on. I’d run my foot under the cold setting on the shower head, but it still felt sore. ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I said, wishing I hadn’t started this line of conversation. ‘Someone once told me I’d taken the easy option when it came to teaching.’ It had been another trainee teacher, and her words had stung. ‘She said doing art with five-year-olds was a cop-out and that it wasn’t as valuable as shaping the minds of teenagers, or helping to turn round a failing school, or teaching children with special needs.’
‘And you agree?’ Craig’s voice held no judgement and for the first time in ages, I found myself really considering a
topic I’d turned over more than a few times during my teaching career.
‘No,’ I said, finally. ‘I have this really strong memory of my first day at school, of crying and wanting to go home, but my teacher had this little hand puppet of a rabbit called Bugsy, and she made it talk in a funny voice until I laughed. After that I loved going to school.’
‘Maybe that’s when you decided to become a teacher.’
‘I think it probably was,’ I said, the memory of Miss Larchwood’s blue woollen cardigan and generous smile as fresh as if I’d seen her only yesterday. ‘Apart from a blip when I was ten, when I wanted to drive an ice-cream van, I never wanted to do anything else. I even used to play schools at home with my brother, until he got fed up with his little sister bossing him around.’ I smiled, remembering. ‘Oh, and my dad was a teacher,’ I said. ‘That probably had something to do with it.’
‘He must have been proud of you.’
‘He was.’ My voice wavered, remembering the steady heartbeat of his love. ‘He taught maths, though. My worst subject.’
‘Mine too,’ said Craig. ‘I preferred English and science.’
‘You’re not filming me, are you?’ I noticed he was still pointing the camera in my direction, but before he could answer, Ollie bounded downstairs.
‘Are we ready to hit the road, guys?’ he said, lightly touching my shoulder. I jumped as though I’d been scalded, and when I saw what he was wearing, my mouth fell open.
‘I thought you were dressing down?’ I managed, taking in the spray-on trousers. He looked like a jester – fitted white shirt with the collar flicked up, long black leather coat and, most puzzling of all, a trilby hat on his head.
‘Yah, when I’m indoors, sure,’ he said, slipping on a pair of sunglasses that covered half his face. ‘Designed these myself,’ he said, giving them a wiggle. ‘These shoes don’t scream “dinner at The Ivy”, do they?’ He stuck out a tasselled, moccasin loafer.
‘Well, no, but… I don’t think you need the shades.’ Or the crotch-grabbing trousers. And definitely not the hat.
‘I think they add a little je ne sais quoi.’ He struck a rock-star pose, pretend-strumming a guitar, and I had to admit he still looked incredibly handsome. Something to do with his height and the width of his shoulders.
‘I think a more subtle look might work better.’
‘But how will I get mobbed if I don’t stand out?’
Was he joking? He did an Elvis hip wiggle with his knees turned in, and sang a couple of lines of ‘Since My Baby Left Me’.
I cast Craig a helpless look.
‘It’s a bit nineties indie boyband,’ Craig said, hitching up his camera. ‘Maybe lose the hat?’
Ollie whipped off his shades, apparently unoffended. ‘Hang on a tick, I’ll get changed.’
He sped upstairs, and Craig sighed and ruffled his hair. He wandered back to the kitchen and dug some headphones out of his rucksack, hooking them around his neck. As he didn’t seem inclined to speak, I finished putting my boots on. By the time I’d located my keys on the radiator cover in the hall, Ollie had reappeared.
‘Tah-dah!’
He’d replaced the leather coat with a lilac jacket, added a dove-grey tie, and changed the trousers for the loose black jeans he’d worn the day before.
‘It’s a bit insurance salesman slash cowboy,’ said Craig, probably in reference to the cowboy boots Ollie was wearing. His holdall clearly held a lot more than its size suggested.
‘It’s better,’ I said, though I doubted the jacket was a match for the cold weather, and it didn’t really go with anything. ‘Are you ready?’
‘Sure.’ Ollie twitched his cuff and glanced at a super-sized watch that looked like it might be a Rolex, and I noticed he’d slipped a gold signet ring onto his pinky finger.
It was if he couldn’t help reverting to Ollie Matheson, reality star, but I sensed that saying so might only inflame the situation.
As we stepped outside, I had a sudden sense of being on holiday, despite the bitter cold, and felt a fizz of anticipation.
‘We could have a wander along the seafront,’ I suggested, locking the door while Craig dug his feet into his trainers. ‘There’s a lovely sweet shop along the parade. You could pop in and buy some humbugs and chat to the owner. She seems really friendly.’
‘Good plan,’ said Craig, a smile warming his eyes as he zipped his jacket back up.
‘Wouldn’t it be better to look around the town first?’ said Ollie. I gaped when I saw that he’d picked up Marmite and was stroking him under the chin. ‘I can take a look at this famous Christmas tree and maybe practise my speech for the switching-on ceremony.’
‘Oh, you won’t need to do a speech,’ I said. ‘Just, “I declare these lights switched on”, or something.’ I held out my hand to touch Marmite’s ears, but he flattened them out of the way.
‘Isn’t he magnificent?’ Ollie raised him in the air and they eyeballed each other with apparent affection.
‘He’s OK,’ I muttered, annoyed at being snubbed (again) by the cat. My heart plunged when I noticed Barry striding up the road with a paper tucked under his arm. I had a feeling he wouldn’t be as enamoured of my visitor as his wife had been.
He paused by the gate and gave Ollie an obsequious smile that didn’t suit him. ‘You’re him off the telly, then.’
‘At your service.’ Ollie put Marmite down and the cat wound through his legs, purring like a traction engine.
Barry’s head whipped back. ‘He likes you,’ he said. ‘That’s odd.’
‘Not really.’ Ollie gave him a dazzling smile. ‘I have a natural affinity with animals.’ It sounded so silly – as if he was auditioning for Doctor Dolittle – that I began to worry I’d misjudged Ollie after all and he really was a tosser.
Barry recovered and said, in a restrained sort of way that suggested he was angry, ‘I couldn’t get my car out of the road, thanks to you. Had to walk to the shop.’
‘It’s not that far,’ I piped up, sensing Barry was spoiling for an argument.
‘That’s not the point.’ He squared his considerable shoulders under his trench coat. He had a plaid cap on and grey strands of hair hung limply as though stitched to the edges. ‘It’s up to me if I want to drive there, without a van load of females blocking my way.’
Craig and I looked at each other.
‘Females?’ I said, as though the word was new.
‘For him.’ Barry jabbed his paper at Ollie, whose smile wavered slightly. Next to Barry, who seemed entirely made of muscle, he looked less imposing. Perhaps it was the cowboy boots.
‘What’s he talking about?’ I said.
‘Word must have got out that I’m here. I’ve quite a big fan-base you know.’ Ollie spoke casually, bending to swipe his hand over Marmite’s back. ‘I’ll make sure they’re not a nuisance, sir.’
‘Humph.’ Barry looked slightly mollified at being referred to as ‘sir’, but gave me a dirty look, as if it was all my fault he’d had to walk to the newsagent’s. ‘Make sure they don’t start roaming about up here,’ he said, moving on to his own gate. ‘We don’t want bombarding.’
I turned to see Sheelagh at the open door of their house, fully made up, a black-and-white-striped tunic top flaring out from her bosoms.
‘We’ll see you later!’ she called with a wave. Ollie straightened and blew her a kiss that made her giggle and blush.
‘What do you think of my lights then?’ As if suddenly remembering the purpose of Ollie’s visit, Barry turned and gave him a combative glare – hardly conducive to gaining favour if he wanted to win the competition.
‘Oh, yes, well, they’re marvellous.’ Ollie rubbed his hands together as he scanned the house, eyes widening slightly as they took in the inflatable reindeers on the roof. ‘I haven’t had a proper chance to make up my mind yet, so no decisions have been made,’ he added, tactfully.
‘I think you’ll find this lot hard to beat.’ Barry attempted what was pr
obably meant to be an appeasing grin, but it actually made him look slightly manic. Ollie took a step backwards and trod on Marmite’s tail.
The cat didn’t even flinch.
Craig was by the car, his camera raised, but I had a feeling Ollie wouldn’t want the exchange with Barry to be filmed. More footage that would need deleting. He’d have nothing for the show at this rate.
A few neighbours had come out, swaddled in winter coats, presumably to see what was going on and to get a look at the celebrity they’d heard about via the Sheelagh/Doris grapevine. They didn’t look particularly excited to see Ollie – in fact, they were giving off distinctly hostile vibes.
‘Come to see how the other half lives?’ someone called.
‘We don’t need you to tell us we’re special,’ said a skinny woman. Half her face was buried in a woollen scarf, so the words came out muffled. ‘You hit somebody on that show, and we don’t approve of violence.’
Someone else who watched Players – and who clearly didn’t take Sheelagh’s and Mum’s view that Ollie had had a ‘raw deal’.
‘Two sides to every story, folks!’ Ollie threw out his trademark smile. Then, sensing their antipathy, he dived through the gate and into the back of the car.
Fixing a smile to my face, I ducked into the passenger seat. I was embarrassed to be the focus of so many staring eyes, none of them particularly friendly. Even Sheelagh had gone back inside, as if she felt she was betraying her neighbours by being besotted with Ollie.
‘Don’t they know who I am?’ Ollie said, rather plaintively, as Craig got in and passed me the camera to hold.
‘Did you really just say that?’ He glanced at Ollie in the rear-view mirror, as he revved the engine, and Ollie subsided, a rather moody set to his clean-shaven jaw.
I tried to catch his eye, but he was looking out of the window with a brooding expression. It was as if our almost-kiss had never happened and he hadn’t declared me gorgeous. If it wasn’t for my foot still throbbing from my porridge injury, I might have dreamt the whole thing.
The van load of females had gone when we reached the bottom of the hill, and there was no sign of it as we drove towards the harbour, past a row of brightly coloured beach huts, and the parade of shops where Marnie’s sweet shop nestled. Perhaps Barry had got it wrong and they’d been tourists who’d got lost, and nothing to do with Ollie at all.
