“I think you’ve got your own publicity issues to worry about,” she replies gravely. “What was it, Tina, what was that thing that made you do it one more time?”
“I suppose I see you looking so glam and always on the telly, then you’re buying a docklands apartment and generally making it all look so simple that I . . .”
Kate stands as tall as she can get at five-feet nothing. “Simple? Are you crazy. I go for ten castings and am lucky if I get one job. I work fourteen-hour days and have to practically starve myself to keep this body the way it is.” She takes my shoulders, gripping them hard. “Tell me you’re through with it now, Tina.”
I look down at her in my four-inch heels, biting my lip. It’s time to open up to her. “I wish I could, Kate.” I wish I could.
But thank God I’ve got a saving grace. A clear-sighted lawyer helping me and doing something by the book for once. Something black and white and legitimate.
28
I can’t believe I’m back at work, sitting in the same leather chair I bought when I started out. I’ve missed it. I’ve also missed the nine-to-five lifestyle – in fact, I’ve missed everything so much that I want to go around kissing it all.
My desk is clear and a huge bouquet of flowers is sitting pretty and smelling of a fresh, new day, thanks to my staff.
Much as I grabbed the odd conversation with Chantelle at the party, I didn’t feel it was the time or place to start grovelling, plus everything’s been so full-on that I needed the weekend to consider a tactical but sincere approach. The truth is that I can’t survive without her. Yes, there are a dozen other managers I could employ who could perform the role suitably, but to find someone with her integrity, her positive outlook on life and her amazing ability to instantaneously disarm people is not something you come across every day. I spent a lot of time thinking about how invaluable she is to me and, depending on the outcome of future circumstances, I have a proposition to put to her.
My phone shrills with high-pitched urgency and I glance down to see that it’s Simon calling. I snatch it nervously, anxious to hear his progress on getting me out of this current mess which once upon a time would have been referred to as a triumph.
“Hi, Simon.”
“Tina, meet me at the Hastings Hotel at three p.m. sharp and dress to impress,” Simon orders.
“Simon, you’re my lawyer,” I snap at him. “This is no time for a date.”
He exhales with exasperation. “Tina, just do it!”
The line is dead. The cheeky sod has cut me off. He’d better not make a pass at me or think I owe him one for rescuing me.
I look at the chrome wall clock. It’s past eleven now and by the time I go home to change and then drive into town for three . . . I reckon I’ll have to leave just after lunchtime. The timing is abysmal.
I take each stair one by one, still a little apprehensive of Chantelle and conscious that we haven’t had a chance to discuss her employer-employee relationship. It was on our agenda for this afternoon but that’s obviously been knocked on the head.
Chantelle puts the phone down and smiles at me warmly. She’s been pretty quiet today and in fact she was too at the party and, if I know her well enough, I’d say she’s biding her time and waiting for the right moment to resign. She wouldn’t kick a girl when she’s down, this much I do know.
“I have to go out shortly, Chantelle. I’ll get back as quickly as I can though.”
Her position shifts and her body language becomes clearly defensive.
“Where are you going to?” Her voice is clipped but calm. “I thought we were going to talk this afternoon?” She looks tired.
What on earth do I tell her? Only Kate knows of the additional-episode balls-up and until Simon pulls out his lawyer finger I don’t see the point of communicating it to anyone else.
“I’m meeting Simon at the Hastings Hotel.” The truth feels good. It’s a weight off my heavy shoulders.
“For what?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly (well, technically so). “He told me to meet him there at three.”
She turns away from me so I can’t see her facial expression but I swear I can see her bottom lip quivering. “You told me you were over all that stuff, Tina.”
Her voice wobbles and I rush over to her, putting my arm around her shoulders but she shrugs me off.
“I am, I swear to God!” I’m upset that she doesn’t believe me but is it any bloody wonder?
“Well, then, tell me why it’s so important to that you have to cancel our chat about my possible resignation, Tina?” Her voice cracks and she bites her nails in an attempt to distract herself from crying. “I thought you said I was indispensable?”
I decide to tell Chantelle of my whereabouts of the past few months. She of all people needed an explanation for my frequent Paul Daniels disappearing acts and lengthy phone calls and I know the secret will go with her to the grave. “I’ll always be there for you,” she told me. “Just be honest with me, that’s all I ask
As usual, she listens a lot and says very little.
“Chantelle, I didn’t mean to get into this tangle and now I only want to get out of it,” I finish up, practically begging her to believe me. “I swear on my life.”
She throws me a look of utter disgust and jumps out of her seat, grabbing her coat from the back of the kitchen door.
“I’m sorry, Tina, but enough is enough,” she hiccups. “I’ve held the fort while you’ve done your invisible tricks and all the time I thought you were out on appointments. I held it again while you were supposedly on holiday.” Mascara runs down her wet cheeks and a single drop spills onto her starched white shirt collar. “You got off the hook while I stood there and took all the shit and now you have the audacity to tell me more lies.” With her coat thrown on, Chantelle grabs her bag. “I don’t care about picking up the pieces, nor the mistakes,” she sniffs. “But I can’t work where there is no trust, Tina. And right now I can’t trust you so there is no solid ground for a continuing relationship.”
She turns to leave but looks back at me with a wistful expression.
“Only a fool lies to themselves, Tina, and I never had you down as one of those. But I really don’t know who you are any more.”
My knees knock together as I watch her empty chair spinning with loneliness and the door chimes loudly, bidding her farewell. Maybe it’s time to shut up shop, Tina.
I wobble up the steps of the Hastings Hotel, thankful for the automatic doors. I have a continuing problem with the revolving type. It does feel rather strange to be prancing around in a fitted black dress and killer heels mid-afternoon, but I’m only following orders. The dress is not so fitted actually, what with a gruelling film schedule lasting a week and a half and the projectile evacuation of my entire stomach contents, including its lining. I haven’t been this thin in years but I don’t feel good and for once that’s because I don’t feel good on the inside. Everything is beginning to make perfect sense to me now and it’s like I’m a proper adult. For some reason I’ve matured more in the last week than in my entire thirty-two years, but my heart is still heavy and burdened for what I put my family through and the sheer disdain on Chantelle’s beautiful face is haunting my conscience.
Simon is waiting for me in the reception area and standing right next to him is Nick Hand.
I tremble with anticipation as I walk towards them, greeting the two of them shakily but trying hard to suppress it. Their facial expressions bear no indication of the outcome, assuming they’ve reached one of course, nor do they even look in opposition to each other which they should have done because after all, what one wants, the other doesn’t.
Nick steps forward, kissing me on both cheeks in true Thespian style while Simon remains aloof and simply nods to me. I obediently follow them into a side conference room where a boardroom table has been laid out with a dozen or so chairs surrounding it.
Simon pulls out a chair and I sit between him and Nick, fee
ling wildly intimidated and not knowing what to say or do.
“So, Tina, you’re unwilling to continue with the production?” Nick cuts to the chase.
“Well, erm . . .” He’s caught me by surprise. “It’s just that . . .”
Simon interrupts abruptly. “Nick is offering you a get-out clause, Tina.”
The hairs on my arms stand on end. Oh God, please, please.
Nick thrusts a sheet of paper under my nose and clicks on the pen before handing it to me in poised position.
“Sign here, Tina, and you’re free to go.”
I grab the pen from him without any hesitation and scribble my name with absolute delight. Nick signs below me and Simon deftly retrieves the paper.
“I’ll send you a copy by post, Mr Hand.” He puts it in his empty briefcase. “Thank you.” Simon looks at his watch and points to the open room. “Tina, you’ve got thirty minutes to prepare with Nick. You owe him one!”
He stands, shaking Nick’s hand, smiling for the first time since they met but showing me no sign of emotion whatsoever. Then he leaves.
“Okay, Tina, here’s the deal.”
Nick paces around the room pensively, his long legs creating easy access to the four corners. He suddenly changes direction and strides back up to the table to lean across it, facing me head on.
“I’m going to kill you,” he tells me solemnly.
Help!
“Kill me?”
“Kill you.” He pulls his face back from mine, giving me much-needed space. “I don’t want to but you’ve left me with little choice.”
I can’t move a muscle. He’s turned into some kind of deranged psycho. I force myself to speak, to bargain with him.
“You can’t kill me,” I implore. “Oh God, Nick, I didn’t mean to make you this cross – I’m sorry!”
Nick’s face creases with stifled humour, then his mouth opens wide, letting out a belt of laughter. He smirks at me with his elongated face, in keeping with his lengthy build.
“Classic!” he teases. “Kill you off as Balmy, you idiot!”
My heart rate slows dramatically and I immediately feel the blood-supply flowing around my body once again with understated relief. Once upon a time I would have been with it enough to have realised the joke for what it was, but these days finding clarity in my mind is like searching for a diamond in a mud bath. I used to be intelligent.
“God, Nick, I thought I was a goner for a moment.” The corners of my mouth turn up and the stupidity of my reaction sets in and I too reciprocate but with embarrassed laughter.
Nick comes to sit next to me and I relax on seeing his easy posture. “Seriously though, Tina, I will have to have you written out. Obviously we’ll still need you for a day or two to film those scenes but then you’re free to go.” He leans back against the blue fabric. “I think you’re making a mistake though.”
I sit upright, feeling strong and assertive and sure. “You know what, Nick,” I tell him unequivocally. “I’m not. This feels totally right for me and I’ve a business empire to build up. That’s where I belong and it’s taken this experience to make me realise it.”
“This thing is going to be big, Tina.” He cocks his head to one side. “But it will be even bigger once you’ve fulfilled your side of the deal. And that also involves a television interview which I’ve taken the liberty of setting up for an hour’s time.”
Dress to impress, indeed.
Crammed into my mum’s lounge we sit like sardines on the sofas with barely enough room to move. My lips struggle to reach the glass of wine as my elbows are pinned down by the person on each side, which is possibly a good thing actually, given I have pledged to drink less these days. Never turn to alcohol when you’re down – it’s the worst thing you can do. Plus it makes you fat!
Everyone has turned up to watch it and I’m actually quite excited to see the interview. The show was recorded yesterday afternoon but is being aired this evening and it really is the strangest thing to almost be turned into an overnight celebrity as a result of an AWOL disappearance.
Simon, extremely cleverly, devised a plan where my missing-person status could be turned into something positive and he put it to Nick that his advertising budget need not be touched. Why pay for air time when I was all they needed? I could save them a fortune. Nick jumped at the chance to take advantage of my unfortunate circumstances to get low-cost publicity and keep his production pot ready for the show’s potential expansion. A well-laid plan. Contrary to his hollow words, there is no way he’s sad to see me go. Not after he made comments like “I couldn’t have planned this better myself” and “You’ve been all over the press, Tina – what better exposure can a show get!”
Similarly, I’m not sad to go and it’s not because of the saga with Raymond, which seems so trivial now on a scale of things although at the time I don’t ever recall Kate being so removed from her usual self. Any wonder she forgot to tell me I was missing. It’s a whole host of reasons and, as for fourteen-hour days, one would surely have to ask themselves “Why?” Why the instability? Why the uncertainty of not knowing when your next cheque was coming in? Why drive six hours to a casting just to turn up and know full well you just weren’t quite what they were looking for? You could see it in their eyes, sense their visible hesitation.
“Mum,” Sam screeches, “it’s starting!” She rubs my hand lovingly. Her other hand is firmly wrapped around Tim’s. A match made in heaven.
Simon managed to bag the only available armchair and is sitting back, looking rather chilled and extremely comfortable in his sloppy jeans and T-shirt, a look I’d almost go so far as to say that I’ve missed. Every now and then we exchange knowing glances but nothing that anyone else would pick up on, and I know he is secretly gloating. I can tell. And why wouldn’t he? He deserves it and I have to hand it to him – it took some balls to steer away from his usual text-book approach and put a more streetwise proposition to Nick. I’m still coming to terms with how changeable he was as my learned lawyer. He was cold, aggressive, arrogant and pompous, all the things I usually love in a guy for some reason, but I know it was all an act. Thank God. And he did it for me. Again.
Major Heath-Jones is too wrapped up in his own self-importance to even notice his own wife, let alone the surreptitious glances between his son and the weird youngest daughter from the Harding family.
Mum and Dad are busying themselves, hosting perfectly, and I note how happy they look, how content. Watching them gives me the most amazing feeling of satisfaction that right now I would be willing to trade my own happiness for all eternity just to see their contentment prevail. My self-absorbed days are over and right now I am fuelled with everyone else’s joy, a welcome epidemic.
The titles stop rolling, the music fades and the host skips into view. He is greeted by a rhapsodic applause from the live audience as he takes centre stage in front of the auto-cue.
“Welcome to The Today Show.” He welcomes the audience with a responsive gesture and an open invitation to be deafened with planned popularity. The audience cheer again and again just as rehearsed. “You may recall hearing of the missing girl, Christina Harding. Well, she joins us today to give us her side of the story.” The camera closes in on him. “Don’t miss it.” More staged cheers.
I squirm uncomfortably. It’s been a long time since I’ve see myself on TV and I’m a little apprehensive, although watching myself as bland, boring Balmy will be far worse, I imagine, but thankfully short-lived.
The camera pulls back to a wide shot revealing every inch of me and then closes in focusing on my upper half. I don’t look too bad actually.
Simon is glued to the television and this time doesn’t return my furtive glance.
“Ladies and gentlemen, just to refresh your memory, here is the first interview after Christina handed herself in.”
Cheeky sod, I’m not a bloody convict. They show a clip of the press conference and my mum dabs her eyes with a tissue. Ever the drama queen. Dad sq
ueezes her hand fondly and they both glance across at me, mesmerised and consumed with love. My stomach flips.
The show’s host, John Kennedy, joins me on the sofa, shaking my hand and welcoming me to the show. As the camera freezes on me the entire living room breaks into a frenzied acclamation. Oh stop!
“So, Christina, to cut to the chase,” he casts a grave look directly at the camera, “you told everyone you were going on holiday with a friend, but you didn’t.” He pauses. “Your friend then rang you at work looking for you . . . but of course you weren’t there . . . and that’s when it came out that you were missing.” He shakes his head at the audience, inviting a hum of antagonism. “You didn’t answer your phone or even try to contact home and nobody knew where you were.”
I simply nod, although inside I’m squirming.
“I imagine they thought you were dead?”
A loud tut echoes from the audience.
Get over it.
“So talk us through your version of what actually happened and explain to us where you where?”
“Well, John, I was working on a TV production called Stiffs.” There you go Nick – the very first sentence. I turn to the audience. “I told my family and my work colleagues that I was going on holiday so that I could surprise them when the show was aired.” I shrug with fabricated humour, only this time I’m not convincing myself that I am telling the truth. “They knew how long I’d wanted to be an actress so I chose to keep the filming a secret from them until the very last moment, only . . .” I chuckle affably, “only it didn’t quite work out that way.” I pose sheepishly, looking deliberately pitiful. “Hence the small lie I concocted to cover my disappearance. It was all very innocent and supposed to be a huge surprise . . . especially for my mother of all people.”
Mum mouths to me ‘I love you’ and I swear my heart is near bursting point.
The black dress is so flattering. It is a little dark for the spring season but it never fails to impress and the loss of a few pounds allows it to sit perfectly around my hips and not crease up like it usually does. My face is caked in make-up but beneath the heavy lights it looks faded and natural. I grin with wonderment at how a man like Simon can have known me so well that he ordered me to dress with glamour, knowing this would have been top of my agenda, certainly for a television appearance. We had only met on a handful of occasions and on each one of those I had behaved like a total freak.
Crystal Balls Page 32
