‘I fancy you,’ I said, dodging the issue. I didn’t want to hurt Lia’s feelings. Course I fancied Savannah; she’s a hot babe and I was in awe of her. But someone as famous as her would never fancy a nobody like me, not in a million years. I’m not in the contest, so why cause trouble?
It was at the end of the second week of filming that things took a turn for the worse between Roland and me. The ballroom scene had gone well, but Charlie wanted to do some retakes of Savannah in the lovely, old dress. Only the dress wasn’t so lovely anymore. A rumour had got around that it had a huge stain right down the front of it, and guess who was getting the blame . . . Right – me. But I knew that the last time I’d seen that dress was when I’d dropped it off on Saturday, just before the doughnut incident, and then it was definitely sans stain. I think I’d have remembered spilling what they were saying looked like coffee over it. Word got around the base: disaster; Squidge is a clumsy oaf; the museum will sue . . . To make matters worse, it was needed for the shoot that evening to keep Charlie on schedule and within budget. Everything and everybody had been set up for the scene, then Rosie, the costume girl, discovered the dress. She sent for Roland, and Roland sent for me.
I raced over to the production office.
‘You total, total idiot,’ he yelled.
‘But it wasn’t me,’ I objected. ‘Honest. For a start I don’t drink coffee.’
‘How very convenient,’ said Roland, with a look that told me that whatever I said, he wasn’t going to believe it.
‘No point in crying over spilled whatever,’ said Charlie, coming into the trailer behind us. ‘Let’s get off who is or who isn’t to blame. Let’s deal with the situation. We have a problem – can we come up with a solution?’
‘What time do you need the dress by?’ I asked.
‘It has to be a night shoot again, so we can start as soon as the light has gone. So about nine, nine-fifteen,’ she looked at her watch and grimaced. ‘It’s gone six-thirty so the cleaners will be shut by now, and we can’t touch a dress like that ourselves or the museum really will sue us. It has to be done by a professional and even then I don’t know if the stain can be removed.’ Then she looked at us both. ‘Mistakes happen. Things get broken; things get split. On a set this big, it’s to be expected. What upsets me, though, is that whoever did this, didn’t let me know straight away, while the cleaners were still open and something could still be done about it.’
Roland gave me a filthy look. I gave him one back.
‘My aunt Bea can fix it,’ I said. ‘She runs the cleaners over in Torpoint.’
‘But will she still be open?’ asked Charlie.
I shook my head. ‘But she’ll open for me.’ I said. I felt really bad about the dress. Even though I knew it wasn’t me who’d ruined it, I hated to think that Charlie thought I had. ‘Don’t you worry. I’ve got friends in high places.’
Charlie smiled back at me. ‘If you can sort this, I’ll give you your first job when you’re out of college.’
I didn’t need to hear any more. I rang Uncle Bill who gave me a lift – I didn’t want to risk taking the dress on my bike. We drove like the wind to Aunt Bea’s. She was a bit put out at first because she was just settling down to watch telly with a cup of tea, but when she heard it was for Savannah, she was pleased to help. Like everyone else in the area, she wanted to have her story to tell about being part of the production. An hour and a half later, we were back on set.
‘It’s as good as new,’ I declared as I handed it over to Rosie. ‘Well not new, because it’s ancient, but as good as it was before the coffee was spilled over it.’
‘You’re a star,’ she said, as she rushed it over to Savannah’s trailer.
On my way home, I got a call from Mac.
‘Got some news for you,’ he said. ‘Jacob, the electrician, told Chantelle from make-up, who told Penny from production, who told Deirdre in the office, who told Josh in the catering tent, and Cat overheard, and she told Becca and she told me . . .’
‘Told you what?’
‘It was Roland who spilled the coffee. Apparently, Jacob was up at the house fixing the lights for the shoot and he saw Roland go into the dressing room with that skinny, little blond girl, Sandra, the other production assistant from the office, for a snog. They didn’t know he could see them and apparently they got a bit carried away and knocked over the coffee, all over the dress. They agreed to hush it up as Sandra was terrified she’d lose her job and Roland, as we know, is a rat.’
‘And I was the scapegoat.’
‘Exactly.’
‘What a creep.’
‘Creepiest creep in Creepville,’ said Mac.
‘I hate that people think it was me, but then I don’t want to tell on him. I don’t want to be, you know, a sneak . . .’
‘You’re far too nice, Squidge. But no worries – I’ll put it around. And if I don’t Chantelle will, so it will get back to Charlie one way or another. You know what those make-up girls are like. If you want to get something round the whole set, just tell one of them and you can guarantee it will be public knowledge in twenty-four hours.’
Phew, I thought, as I plugged in my phone to recharge. Now I can go home for a bit of a kip without worrying about everything. Bliss. And I had the next day off, too. My first day since I’d started work. I was going to sleep, sleep, sleep, then see Lia in the afternoon. I’d hardly seen Lia since I started work and I was really looking forward to catching up with her properly.
When I woke the next day, the weather was appalling. No matter, I thought, as I turned over to go back to sleep for another hour, I’m as snug as a bug in a rug here. And then my mobile rang.
It was a now-familiar Texan voice. Part of me was thrilled that she’d called me at home. Part of me felt, hey now, time out, this is my day off.
‘Hi, Savannah,’ I said, wondering what she wanted this time.
‘Hey, Squidge. What ya doing?’
‘Oh, you know, it’s my day off . . .’
‘Mine too.’
‘I thought you were doing the garden scenes today.’
‘Have you looked out of the window?’ she asked. ‘It’s raining. Anyway, Donny’s jet-lagged and says he can’t possibly be filmed until he’s looking his best again.’
‘Oh, right,’ I said. With the drama of the dress, I’d forgotten the big excitement of yesterday: Donny Abreck had arrived to do his scenes as Pip. ‘Shame. Hope it doesn’t put Charlie’s schedule back.’
‘No, she’s doing all the interior scenes that she can with Mrs Haversham and Herbert Pocket, so I got me the day off.’
‘Great. So what are you going to do?’ I asked.
‘I want to see Cornwall.’
‘Yeah, good idea. It’s a fabulous place. Lots to see. Got anywhere in mind?’
‘I sure do. I want to see that place where Daphne du Maurier lived. She’s the woman who wrote the novel Rebecca. Do you know it?’
‘Yeah. She lived down near Fowey. You’ll like it there.’
‘I was hoping you could take me. Be ma escort.’
Wow, I thought. Me, be her escort. That would be something. But I had neither the transport nor the funds. A celebrity like her probably doesn’t carry her own money – like the Queen. And most likely, she’d expect lunch, probably somewhere posh and out of my league. ‘I’d love to, Savannah, but my trusty old bike wouldn’t last that far. And, let’s face it, your minders wouldn’t let you out of their sight.’
I heard a long sigh at the other end of the phone. ‘That’s too bad. I was hoping you might have a car and we could sneak away.’
‘Sorry.’ I didn’t elaborate on why I didn’t drive a car. She’d never asked my age and I didn’t want to tell her that I was only sixteen, too young to have a licence, in case she thought I was a kid.
When I put the phone down, I felt confused. Should I have fixed it? Got Uncle Bill to drive us? Yes? No? Should I have taken the risk and blown my savings? I didn’t know. Spend
ing time away from the set with Savannah, alone with her, would have been a real coup. But then why would she want to spend time with me? I was nobody. Maybe she was bored. Playing with me for a bit of fun? Whatever was going on, I didn’t know how to handle it. Course there was a part of me that was flattered, that couldn’t wait to tell Mac. But then he’d tell Becca, who’d tell Cat, who’d tell Lia. Plus, another part of me had taken on board what Roland had said: she’s the star – don’t forget it. I hadn’t. I wouldn’t. Phew, narrow escape, I thought, as I called Lia and said I’d be up at her house in about an hour.
Just as I was setting off for Lia’s, I saw a limo with tinted windows winding its way along the lanes through the village. Might be Donny taking a look round, I thought, as I got out my bike. Then the car turned off into our lane and drove towards our cottage where it slowed down and stopped about a foot away from me. The window of the driver’s seat wound down and a chauffeur, complete with cap, looked out at me.
‘Are you Mr Squidge?’ he asked.
I nodded and tried to peer into the back to see who was in there but I couldn’t see anyone.
‘Get in,’ said the chauffeur.
I COULDN’T believe it. Five minutes later, there I was: in the back of a limo with one of the most famous teen stars in the world. Wahey! Me. Squidge. Riding along with Savannah like I was the business. Shame about the tinted windows, I thought, no one could see in and recognise me. Hah, that would have caused a stir in the village. I wanted to wind a window down, stick my head out and yell, ‘Yoooohooooo, look where I am! Look who I’m with!’
After the chauffeur had told me to get in, Savannah had leaned forward from the back seat where she was sitting, smiled and said, ‘Hey, I’m a celebrity, get me out of here.’
How could I resist? I’ll phone Lia as soon as I can, I thought. I’m sure she’ll understand. I know I could have refused, could have told Savannah that I had a prior engagement. But, no, I jumped straight in, no questions asked. I did feel a prick of conscience about letting Lia down, but it didn’t last long. Things like this don’t happen very often, least not to me.
As we drove west, further into Cornwall, I did my best to fill Savannah in on the places of interest along the way. I asked the driver to go via Bodmin Moor so that we could stop at Jamaica Inn for coffee.
‘Jamaica Inn has stood high on the moor for over four centuries,’ I said, in my best tour-guide voice, repeating what every Cornish schoolboy and girl learns in junior school. ‘It is the legendary coaching inn where Daphne du Maurier stayed in 1930. It inspired her to write her novel of the same name, about smuggling and pirates.’
‘Wow, this is breathtaking,’ said Savannah, taking off her shades and gazing at the bleak, open landscape of the moors that stretched in every direction, as far as the eye could see. ‘I’m glad I brought you along, Squidge. We’d never have known about this place without you.’
I didn’t tell her that the Inn is featured in every tour book about the area, if she’d only looked. If she wanted to pour praise on me, I wasn’t going to stop her.
After coffee at the Inn, we drove down to the seaside resort of Fowey, where we found the Daphne du Maurier Literary Centre. While Savannah was looking at the photos on display, I slipped outside and called Lia’s house. Course, Murphy’s Law, the phone was engaged. I called her on her mobile. Her mum answered.
‘Hi, Squidge. Lia’s gone looking for you. She must have forgotten her mobile as it’s here in the hall. Anyway, she thought you must have been called in to work to do more errands . . .’
‘Yeah, sort of. So where’s she gone looking for me?’
‘Down to unit base, I think. Shall I tell her you called?’
‘Yeah, thanks, and I’ll call her later.’
I glanced in the window at Savannah. She was now busy buying postcards in the gift shop, so I quickly dialled the production office, in the hope that someone other than Roland would pick up.
‘Yeah?’ droned an unenthusiastic sounding voice.
‘Oh, hi Roland, Squidge here.’
‘So?’
‘Could you . . . er, you know that extra called Lia? The blonde . . .’
‘Yeah, fit looking. Course I’ve noticed her, as in, hubba hubba, who wouldn’t? Zac Axford’s daughter.’
I didn’t know whether to tell him that she was my girlfriend or not. Probably best not as, knowing Roland, he’d make her life miserable just because she was going out with me.
‘Could you pass a message on?’
‘I think she’s out of your league, Squidgola, man,’ said Roland.
‘Yeah, probably, but could you pass a message on anyway. I was supposed to see her this morning. Could you tell her something came up . . .’
At this point, Roland barked a filthy laugh. ‘Yeah right. She has that effect on me too.’
At this point, I decided that it would be stupid to leave a message with Roland. He was totally unreliable and probably wouldn’t pass the message on, just to spite me.
‘Er, forget it, Roland,’ I said. ‘I’ll sort it.’
Next I called Mac on his mobile. It was switched off, so I began to leave a message on his voicemail. ‘Hi, Mac . . .’ Then I saw that Savannah was coming out of the centre. I didn’t want Mac to hear her voice and suss out that I was with her, then say something that got back to Lia before I had a chance to talk to her myself. I turned away and started gabbling. ‘It’s really important. Can you tell Lia, sorry about this afternoon and I’ll call her later. If you don’t see her, could you ask Becca or Cat to pass on the message – she’s bound to stop in to see them. Thanks, mate.’
Now I just have to pray that he picks up his messages, I thought as I clicked the phone shut.
‘Who y’all talking to?’ asked Savannah.
‘Oh, no one,’ I said. ‘Actually, I was . . .’ I decided to come clean about having a girlfriend. After we’d left Jamaica Inn, Savannah had been very flirty, and although part of me was flattered, there was another part of me that felt panicked. She was a mega-star and if she came on to me, I wouldn’t know what to do. We might be acting all ‘pals on a day out’ today, but I hadn’t forgotten that she was one of the biggest stars in the world and though I was doing my best to be cool, inside I felt intimidated. ‘I was . . . trying to get in touch with my girlfriend, Lia . . .’
‘Oh, her. She’s the one with the long, blond hair, isn’t she? Someone said she was Zac Axford’s daughter.’
I nodded. ‘That’s right.’
‘My mom used to have all his CDs. So she’s your girlfriend, huh? Yeah, I have noticed her,’ she said. ‘Pretty in a kind of obvious way. Course that’s not enough to be a star. To be a star, you have to have the X factor.’
‘I don’t think Lia’s bothered about being a star,’ I said, smiling. ‘Not with most of her family in the public eye in one way or another. You know, dad’s a rock star, sister’s a model and mum’s an ex-model. Lia’s different. She’s really grounded – it’s one of the things I like about her. I reckon she might end up doing something really unshowbusinessy, like being a doctor or a vet.’
‘Really?’ asked Savannah, then pulled a face. ‘A vet? Hmm, don’t fancy spending my life with my hand up some cow’s ass.’ She laughed, but she seemed a bit miffed all the same. Imagine, I thought, Savannah jealous of me having a girlfriend.
The rain clouds from earlier had disappeared, giving way to a perfect, sunny spring day. We had a great time exploring the town. Everywhere we went, heads turned to stare after her. Whether it was because people recognised her or because she looked like she came from a world far away from the Cornish countryside, I don’t know.
She was stunning in a Kylie Minogue kind of way and oozed confidence and charisma. She had her chestnut-red hair piled on top of her head and was wearing bright red lipstick, a tiny – and I mean tiny, it barely covered her boobs – one-strap black vest top, a hipster tartan mini-kilt and Doc Marten type lace-up leather boots. With her perfectly-toned stomac
h on show, complete with pierced belly button, and her amazing long legs, I reckon she’d have stood out in any crowd, especially round here where most people are holiday makers slobbing around in fleeces and tracksuit bottoms.
Men of all ages were almost walking into lamp posts as they turned back to look at her as she cruised by. I felt on top of the world when, at one point, we went to look out at the yachts and passing boats on the estuary, and she took my hand like I was her regular boyfriend.
‘Let’s pretend we’re on holiday here and we’re tourists,’ she said later, as we browsed in the windows of the antique shop lining the narrow cobblestoned streets that led away from the quay.
‘Sure,’ I said, with a backwards glance at the chauffeur/body guard. ‘Tourists who just happen to be followed by a tough-looking man dressed from head to toe in black. He looks like the bad guy from a Bond movie.’
‘Oh, just ignore him,’ she said. ‘It’s in my contract that Mitch goes where I go. Behind the shades, he’s a sweetie.’
We walked all over the town, visited Fowey Museum and St Fimbarrus Church, where we signed the guest book, browsed in the shops some more, then stuffed our faces with all the local fare: Cornish pasties, Cornish ice cream, Cox’s apple juice from a local orchard. I didn’t have to worry once about money because as soon as Savannah saw something she wanted, she gave Mitch a nod and there he was with a wad of cash.
Later we walked along the coast and Savannah took photos outside what’s left of St Catherine’s Castle. After that, we went back down into the town and took the tourist boat on a short trip up the estuary. It was fabulous looking at the small town from the water and after about ten minutes, we passed the house where Daphne du Maurier had actually lived. ‘It’s called Ferryside,’ I said, as the boat chugged by a lovely old house on the water’s edge. ‘I think her son lives there now.’
Savannah was thrilled – especially when I told her about the other ‘grander’ house where Daphne lived later on in her life. ‘It’s called Menabilly and it’s the one she wrote about in her book Rebecca, only she changed the name of the house to Manderley for the novel.’
Starstruck Page 6
