Shimmer. Amanda Roberts
that was pretty much the only reason I wanted to work here. I think I’ve peaked. I should probably just leave now.’
I’m not quite sure where the courage for such banter had come from. I seemed to have forgotten all about Chloe, who had by now taken a seat in the front row and was focussed entirely on her emails. She looked up sharply.
‘I don’t think so,’ she said, staring suspiciously at the two of us. ‘Come along, Amanda. We’ve got paperwork to do. Matt – we’ll meet you at reception in fifteen. We have to collect Amanda’s pass anyway.’
She continued her brusque walk across the set, pointing out cables of different lengths on the floor behind the audience chairs, careful to make sure that I stepped, rather than tripped, over them. I just about had time to look over my shoulder and wave a quick goodbye to Matt as I trotted off behind her. I was thrilled that I had found someone who seemed as enthusiastic about the job as I was, despite Chloe’s apparent attempts to make everything seem as tedious as possible. I followed her along seemingly endless corridors barely absorbing any of what she was saying, as she talked me through the basics of my new job. Deep down I was really only thinking one thing: I’m here. I’m at Strictly Come Dancing. I’ve made it.
My heart was still racing by the time we got back to BBC TV Centre’s imposing reception area. I had always dreamt of working in live TV but this was the first time I had really grasped how much responsibility it entailed. It had all seemed rather abstract before, when I was just the work experience girl. There was so much to remember. And that wasn’t including the names, the labyrinthine corridors of BBC TV centre and the strange unspoken hierarchy that seemed to exist among senior and junior members of the team. Matt had seemed so friendly and approachable, but Chloe was significantly more frosty, despite her relaxed-looking fashion choices.
I glanced up at the huge news ticker running across the glass doorways. There were people milling around reception, generally looking busy, clutching cups of coffee and scanning the faces of those who were seated, trying to work out who their next meeting was with. A small queue had formed at the security desk and it seemed like most people were waiting for their visitor passes to be put together. I spotted Matt at the front of the queue talking to one of the security team. He turned around and smiled at us, holding out a BBC pass with a name and face on it. Mine. ‘Welcome to Strictly,’ he said. ‘You’re one of the family now.’ One of the family …
I smiled back and put the pass around my neck. I felt like a Jim’ll Fix It guest, glowing with excitement at having been granted my special wish. Except instead of a Jim’ll Fix It badge, I had a BBC pass. Same difference, as far as I was concerned. Mindful that I should perhaps seem like a glacial model of broadcasting efficiency, I maintained a dignified expression. It lasted approximately three seconds, before I yelped ‘Yeay!!!’ Matt winked at me. Chloe looked as if she were doing her best not to roll her eyes.
‘Come on then. We’d better get to the office,’ she said.
The rest of the day was a blur of information, responsibilities and titles that I had no hope of remembering for at least a couple of weeks. I was still buzzing from the set visit, so I pushed any anxieties about my ability to actually do the job to the back of my mind and got on with taking notes on almost everything Chloe said. Matt continued to pop up through the day, asking if he could get us tea or coffee whenever he was off to the kitchen, and chipping in to clarify some of Chloe’s more pedantic explanations. His version always seemed a bit more straightforward. Hours later, Chloe told me that my working day was done, and that she would see me at the same time tomorrow. She had barely finished her sentence before her eyes were back on her BlackBerry screen.
When I eventually left TV Centre and stepped into the London drizzle it was already dusk. I headed for the pedestrian crossing, trying to splash as little as possible of the mulchy grey puddles all over my smart new tights. Natalie, my elder sister, had given them to me for the job interview, and made no secret of telling me that the precious Wolfords had cost her £15 – for tights! The woman was insane, but I did appreciate the gesture. I couldn’t doubt the fact that my big sister had really wanted me to get the job, even if she thought Lycra-clad legs would be the key to my success. Either way, the Wolfords had now become a bit of a good luck talisman and I was determined to keep them safe. I decided to scurry across the road and into Westfield Shopping Centre to take back something for supper to say thank you. The rain was coming down a little harder by the time the traffic stopped at the crossing, so I broke into a run as I reached the pavement on the other side. As I did so, I leapt inelegantly onto an unexpectedly wobbly paving stone, which squelched down into a pool of water, entirely soaking my foot. As I stumbled, I banged into an enormous male chest that I hadn’t noticed approaching.
‘Youch!’ I yelped, and looked up, standing on my remaining dry leg, to see one of the most extraordinary men I had ever clapped eyes on. He had pale hair and lightly tanned skin, but his face was just a blur of attractiveness. Perhaps there was an enormous pair of brown eyes. Most of all, I was left breathless by the Wall-of-ManChest, which remained immobile.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked. I couldn’t quite work out his accent. He sounded foreign, but in a non-specific way that made it hard for me to place him. I continued to shake my soggy foot, and in doing so flicked my patent leather ballet pump off and into the puddle I had just stepped in.
‘Yes. I, er, the puddle,’ was all I could muster.
He looked at my shoe, and slowly bent down to pick it up for me. As he leant forward I copped a quick glimpse of the soft blond hair peeking out above the deep V of his T-shirt. The one leg I was left standing on nearly collapsed. He bent down, picked up my poor bedraggled shoe, shook it off and gave it a quick wipe with a tissue he’d pulled out from the pocket of his enormous hoodie. Then, he handed it back.
‘There you go, Cinderella.’
‘Thank you,’ I gasped. He smiled at me and I managed a goofy half smile back. My tights were suddenly immaterial, as were my shoes: I am quite sure I floated the rest of the way to Westfield.
Chapter 1
By the time I finally arrived back at my sister’s flat I was drenched. The faux-fur collar on my coat was matted like soggy cat fur and drops of rain were dripping off my eyelashes. Any Strictly sparkle I’d had had long since gone, although my memory of the Giant Man Chest certainly lingered.
There was one thought keeping me going, as I finally turned the key in Natalie’s front door: fishcakes. Determined to pull my weight while I was a houseguest, I had shunned any form of supermarket own-brand food and had splashed out on some delicious fishcakes, a bottle of wine that cost well over the five pounds I would usually spend, and some fancy dark chocolate. I would be a dream of a younger sister, oh yes I would.
I had deliberately shaken off my umbrella on the porch of her gorgeous south London flat and entered feeling full of optimism and goodwill. Sadly, my happiness was short-lived as one of the shopping bags split and its soggy contents spilled out over Natalie’s immaculate fawn carpet. Her head poked round the kitchen door just as I was hurriedly trying to scoop the contents off the floor and into the remaining bag.
Natalie smiled tightly. I was on my knees, frantically scooping like a guilty dog owner in the park. I looked up at her.
‘I’ve brought us dinner!’ I said, brushing the carpet breezily with my hand in the hope that the soggy patch I had left would just … go away.
‘I’ll get a cloth,’ she replied and soon re-emerged from the kitchen with a clean, brightly coloured cloth folded into neat quarters.
‘I’m so sorry – the packaging must have pierced the bag …’
‘It’s fine, it’s fine.’ I wasn’t sure that it was.
‘Honestly, don’t worry about it. But I would really prefer it if you didn’t cook fishcakes in the flat. I can’t stand the smell and in this weather I can’t open the back door to get rid of it. I’ve made some spaghetti bolognese. It’s on the hob.’
‘Okay, sure. At least try the wine though, it’s a nice