Shimmer. Amanda Roberts
fairytales. Hot stuff.’ Matt took a huge swig from his pint. His sourness was suddenly very unappealing.
‘I knooooow. I can’t believe he recognised me!’ I leant in to Sally, whispering so that no one else could hear us.
‘I’m not kidding, Amanda, it’s been really nice knowing you this week, and I’m sure you are a really lovely person. But you owe it to all of womankind to do your best here. He is severely hot, you saw the reception he got out there. I want to know more. And you’re the woman for the job. M’kay thanks!’
‘Yeah, like that’s totally going to happen. Yup, definitely.’ I shook my head at Sally. Was the woman insane?
‘Some men are just born charming, and he’s one of them,’ said Matt. ‘It doesn’t mean he’s a good person. Or that it’s a good idea for you to leap into bed with him. Where’s your self respect, woman?’
‘Matt, did you not hear what I just said? It is perfectly obvious that nothing is going to happen. Can we all just stop talking about this now?’
‘You can stop talking about it. But it doesn’t mean I have to stop thinking about it.’ Sally gave me a sailor’s wink and picked up her coat. ‘Well guys, thank you for the drink, but I think it’s about time I hit the road myself. Hackney is not going to come to me before bedtime.’
We gathered our stuff and headed to the tube. Sally leapt straight on the Central Line, whereas Matt and I had to wait for different branches of the Circle Line, heading in different directions. For two minutes after an awkward hug goodbye, we sat on opposite platforms, both pretending to fiddle with our phones, until my train finally came. I looked over my shoulder to wave at him as the train pulled away but he was engrossed in his messages, and didn’t look up.
Matt’s odd tone in the bar made me stop and think for a moment, but it wasn’t enough to upset me properly. The evening had been too momentous for that. From the lights to the costumes and the live audience to Lars himself, I felt as if I were finally living the kind of life I had dreamt of last summer when I had been waitressing at Sergio’s. Yes, I was exhausted, but I finally felt as if I were a part of something. And that something was special. I might never make it as a professional dancer, as my eight-year-old self had always wanted, but I could still be a part of this world, which was magical enough for me.
As I turned my key in the door, I resolved to tell Natalie what an evening it had been, and make sure that she knew how much I appreciated all she had done for me. But when I entered the flat, the lights were all off. They were obviously in bed. I took my Converses off at the door, mindful not to mess up the carpet again and headed to the spare bedroom. I hung my coat up on the back of the door and turned to the bed. Aaaaaah, bed, I thought to myself.
But there was a small note there, and next to it were my hair straighteners.
Amanda, you left these on. They have marked the carpet. I think we need to chat about this in the morning.
My heart immediately sank. I clearly remembered turning the hair straighteners on before I got into the shower that morning, so pleased that they’d be ready to use as soon as I needed them. But I had, of course, become distracted by my phone and then the decision about what to wear and had ended up running behind schedule. Which meant I never used them at all. They must have been on for hours, and even the safety catch would not have worked until after the carpet had been marked.
The Strictly bubble had burst. No matter what I did, I was always going to be Natalie’s irresponsible little sister. I wiped my face, and headed to the shower, where I stood under the hot water for ages, slumped at the thought of such a silly mistake ruining an otherwise dreamy day. As I pulled the covers up under my chin and curled into a tiny ball, I realised there was only one thing for it: I would have to find my own flat, and fast. For the first time in my life, I really needed to not be Natalie’s little sister. I needed to be me.
Chapter 4
It was one of those mornings: you’re only half awake and you roll over, cocooned and cosy, burrowing deeper into the duvet without a care in the world. And then you remember. Something had upset you the night before, only you’re not quite awake enough yet to remember what. You hug the duvet a little tighter, scrunch your eyes shut, and then … yup, it hits you.
I lay there, pretending to myself that I was still asleep, and trying to fool my body into believing that it was still totally relaxed. But it was having none of my tricks and the minute I remembered the snippy tone of the note from Natalie, I felt the nerves knotting in my stomach once again. I curled into as tight a ball as possible, clamped my eyes shut, and tried to block it all out. I needed to concoct a plan that would enable me to be out from under Natalie’s feet for as much of the weekend as I could.
But my older sister is hard to ignore. As I lay there trying to still the anxieties whizzing around in my head, I heard her slippered feet shuffle into the kitchen and her starting to unload the dishwasher. The clanking of the crockery and glasses being put away was followed by the low rumble of the kettle, and finally, the repeated clinks of the teaspoon against mugs as she made tea.
I suppose I knew that she wasn’t actually trying to wake me up. I knew that I had been awake already. But every clink and clank sounded like Morse code. ‘You need to find your own place’, ‘How much more do we have to do for you?’, ‘When are you going to learn to be a proper adult like the rest of us?’ I sighed and rolled over. I could ignore it no more. I needed a plan. And if I had learned one thing that week, it was that plans need coffee. So I pulled on a pair of tracksuit bottoms, and a battered old hoodie that was a favourite for slouching around in, and silently left the flat within five minutes.
Natalie and Lloyd lived in South London near a huge common, which in the crisp, bright autumn air, looked like something from an idealised mobile phone advertisement. There were joggers with matching running kits and spry ponytails which bounced with every step, young dads peering into prams at their unfamiliar newborns, and couples holding hands as they walked through the leaves. All this, and the sun was twinkling down on the lot of them. It was enough to make me want to vomit.
Who were all of these people? How come they were all so self-possessed? Why did they seem to hold the keys to some kind of secret universe of adulthood? What did they know that I didn’t, which let them behave like extras from a Scandinavian lifestyle magazine? By the time I had negotiated my way past the brightly coloured buggies outside the cute deli on the other side of the common I was filled with despair, bordering on rage. It was as if last night at Strictly had never happened. The sense of possibility, camaraderie, glamour – it all seemed further away than ever before.
I took my coffee and a pain au chocolat, and sat on a bench on the edge of the common, surveying what now looked like a parade of autumnal happiness. I felt ridiculous to have finally got my dream job only to feel consumed by loneliness and hopelessness. It was so indulgent. What was wrong with me? I took my mobile phone out of my pocket and called the one person I knew could shake me out of this mood: my godmother, Jen.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi Jen, it’s Amanda.’
‘Well hello, darling. How are you, city girl? I’m surprised you have time for me!’
Jen sounded thrilled to hear from me, but then she always does. She’s been a friend of my parents since they were newlyweds and has known me since the day I was born. While I have never doubted that my mum wants the best for me, I always feel that Jen – mum’s best friend – wants the best for me, as well as the most fun possible. She’s less inclined to worry about the formalities and more likely to cut to the gossip. As well as being a proper laugh, she is someone I trust implicitly. When I was a teenager she never failed to let me know that I could talk to her about anything I didn’t want to discuss with Mum, and that it would remain in her confidence. I’ve rarely taken her up on it but knowing that she is there has made all the difference. She is everything you could want in a godmother.
‘So … were you at the show last night?’
‘Of course, it’s my JOB