The phone starts to ring, but I don’t move. Only on the eighth ring do I stir myself and pick it up.

“Hello?”

“Hello!” says a bright voice. “Is that Becky Bloomwood?”

“Yes,” I say cautiously.

“Becky, it’s Fiona Taggart from the Daily Herald. I’m so glad I’ve tracked you down! Becky, we’d be really interested in running a two-part feature on you and your… little problem, shall we call it?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I mutter.

“Do you deny it, then?”

“No comment,” I say, and thrust the phone down with a trembling hand. Immediately it rings again, and I pick it up.

“No comment, all right?” I exclaim. “No comment! No—”

“Becky? Darling?”

“Mum!” At the sound of her voice I feel myself dissolving into tears. “Oh, Mum, I’m so sorry,” I gulp. “It’s so awful. I’ve messed everything up. I just didn’t know… I didn’t realize…”

“Becky!” comes her voice down the line, familiar and reassuring. “Love! You don’t have to be sorry! It’s those scumbag reporters who should be sorry. Making up all those stories. Putting words in people’s mouths. Poor Suzie phoned us up, very upset. You know, she gave that girl three bourbon biscuits and a KitKat, and this is the thanks she gets. A load of outlandish lies! I mean, pretending to be from the council tax. They should be prosecuted!”

“Mum…” I close my eyes, almost unable to say it. “It’s not all lies. They… they didn’t make everything up.” There’s a short silence, and I can hear Mum breathing anxiously down the line. “I am kind of in a… a bit of debt.”

“Well,” says Mum after a pause — and I can hear her gearing herself up to be positive. “Well. So what? Even if you are, is it any of their business?” She pauses, and I hear a voice in the background. “Exactly! Dad says, ‘if the American economy can be in debt by billions and still survive, then so can you.’ ”

God, I love my parents. If I told them I’d committed murder they’d soon find some reason why the victim had it coming to him.

“I suppose so,” I gulp. “But it’s Luke’s big meeting today, and all his investors will have seen it…”

“So what? There’s no such thing as bad publicity. Now you keep your chin up, Becky! Best foot forward. Suzie told us you’ve got a screen test today. Is that right?”

“Yes. I just don’t know what time. The producer’s supposed to call me.”

“Well, then. You put a nice brave face on. Run yourself a bath and have a nice cup of tea and put three sugars in it. And a brandy, Dad says. And if any reporters ring up, just tell them to get lost.”

“Have you had any reporters bothering you?” I say in alarm.

“A chap came round asking questions this morning,” says Mum breezily. “But Dad went for him with the hedge trimmer.”

In spite of myself I giggle.

“I’d better go, Mum. But I’ll call you later. And… thanks.”

As I put down the phone, I feel a million times better. Mum’s right. I’ve just got to be positive and go to my screen test and do as well as I possibly can. And Luke probably did overreact a little bit. He’ll probably come back in a much better mood.

I ring up the hotel reception and tell them to hold all calls except from HLBC. Then I run my bath, empty a whole bottle of Uplift bath oil from Sephora into it, and wallow for half an hour in rose geranium. As I dry myself I put on MTV and dance around the room to Janet Jackson — and by the time I’m dressed in my knock-’em-dead outfit from Barneys I’m feeling pretty positive, if a little wobbly around the knees. I can do this. I can.

They haven’t called yet, so I pick up the phone and ring down to reception.

“Hi,” I say. “Just checking if HLBC have called for me this morning.”

“I don’t believe so,” says the girl pleasantly.

“Are you sure? They didn’t leave a message?”

“No, ma’am.”

“OK. Thanks.”

I put the phone down and think for a few moments. Well — that’s all right, I’ll just call them. I mean, I need to know what time the test is, don’t I? And Kent told me to call her anytime, whatever I needed. She said, don’t even hesitate.

I take her business card out of my bag and carefully punch in the number.

“Hello!” says a bright voice. “Kent Garland’s office, this is her assistant, Megan. How can I help you?”

“Hello!” I say. “It’s Rebecca Bloomwood here. Could I speak to Kent, please?”

“Kent’s in a meeting right now,” says Megan pleasantly. “Could I take a message?”

“Well, I’m just phoning to see what time my screen test is today,” I say. And just saying it gives me a surge of confidence. Who cares about the crappy Daily World, anyway? I’m going to be on American television. I’m going to be a huge celebrity.

“I see,” says Megan. “Rebecca, if you could just hold on a moment…”

She puts me on hold, and I find myself listening to a tinny version of “Heard It through the Grapevine.” It comes to an end, and a voice tells me how important my call is to the HLBC Corporation… and then it starts again… when suddenly Megan is back.

“Hi, Rebecca? I’m afraid Kent’s going to have to postpone the screen test. She’ll give you a call if she wants to rearrange.”

“What?” I say, staring blankly at my made-up face in the mirror. “Postpone? But… why? Do you know when it’ll be rescheduled?”

“I’m not sure,” says Megan pleasantly. “Kent’s very busy right now with the new series of Consumer Today.”

“But… but that’s what the screen test is for! The new series of Consumer Today!” I take a deep breath, trying not to sound too anxious. “Do you know when she’ll rearrange it for?”

“I really couldn’t say. Her diary’s very full at the moment… and then she has a two-week vacation…”

“Listen,” I say, trying to stay calm. “I’d really like to talk to Kent, please. It’s quite important. Couldn’t you get her for me? Just for a second.”

There’s a pause — then Megan sighs.

“I’ll see if I can fetch her.”

The tinny song begins again — then suddenly Kent is on the line.

“Hi, Becky. How are you?”

“Hi!” I say, trying to sound relaxed. “I’m fine. I just thought I’d see what was happening today. About the screen test?”

“Right,” says Kent thoughtfully. “Tell the truth, Becky, a couple of issues have come up, which we need to think about. OK? So we’ll be passing on the screen test until we’re a little more decided about things.”

Suddenly I feel paralyzed by fear. Oh, please, no.

She’s seen The Daily World, hasn’t she? That’s what she’s talking about. I clutch the receiver tightly, my heart thudding, desperately wanting to explain it all; wanting to tell her that it all sounds far worse than it really is. That half of it isn’t even true; that it doesn’t mean I’m not good at what I do…

But I just can’t bring myself to. I can’t bring myself even to mention it.

“So we’ll be in touch,” Kent says. “Apologies for putting you out today — I was going to have Megan call you later…”

“That’s all right!” I say, trying to sound bright and easy. “So… when do you think we might reschedule?”

“I’m really not sure… Sorry, Becky. I’m going to have to run. There’s a problem on the set. But thanks for calling. And enjoy the rest of your trip!”

The phone goes silent and I slowly put it down.

I’m not having my screen test. They don’t want me, after all.

And I bought a new outfit and everything.

I can feel my breath coming quicker and quicker — and for an awful moment I think I might cry.

But then I think of Mum — and force myself to lift my chin. I’m not going to let myself collapse. I’m going to be strong and positive. HLBC aren’t the only fish in the sea. There are plenty of other people who want to snap me up. Plenty! I mean, look at… look at Greg Walters. He said he wanted me to meet his head of development, didn’t he? Well, maybe we can fix something up for today. Yes! Perhaps by the end of today, I’ll have my own show!

Quickly I find the number and dial it with trembling hands — and to my joy, I get straight through. This is more like it. Straight to the top.

“Hi, Greg? It’s Becky Bloomwood here.”

“Becky! Great to hear from you!” says Greg, sounding a little distracted. “How’re you doing?”

“Erm… fine! It was really nice to meet you yesterday,” I say, aware that my voice is shrill with nerves. “And I was very interested in all your ideas.”

“Well, that’s great! So — are you enjoying your trip?”

“Yes! Yes, I am.” I take a deep breath. “Greg, you were saying yesterday that I should meet up with your head of development—”

“Absolutely!” says Greg. “I know Dave would adore to meet you. We both think you have huge potential. Huge.”

Relief floods over me. Thank God. Thank—

“So next time you’re in town,” Greg is saying, “you give me a call, and we’ll set something up.”

I stare at the phone, prickly with shock. Next time I’m in town? But that could be months. It could be never. Doesn’t he want to—

“Promise you’ll do that?”

“Erm… OK,” I say, trying to keep the thickening dismay out of my voice. “That would be great!”

“And maybe we’ll meet up when I next come over to London.”

“OK!” I say brightly. “I hope so. Well… see you soon. And good to meet you!”

“Great to meet you too, Becky!”

I’m still smiling my bright fake smile as the phone goes dead. And this time I just can’t stop the tears from gathering in my eyes and dripping slowly down my face, taking my makeup with them.


I sit alone in the hotel room for hours. Lunchtime comes and goes, but I can’t face any food. The only positive thing I do is listen to the messages on the phone and delete them all except one from Mum, which I listen to over and over again. It’s the one she must have left as soon as she got The Daily World.