A Step In Time Read online

  I held the phone away from my ear as she continued her foul-mouthed tirade. Babs swore like a trooper at the best of times, so when faced with a crisis – like now – she was really filthy. Eventually she calmed down a bit and I cautiously put the phone back to my ear. Her voice softened.

  ‘How are you?’ she said. ‘Are you holding up?’

  I felt close to tears again.

  ‘Don’t be nice,’ I warned. ‘I am barely holding it together and if you’re nice I’ll crumble.’

  ‘Chin up,’ Babs said in her no-nonsense Glasgow tone. ‘I’ve got good news and bad news. Which do you want first?’

  ‘Bad,’ I said, bracing myself.

  ‘The catalogue’s pulled your fashion line,’ she said. I groaned. That was the end of my wardrobe full of free clothes then.

  ‘And the good news?’

  ‘Hold on, I’ve not finished the bad news yet,’ Babs said. ‘Your nail varnishes are on hold but it’s not looking good, and I’ve had a call asking you not to come to the premiere tonight.’

  ‘I’d forgotten all about it,’ I said. ‘And all my clothes are at Matty’s flat anyway.’

  ‘Where are you staying?’ Babs asked.

  ‘Phil’s,’ I said, sitting up on the couch and picking up a cushion to hug. ‘He’s looking after me, like always.’

  ‘Every girl needs a gay best friend, eh?’ said Babs.

  I laughed without any real humour.

  ‘Yeah, well, it’s not quite so fabulous when your gay best friend’s boyfriend hates you,’ I said. ‘I can’t stay there for long.’

  ‘Where will you go?’

  ‘Not sure,’ I said. ‘Maybe to my mum’s for a while. Get some sun.’ And a whole lot of grief, though – I was trying not to think about that. Another thought struck me.

  ‘What’s the good news?’

  ‘What good news?’

  ‘You said there was good news’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Babs said. ‘I just want you to know that this is not a disaster. I’ve got people out of worse scrapes than a small punch-up in a nightclub.’

  I smiled despite myself.

  ‘It wasn’t really a small punch,’ I said. ‘More of a wallop.’

  Babs made a dismissive sound.

  ‘And my knickers are all over the internet,’ I added, feeling another wave of self-pity.

  ‘Ach,’ said Babs. ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘It’s not fine,’ I said. ‘It’s awful. I really just want to go away for a while. Disappear for, like, six months, longer even. I can get off the bloody media roller coaster and lick my wounds, then come back revitalised and ready for a new challenge.’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘Babs, I can’t do this,’ I wailed. ‘There are paps everywhere. And Tim’s right – they’re going to dig up every tiny bit of dirt they can. This story will go on and on and on. Unless I disappear and give them nothing.’

  ‘Oh, get over yourself,’ Babs said. ‘You’re not bloody Greta Garbo. If you disappear now, everyone will forget you. Your career will be over.’

  ‘Ouch,’ I said. ‘That’s harsh.’

  ‘It’s true,’ said Babs unsympathetically. ‘But don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.’

  ‘You have?’ I said, feeling marginally more cheerful.

  ‘We need to make the most of this interest in you. Use it to our advantage and take control.’

  ‘And how do we do that?’

  ‘Oh, it’s easy. We just need people to know how lovely you are,’ she said blithely. ‘Not Betsy – Amy. Your adoring public need to remember why they adored you in the first place.’

  ‘Right,’ I said, doubtfully. ‘I’m not sure that’s the most straightforward idea you’ve ever had. How would we do it, anyway?’

  ‘Reality TV, baby,’ she said.

  I took the phone from my ear and scowled at it.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘No.’

  ‘Don’t dismiss it, Amy,’ Babs said. ‘It can work wonders.’

  ‘And it can destroy careers,’ I said.

  There was a pause.

  ‘From where I’m standing, it looks like you don’t have much of a career left to destroy,’ Babs said. ‘When you’ve hit rock bottom, Amy, the only way left is up.’

  ‘I’m not doing Big Brother,’ I said.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘And only major channels.’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘And I get to choose which show.’

  There was silence.

  ‘Babs, I get to choose.’

  ‘Fine,’ she said, grudgingly.

  ‘And minimal publicity,’ I said. ‘I’ll do what I have to do, but not too much. I’ve got to get away from all this.’

  Babs made a huffing sound.

  ‘You can’t hide away,’ she said.

  I wished I could, but I knew she was right really. I bit my lip.

  ‘I’ve got contacts everywhere – I’m sure we can get you into something,’ Babs went on, oblivious to my misgivings ‘Have a think and let me know what you want me to focus on. But do it soon. We need to strike while the iron’s hot.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said, suddenly feeling very tired. ‘I’ll have a think.’

  ‘Amy,’ Babs said. ‘It’s going to be okay, you know.’

  I tried to smile but it was more of a grimace.

  ‘Yeah, we’ll see,’ I said. ‘We’ll see.’

  Chapter Three

  ‘Was it awful?’ Phil said, giving me a sympathetic look as he adjusted the hat on a mannequin.

  I flopped dramatically over the low table where he showcased his most exclusive designs to his poshest customers.

  ‘So awful,’ I said. ‘I can’t even tell you how bad.’

  ‘Don’t put fingermarks on that table,’ Phil warned.

  I gave him a fierce look but sat up anyway.

  Well, it’s done now,’ Phil said. ‘You’ve filmed your last scenes. Betsy is no more.’

  He paused.

  ‘So who killed her then?

  I shrugged.

  ‘Not a clue,’ I said. ‘It was just one of the props guys who dealt the fatal blow – they only filmed his hand. They’ll add in someone later, when they decide who the killer’s going to be.’

  Phil made a face.

  ‘It’s not a great ending,’ he said. ‘Still, onwards and upwards.’

  Phil’s relentless cheeriness was what had brought us together at school. I loved him because, like me, he was always up for a party, because he understood what made me tick, and because he adored me. And we all need a bit of adoration in our lives, right?

  Our friendship had lasted through several boyfriends (his and mine), broken hearts (his and mine), career highs (his and mine) and career lows (mostly mine), and he’d obviously been the person I’d run to when the shit hit the fan with Matty. The only fly in the ointment was Phil’s boyfriend, Bertie, who thought I was a bad influence (he was probably right) and who had not been pleased to see me when Phil brought me home, hungover and tear-stained, after spending hours in a cell.

  Now Phil gently lifted my arm and extracted a fabric swatch from beneath my elbow.

  ‘What happens now?’ he said. ‘Where does Amy Lavender go from here?’

  Self-pity overwhelmed me again and my throat began to ache with the promise of more tears.

  ‘Oh, Phil,’ I said. ‘I don’t know. What am I going to do?’

  He put his arm round me.

  ‘You’ll bounce back, sweetie,’ he said. ‘You always do.’

  But that made me feel even worse.

  ‘Everyone dumps me,’ I said quietly. ‘‘Eventually, everyone gets fed up with me and they dump me.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ Phil said.

  ‘It is true.’ I sniffed and Phil thrust a tissue box in my direction.

  ‘Matty dumped me,’ I said. Phil opened his mouth, probably to tell me I was well shot of Matty – he’d never been a fan – but I gave him a look and he closed it again.
r />   ‘Tim dumped me from Turpin Road,’ I went on. A tear ran down my cheek. ‘Even my own mum, Phil. She dumped me.’

  ‘She didn’t dump you,’ Phil said, wiping my tear away with a folded tissue. ‘She just took a chance to make a better life for herself.’

  ‘In Spain,’ I pointed out. ‘Hundreds of miles away from me.’

  ‘You could have gone with her,’ Phil said. ‘She asked you to go.’

  ‘Only because she knew I wouldn’t,’ I said.

  ‘Have you spoken to her, since all this happened?’

  ‘God no,’ I said. ‘She’s only interested in me when things are going well. I bet she’s taken that photo of me down from the wall in her bar already. “My daughter the screw-up” isn’t half as impressive as “my daughter the soap star”.’

  Phil chuckled, ruefully.

  ‘You’ve still got me, honey,’ he said. ‘You’ll always have me.’

  I forced myself to smile at him.

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘PhAmy for ever, right?’

  ‘Right,’ he said, kissing my nose.

  But I wasn’t convinced. Phil had been my rock for years. My best friend, my support network, everything. But since he’d met Bertie I felt like I had to fight for his attention and I wasn’t sure I liked sharing him.’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’ Phil asked again. ‘Can I help?’

  ‘Would you?’ I asked, flashing him my best, most beseeching smile.

  ‘What do you need?’

  ‘Well, first I need to go and get all my stuff from Matty’s. The only clothes I’ve got are what I had at work – and I’m running out of knickers. But I can’t face him on my own, so will you come with me? Please?’

  Phil put his arm round my shoulders again.

  ‘Of course,’ he said, kissing the top of my head. ‘I’ve got a few things I’d like to say to Mr Matthew actually.’

  I grinned. Phil was always fighting my corner.

  ‘And then, I need you to help with one more thing,’ I said. ‘I need to choose a reality TV show. Babs reckons that’s the best way to get the public back on my side.’

  Phil, who, if he ever went on Mastermind, would choose the specialist subject Reality TV 2000–2015, gave a deep, satisfied sigh.

  ‘She’s right,’ he said. ‘She’s completely spot-on. Ooh, she’s clever.’

  ‘She should be,’ I grumbled. ‘I pay her enough.’

  ‘So which show?’ Phil said.

  ‘I convinced her to let me choose,’ I told him. ‘Babs reckons she can get me on anything. You know what she’s like – she knows all the right people. I’m just not sure it’s the right thing to do.’

  Phil looked at me appraisingly, his head tilted to one side. Then he nodded.

  ‘Of course,’ he said in delight. ‘It’s perfect.’

  ‘What?’ I said, suspicious of his gleeful expression. ‘What are you thinking? Not Drag Race?’

  Phil gave a chuckle.

  ‘No,’ he said. He pushed his thick-rimmed glasses (just for show – they had clear lenses but he thought they gave him a geekish charm, and he was right) up his nose and pulled me to my feet.

  ‘I’m thinking you in a tiny bikini, tanned, skinny, bravely carrying on without Matty, perhaps flirting a little with another similarly tanned young, male TV star, and showing the legions of Amy fans – and those who dared to be Amy doubters – what a game old bird you are.’

  ‘Ohhhh,’ I breathed. ‘You mean the jungle?’

  ‘The jungle,’ Phil said. ‘It’s perfect.’

  I thought about it.

  ‘I’d be away for weeks – so no paps chasing me the whole time,’ I said. ‘Lots of time to think, to work out what I want to do next …’

  ‘And you look smoking hot in a bikini,’ Phil said.

  I made a modest face. I knew he was right.

  ‘You’re strong because you work out, like, all the time, you’re sporty and adventurous, you’re funny, you’re kind … you’re bound to win.’

  ‘What about my hair extensions?’ I said, holding up a strand of the brunette locks that were my pride and joy.

  ‘They’ll have to come out,’ Phil said, grim-faced. ‘Better to do it now, so people get used to seeing you without them.’

  I nodded.

  ‘I can do that,’ I said. ‘New hair, new start.’

  ‘So ring Babs and tell her,’ Phil said. ‘Do it, do it now.’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ I giggled, pulling my phone out. ‘I’m doing it.’

  I found Babs in my contacts, and waited for her to answer.

  ‘Voicemail,’ I said. ‘She must be on the tube … Babs, it’s Amy. The jungle. I want to go to the jungle. Call me back.’

  As I ended the call, there was a ring on the doorbell of the shop.

  ‘I thought you were closed,’ I said to Phil.

  He frowned.

  ‘I am,’ he said. ‘Oh, balls. I’d forgotten about her.’

  ‘Who?’ I said. ‘What?’

  ‘Natasha Lucas,’ he said. ‘She’s a fashion editor.’

  ‘A journalist,’ I shrieked, diving off the chair and under the table so she wouldn’t spot me through the glass door.

  ‘Relax Princess Di,’ Phil said with a smile, waving at the woman and going to open the door. ‘She works for Society magazine. She only cares about toffs. She won’t have a clue who you are.’

  ‘She might,’ I said frostily, crawling out from under the table. ‘You’d be amazed how many people watch Turpin Road.’

  ‘Darling Natasha,’ Phil said, throwing open the door. ‘Come in!’

  In came a tall, willowy blonde woman in her early forties. She had her hair in a neat twist, and she was wearing a classic tan mac, cropped white trousers, nude sandals and a striped blue-and-white scarf. I instantly felt cheap and scruffy in my baggy jeans and hoodie.

  ‘God, Phil,’ Natasha said, throwing her oversized bag onto the chair next to me. ‘I am having such a day. Sorry to be so late – and looking such a mess.’

  I raised an eyebrow and Natasha noticed me for the first time.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, sticking out a hand for me to shake. ‘I’m Natasha.’

  ‘Amy,’ I said, hoping my hands were clean. ‘I’m Phil’s best friend.’

  ‘Lovely,’ said Natasha, sounding like she didn’t really care. ‘Anyway, can I have a root around, darling? We’ve got this blasted photo shoot first thing and I need at least three, probably four, hats and the stylist’s pulled out so I’m organising the whole thing on my own. Plus my nanny’s gone AWOL, my buggering husband’s sodded off to Hong bloody Kong, the baby’s got chicken pox, my grandmother isn’t well, and basically everything’s gone to shit.’

  I grinned at her. It was nice to meet someone who was having almost as rotten a time as I was.

  ‘Cup of tea?’ I said.

  Chapter Four

  When I came back into the shop from the tiny kitchen out the back, Natasha was wearing one hat, holding another, and had her phone balanced between her shoulder and her ear.

  ‘No, no, no,’ she was saying. ‘There’s simply no point in sending another inexperienced nanny. I’ve got four horrible children and they will break her. I need someone tough …’

  ‘She’s hilarious,’ I said, putting down the tea tray.

  Phil nodded.

  ‘She juggles about a million things, but she’s always in control,’ he said. ‘Her fashion spreads are gorgeous and believe me it’s worth my while to be a bit flexible for her.’

  He sat down on the sofa and patted the cushion next to him.

  ‘Listen, Amy,’ he said, his voice serious. ‘I need to tell you something.’

  ‘About Natasha?’ I said, in a whisper. ‘What?’

  Phil gave a faint smile.

  ‘No, not about Natasha,’ he said. ‘About Bertie.’

  I tried to look sympathetic.

  ‘Not going well?’ I said. ‘I’m not surprised. You’re very different people, y
ou and boring Bertie.’

  Phil laughed.

  ‘Nice try, Miss Lavender, but yes, it’s going very well, thank you. In fact, Bertie’s parents are coming over from France next weekend and I’m keen to make a good impression on them.’

  ‘Ohmygod you are adorable,’ I said, taking his face in my hands. ‘Of course you’ll make a good impression.’

  Phil took my hands from his cheeks and held them tightly.

  ‘Amy,’ he said. ‘Please try and understand what I’m telling you.’

  Realisation dawned.

  ‘You’re kicking me out?’ I said. ‘You don’t want me in your flat when Bertie’s parents are there?’

  Phil screwed up his nose.

  ‘Sorry, darling,’ he said. ‘You know I wouldn’t see you on the streets, but this is really important to me.’

  I took a deep breath.

  ‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘Honestly. I can easily find somewhere to live. No problem. I’ll go and stay with Mum perhaps.’

  ‘Really?’ said Phil. ‘I’m not sure that’s a very good idea.’

  Slumping against the sofa cushions, I bit my lip.

  ‘Nah, probably not,’ I admitted. ‘There are more paps in Marbella than there are here nowadays. It’d be a nightmare. Don’t worry, I’ll find somewhere.’

  ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ said Natasha, who’d come to stand in front of me. ‘I couldn’t help overhearing.’

  I narrowed my eyes.

  ‘It was actually a private conversation,’ I said.

  Natasha waved her hand as if there was no such thing, her huge blinging engagement ring catching the light.

  ‘You’re Amy Lavender, right?’ she said.

  I threw Phil a triumphant look. See! She did know who I was.

  ‘Yes,’ I said cautiously. ‘That’s me.’

  ‘So I’m guessing you need somewhere to live that’s cheap and quiet and available right now?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said again, sitting up a bit straighter. ‘Do you know somewhere?’

  ‘I certainly do,’ said Natasha. She sat down in between me and Phil.

  ‘My mother has just had something of a mid-life crisis – for the fourth, or perhaps the fifth time. This time, she’s in the throes of a passionate affair with a yoga instructor and she’s headed off on a sort of old lady gap year,’ she began.