Courting Trouble

Chapter 1

One

Delilah Day stood alone in her flat, looking through a cracked window. She barely saw the street below in her haze. She was fucking furious. Sad, also. But angry in the main. She’d been sacked.

Not even sacked with dignity. Not even given the courtesy of a tearful death scene or a big weepy farewell. No, she left offscreen, written out in a line of dialogue tossed casually across the pub set.

‘Cheryl’s left to be a singer on a cruise line?! Who’s gonna make my gin and tonic the way I like it now?’

And that was it. Three years of turning up at 5 a.m. for makeup, standing under boiling studio lights, and they’d chucked her away like dogshit scooped off the pavement.

Delilah had played Cheryl bloody Andrews—barmaid and part-time yoga teacher in the town of Meadow Vale—with everything she had.

It wasn’t Chekhov, but she’d given her soul to that role.

Found little flickers of humanity in the cheap melodrama.

And now her character was erased. Delilah felt erased with her.

Delilah pressed her forehead to the cool glass of the window, glaring down at the blur of pedestrians below. The city didn’t care that she was unemployed. The producers of Meadow Vale certainly didn’t care that she’d just lost the only steady job she’d ever had.

And her agent, Ashley? She had cheerily said, ‘Well, that’s soaps for you. On to the next.’

On to what? She’d barely had time for auditions with her schedule; nothing was waiting for her. It was time to accept the truth. She couldn’t do this anymore. It was probably time to bow out with as much dignity as she could muster.

She sighed and moved to the mirror to do it one last time. She wasn’t even sure why she was doing it at all.

‘Thank you, Academy,’ she murmured into the stillness, drawing herself up, hand pressed against her chest like she was clutching a statuette.

‘I am so honoured and completely overwhelmed. This is for my mum, who didn’t really believe in me but did drive me to drama lessons with only moderate swearing at traffic.

And to my father, who also didn’t believe in me, but was very polite about it, just frowning a little whenever I said the word “acting.” And to my teachers, who spent years encouraging me to think of a Plan B, but whom I ignored because I knew better.

And finally, to everyone out there who thinks they can’t make it, keep going.

Even when it’s insane to do so. Because dreams have to come true for someone,’ she said, her voice cracking on the last word.

She’d practised a much more earnest version of this speech a hundred times, back when she thought all the failed auditions were just stepping stones. Back when she believed she was meant for more.

Halcyon bloody days.

Delilah moved closer to the mirror, studying the face looking back at her. The smooth skin framed by loose waves of auburn hair, the bright green eyes that sometimes shone with determination but mostly doubt.

She only saw the almosts of herself. She was pretty, not quite beautiful. Bright, not quite clever. Charming, but ultimately, forgettable. She should do what Cheryl did and get a job on a cruise line. If they’d have her.

She was halfway through a dramatic, over-the-top bow when a sharp knock sounded at the door. She jumped, clutching her pearls, deciding quickly that she wasn’t answering. She was too busy wallowing.

A second knock, firmer this time, followed. Delilah tutted. ‘Can’t even be left to mourn your dreams in peace,’ she muttered, padding over, peeking through the peephole.

It was Ashley. Her cheeks flushed, hair tousled as if she’d just dashed through rain or rushed up several flights of stairs. Her agent was practically buzzing with energy. Or was it cocaine?

Delilah opened the door. ‘Ashley, what on earth!’

Ashley barged in without waiting and clasped Delilah’s hands between hers. ‘I’ve been calling you. Why the fuck aren’t you picking up!’

‘Because I don’t want to talk to anyone. No offence. I just need some time to plan what the rest of my miserable—’

‘Delilah,’ Ashley broke in breathlessly, ‘you are not going to believe this.’

Delilah arched an eyebrow. ‘Did you drop your keys down the drain again?’

Ashley grinned like a child on Christmas morning. ‘You got the part.’

Delilah blinked. ‘What part. That cereal ad?’

Ashley laughed. ‘Fuck the cereal ad. You got the big one.’

Delilah laughed bitterly. ‘That’s not funny, Ashley.’

Ashley was offended. ‘I wouldn’t joke, Delilah. You got it. The Tamsin Rowe Biopic.’

Delilah still wasn’t ready to believe it. ‘I would never get that. It’s a lead role. I don’t even know why I auditioned.’

Ashley sighed, exasperated. ‘Delilah! YOU GOT IT! You are Tamsin Rowe. Your big break is here! They don’t care about your tiny IMDb list; they’re willing to take a chance on you because you knocked their socks off in that audition.

Oh, and of course, you’re cheap as chips and the budget is, well, a bit tinpot.

But it’s a lead. And it’s a biopic. Those always get attention. ’

Delilah sank onto the couch, the news hitting her in waves. She’d wanted a role like this for years. Could it actually, at her lowest moment, be happening?

Her smile trembled. ‘Are you serious?’

Ashley’s grin suddenly looked a little tight. ‘Yes.’ Then she gave an embarrassed little laugh. ‘But here’s the thing. And this is no big deal, I’m sure you’ll agree.’

Oh, here it was. The caveat. The sting in the tail. The twist.

‘I might have bent the truth a little,’ Ashley said.

Delilah’s brow furrowed. ‘About what?’

Ashley’s eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘Well, they called me last week, wanting some more info about you. About your tennis skills.’

‘I don’t have any,’ Delilah said.

She’d literally never picked up a racket in her life.

She was more of a yoga girl. But she hadn’t worried too much about that when she auditioned.

It was strictly an emotional scene. No balls involved.

And considering it was the longest of shots, she hadn’t given any thought to not being able to play for shit.

‘I told them you’d played throughout your life.’

Delilah stared at her agent, horrified. ‘You what?’

Ashley shrugged, like it was nothing. ‘Started at six, numerous summer camps. On the doubles team at uni.’

Delilah pressed her palms into her eyes. She had to physically stop herself from laughing at the absurdity.

Ashley softened then, her voice losing its glib edge.

‘Look, Del… they were circling other names. Names with bigger résumés. If I’d just told them the truth, they might have moved right on.

I had to make them picture you in the part.

Something to give you that bit of extra sell.

That’s why I lied. Because if anyone deserves this role, it’s you. ’

‘More than someone who’s ever picked up a racket?’ Delilah demanded.

Ashley waved a dismissive hand. ‘It’s OK. You’ve got six weeks to look like you belong on the court. That’s when rehearsals start.’

Six weeks to look like a lifelong player? Starting from zero?

She’d had about twenty seconds to enjoy this news before it became a problem. Typical.

‘How the hell am I going to do that? Do you understand the position you’ve put me in here?!’

Ashley smiled, calmness itself. ‘I’m in the process of getting you a coach. And I’ll pay for it. In six weeks, you’ll thank me for this fib.’

Ashley was already on her phone, thumbs flying over the screen.

‘You’ve got me a coach?’ Delilah asked hopefully.

‘I’m getting one. I know a woman who knows a guy who can recommend someone. It’s just the slightest bit tricky because we’re in the middle of tennis season and the top coaches are all booked up with pros. But fear not! We’re going to pull this off. I swear.’

‘Christ, Ashley,’ Delilah groaned. She would have killed Ashley if she weren’t the fine thread keeping her career dangling.

Ashley laughed, chipper as ever. ‘Honestly, this friend of a friend knows someone who really is a get. If we can get them. Which I’m sure we will.’

Delilah sighed and waited and hoped. It was all she could do.