Chapter 19 #2
‘Look, we can’t really stop painting until the next coat is done, but how about we meet up later, at my house?
It’s on Robin’s Hill, so the views are incredible.
We can watch the sunset from the comfort and warmth of my living room.
I’ll invite Darya, too,’ I said, inspiration now flowing.
‘Make it a proper fun, festive night. All get to know each other better. Eat, drink, maybe even dance a bit…’ I was making this up as I went; obviously I’d never been to a girls’ night in my life.
‘I’ll bring my karaoke,’ Merry declared. ‘And the rest of the café leftovers.’
‘That’s a brilliant plan,’ Lola said. ‘Do you think Samira would like to come?’
‘I think there’s nothing she’d like less.’ Merry had been tapping on her phone as we talked. ‘Donovan says he can stop at ours with Joel until late. They might even head over to Will’s for a spontaneous lads’ party of their own.’
‘Perfect,’ Lola declared. ‘Are we dressing up or down?’
‘Dressing gown, in my case.’ Merry smirked. ‘You wear what you like.’
‘Okay, what time does the pyjama party begin?’
‘Whenever we’re finished here,’ I said.
‘Right. Hand me a paintbrush.’ Lola whipped off her bobble hat and threw off her coat with a flourish. ‘Let’s get cracking.’
It was beyond surreal, having three women inside my house.
Especially while wearing stripy pyjamas at just gone three in the afternoon.
After climbing the stairs to the main floor, they wasted no time in taking themselves on a tour, gin glasses in hand as they opened kitchen cupboards, inspected the pretentious art, then headed up to the top floor to nose about in my walk-in wardrobe and test the bounciness of my enormous beds.
I’d hastily hung up a few decorations, but was aware the house still felt more like a TV set than a real home.
‘Talk about winning at life!’ Lola sighed as she returned to the living room, grabbed a mozzarella stick from the coffee table and collapsed onto my white sofa.
She’d changed into a giant blanket-hoodie covered in turkeys wearing Santa hats and panicked expressions, worn over grey flannel leggings.
‘You must have been paid a fortune doing that show.’
‘It wasn’t loads, compared to a proper celebrity. My business paid for this house; Winning at Life bought me the furniture.’
‘All one point six million of it,’ Merry said, scanning Zoopla on her phone as she took the armchair nearest the huge window. ‘That’s some business you’ve given up to decorate our old café.’
She was in a peach fleecy dressing gown covered in bobbly bits and giant reindeer slippers.
‘What do you mean, a proper celeb?’ Lola laughed. ‘You’re mega-famous these days.’
‘Yeah. I could possibly have spun the situation around and negotiated a better deal for season two. Unfortunately, I was busy having a mini breakdown, so they fired me instead.’
‘How is it, being famous?’ Darya asked. She had arrived in jeans and a jumper, her pyjamas in a bag because she refused to believe we were going through with the pyjama party, and she certainly wasn’t about to sit in a taxi in her nightwear.
She now looked exquisite in a navy-blue satin shorts-set with matching robe, her dark hair elegantly twisted on top of her head, toenails shimmering silver.
‘I can probably best sum that up by saying that since the show aired, I relocated to a house in the middle of nowhere, which along with the whole no friends thing, made it almost manageable. I stopped giving social media more than a cursory glance after the second episode. I pay – well, I used to pay – someone to manage my website, so they could delete all the threats, abuse, begging letters and marriage proposals. I’m very grateful for online delivery, but the times I did need to go out in public, the people who used to recognise me were friendly.
Since the TV Awards, I’ve barely been anywhere and it’s amazing how effective a disguise no make-up and an old hoodie can be. ’
‘It’s a miracle you didn’t have photographers staking out the house,’ Lola said.
I had to agree. ‘I guess journalists couldn’t be bothered to find me. I’ve not lived here that long and use an address service for my business, so this place isn’t really listed anywhere.’
‘You won’t miss it, then?’ Merry asked. ‘All those adoring fans?’
‘Making a reality show that people loved, genuinely helping a few who really needed it in the process, being part of something inspiring and positive while working with a – mostly – amazing team was something I’ll treasure forever.
Strangers trying to hug me in the street or sending scrapbooks of naked photos to me via the production company, not so much. ’
‘It got you this classy furniture though. I didn’t know you could get glass bookcases.’
‘I hate all the glass,’ I admitted, helping myself to a Tucker’s brownie. ‘It’s cold and colourless and… boring. And it gets all smeary. A perfect representation of my old life. I’d happily drag it outside and smash it to bits with a sledgehammer.’
‘Why not do it, then?’ Darya asked. ‘We could do it now. Symbolically, your new friends helping you destroy your old, lifeless life.’
‘Plus, it would be fun,’ Lola added, eyes wide as she stuffed in a handful of crisps.
For one second, I allowed myself to imagine attacking the huge desk I’d until recently been chained to like a slave, whacking it with the closest thing to a hammer I could find in the house. Probably a meat mallet.
Then I remembered who I was, where I had come from, and who I was hoping to become.
I shook my head, decisively. ‘No. All that furniture cost an absolute fortune, and someone else would love it. Or, at the very least, find it useful. I’ll donate it to a charity shop or something instead.’
Darya pointed her carrot stick at me. ‘The Furniture Project helps people who can’t afford to buy what they need.’ She redirected the carrot back at herself. ‘They sold me that tiny sofa for fifteen pounds.’
Decision made and drinks topped up, we moved the conversational spotlight on.