Chapter 2
HOW DID THE coffee evening go, darling?’ Nora Noakes sat behind her desk the next day with her fingertips steepled against her chin. ‘All super-marvellous, yes?’
Greta sank into the chair opposite, her gaze fixed on the wall behind her agent.
It was covered with photos of smiling celebrities, showcasing the skyrocketing success of Nora’s agency, Sky High Ltd, over the last couple of decades.
Despite having been one of the agency’s first-ever signings, Greta now felt like a dusty trophy sitting forgotten on a shelf.
Her eyes strayed to one photo in particular, of Nora trying to cosy up to Hollywood megastar Tobias Blake. So far, she hadn’t persuaded him to join the agency, but Nora was someone who never gave up.
Greta didn’t just see Nora as her agent. She considered her a friend, confidante and champion, too. She’d hardly changed over the years and still rocked a black pixie cut and purple- rimmed glasses.
‘Only six people showed up. Not exactly a roaring success,’ Greta said with a wry smile. She decided not to mention the disaster that had unfolded. ‘The brownies definitely stole the show.’
Nora rapped her desk with a magic wand. The crystal- encrusted stick topped with a star had been a gift from another client, and she waved it around like a fairy godmother.
‘Six is not a number to sniff at,’ she said.
‘Those six people have the potential to become your ambassadors, to spread your story. Every viral clip starts with a single view.’
Greta nodded. ‘I know, but I used to draw a much bigger crowd. It feels like my fans have all moved on.’ She knew she was exaggerating, but the words slipped out anyway.
Nora tutted gently. ‘You can’t expect life to be perfect all the time. What does perfection even look like, anyway?’
Greta rubbed away a dull ache in her chest. ‘Oh, I don’t know.
An adoring husband who wants to work on our marriage?
A daughter who doesn’t prefer animals to people?
No wrinkles and thicker hair?’ She gave a comedic shrug.
‘Maybe I should aim for a Hollywood blockbuster with Tobias Blake while I’m at it. ’
‘It’s good to aim high, darling,’ Nora said, setting down her wand. ‘But you must also be kind to yourself. You’ve had a tough time recently . . . separating from Jim, raising a teenager, and losing your mum . . .’
Greta froze for a moment, her smile faltering as the weight of Nora’s words hit home.
A lump rose in her throat as she thought of her mum, Marjorie.
She’d lost her to cancer earlier that year, and it still felt like someone had dug a cake knife into her and carved out a big slice.
Her mum had been her biggest supporter, always there to applaud every performance, and she missed her terribly.
‘I’m here if ever you need to talk,’ Nora added. ‘Remember that.’
‘Thanks. I appreciate it.’ Sitting up straighter, Greta clasped her hands together. Leaning in, she said, ‘I want to look forward, not back. Has there been any feedback from the other roles you’ve put me forward for?’
Nora’s gaze shifted to her giant stack of paperwork. ‘Unfortunately, you didn’t get the Sparklesun dish soap commercial. Or the one for Gnawers tinned ham.’
Greta nodded, actually a bit relieved about the ham role.
She hadn’t even wanted the job, only agreeing to a Zoom audition to prove to Nora she was still employable.
In her mind, she’d already been offered the commercial and had declined it, imagining Nora saying, ‘I totally agree the role is beneath an actor of your calibre . . .’
Greta’s last proper acting job had been two years ago, a minor part in a hospital drama based in the sixties called Midwives and Mayhem.
She’d hoped it would revive her career, but her lines had been minimal, and no one had recognised her in the false buck teeth she’d had to wear.
The show had been cancelled after six episodes.
Since then she’d kept busy with a few jobs as an extra, and running her acting classes.
‘What about opening that local school summer fair?’ she asked. ‘It’d be great to help out the community, and I can totally cut a ribbon.’
‘Hmm.’ Nora rifled through her papers. ‘Ah yes. Sorry, but that’s also a no-go. They picked someone from Celebrity Desert Island instead.’
Greta threw a hand in the air, her outer calm fraying. ‘Seriously?’
‘They wanted someone the kids might recognise.’
Greta sighed. ‘I suppose ribbon-cutting and canned meat aren’t the big comeback we were looking for anyway. There’s got to be something out there for me. Something more rewarding . . .’
Nora reached across the desk and patted Greta’s wrist. ‘Don’t worry.
It’s not you. It’s them. Showbiz is a battleground right now, and they’re the ones without vision.
’ She ran a tongue over her teeth while thinking.
‘Perhaps you should consider working with Jim and Lottie again. You’d be a more attractive commercial proposition as a trio.
The Perks family reunited on screen for the first time in ten years could be quite a story. ’
Greta turned her palms over. ‘I’d love that!
But it’s tricky to get the three of us together for a coffee, let alone on TV.
Lottie’s struggling at school and seems to blame me and Jim for everything.
Jim is as buoyant as ever, floating around in his own bubble.
We’re still living apart, and he seems to be taking to his new life like a duck to water .
. .’ She glanced away, an urge to cry threatening to escape.
Nora searched through her papers again. ‘It’s a tough situation, I know.
But most families go through ups and downs, and sometimes it takes time for things to settle.
’ She pulled out a file and flipped it open, scanning through it.
‘Hmm, there is one job you might be interested in . . . a new celebrity reality show called Back to the Land.’
The colour drained from Greta’s cheeks. ‘A reality show?’ She’d received a couple of offers in the past and had turned them down, not wanting to be a spectacle for viewers to gossip about.
Nora passed the file to her. ‘I know it sounds a bit low- rent, but it’s a great way to raise your profile.
You’d go back to basics—living in a rural hut, making a fire, foraging, baking bread outdoors, looking after livestock, that kind of thing.
Honestly, I hadn’t realised how cute goats were until I saw the pitch document. ’
Greta opened it up and slid out a photo.
She stared into a pair of yellow eyes with vertical pupils that reminded her of a horror film she’d once watched, something to do with witchcraft.
Hens scuttled around the feet of six dirt-covered contestants from last year’s series. She didn’t recognise any of them.
‘Think positively,’ Nora urged. ‘This could get you noticed by other producers. You could write a cookery book, and just think of the appearances at farms.’
Greta pondered it for a moment, almost unable to believe her next question. ‘Do I need to audition?’
‘Just say yes, darling. And leave the rest to me.’
Greta really didn’t want to get covered in mud, or bake bread in the wild. Was it wrong to hold out for something that made her feel like she mattered, in the way she used to?
Her shoulders fell. ‘Remember when I used to get marriage proposals and red roses from strangers on Valentine’s Day? Women across the UK used to flock to their hairdresser, asking for a Greta. It wasn’t that long ago.’
‘Of course, I remember,’ Nora said. ‘Blond highlights and feathery layers were so flattering for that era. I believe caffeine shampoo works well for mature hair, and a few tweakments could freshen things up a little? A brighter, bolder you?’ She raised a hopeful eyebrow.
Greta suspected Nora was a fan of injectables because her forehead was as smooth as a glass snow globe. ‘I’m more than just my appearance,’ she snapped.
‘I know. But, maybe a little face yoga?’ Nora said quickly, standing up. ‘You stay right here, and I’ll ask my team if they know of any bigger jobs coming up. They keep their ears to the ground.’ She swept out of the room, leaving Greta sitting alone.
Greta glanced around at all the thank-you cards pinned to Nora’s corkboard, her crystal Agent of the Year trophies, and her gold Montblanc pen. It was a long time since she’d had reason to send Nora a thank-you card.
A few minutes later, Nora returned. ‘Sorry,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘My team don’t have any suitable jobs right now. I’ll keep you posted.’
Greta lifted her chin, trying not to look disheartened. ‘Great. I look forward to hearing from you.’ She reached for her coat.
Nora picked up her wand, pressing a finger against the points of the star. ‘Just before you go. There is something to tell you . . .’ she said rather cagily.
Greta’s ears pricked. ‘Yes?’
‘I bumped into Jim recently. I believe he’s had an offer for a men’s hair product campaign. He’s asked me for some advice . . .’
Greta narrowed her eyes. Jim hadn’t mentioned this to her. ‘Why would he ask my agent for advice?’ she said. ‘He’s got his own.’
‘Just fact-gathering about the company, I believe. Jim knew I’d worked with them before. Thought I should mention it, in case you wondered. For the sake of transparency . . .’
‘How could I wonder about something I didn’t know anything about?
’ Greta felt a twinge of cramp in her belly and tried to rub it away.
Nora wasn’t her private property, but this felt like an unwelcome intrusion from Jim, especially given their personal situation.
‘How can Jim still find work, but I can’t?
’ Nora shifted in her chair. ‘The acting world is a mystery. Some actors just seem to get chosen . . . and some don’t. ’
‘It’s a profession, not a lucky dip.’ Greta bristled. It suddenly struck her that many actors were like bottles of milk shoved to the back of the fridge, forgotten and slowly going off. Only a lucky few rose like cream to the top.
She stood and shoved her chair back under Nora’s desk. Her hands shook as she fastened her coat. ‘I have to go.’
Nora furrowed her brow, as if not understanding what she’d done wrong. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Sure. Everything’s absolutely marvellous. You can’t find jobs for me, but can help my husband score a new contract.’
‘It’s just business, darling . . .’
Greta didn’t want to hear any more. She strode out of Nora’s office.
‘Darling, come back. Let’s talk this through.’ Nora’s words followed her along the corridor. ‘Give Back to the Land some more thought . . .’
But Greta sped through the reception area, pushing through the building’s heavy glass doors. She stepped into the chilly winter air, her breath rasping as she jogged toward her car.
She had known the bitter truth for a while, but had refused to acknowledge it. Now it hurt like splinters of wood wedged under her fingertips—that she was no longer relevant in the industry that had once been her entire life.
Greta didn’t just feel like old milk. She had gone positively sour.