Chapter 21
THERE WERE ONLY so many times Greta could hear ‘you’re brilliant’ before it got over-fazing, like eating too many mince pies on Christmas Day.
‘My, you look wonderful.’
‘What a beautiful dress.’
‘I’m so excited to meet you.’
All the while Greta felt like a curated veneer of herself rather than the actual living, breathing woman. Beneath her fine clothes and glossy make-up, she didn’t feel like a superstar at all.
The sound of laughter and chatter in the town hall ballroom hummed like a swarm of bees, reaching a crescendo in her head.
She forced smiles and murmured polite responses to a seemingly never-ending stream of admirers.
All the while, her eyes swept the room for Jim, Lottie, or Millie.
When she spotted her husband and daughter standing together on the far side of the room, she felt a primal pull toward them.
Greta had only managed to take a couple of steps in their direction when yet another glass of champagne was pressed into her hand. A stranger launched into a speech about how Maple Gold was the perfect beverage, and had Greta ever drunk it chilled?
She nodded and tried to edge away. By the time she broke free, Jim and Lottie had moved closer to the exit. Greta wove her way through the crowd toward them, only to be stopped again, this time by Desdemona.
‘I didn’t realise you were such a star,’ Desdemona said.
‘It’s very strange where pretending can get you.
I actually attempted a little improvisation after your drama class.
I imagined I was a daring explorer in the Antarctic, though it proved a tricky place to brew coffee.
I improvised by boiling water in a can, suspended over a small fire, as I was observed by Emperor penguins . . .’
‘That’s sounds amazing,’ Greta said, stealing a glance over Desdemona’s shoulder. ‘I’d love to hear more about it . . . at the next coffee morning.’
‘It was interesting, but no substitute for real life,’ Desdemona stated with a sniff. ‘Well-done, anyway.’
By the time Greta reached the place Jim and Lottie had been standing, her anxiety levels were spiking. She just wanted to be alone with her family.
When Nora stepped back into her eyeline, she flinched.
‘I’ve got a message for you,’ her agent said, waving a note. ‘Lottie’s had enough for the evening. Too many cameras. She’s gone back to the hotel with Jim.’
The news felt like a kick to Greta’s shin. ‘What? They’ve left without me?’
‘They tried to reach you, but couldn’t get through the hordes.’ Nora puffed her chest as if this was a good thing.
Greta shook her head. ‘But why go to a hotel? We’ve got a perfectly lovely house here,’ she said. She’d been looking forward to rubbing feet with Jim in bed, with his body next to hers rather than a line of pillows.
Then she remembered the many times she’d chosen the luxury and convenience of plush hotel suites in the past rather than home comforts.
‘You’re the star, darling. Revel in these things,’ Nora said.
Greta didn’t reply. She’d had enough of being the star attraction. Finally, she understood Lottie’s plea that she just wanted to be herself.
With a shake of her head, Greta pushed past Nora, heading out a door and into the corridor, to leave the noise and pressure behind.
‘Where are you going?’ Nora called after her, the question failing to reach Greta’s ears.
With each step she took away from the ballroom, the air grew cooler, and the noisy hubbub faded. Greta gradually felt like she could breathe again.
A soft breeze wound around her shoulders, and she opened a door into a small, dimly lit room. In desperate need of some time alone before she retreated to her hotel, she stepped inside.
Heading toward the window, Greta looked out onto the square.
The last of the crowd were dispersing, and the red ropes were being dismantled.
A few guests loitered near the fountain, their laughter ringing in the night air.
It was hard to believe all the fuss had been for her—even though she’d wished for it.
Greta exhaled, trying to process the strange disconnect she felt, as if the evening had belonged to someone else.
She didn’t notice the door opening until a slice of yellow light swept across the floor. A figure appeared in silhouette, standing still for a moment before moving toward her.
She squinted to see who it was. ‘Millie?’
‘Hiding, are we?’
Tobias’s voice was as rich and smooth as on the big screen. The moonlight caught his eyes, making them shine pewter.
Greta’s spine stiffened, and she struggled to breathe. Thank goodness the room was dark so he wouldn’t see her cheeks flushing. She swore she heard a crackle of electricity when he reached her side. ‘I just needed some time to myself,’ she said breathlessly.
‘Understandable,’ Tobias said, his tone all velvety. ‘The constant attention and adoration can be exhausting, don’t you think? One needs the time to recharge.’
‘You think so?’ Greta said, surprised to find his words echoed her own thoughts.
‘Absolutely. What we do isn’t for the faint of heart,’ Tobias continued, edging even closer toward her.
‘The world looks to us, expecting us to always shine and to carry their hopes and dreams. Yet being adored can take its toll.’ He let out a dramatic sigh, as if the universe rested on his shoulders.
Greta resisted the urge to roll her eyes. As Lottie would say, this sounded a bit cringe. ‘Isn’t it what we signed up for?’ she said.
He chuckled, as if her question was naive.
‘True, though we both know it’s a lonely existence.
Even the people closest to us see the performer rather than the true us.
That’s what makes us different, Greta. We’re destined to be admired but never truly known.
’ Tobias dropped his voice to a more intimate level.
‘That’s why it’s good we’ve got each other . . .’
He reached out, his fingers brushing hers. Then he took her hand fully.
Greta felt a strange sensation whoosh over her. Was Tobias hitting on her? Or did he just see her as a kindred spirit? They’d apparently already kissed on screen, but this felt . . . different.
She’d admired Tobias from afar, even found him attractive. But up close, he seemed like a self-obsessed bore.
Greta pulled her hand away from his, wishing he’d remained as a fantasy figure.
‘Maybe we perform because we need to feel admired, or loved,’ she said. ‘Or, perhaps it’s something deeper . . . searching for something that’s missing in our lives. We’re always seeking affirmation . . .’
Tobias’s shoe nudged against hers. His cologne was so overpowering it made her want to cough.
He lowered his voice further, as if sharing a secret. ‘The need to connect is in our blood. It’s not the fame, it’s the craft. When we’re creating those timeless moments on screen that will last forever, nothing else matters.’
Greta’s brows shot up, and she stifled a giggle. Timeless? An image of Tobias widening his eyes in mock horror at a CGI shark flashed in her mind.
A snort of laughter escaped before she could stop it.
‘Ha!’ Tobias shrank back. ‘Why are you laughing?’
Greta clamped her hand to her mouth, struggling to contain the giggles that shook her body. Nora would never forgive her for this. ‘Sorry,’ she said, fighting the grin spreading across her face. ‘What you’re saying just sounds . . . preposterous.’
What had she ever seen in him?
Tobias’s expression hardened. ‘I thought you of all people would understand.’
Greta mulled over his words. She had spent too long chasing the empty promises of life in the limelight. ‘I think I finally do understand,’ she said. ‘More than you think.’
She pushed past Tobias, nudging him out of the way. ‘Now, please excuse me. I want to find my family . . .’
Greta didn’t wait for his reply. Instead, she strode out of the room and back into the corridor. Her heels clicked as she hurried down the marble staircase and out of a side door.
Outside, the square was still and quiet. Greta trailed her hand through the water in the fountain, needing to feel something real. The reflection of the moon broke apart and rippled. She stood in quiet contemplation, with memories of her Maple Gold wedding to Jim filtering back.
It had been staged for a commercial, the set built to resemble a church. Tall polystyrene columns lined the aisle, painted to resemble white marble. The vicar had worn running shoes under his cassock, hidden from the camera.
The script featured Jim arriving late to the ceremony because he’d got too wrapped up in the taste and aroma of a prewedding cuppa.
After they’d exchanged their vows, Greta and Jim had twirled around the fountain, flashing smiles and showing off make-believe wedding rings for the cameras.
Stills from the ceremony had been splashed across glossy magazines, accompanied by headlines such as Love Brewing: Mapleville’s Golden Couple Tie the Knot. Showbiz writers had poured over the tiniest details, from Greta’s wedding shoes to Jim’s cuff-links shaped like coffee beans.
A few months later, Jim and Greta’s own real wedding had been something entirely different—a quiet, intimate affair in a small Scottish hotel without any guests.
Greta had been newly pregnant with Lottie, the officiant had worn a kilt, and the air had smelled of rain and damp heather.
There’d been no cameras, no script and no fans.
Yet somehow it had felt like their second wedding, as though their first had been claimed by Maple Gold and the public.
Greta pulled her hand from the fountain, shaking off the droplets. The square was peaceful now, and the evening’s accolades and applause felt distant.
It struck her then that the simple, unpolished moments in life were just as precious, if not more so, than the grand, showy ones.
The longing to be with her family grew stronger. She no longer craved admiration from strangers but wanted a deeper connection with those who loved her for who she was.
Greta glanced around, searching for the limousine. She was relieved to spot it was still parked nearby, and she hurried over, sliding into the back seat.
‘To your hotel, Ms Perks?’ the chauffeur said.
Greta nodded.
He took a different route this time, along a road she hadn’t noticed before. Greta sank in her seat, picturing Jim and Lottie already inside their hotel room, unwinding in their complimentary robes, and perhaps playing a game of Uno.
When they arrived, the driver stepped out and escorted Greta inside before bidding her goodnight.
The foyer was opulent, all cream marble, towering pillars and a sweeping staircase. Strangely, there didn’t seem to be any other guests around. There was no chatter in the foyer or discreet music playing, just an eerie silence as if the hotel had been deserted after a fire alarm.
The receptionist handed her a room card with a robotic smile. ‘The presidential suite, madam,’ he said. ‘My colleague will escort you—’
Greta shook her head. ‘It’s fine. I can find it myself. I believe my husband and daughter are already waiting for me . . .’
She gathered her skirt and made her way up the stairs, her pace slowing when she reached her room. After swiping the room card, she opened the door and peeped inside in case Jim had already fallen asleep.
After the glitz and spectacle of the evening, feeling like a mannequin on display in a store window, Greta just wanted to feel the warmth ofJim’s skin next to hers and to fall asleep in his arms.
She tiptoed into the room.
The décor was grand, all rich caramel and gold tones. Greta’s eyes were drawn to the huge circular bed, where the covers were neat and unused, embroidered with coffee bean motifs.
‘Jim?’ she whispered. ‘Are you here?’
Greta smiled when she saw rose petals artfully arranged in the shape of a heart on the bed.
A note rested on the pillow, and she picked it up, recognising the familiar handwriting.
Lottie wanted to go home, and I ve accompanied her. (Jet some well-earned rest and we H see you tomorrow. Were both very proud of you.
Love Jim x
Greta’s arms fell heavy by her sides, the note dropping to the floor. She’d been desperate to spend some time with her husband and daughter, only to find herself alone. Again.
Too exhausted to make another trip back across town, she kicked off her shoes. When she caught sight of her reflection in a mirror, Greta padded across the plush carpet to take a closer look.
After seeing her face magnified on the big screen, she was acutely aware of every flaw. Her make-up might be immaculate, but her eyes were faintly bloodshot in the corners, as if the imperfections of real life were trying to creep through.
With a weary sigh, she yanked off her tiara.
Her dress suddenly felt too tight, like a straightjacket. She fumbled with the zip, huffing when it got stuck halfway. Tugging harder, she groaned when it refused to budge.
Not here, too.
With a loud sigh, Greta flopped back onto the bed, crushing the rose petals beneath her.
She lay there staring up at the ceiling as the evening’s events tumbled through her mind.
It took a while for her eyelids to shut, and she wondered if she’d wake up in Mapleville or back in Longmill.
But, right now, Greta didn’t really care. Because loneliness wrapped around her so tightly, sleep offered a welcome reprieve.