Читать книгу This Careless Life - Rachel McIntyre - Страница 7
Оглавление1 July, 10.28 a.m.
‘Eeek. Cringe.’ Liv peeped at the TV through splayed fingers. ‘What an absolute hound.’
The image showed her frozen in the act of kissing a red-soled shoe; the exposed brick of the coach-house wall visible behind her.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Hetty said, reaching over to pull Liv’s hands away from her face. ‘You look beautiful, just like always.’
Truthfully? Hetty was right. OK, Dad’s nose loomed large (so unfair he refused to let her have surgery), but the rest of it . . . skin, hair, eyes. Perfect.
‘This is the video from the start, guys,’ came Cass’s voice from the corner. ‘I’ve got high hopes for you, Liv.’
She pressed a button and the caption Olivia Dawson-Hill Pretty Vacant Productions #1 appeared on the screen. Liv swished her silky hair to the other side and leaned forward, propelled by anticipation. The atmosphere reminded her of the opening night of a play or a film premiere, that same tension crackling like static in the air. The expectant expressions.
Then they were all looking at her face on the TV (hair, good; make-up, great). No trace of her dad’s flat, northern vowels in the voice that filtered through the speakers.
Olivia Dawson-Hill Pretty Vacant Productions #1
Hi, everyone [waves]. My name is Olivia Dawson-Hill, but my friends call me Liv. This is my application for This Careless Life.
OK, so I’ll start with my favourite topic: me! I’ve just left school, finished my A levels [pulls face] and waiting for the results in August [closes eyes, sighs noisily]. Don’t ask. But the things you really need to know about me are: I literally live for fashion and beauty. I swear, without shopping, I would die. Look. [Camera turns to film room and image jerks through into another.]
This is my bedroom [camera pans over white walls, oak beams] and this [flings door open, automatic spotlights shine on rails of clothing] isn’t all of it either; I’ve got another wardrobe in my old room over in my parents’ side of the house.
And of course ta-daaaa! Shoes . . . [Camera zooms up and down on tiered storage. Liv’s hand appears to take a pair, lifts the still-attached price tag] £200. [Laughs.] Not even been worn. I can’t help it; I’m a shoe-aholic.
[Buries her face in the shoes, inhales deeply] Aaah, happiness is . . . the smell of new shoes. And new lipsticks, new clothes, new handbags . . . [laughs]
[Camera POV returns to Liv.] So why should you pick me? That’s easy! You want personality plus and I can give you that. I’m great on camera. I’ve got my own beauty vlog . . . maybe you’ve heard of it? Miss Olivia Loves? I’m on target for a million subscribers across my channels by the end of this month. Crazy, isn’t it? All the major brands are contacting me, sending me samples. It literally is a full-time commitment; I’ve worked so hard. And I got nominated at the Beauty Blogger Awards last year for Most Inspirational Newcomer. I didn’t win [laughs] but the party was In. Cred. Ible. One of the best nights of my life. I’ll remember it as long as I live.
What else? [Looks at ceiling.] Oh yeah. Money. We’re, like, seriously minted. My dad has an agricultural business and my mum breeds racehorses of the Grand-National-winning kind. We’ve got this place [pans camera round]. Well, this is all mine. Mum and Dad have got the big house next door. Then we’ve got one in the South of France, where I’ll be going in a few weeks, unless you pick me for the show [laughs].
So [camera back on Liv, counts off points on fingers] I look good, I sound good and my life is outrageous so please please pretty please, Pretty Vacant, put me and my team through to the next round. You won’t regret it. Mwah! [Blows kiss at screen.] Sorry if that was more than sixty seconds! [Leaning forward.] Mwah!
Cass pressed pause, leaving Liv’s cherry-red lips suspended mid-pucker on the screen.
Just out of shot were the lamps fitted with diffusing bulbs she’d bought from a theatrical accessories website. Insanely expensive, but judging by the results, worth it. The slight golden tone cast a filter-free I-just-got-back-from-St-Tropez glow on her skin and popped her green eyes; added a glossy sheen to her long dark hair.
Totally worth it.
The air fluttered around her: Duff had risen to his knees and was flapping both hands in mock-hysteria.
There were times when Duff made Liv laugh until her lungs ached and tears poured down her cheeks. Now was not one of them.
‘Fashion is my life,’ he squeaked breathlessly.
‘Shut up.’
‘Shoes! Handbags! Make-up!’
‘Shut up !’
Liv rammed a velvet cushion in his face, not quite muffling his falsetto cries.
‘Cut me and I bleed lip gloss!’ Fending her off he emerged red-faced, choking on stray feathers and his own hilarious words. He wrestled the cushion from her, threw it along the sofa, narrowly missing Jez, and strolled up to the mirror.
‘Cass, don’t be fooled by this vapid display. Liv’s not dumb. And she’s not that shallow.’ He dragged his fingers through his mussed-up hair and continued thoughtfully. ‘Well, obviously she is shallow, but she’s not that shallow, if you get my drift.’
Liv blew out her cheeks. ‘Cass, everyone, please ignore Idiot Boy,’ she said, more harshly than she’d intended.
‘Hey, I’m defending you here,’ Duff protested, tucking in then re-tucking his shirt.
‘Don’t worry,’ Jez said, handing her the cushion. ‘You can get your own back when it’s his turn.’
‘She loves me really. She just can’t admit it. Can you, Liv?’
‘Yeah, sure I do. Totally,’ she deadpanned in return, crossing her legs.
Duff slumped back on the sofa, putting an arm around her. ‘I’ve known Liv since she was four years old, Cass. And I can tell you she’s got hidden depths. Very secret depths.’
What?
She recoiled, pushing him away. ‘What are you on about?’
‘Take no notice of him,’ Hetty said quietly, placing a gentle hand on her knee. ‘He’s winding you up.’
‘You know what I mean. Hidden depths.’ He straightened himself, tipping her an overblown wink. ‘Or hidden shallows at least.’
Liv paused a beat to steady her voice. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
Cass quirked her lip, placing her pen on top of her notebook, and Liv cringed. What she must think of them, this bunch of so-called young adults bickering like kids in a playground? But Cass remained apparently unfazed by the commotion. Positively enthused in fact.
‘Great banter. Sparky. Gives a flavour of your personality, Liv. Passion, conviction . . . qualities I love to see. If you can channel that, I think we’ll have a fantastic result today.’
Really?
‘Thank you.’ Liv masked her surprise behind a neutral expression. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear she wedged the cushion back on the sofa, hoping her posture suggested a professional attitude. And a more camera-loving nose.
‘Right then, the next thing is the individual interview, so you guys . . .’ Cass’s eyes swept across the sofa. ‘Can you sit on the floor or find a chair out of shot, please? Liv, can you sit closer to the middle?’
Shoulders back and down. Don’t fidget. Liv shifted along the sofa and placed her not-at-all-shaky hands under her thighs while the others relocated. Duff back to sprawl across the rug; Hetty and Jez neatly propped either side of the floor lamp, a pair of human bookends. When Hetty crossed her legs at the ankles, Jez did the same.
‘You’re certainly entertaining to watch,’ Cass murmured, adjusting the laptop. ‘Perfect. OK. Liv, remember to keep your head up so the cameras have you the whole time. Ready?’
Deep breath. Swish back hair. Nod.
‘Great. So my first question is: there are hundreds of TV shows available, why would watching your life grab the audience?’
Yes!
Over the last three weeks, Liv had absorbed Louis the acting coach’s advice: pitch, pace, intonation, gesture, eye contact, preparing and polishing every pause, every giggle, every expression for maximum impact. And yes, Dad would probably have a fit if he saw the final bill, but the sessions had been worth every penny. Because along with his years of TV audition experience, Louis had brought a list of possible questions.
And Why you ? had been right at the top.
Liv’s shoulders softened and she set her mouth to automatic, starting the well-rehearsed monologue to rave about the outrageous nights with friends, the exclusive clubs, crazy shopping sprees, glamorous beauty launches, amazing holidays . . .
And yet . . . she couldn’t shake off that wink. Secret depths, and now, propped up on his elbows on the rug, why the hell was Duff still smirking?
What did he know?
Halfway through gushing over her insane clothes allowance (‘I’m such a Daddy’s girl, he can’t say no! It must be more than some people earn in a year!’) she faltered before tailing off into an apology.
‘Don’t worry, you’re doing great,’ Cass said, pressing the tips of her fingers together. ‘Let’s try a different tack. Your beauty channel . . .’
‘Miss Olivia Loves.’
‘Fab name,’ Cass commented, jotting on her notepad. ‘Miss. Olivia. Loves. What are you most proud of with that?’
Liv faked a confident smile and twisted her torso slightly to avoid catching Duff ’s eye again.
‘I’m so grateful to the subscribers. Even when it was just me waffling on about a few products I’d bought in Selfridges, the feedback was phenomenal. And then, when brands started putting me on their mailing lists, it snowballed. The audience figures kept rising and so did the positive comments. Then, after the blog was featured in Grazia . . .’
Louis’ advice echoed: Don’t forget to pause when you name-drop the mag.
Right on cue, Cass looked up. ‘Grazia ? Impressive.’
Liv grinned. ‘Yeah, it went mad after that. I got nominated for the National Beauty Blogger Awards; went to the ceremony in London nearly a year ago. It was surreal, you know? Actresses, models . . . all famous people. And I got to meet loads of other bloggers and the goodie bag was to die for. Chanel. Dior. Tom Ford . . .’
‘It certainly sounds like a night to remember.’
‘It was.’
But thinking about it now, the standout memory wasn’t rubbing shoulders with celebrities, or the food, or the pulse-racing thrill of being part of a major industry event. No, it was the moment when she’d looked up to see HIM leaning against the bar, watching her with those blue, blue eyes.
Instant heat had rushed up in a wave from her feet. She’d forced herself to count the foil stars sprinkled on the table. Don’t look.
When he strolled over and placed a bottle of champagne in front of her, her heart almost tore through her dress. She watched beads of condensation slide down the sides of the glass.
Up on the podium, the award for most life-enhancing lip product was accepted by a company representative whose lively speech contained enough witty one-liners to ramp the atmosphere from cheerful to hysterical.
But Liv barely noticed. Pulling up a spare chair to the table, he’d wedged himself closely between Liv and her neighbour, his thigh deliberately pressed against hers. He still didn’t speak. She could hardly breathe.
To loud cheers and applause, the speaker descended the steps. Some sombre music started and behind the equally sombre presenter, a slideshow lit the screen. The audience hushed and Liv stared straight ahead, barely registering the miserable grey girls who, frankly, had no business being the focus of a beauty industry award.
He was running his fingertip up and down her arm, and even though she continued staring at the montage of misery, her subconscious had hopped in a cab and raced through the busy streets back to the hotel. Only unlike when she’d checked in two hours earlier, she wasn’t alone.
She imagined her staccato heels ringing through the marble lobby. She imagined the door to her sumptuous room soundlessly closing behind them. Onstage, the presenter droned on about someone fleeing from somewhere; a single suitcase; fitting into a new country, a new school; struggling to pay for the essentials. Absent parents.
Blah-blah-blah.
Well, tonight there would be no parents getting in Liv’s way either.
Tonight there would be no clingy girlfriend expecting him.
Tonight there would be just the two of them. Alone.
She shivered.
Would this gloom-fest never end? Droning on in that uber-worthy tone about the Cinderella Project, the presenter tapped the screen and the same girls appeared, smiling in a selection of tacky prom dresses. The audience cheered. Liv didn’t.
Her mind was busily compiling a dramatic montage of its own, complete with bridesmaids’ dresses abandoned, cakes left unbaked, cancelled venues, guests apologised to, honeymoon plans forever shelved . . .
And right at the heart of it, him breaking the news to his fiancée: I’m sorry. It’s over. I’ve fallen in love with a girl named Liv.
He poured another glass of champagne and leaned so close his breath tickled her neck. ‘I shouldn’t be here, you know. I really shouldn’t be here.’
By the time Sonya Sunshine climbed the steps to a standing ovation, Liv had forgotten about the award.
‘And are you single at the moment?’
Lost in the memory of that night, it took a second for Liv to take in Cass’s question.
The woman smiled, adding, ‘Only you haven’t mentioned a boyfriend or a girlfriend or anyone special.’
Liv clasped her hands between her knees. ‘No, I’m not with anyone right now.’ Pause. ‘I mean, there was someone, but we broke up.’
‘Someone?’ Cass prompted.
On the rug, Duff kicked his legs out straight and flung himself on to his back with a theatrical groan.
‘Seriously, Cass, please do not bring up the whole Olivia’s mystery man thing. We’ve had a whole year of it and I can’t take any more.’
Hetty prodded him. ‘Not now, Duff.’
Sparks of panic darted through Liv. Bring it back to the blog. She opened her mouth, but the words stalled in her throat.
Duff had shot upright and fixed his attention on Cass.
‘Actually, you know what? This would be the perfect time for her to finally tell us who he is. Get her skeletons out.’ He mimed air quotes. ‘Do the “Big Reveal”.’
‘Except there isn’t anything to “Reveal”,’ Liv mimed back and pressed her lips in a tight line.
Anyone, any normal person, would quit it. Not Duff though.
Instead, he turned down the corners of his mouth. ‘I am trying to help. He put you through hell for months, Olivia. Whoever he is – was – I’d love to know. I’d like to, you know.’ He punched his open palm. ‘Have a chat with him.’
‘No!’
‘He’s right,’ Cass said. ‘It’s far better to get your secrets out in the open now.’
Liv’s mind snagged on the s-word. No. No no no no no.
‘Liv?’ Cass’s deep brown eyes were boring holes into Liv’s head. Her throat, suddenly as dry as sawdust, made a clicking sound and she swallowed.
‘Did I mention my blog has a quite a number of male followers?’ she said, turning desperately to Cass. ‘I’ve been totally blown away.’
The woman gestured for Liv to look straight ahead. ‘A secret boyfriend. Now that’s interesting. Tell me more.’
‘We should never have got together.’ The words took her by surprise, blurting out before she even realised she’d opened her mouth. What was going on? She never talked about this now, not even with Hetty. Full stop, period, on pain of death never.
‘Let me guess,’ Duff said, jumping to his feet. He ticked a list off on his fingers. ‘Your golf coach? Tennis coach? Personal trainer? The guy who cleans your swimming pool? Or maybe it’s not a man at all . . .’ He waggled his eyebrows. Liv stayed silent and he made a noise like a talent-show buzzer. ‘Nuh-uuuh. No? OK then, it’s –’
‘No one,’ insisted Liv, too high and panicky even to her own ears. Cass was still staring at her. Oh God. She felt the words bubbling up. She felt the blood drain from her cheeks and battled the overwhelming compulsion to blurt it out.
‘It was –’
Ping.
All eyes immediately swivelled in the direction of the sound.
‘Hetty Barraclough,’ Duff said, putting his hands on his hips. ‘Was that your mobile telephone?’
Like the flick of a switch, the urge to confess was gone. Liv felt herself go limp.
‘Sorry,’ Hetty said, her finger swiping across the screen. ‘I only got it yesterday. I haven’t worked out how to use it properly yet.’
‘Hetty! ’ Liv said, fake-scandalised. ‘Cass said no devices.’
‘It’s Duncan,’ Hetty said as though that explained everything.
‘So what?’ Jez said.
‘No problem,’ Cass said, smiling. ‘Duncan’s your boyfriend, isn’t he? I think you mentioned him once or twice in your application.’
No man of mystery jibes for Hetty. And knowing her obsession with Duncan, ‘once or twice’ was probably a polite understatement.
Hetty nodded, eyes glued to the illuminated display. ‘He wants to know what time you think we’ll be finished.’
Liv’s irritation grew less fake. ‘Hetty! This is our audition.’
But Cass didn’t seem too offended. ‘If everything goes according to plan, you should all be on your way around half past one.’
One final flourish of taps and Hetty put the phone on the coffee table. Jez put his glasses back on.
‘All done? Let’s try something else,’ Cass said, turning her attention back to Liv. ‘How about if one day, bang,’ she snapped her fingers, ‘everything vanished. The houses, the shopping, the money . . . everything. What would you do?’
Liv’s heartbeat steadied. No more talk of secrets. OK, she hadn’t rehearsed this exact one, but Louis had warned her they’d throw a few curveballs her way.
‘That’s a tough one! Erm, I suppose we’d cope. People do. I mean, we’ve got friends and family. But I really can’t see it happening. My dad’s far too careful for that.’
‘And has your family always been well-off ?’
‘As far as I can remember,’ Liv said.
Cass unbent a folded corner and ran her finger down the page. ‘Interesting. My notes say Frank Dawson . . . left school at fifteen. Let’s see . . . went from running the family fruit and veg stall to owning the UK’s largest agribusiness. Is that right?’
Liv held in a sigh. They’d got the riches, why did people insist on bringing up the rags? Seriously. Why was that humble beginnings stuff always such a big deal?
She forced her smile a little wider. ‘Yes, I’m very proud of him. But my mum’s family, the Hills. All this . . .’ She waved her arm towards the window. ‘The farm, the stables, the land . . . it’s been in Mum’s family for years.’
‘Interesting.’ Cass pursed her lips and scribbled something down. Turning her attention away from Liv, she said, ‘Your turn, guys. You know Liv better than anyone, right? How do you think she’d change without money?’
The other three looked at each other.
‘I’m sure she’d be OK,’ Hetty said slowly. ‘You know, it’d be different from what she’s used to, but she’d adapt. Get a job; she’s got a lot of talents. I’m sure she’d be fine.’
Duff rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. ‘I can’t really see that. Sorry, but I think you’d fall apart in the real world.’
‘For your information, I do live in the real world.’
Duff laughed, ‘I love this girl! You think this –’ he waved vaguely round the room ‘is the real world?’
‘And how are we defining the “real world”?’ Cass said.
Jez put his dad’s voice on. ‘Debt. Wondering how you’ll pay the bills or buy food. Lack of opportunities. Poor housing. Being stuck in a cycle of –’
Duff clicked his tongue in disagreement. ‘Nah. If you’re poor, you go get a job and work at making money, same as everyone else. You can’t expect it on a plate. That’s the real world. Life’s what you make it, right?’
‘No!’ Jez’s head snapped up. ‘That’s a complete myth. Poverty is –’
Cass held up a hand for silence, releasing a fresh wave of familiar summer perfume.
‘Guys, this is fascinating stuff, but time is not on our side. We can debate it later. Liv, remember to keep in camera shot, please.’
Realising she had slumped deep in the sofa, Liv pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin.
‘As I said at the start, you need to be prepared for some difficult questions.’ Cass put her hand to her chest. ‘Devil’s advocate here. You don’t need me to tell you there are plenty of small-minded people ready to spill their vitriol across social media. Imagine I’m the nastier side of the internet calling you out for being selfish or a spoilt rich kid, what would you say?’
Liv chewed her lip. Of course, Miss Olivia Loves attracted random nasties; that went with the territory. But her subscribers usually slayed the trolls before she even read their comments. And, not that she’d admit this to anyone, least of all Cass, she actually enjoyed watching these strangers froth at the mouth on her behalf.
‘I’d say it’s not true,’ she replied carefully. ‘I mean, I know I’m lucky, but it doesn’t mean I don’t care about other people. I’d tell them all the things I’ve done for charity, like donating stuff. Clothes and things.’
‘Speaking for myself,’ Jez chimed in. ‘I am committed to using my good fortune to help others and I’m sure Liv feels the same.’
Duff rolled his eyes so hard they were in danger of getting stuck round the back of his head and Liv suppressed a smile.
‘That’s right,’ Hetty added. ‘And we did fundraising at the prom, didn’t we? That was your idea.’
‘Yeah.’ Liv warmed to the theme now. ‘And I gave a genuine Hermès handbag for the raffle at Jez’s Valentine Auction.’
Ouch. She plastered on a happy smile and rode the pang of regret that struck whenever she thought about that beautiful bag. Jez had whipped her into a state without giving her the opportunity to reconsider. And now her Hermès bag was gone forever, a victim of emotional blackmail.
‘And the fashion show last summer,’ Jez was saying in Cass’s direction. ‘I set up a charitable foundation with my parents, Connecting Together. We empower young people who find themselves in challenging circumstances, providing financial assistance as well as –’
‘I remember from your application,’ Cass cut in. She’d taken her phone out of the bag and was swiping at the screen. ‘Most of the applicants only talked about raising their own profile, but yours really stood out. It’s so . . . refreshing. One of the reasons we wanted to see more of you.’
Jez shrugged, aiming for nonchalance, but Liv could practically see his head expanding.
‘If we get accusations about not caring about people less fortunate, then we have evidence to prove that’s not the case.’
‘Well, I’m very pleased to hear that,’ Cass said, ‘and I’m sure it’ll be really interesting for the audience, challenging their perceptions of privileged young people. But like I said, you need to be prepared for some difficult moments. And on that note, Liv, I’ve got a photo I’d like to show you.’
Photo?
The panic returned. Bigger, harder and sharpened into actual terror.
Blood whooshed in Liv’s ears. How could Cass have the photo?
‘Photo?’ she said, only the slightest catch betraying her emotions.
She reached out a shaking hand, but Cass pulled the phone out of reach, angling the screen in her eyeline.
Almost sick with dread, Liv obeyed.
At first she couldn’t quite tell what it was, but that really didn’t matter because it wasn’t the photo she’d taken almost a year ago. The photo he’d persuaded her to send him. The photo he’d promised he’d deleted. The photo he’d used to buy her silence.
She breathed out slowly, dizzy with relief.
Liv couldn’t quite fathom what she actually was seeing. The dim image showed a hump of something fabric. Bedclothes?
‘There’s a girl, lying down . . .’ she said.
‘And?’
‘She’s got her back to the camera, so I can’t see much. She’s got long dark hair. She’s wearing a pale dressing gown with stars on it. Looks skinny, really skinny. Erm . . . room’s quite dark. Messy. It’s really dark.’
Cass flicked her thumb and index finger at the screen. ‘Let’s zoom in.’
‘Um,’ Liv said. Her eyes narrowed, trying to focus, then widened. ‘Oh.’
‘What is it?’ said Hetty.
‘The girl, I think . . .’
‘What?’ Jez said.
Liv peered at the screen. The clothes piled on a chair. The red lights of a radio alarm clock. The hump on the bed. The dark shape of the head with its long, long tail of hair. Something tugged at the back of her mind and then was gone.
‘Do we know her?’ said Duff.
Liv shook her head. ‘It’s not that. Just . . . Cass, is she dead ?’
