I realized everyone was just as nervous as I was. There was also a beautiful actress who’d been a model in the sixties, then moved into films and now made documentaries in which she travelled round the world. She was one of my heroes and I was too starstruck to even speak to her. There were a couple of pop stars, an Olympic swimmer who was wearing her gold medal round her neck, and a few TV presenters. Even if I got nowhere in the competition, I thought, it would be nice to meet all these people and find out more about them.
There was a buzz of chatter from the back of the studio and I turned to see the two presenters come in. They were both women and always amazingly, astonishingly glam when I saw them on TV. But today they were both wearing jeans and vest tops. The blonde one – who I knew was called Melissa – had her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and the other one – Vicky – had a blunt, dark, Mary Quant bob and wasn’t wearing any make-up.
‘Oh, God, you all look so beautiful,’ Melissa squealed. ‘Are you all raring to go?’
Vicky grinned.
‘The dancers are all out there,’ she said, pointing to the studio exit. ‘They can’t wait to find out which of you they’ve got to train.’
‘I pity whoever gets me,’ I muttered and the rugby player laughed again. He really was a lovely chap.
‘Right then,’ Melissa said. ‘Let’s get cracking.’
She and Vicky explained that we’d meet our partners now and do all the publicity shots and so on. Then later in the week we’d film the launch show, and be introduced all over again, pretending it was the first time we’d met. Then, we’d have a month or so of rehearsals with our partner before the first live dance show. They made it sound so much fun and so straightforward that I suddenly felt really excited about this new challenge I was taking on.
I watched and clapped as one by one the dancers filed in and met their partner. And then they called my name. I went up to the front and said hello to Melissa and Vicky.
‘Excited?’ Melissa asked.
I nodded.
‘You should be,’ Vicky said. ‘Your partner is gorgeous.’
Melissa gripped my arm.
‘Amy,’ she said. ‘Meet Patrick Walker.’
The doors opened and in came my partner, twirling and dancing his way towards me. He was definitely gorgeous – there was no doubt about that. But I’d met him already.
He stopped in front of me and our eyes met.
‘You,’ he said.
It was Surfer Dude.
We looked at each other for a beat too long then Surfer Dude – Patrick – picked me up and spun me round, just like all the other male dancers had done to their partners.
‘Great to meet you, Amy,’ he said as he put me down. ‘We’re going to have a ball.’
‘A glitter ball,’ I said fake-brightly. God, this was excruciating. Most people managed to have drunken one-night stands without being forced to spend the next ten weeks with the object of their ill-advised affection.
‘Do you guys know each other?’ Melissa asked. She’d obviously seen the glimmer of recognition when we were introduced.
‘No,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ said Patrick.
‘We were introduced very briefly at a party last week,’ I lied. ‘Though I didn’t know Patrick was a dancer.’
‘And I didn’t know Amy was the famous Amy Lavender,’ Patrick said, flashing his broad grin at Melissa and giving me an accusatory glance over his shoulder.
‘How funny,’ said Melissa. ‘Enjoy getting to know each other better!’
But I was too embarrassed to enjoy anything.
The photo shoot was fine, actually. I’d done enough of those things over the years to be able to switch it on at will. I smiled, posed, spun and shimmied my way through all my solo photos, then escaped to the canteen for a (horrible) coffee so I didn’t have to watch Patrick do his. He was really very good looking and seeing the muscles working in his back – which was barely covered by a sheer shirt – was very off-putting.
To keep my mind on the task ahead, I hid in the loo and took a close-up selfie of half of my made-up face, eye closed and false eyelashes brushing my tanned cheek. I sat on the closed toilet seat and added many filters so it was as flattering a pic as possible. Then, knowing I was risking my place on the show when we weren’t really supposed to tell anyone we were competing until the press were told tomorrow, I sent it to Matty.
‘Guess what I’m doing?’ I typed.
There was no reply. But I didn’t expect him to reply immediately. I had no idea what had possessed me to message him. After all, the last time I’d seen him he’d been throwing my belongings onto the street. All I can think is I was feeling unsettled and guilty about my night with Surfer Dude – Patrick – and I wasn’t thinking straight. Plus, I had to admit that I missed Matty. We’d been together a long time and it was weird being alone. I wondered if he was missing me, too. It was doubtful considering there were always girls throwing themselves at him when we were together – he was bound to have even more now we’d split so publicly and I was sure he was making the most of it
I tossed my hair back. All the more reason to make a success of this ridiculous dancing show, I thought. I would throw myself into it, learn to cha-cha like a pro. I’d learn to live without Matty, Babs would be thrilled and my career would surely be back on track.
Filled with new-found enthusiasm and vigour for the task in hand, I wandered down the corridor towards the room where I knew Patrick was. He was sitting on the floor of the room, beating out a rhythm on his long outstretched legs, and a camera crew was recording what he was saying. About me.
‘I’d read all the stories, of course,’ he was saying. ‘And I’d heard people say she was a bit shallow – you know like some of these reality TV stars can be.’
I bristled. I was an actress. Who happened to have appeared in occasional episodes of my boyfriend’s fly-on-the-wall TV show. I was NOT a reality TV star.
‘So is Amy how you expected?’ one of the camera crew said. ‘What are your first impressions?’
‘She’s beautiful, of course,’ Patrick said. ‘But she also seems fun and genuine and a good laugh.’
Well, that was nice. Quickly I planned what I’d say when they asked me the same question about Patrick – welcoming, friendly, friendly.
But Patrick was still talking.
‘I really like her,’ he said, a funny look on his face. ‘And that kind of surprises me.’
Oh man, he wasn’t falling for me, was he? My whole life men had been harbouring crushes on me. I wasn’t stupid enough to think they really wanted to be with me. I knew it was my pretty face they were interested in – and even then it was just the face I showed the world. Very few people had ever seen the real me – the one who slobbed out in leggings and a vest top with greasy hair and no make-up; the one who watched Pitch Perfect then went back to the beginning and watched it all over again straightaway. The one who loved to laugh but had a bit of a temper. Phil knew the real Amy, of course. We’d been friends since we were fourteen and I couldn’t ever fool him. But even Matty had seen a carefully edited version – until I let my mask slip that night in the club.
Patrick having a crush on me could be awkward, I thought. I should probably put him straight as soon as I could. I really just wanted time to myself to get my head together and learn to be me again, instead of being part of Brand Matty and Amy. I was too bruised, too broken, to risk