Shimmer

The first show was due to start that Friday evening, so before we were due to take up our door duties, Matt and I headed to the canteen for a late lunch. It had felt a bit like a high school canteen to me all week, but now that I had a clearer idea of what all of our roles were, I wasn’t sure where to sit. While we were queuing for our pies, pushing our trays along the three metal rungs towards the till, I noticed a pretty girl about my age. She had dark hair, pale skin and red lips. A cross between Snow White and a fifties cigarette girl, she was one of the most put-together people I had ever seen. Her lips had a perfect Cupid’s bow shape, which although created with make-up, didn’t make it any less cute. Her hair was cut in a dark shoulder-length bob with a blunt fringe that looked as if it had been cut with a razor. It was shiny in a way that finally made me understand my northern granny’s expression about looking ‘like boot polish’. She was wearing a black dress with a wide belt, which perfectly accentuated her curvy pin-up girl figure. It seemed fair to assume that she was a celebrity from a show I wasn’t familiar with. A kids’ TV presenter, perhaps? She gave us a hesitant smile as she approached, picking up a tray for herself.

‘Hi there,’ she said in a soft Scottish accent. ‘Do you mind if I interrupt?’

‘Of course not, go ahead,’ replied Matt. He was sooo giving her the once over.

‘Thanks.’

‘How can we help?’ I asked. Matt now had his back to me and it was clear that if I wanted to be included in this conversation, I was going to have to include myself.

‘Well, I just wanted to interrupt.’

I frowned slightly.

‘What I mean is, I didn’t have a specific question. I’m new here, only just started, and it seemed to me that you were having the most fun in the canteen, so I thought I’d ask if I could join in.’

I had to admire her honesty. And she was right: Matt and I had just been having a right laugh. Who didn’t enjoy piling mashed potato onto someone’s plate with a massive catering spoon and then shaping it into a Close Encounters-style mountain? Who could not enjoy that? No one I’d call a friend, that’s for sure.

‘Well then, welcome to our people,’ said Matt. He put his hands together and gave a little bow. ‘You are one of the family.’

‘Yeay, thank you! I really didn’t want to eat with the rest of the make-up team. I’ve been with them all day, I feel like I need someone, a bit, well, a bit … more relaxed.’

I laughed.

‘That’s us! Irresponsible, underpaid and too silly to know any better …’

‘Excellent news,’ she replied, with the kind of crinkly nosed smile that made me think she could be a lot of fun. ‘I’m Sally. From make-up. Yes, I do a lot of the fake tans.’.

‘In that case I declare you the hardest working woman on Strictly,’ I said, picking up a Wispa from the display at the till, showing it to the cashier and putting it onto her tray. ‘Let me get you this.’

We spent the meal chatting and joking about the rest of the team, and our experiences with the dancers and celebrities so far. Who we’d seen in action, whose costumes looked exciting and who were our personal favourite dancers. It was the first time all week that I had felt as if I was even vaguely among people like myself. Despite Sally’s glossy looks, she had a really warm manner, and I knew that she was the kind of girl I could be great friends with. All too soon the meal was over and Matt and I went to the office to collect our coats before beginning our shift outside on Wood Lane.

We left via the back entrance to the building, passing by the doughnut-shaped courtyard made famous by so many comedies and Blue Peter broadcasts. On the other side of the security gate a queue was already forming, even though it was hours until the show began. Matt took one entrance and I took the other. I had queued once to see a panel show recorded here. This time I was on the other side of the velvet rope, and instead of wearing sparkles, I was wearing discreet black clothes like the rest of the production team. It felt like a uniform, a badge to show that I was one of them. I shivered with delight.

Ninety minutes later, I was shivering for different reasons entirely. The thin Converse trainers I had been wearing all week, specifically to fit in, now seemed like the footwear decision of a maniac. It was freezing, and I desperately wished I’d worn boots instead. I dug my hands deep into the pockets of my Parka, raised my shoulders and did my best to keep smiling.

Luckily the excitement among those queuing was enough to keep my spirits high. Beneath everyone’s winter coats I could see flashes of sparkly shoes, satin dresses and jewel-coloured cuffs. Several of the men were holding umbrellas over their wives, gallantly trying to protect their hair and make-up. Each couple looked as if they were on a once-in-a-lifetime date, which in a way they were. And apart from the love-struck there were also some mums and daughters, gossiping and observing every little thing. As I checked people’s names off the list they smiled and chatted with me, and I helped them on with their coloured wrist-bands, making the same joke again and again about whether it would go with their evening wear.

Then, just as I was starting to fade, Matt came up to me and shoved one of his hands deep into my pocket. What the hell was he up to?

‘For you,’ he said, before darting back to his post. I dug into my pocket till my fingers reached a woolly ball and then realised what he’d done: he had just given me his gloves.

‘Thanks, mate!’ I called over to him. ‘What a star!’ He waved me away casually.

An hour later, all of the guests were safely inside the building and we had guided them to their seats without too much hassle. As Chloe had warned, a couple of gentlemen determined to show their wives a dream night out tried their hand at changing to a seat in the front row, but Matt and the team were there and we managed to keep everyone happy and correctly seated. I don’t know how I concentrated though, as I was constantly doing crazy double takes every time I saw faces I recognised.

Finally, once every guest was seated, and a few final checks were made, I saw on one of the monitors in the green room that the warm-up comedian had taken to the stage. Matt appeared at the doorway, doing ridiculous jazz hands.

‘It’s SHOW TIME!’

‘Yeay!’

‘Come on.’ He took me by my sleeve and led me up the stairs to the studio floor. Slowly, silently, I followed him onto the set and to the position opposite the staircase where various crew members were assembled. We settled down just as the audience burst into applause to welcome the judges. The men were looking dapper as usual and Alesha was stunning in a black sequined gown with her hair pulled back and up in an elaborate do. I was fascinated to see them interacting with each other, shuffling around and settling down for the performances. Eventually, I started to get calls on the talkback system starting down the countdown before air time. Eventually the theme music began and I knew that the show was now broadcasting live.

I felt a lump in my throat, remembering all of the evenings I had spent watching Strictly over the years – curled up with my flatmates at university, the show an inevitable part of the build-up to Christmas with my family. And now I was here, a part of it.

The celebrities and their dance partners started to appear from the top of the staircase opposite us. Like nervous peacocks, they strutted out, both more glamorous and more human than they ever seemed on television. And so many of them! I had forgotten how many there were at the beginning – I definitely hadn’t seen this many of them at rehearsal that morning.

As the theme music reached its climax the dancers had finally descended the glittering staircase on either side, and were now all lined up in front of me like the most bedazzling chess set in the world. They were all smiling, but I could almost see the adrenaline coming off them. Each, in their own way, was revealing his or her nerves. My eyes scanned them from left to right, comparing heights, hair-styles and outfits. As I reached the final couple, I gasped out loud. Because there, next to soap star Kelly Bracken, was Lars, the new Swedish dancer. But he wasn’t just Lars, he was the man from the puddle, the gorgeous man I had bumped into outside the studios, the owner of the Giant Man Chest. It was him. And he must have seen me gasp. Because, at that very moment, as the camera turned away, he winked at me.

Chapter 3

Lars’s wink completely threw me, and the show passed in something of a blur. The lights, the movement, the live music and applause all conspired to make me feel as if I were actually part of the performance itself. Even though I was exhausted, by the time the final score began, I was utterly bewitched by the entire thing.

Despite it all, I did try to observe the technical aspects of putting the show together. It all seemed so slick; everyone in their positions seemed so calm. The preceding days were frantic and seemed as if they’d never happened. The only person who seemed to be expending any real energy once the show went live was Anthony, who was operating the Steadicam. I had never done any work experience on a show that used a Steadicam, and while I knew that they were considered the coolest of the cool, I had no real idea why. Until I saw Anthony in action.

The camera itself was not attached to anything … except Anthony. All of the other cameras in the studio were either on wheels, handheld or suspended from cranes or the ceiling. The Steadicam was strapped to Anthony by means of a giant harness. It was an arresting sight: Anthony, the dad of a giant metal and plastic camera-baby, which he was carrying in a custom-made sling.

But what I wasn’t prepared for was the way Anthony leapt onto the dance floor with the dancers during the dance. He had a small set of camera cards pinned to his right, which showed him when his shots were needed. I knew all this already. But the first time that he just stepped up and over the footlights and onto the floor, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Then, following the dance, he joined in with the swoops and leaps, only a few feet away from the dancers. What I was so used to seeing as a dance for two, I now realised was actually something even more incredible: a dance for three, one of whom was in a pair of rather sweaty looking khaki shorts and some sturdy, black walking shoes. Again and again, Anthony leapt across the stage getting the most majestic shots. Each time, once he had captured what he needed, he leapt off the ballroom floor just as nimbly and vanished into the audience. By the time the final dance ended, he was sweating buckets and all of his cue cards had been ripped away.

Fascinating though this was – and I cannot make my admiration for Anthony clear enough – my heart was hammering in my chest throughout at the thought of Lars. Obviously, I watched him studiously for the entire time he was onstage. Did he have a nervous twitch? Or just a wonky eye? Could he really have been winking at me? I wasn’t convinced, and told myself it must have been the result of staring too hard at the lighting gallery. Nevertheless, I was the living embodiment of swoon. I was swoonalicious.

As Bruce and Tess waved goodbye for the first time in the series, and the theme music exploded onto the set once more, the audience burst into delirious applause, and the crew all started to high five and hug each other. I felt numb, tingling from head to foot. This was actually happening to me.

Matt tugged my sleeve. ‘To the bar?’

‘Oh yes, I’d love to!’ Matt had no idea how much I was looking forward to heading to the bar with the cast and crew: a chance to check out Lars, and see if he really had recognised me.

‘Awesome. Let’s get Sally on the way.’

Ooh, does he have a little crush? I thought to myself, as we climbed a draughty staircase up to the make-up area. We picked up Sally, who was looking resplendent in a black 1950s-style shirt dress and a bright red belt, and headed towards the bar. We could hear the music from the other side of the fire doors, and as Matt held them open to let us in, I felt as if we were walking into the greatest party in London that Friday night. The crew, the production team, the celebrities, the dancers and all their friends and family were in there unwinding, gossiping and giggling. I even spotted Chloe chatting to some of the lighting team, looking the most relaxed I had seen her all week.

‘Ladies,’ said Matt. ‘May I help you to a glass of the BBC’s finest white wine? Or will you be having something else?’

‘Do you know what, Matt? I think I’d bloody love a voddie and tonic. Do you want some cash?’ Sally said.

‘No, don’t worry.’ He put his hand out and rested it reassuringly on the top of her arm.

‘I’m all about the wine tonight. Thank you!’ I said. Matt headed to the bar and I turned to Sally.

‘I am not kidding when I say that that was one of the most amazing things I have ever seen in my life. Have you ever seen a live show before?’

‘No, it bloody knocked my socks off too. They looked so great, didn’t they? I can’t wait to see how they all progress. And isn’t it fascinating how you can see how really, really nervous they all look. The telly gives everyone a bit of a confidence sheen, I think.’

‘You’re so right. You really feel you’re living it when you can see it from the studio floor.’

‘Yeah! Now I know why my brother is always going on about live venues and gigs. He’s always banging on about festivals, and I always sit there thinking, ‘Why bother? I prefer watching them from the comfort of my sofa and not from a muddy field.’

‘I can’t think of enough ways to agree with you about the festivals.’

‘But now, hearing the live band, seeing the dancers live … I can see where he’s coming from. There’s nothing like hearing the beat of the music actually rattling your ribcage, is there?’

From over Sally’s shoulder I saw Matt sliding his wallet into his back pocket and picking up the three glasses. He navigated his way through the hubbub towards us. Then, as he approached, I saw another face turn to mine: Lars. He had had his back to me, and I had not realised it was him. The person he’d been talking to, who I now realised was a fan, was walking away, flushed. Left alone, Lars had turned to face me and smiled again. He stepped forward towards me. As he did, he stood in Matt’s path, knocking the drinks he had precariously balanced between his two hands. The contents splashed over the edges of the glasses and onto Matt’s sleeve.

‘Oh my goodness, I am so sorry,’ he said to Matt. He seemed very charming. His English was perfect, slightly formal in tone.

‘No worries, pal,’ replied Matt. ‘No harm done.’

‘I was just coming over to say hallo to my old friend, Cinderella,’ continued Lars. I felt the heat rush to my cheeks, and dug my nails into the palms of my hands. I couldn’t speak, and just lifted a hand to my chest.

‘Yes, you,’ he said to me. ‘I rescued you from that puddle the other day. Everything okay?’

Sally had been watching the entire interaction, enthralled, her head flicking back and forth between Lars and me like a spectator at a tennis match. I opened my mouth to reply but she interrupted, sticking her hand out.

‘Lars, it’s Sally. From make-up. I took care of Kelly earlier, but I think it’s my colleague Jeanne who looks after you. Lovely to meet you, I am a good friend of Amanda’s, a bosom buddy really. And this is Matt.’

‘Well, hallo everyone. It is lovely to meet you. It is good to see that Cinderella is in such good hands.’

‘Her name is Amanda,’ said Matt, as he handed me my drink.

‘Thank you,’ I mouthed at him, still too startled to talk properly myself. I smiled at him. I smiled at Sally. And then I smiled at Lars.

‘Well, this is just … lovely!’ I yelped. My voice sounded weird and high pitched, betraying the intense awkwardness of the situation. I couldn’t work out what was making me feel so uncomfortable. Perhaps the fact that Lars had winked at me earlier, or the way that he was being so solicitous, as if we were old friends. Or perhaps it was Matt, who was looking ever so slightly disgruntled.

‘Yes, it was lovely to see you, Amanda. Do take care, and I look forward to working with you.’ After he said this he looped his arm around my waist and leant in. He kissed me once on each cheek, pulling me in so close that I could feel the heat emanating from his soft, worn T-shirt. I swear that chest was wider than the bed I slept in at university. He gave the others a small wave, muttering ‘a pleasure’ and wandered off into the crowd.

I let out a huge sigh. Sally was standing facing me, her hands on her hips and her head tilted.

‘What. The. HELL. Wasthatallabout?’

‘Nothing, it was nothing, we haven’t even really met.’

‘And yet he calls you Cinderella?’ Matt was as incredulous as Sally, although his tone was little sharper.

‘I saw him for the first time the other day. I fell in a puddle on Wood Lane, and he helped me up. And cleaned my shoe and stuff.’

Sally grabbed my arm, gripping it like a baby with a rattle.

‘And now he calls you Cinderella! That is the hottest thing I have ever heard! Hotter than the sun!’

‘Yeah, fairytales. Hot stuff.’ Matt took a huge swig from his pint. His sourness was suddenly very unappealing.

‘I knooooow. I can’t believe he recognised me!’ I leant in to Sally, whispering so that no one else could hear us.

‘I’m not kidding, Amanda, it’s been really nice knowing you this week, and I’m sure you are a really lovely person. But you owe it to all of womankind to do your best here. He is severely hot, you saw the reception he got out there. I want to know more. And you’re the woman for the job. M’kay thanks!’

‘Yeah, like that’s totally going to happen. Yup, definitely.’ I shook my head at Sally. Was the woman insane?

‘Some men are just born charming, and he’s one of them,’ said Matt. ‘It doesn’t mean he’s a good person. Or that it’s a good idea for you to leap into bed with him. Where’s your self respect, woman?’

‘Matt, did you not hear what I just said? It is perfectly obvious that nothing is going to happen. Can we all just stop talking about this now?’

‘You can stop talking about it. But it doesn’t mean I have to stop thinking about it.’ Sally gave me a sailor’s wink and picked up her coat. ‘Well guys, thank you for the drink, but I think it’s about time I hit the road myself. Hackney is not going to come to me before bedtime.’

We gathered our stuff and headed to the tube. Sally leapt straight on the Central Line, whereas Matt and I had to wait for different branches of the Circle Line, heading in different directions. For two minutes after an awkward hug goodbye, we sat on opposite platforms, both pretending to fiddle with our phones, until my train finally came. I looked over my shoulder to wave at him as the train pulled away but he was engrossed in his messages, and didn’t look up.

Matt’s odd tone in the bar made me stop and think for a moment, but it wasn’t enough to upset me properly. The evening had been too momentous for that. From the lights to the costumes and the live audience to Lars himself, I felt as if I were finally living the kind of life I had dreamt of last summer when I had been waitressing at Sergio’s. Yes, I was exhausted, but I finally felt as if I were a part of something. And that something was special. I might never make it as a professional dancer, as my eight-year-old self had always wanted, but I could still be a part of this world, which was magical enough for me.

As I turned my key in the door, I resolved to tell Natalie what an evening it had been, and make sure that she knew how much I appreciated all she had done for me. But when I entered the flat, the lights were all off. They were obviously in bed. I took my Converses off at the door, mindful not to mess up the carpet again and headed to the spare bedroom. I hung my coat up on the back of the door and turned to the bed. Aaaaaah, bed, I thought to myself.

But there was a small note there, and next to it were my hair straighteners.

Amanda, you left these on. They have marked the carpet. I think we need to chat about this in the morning.

My heart immediately sank. I clearly remembered turning the hair straighteners on before I got into the shower that morning, so pleased that they’d be ready to use as soon as I needed them. But I had, of course, become distracted by my phone and then the decision about what to wear and had ended up running behind schedule. Which meant I never used them at all. They must have been on for hours, and even the safety catch would not have worked until after the carpet had been marked.

The Strictly bubble had burst. No matter what I did, I was always going to be Natalie’s irresponsible little sister. I wiped my face, and headed to the shower, where I stood under the hot water for ages, slumped at the thought of such a silly mistake ruining an otherwise dreamy day. As I pulled the covers up under my chin and curled into a tiny ball, I realised there was only one thing for it: I would have to find my own flat, and fast. For the first time in my life, I really needed to not be Natalie’s little sister. I needed to be me.

Chapter 4

It was one of those mornings: you’re only half awake and you roll over, cocooned and cosy, burrowing deeper into the duvet without a care in the world. And then you remember. Something had upset you the night before, only you’re not quite awake enough yet to remember what. You hug the duvet a little tighter, scrunch your eyes shut, and then … yup, it hits you.

I lay there, pretending to myself that I was still asleep, and trying to fool my body into believing that it was still totally relaxed. But it was having none of my tricks and the minute I remembered the snippy tone of the note from Natalie, I felt the nerves knotting in my stomach once again. I curled into as tight a ball as possible, clamped my eyes shut, and tried to block it all out. I needed to concoct a plan that would enable me to be out from under Natalie’s feet for as much of the weekend as I could.

But my older sister is hard to ignore. As I lay there trying to still the anxieties whizzing around in my head, I heard her slippered feet shuffle into the kitchen and her starting to unload the dishwasher. The clanking of the crockery and glasses being put away was followed by the low rumble of the kettle, and finally, the repeated clinks of the teaspoon against mugs as she made tea.

I suppose I knew that she wasn’t actually trying to wake me up. I knew that I had been awake already. But every clink and clank sounded like Morse code. ‘You need to find your own place’, ‘How much more do we have to do for you?’, ‘When are you going to learn to be a proper adult like the rest of us?’ I sighed and rolled over. I could ignore it no more. I needed a plan. And if I had learned one thing that week, it was that plans need coffee. So I pulled on a pair of tracksuit bottoms, and a battered old hoodie that was a favourite for slouching around in, and silently left the flat within five minutes.

Natalie and Lloyd lived in South London near a huge common, which in the crisp, bright autumn air, looked like something from an idealised mobile phone advertisement. There were joggers with matching running kits and spry ponytails which bounced with every step, young dads peering into prams at their unfamiliar newborns, and couples holding hands as they walked through the leaves. All this, and the sun was twinkling down on the lot of them. It was enough to make me want to vomit.

Who were all of these people? How come they were all so self-possessed? Why did they seem to hold the keys to some kind of secret universe of adulthood? What did they know that I didn’t, which let them behave like extras from a Scandinavian lifestyle magazine? By the time I had negotiated my way past the brightly coloured buggies outside the cute deli on the other side of the common I was filled with despair, bordering on rage. It was as if last night at Strictly had never happened. The sense of possibility, camaraderie, glamour – it all seemed further away than ever before.